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dindjiarin · 1 year

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The Concession - Din Djarin x f!Reader

gif from @rebeljyn 's gifset here

Din Djarin falls in love. Whoops.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

AO3 Link

TAGS: S2 Din Djarin, "Who Did This to You?", P in V, Unprotected Sex w/o consequences because who likes those, m!Masturbation, Fluff, Pining, touch-starved!Din, helmet-less!Din, soft!Din, protective!Din, Grogu bein a sweet shit.

WARNINGS: Star Wars cursing/slang which I know annoys some people lmao, abusive shopkeepers.

A/N: "Shit" is Star Wars canon (thank you, Andor); Din is a groaner (Chapter 5 of TBOBF); & Din is a bit of a poet (thanks pledge to Bo-Katan in Chapter 23); I have cited my sources LOL.

"No," the Mandalorian snaps. "No droids."

A gloved hand flies to his holster and the rusty pit droids screech to a halt, beeping nervously.

Leaning against the frame of the Razor Crest, at the top of the boarding ramp, you roll your eyes at Din Djarin's back. His distaste for droids had been made clear to you the first time he'd stopped for parts.

Those droids had been considerably less polite about Din’s preference, and he had taken too much pleasure in enforcing it.

"Listen, buddy, they're my refueling dr-"

"Then I'll take my business elsewhere."

The attendant sighs loudly, glaring at the Mandalorian. The skinny, maroon male with a fin-shaped head rises from his chair behind his workshop desk. He walks toward a shaking pit droid and grabs the refueler.

"It'll cost you extra," the attendant's eye-stalks narrow at the bounty hunter.

Din comes to an agreement with the disgruntled worker, sullenly agreeing to a slightly higher rate.

As the Mandalorian keeps watch over his ship, your footsteps clang down the steep ramp, and you sidle up to him, saying, "We need some things. Ration packs are gone. And - don't tell him -" your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, "But I think Grogu deserves a treat."

"He would agree with you.” Din’s elbow brushes your shoulder, and he realizes he’d leaned closer as you spoke.

You continue, “And you need something to relax.”

At that, Din’s helmet turns. “I do not.”

“You’re even more impatient than usual. You’re on an anti-droid campaign; the last time we stopped, you threatened to yank out one’s navigator circuits just for bumping your foot.” You look up at him, raising a teasing eyebrow.

The Mandalorian goes as still as one of those droids he had deactivated. His intimidating, T-shaped slit brands into your vision. Behind it, you know he’s boring holes into your face.

“Alright. Nothing for you, then.”

Your shoulders drop when you turn away from him, almost relieved to be out from underneath his piercing, hidden gaze.

The Mandalorian had paid you a few days before, and this was your first real opportunity to spend your own money. You can’t stop smiling, even as you place the kid in his white pod and stuff your pocket with your credits. Grogu is as excited as you are - giggling in his quiet way.

As you pass the statue of Din Djarin, he extends a closed fist. Obediently, you hold out your hand. The tan-hide fingers of his gloves open and credits fall, clinking. You look up questioningly at him.

“For the food. Your wages are not meant to be spent on communal necessities.”

Your lips curve into a lopsided, sweet smile that Din immediately commits to memory, and you nod.

Turning to Grogu, his fuzzy ears perked and eyes wide, you ask, “Ready, kid?”

***

The marketplace is huge. Stretching the length of the entire square, it’s busy for a planet this remote, but the size increases the options.

Grogu floats along beside you, and you keep one hand on the lip of the pod, just to be safe. The responsibility of the kid is the greatest charge you’ve ever been given, in more ways than one. Grogu often holds your hand or squeaks to get your attention to point at something glowing or stinky or flashing. His outright affection is a lamp to your lonely heart.

After visiting several vendors, you’ve resupplied what was necessary (with credits left over), and now you move on to something for Grogu. You’d be buying that with your own wages. Din could say whatever he liked, but what else do you have to spend your money on except the cute baby?

You walk past a booth advertising repair supplies, but when you realize it’s for clothing repair, something clicks in your brain. Grogu’s ears flop forward with your sudden stop. Your eyes run over the objects, and you select some, a smile splitting your face. You hope he will be pleased.

Several minutes later, Grogu makes a bah! sound, pointing at a live amphibian display. You’re pretty sure it’s a pet vendor, but the look on the kid’s face tells you he won’t take no for an answer. And maybe you should parent him - tell him no - but that’s Din’s job, not yours.

“Hi. How much for the frog eggs?” You politely ask the vendor, digging in your pocket for credits.

The bug-eyed lady tells you in a language you don’t speak, but she holds up three short tentacles on her hand. She pushes six eggs toward you, which you gratefully take and set in Grogu’s pod.

When you try to hand her the credits, she’s pushed out of the way by someone behind her. A man with a smushed nose yells in the same language the lady had spoken, and points away, clearly telling her to leave.

You watch warily, and once the woman has gone, the man turns to you.

“My apologies. The price is one credit per egg,” he simpers at you.

Disliking the hike in price, you move to return half of the eggs, but he protests, “Once the item has left my possession, they must be paid for.”

“But I can give them back to you,” you assert. “I’m not paying that much for frog eggs.”

His smushed nose twitches up like a feral Loth-wolf, “Yes, you are.”

"I'm not." You set three eggs back on the counter.

The man seizes your wrists, holding you in place. The crowded market is loud, but your indignant cry and the vendor's screamed accusation of theft cause several people to stop and watch.

You try to twist out of his hold, but his scaly skin tears at yours. The snarling vendor suddenly ceases making noise, and he releases your wrists to clutch at his throat. Shocked, your head snaps to the child.

Grogu has one little, three-fingered hand raised and curled.

“No!” You gasp, slamming the button on Grogu’s pod to close it. Far, far too many eyes watch.

The vendor, choking and sputtering, recovers quickly and lunges at you across the table. His hands grip your upper arms, but you wrench out of his hold. Hoping to draw all attention to yourself, you punch the vendor with all your might. The vendor stumbles.

“Never seen someone pretend to choke over three credits,” your lie is an incredibly lame one, but you hope it’s enough for passersby.

He clutches his jaw; his spat insult is garbled, and he begins to inch around the long table, trying to get a better shot at you.

You turn and walk away with as even a pace as you can manage. Running would make his accusation true. The crowd swallows the two of you up well, and you lengthen your stride.

But the vendor is regaining his volume. Nervously, you check over your shoulder. You jolt when Grogu’s pod bumps into your hip, then zooms away.

“No,” you yell again, grasping for the white vessel, but it comes to a hovering stop in front of a tall, silver man.

“Thank the Maker,” you sigh with relief. “We have to go.”

Din immediately notices the red ring of heat around your wrists and along your knuckles. He strides toward you. The closer he gets, the safer you feel - his protective aura slowly engulfing you.

Din grabs your forearm and examines your wrist. There’s a raw quality to your skin where the man’s abrasive hands had clamped down and twisted. After a moment, his face locks onto yours.

“Show me who did this."

Cold, calm, his words are a promise.

Confused by his reaction, and still so used to answering when asked a direct question, you wince over your shoulder. Din finally seems to hear the vendor shouting in the distance as he searches the crowd for a ‘thief’ and her ‘dangerous pet’. Din abruptly straightens and steps past you.

Running after him, you reach for his gloved hand, fingers sliding home. “Din, please; we need to go.”

The familiar contact makes him stop and turn to look at you. He says nothing, so you use the opportunity to explain.

“The ki- I made a scene, and it would be best if everyone forgot about it. A Mandalorian publicly roughing up the very same shopkeeper would give them more reason to gossip.”

Din Djarin frowns the longer you speak. He knows you’re right. The kid is far more important than his sudden anger. He nods curtly.

The man’s vicious insults about your likely occupation and parentage echo down the street and make Din’s lip curl. But for the sake of the child, he manages to turn back toward the Razor Crest. It’s only when he passes Grogu’s stationary pod that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, fingers loosely intertwined.

He gently flexes his hand, letting go.

____________________________________

As the Razor Crest speeds away from the planet, you smile. Vacuous and bone-chillingly cold, space is the worst. For most of your life, the inhospitable conditions had been worsened by your constant transport in the dark hold of some Creator-forsaken vessel.

But the cabin of the Mandalorian’s ship is warm and full of life, occupied by the kid's excited babbling and your semi-nervous laughter.

The kid waves his stubby arms in the Mandalorian’s lap as the Razor Crest dips and rises through a relatively calm asteroid field. Expertly maneuvering the expanse, Din Djarin has little motivation to do so except the smiles on his passengers’ faces. If you ask, he’ll tell you it’s a shortcut to the next system, which is only mostly untrue.

It’s been three months since Din collected the bounty on your former master. During that time, the Mandalorian had found one of the kid’s kind. A Jedi who could’ve taken Grogu, she declined the task. She told the bounty hunter of a place, a Seeing Stone, where Grogu could reach out for a Jedi master himself.

Though a week has passed since learning of the Stone, Din had yet to bring Grogu to it, instead taking a couple of jobs. The stoic Mandalorian won’t admit, especially to himself, that he’s reluctant to let the child go.

Reaching a lull in the slow-moving asteroids, Din draws the thruster back to stationary level, then looks down, his helmet nearly touching his breastplate, at the child still waving his short arms. Din turns his silver face to you questioningly.

Before he can speak, you joke, "I don’t want to learn to fly out here, if that's what you're about to ask.”

He shrugs with acceptance. Your eyebrows pinch in surprise, wondering if he’s playing along or serious.

“Okay, kid. We're done here,” he tenderly lifts Grogu and passes him to you.

Grogu makes a protesting sound and hides one of his hands inside his robe.

“Big, mean Mandalorian is no fun,” you mutter to the child teasingly. Grogu coos in agreement.

Din shakes his head and swivels back to the control panel, flipping switches and entering data. The kid catches your attention, triumphantly showcasing a small metal sphere from his robe. You press your lips together and wink, silently promising you won’t tell.

The Mandalorian’s gloved fingers run over his ship’s control panel like he’s conducting the Coruscant Orchestra, and then, suddenly, his right hand freezes in mid-air as he reaches for the thruster.

“Grogu,” Din growls, spinning in his chair.

You laugh openly, “He’s a toddler, Din. You can’t close your eyes for a second.”

The Mandalorian rises, his bulk taking up the entirety of the cabin. He gently wrestles the ball from Grogu's fingers.

Long, soft ears droop, and massive, black eyes turn glassy.

“Oh, look what you've done,” you croon, looking up at Din with an expression mirroring the kid’s.

Though he doesn't move, you can somehow see when Din’s annoyance is overruled by something stronger. Then the Mandalorian’s wide shoulders slowly rise and fall, a long-suffering sigh leaving his body.

“You are both menaces,” the Mandalorian accuses. He extends his hand, palm upward, “Grogu. Take it.”

You hold your breath, allowing the child to focus on using his power. Grogu closes his eyes. The metal ball wiggles in the concave of Din’s large palm, then zooms to Grogu’s tiny hand.

Din makes a fist in excitement, “Great job, kid.”

Beaming at the Mandalorian, even more enthralled with him than the magic child in your lap, you wish you could see his proud smile.

Noticing your expression, Din's chin swivels to the side, clearly questioning.

"Nothing. It's just that - it’s good to see you like this.” You shrug, trying to minimize your staring. “I know you’ve been stressed.”

The silent moment draws out as he assesses your observation. Still standing, the Mandalorian’s right hand hesitantly rises to whisper across the left side of your jaw. The gloved softness of his thumb caresses your cheekbone for an instant and a lifetime.

Din drops his hand like it weighs as much as a rancor. He turns around and sits back in his pilot's chair. Silver armor reflects the red and yellow lights around the cabin as he finishes his navigational procedures.

Cheeks aflame, you duck your face down into the kid.

___________________________________

“‘Occasional repairs,’’' you quote at the Mandalorian. “Every karking week there’s a new hole in this poor ship.”

On the other side of the wing, busy soldering panels together, the Mandalorian's head snaps up. Unmoving, his expressionless mask simply stares at you. You bite your lip to prevent a grin and continue replacing bolts.

The beskar helmet remains for a while longer, hiding Din’s thoughts. He imagines what you’d look like if he put you on your knees and made you pay for your jokes. If he wiped that pretty smirk off your face. He feels a stirring in his flight suit, so he wrenches his mind away.

The act the two of you committed in that field has not been repeated. His dedication to his helmet - to his creed - is paramount. And you tempt him too much.

For the second time in the past year, Din has accidentally grown attached to someone - first the kid and now you. But with you, it’s a danger of a different kind.

Din had hoped that he just needed to get it out of his system. Get you out of his system. He had won that mock fight in the field, but he had yielded to his desire for you.

Instead of feeling sated, Din feels hungrier as the days go by. Useless information, such as the number of sonic showers you've taken, clogs his mind. He would be ashamed of his counting, but he's too battle-weary to care. He does not count how many times he's taken advantage of the privacy of his bunk, remembering your eager face, your receptive body underneath him.

All that armor wasn't worth a damn thing.

It’s easier for you. As inexperienced as Din but with your self-esteem already in the sarlacc pit, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine he'd had his fill of you and… well, that was that. Though you dream of it nearly every night, waking up to the strange feeling of both gaining and losing something.

Of course, the Mandalorian still needed you to care for the kid or help him replace several wing panels when he inevitably damaged them, as you were currently doing.

At dusk, white trees sway behind you in the biting wind. This planet is rather cold, and Grogu, asleep inside the Razor Crest, doesn’t join you for the lovely, young Gornt dinner that Din had hunted. The two of you butcher it in silence and place it on the makeshift spit.

You then plop onto a log and snuggle down into your clothes, shivering. Though the items Din had given you months earlier are sturdy and warm, some of the chill of the night manages to seep through. You cross your arms, rubbing them.

Din vanishes from the other side of the fire - the smoky, dark air impenetrable. Squinting, you try to spot his reflective armor, but it works against you in this instance, easily blending him into the flickering, dim light.

A heavy material suddenly falls onto your shoulders, and you jump.

"Oh!"

The Mandalorian stands directly behind you, the thick cloak he was trying to give you still partially in his hand.

"I was focused on trying to see you through the smoke. I didn't think you'd be there." You clutch the brown garment tight around you and softly smile up at him, "Thank you."

Din nods, the clinking sound of metal audible as he returns to his log across the firelight. Your mouth gapes for a moment when you realize that the material around your shoulders is his torn cape.

"Do you not get cold?"

"I do."

"Why not wear one yourself then?" You lift part of the cloak in indication.

"Mandalorians are taught to withstand uncomfortable circumstances. As a foundling, I frequently exercised in far less temperate weather."

"A foundling?" You query, your eyebrow raising.

The Mandalorian leans back and shifts his legs apart to better distribute his weight.

"My youth was upended by war. When my village was destroyed, I was found by a Mandalorian."

"The name is quite literal, then?"

"My people are quite literal," Din crosses his arms and his commanding presence is distracting.

He looks so big sitting on the log, his legs open, back straight, and arms folded.

"We have similar beginnings," you swallow, trying to ignore the burning inside that has nothing to do with the fire.

"I was a little more fortunate in who found me," Din states. He leans forward to finally adjust the rod holding your dinner.

You lose your gaze in the flaming light, remembering.

“I still can’t believe how much things have changed,” you murmur.

Din Djarin can’t either. He has a life-altering decision to make, and a child to let go of, and both thoughts weigh on him like a karking Mudhorn. Din sighs internally at his unintended choice of simile.

Your eyes stray upward to the navy sky, breathing deeply. The frigid air burns your lungs, but you only draw more in, relishing your freedom to do so.

"You did not deserve that life," Din’s rough, mechanical voice answers over the sound of the crackling fire.

You frown, "No one does."

Running with the Mandalorian was a great way to stay ahead of the slavers. Paid employment, constant movement, and no one besides Din knowing your name - it was too good to be true.

Dropping your head from the sky, you level the Mandalorian with the most heartfelt gaze you can manage, "Thank you. I would've never had the courage to run without you."

Unable to see his reaction, you feel the distance most acutely. It isn't just flame and metal that divides you.

"I-" Din starts, but you cut him off.

"But mostly it's thanks to Grogu," you grin, trying to lighten the mood.

The helmet bobs as though he's amused, then Din sighs dramatically.

"I need to separate you two."

"I love him," you giggle, remembering a moment a few days earlier when he had picked up a very dignified, sentient species of frog and tried to eat it. "He is such an agent of chaos." You laugh into your cloak-covered hand.

Grateful that you can't see the fervent emotion glimmering in his brown eyes, Din studies you. Your fond smile is lit by the glowing fire and the cold winds blow redness into your cheeks and nose. You’re secure in his cloak, and it makes his chest ache.

"Shit," he breathes. The hiss through his modulator doesn't pick up the word well, to his relief.

It's not a surprise if you do truly love the kid. He is adorable and you've been with him every waking moment for three months, but the word you've just introduced is jarring to Din.

Talking about Grogu brings the dangers you all face to the forefront of your mind. Your smile falls.

"Will you continue to teach me to fight?" You don't immediately register the sudden rigidity of Din's posture, so you press on, "It’s upsetting to me that I'm better with a blaster than with the skills I was taught and trained in by my family."

The Mandalorian is relieved. You've given him an excuse to say no.

"I cannot teach you the methods of your people."

“That’s alright; anything would be appreciated.”

Din shifts his thigh on the log, agitated, and you struggle to fill the silence, “You don’t have to, of course.”

Then, as the silence lengthens, and you watch his helmet glint as he looks away, you realize what he must be so uncomfortable about.

“Oh. I am not asking we repeat that. I’m sorry,” you raise a hand to chest height as if you’re trying to physically defend yourself from the awkwardness. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“I know.”

“I- Din, really I only meant the…” you grimace and clamp your lips together, unable to bear the tension. Standing, you insist, “I swear to you, I never expected more.”

Forgetting to return his cape, you unconsciously hold it closer as you retreat into the Razor Crest.

The Mandalorian does not watch you walk away. His conflicted eyes remain trained on the crackling fire. Sparring with you brings every heart tug, every little attraction he has to you to the surface, and that's too frustrating to manage while IMPs track him and he deals with letting go of Grogu.

But Din knows he really should continue to teach you. It’s in your best interest, as well as Grogu’s. His hangup is entirely selfish, and Din is not a selfish man.

***

Hours later, when the sun has started to rise once more on this short-cycle planet, the Mandalorian finds his brown cape hung on the door to the refresher. He jerks it off its resting place, and goes to tuck it back around himself, when he notices that something is wrong.

Frozen, the Mandalorian stares at the brown, rough material in his hand. There are no holes in it anymore, only stitches.

_________________________________________

Combined with the sound of intentionally-loud footsteps, Din places Grogu - who had jumped between the two of you all night - on the edge of your cot, allowing the child to wake you up. Din strides to his weapons cache.

You yawn, then snicker at Grogu’s delighted face as he babbles what must be his version of Good Morning.

“Morning, kid.” You pet his ear and he begins to purr.

“You should stop babying him,” the Mandalorian doesn’t look at you as he searches among the weapons.

“Why? He’s a baby.”

Din shuts the doors to his stash. “He is fifty years old."

“He's what?”

Din shrugs and inclines his head in humor. You stare incredulously at the middle-aged child who rotates his little head between you and his father.

“His species is unknown, but they age differently than we do.”

“Uh, yeah. Fifty?”

Din’s modulator makes a rasping sound. It could’ve been a small laugh, but you’re not sure.

“Is fifty so terrible?”

Something in Din’s voice makes you look up at him. He casually leans against the hull.

Unsure if you should have the gumption to even ask, you stutter, “A-are you also fifty?”

The beskar mask does not move as the man behind it debates his reply. He decides on honesty.

“No,” Din states. He clasps one hand over the other in front of him, adding, “But I will reach that number in less than a decade.”

You make a small, accepting gesture as you had subconsciously placed him around his early forties anyway. In any case, it doesn’t matter to you. He is the Mandalorian who (somewhat inadvertently at first, you’ll admit) saved you. Even without that gratitude, you would feel an attraction to him. He was strong and kind and protective. Ruthless, sure, but only when necessary.

Din pushes off the wall, “You didn’t ask why I woke you.”

“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to you, so used to being woken up - far more rudely or violently - each morning for the prior two decades. “Alright, why did you wake me?”

He reaches behind his back, unhooking an item, and holds out the fighting stick he had used in that skirmish between the two of you.

“I will teach you what I can.”

***

Din Djarin is careful not to touch you, even through his gloves. He doesn’t trust himself anymore. Instead, he instructs you in tactics. After clocking your strategy in less than three moves, Din is worried about your future opponents doing the same.

“You dislike giving ground, but there will be times you’ll have to. It’s how you will outmaneuver them,” the Mandalorian stands, hands folded, his knee cocked, as he speaks.

“How do you know that?” You ask in response to his first statement.

Din clenches his jaw at the memory so very close to other memories, and answers you in a contained voice, “You were not subtle.”

You smile, abashed. “See, that is why I asked you. I’m far too inexperienced.”

Din closes his eyes in frustration.

You continue nervously, thinking about how hesitant he had been to agree to this, “My master took me to many fights, and you’re the best I’ve ever seen. I value your opinion.”

Din is used to compliments. Those whom he returned quarries to often praised him for his work. But your praise is one he actually wants, and something throbs in his chest. Then he grows irritated with his rampant, immature yearning for you.

Din speaks harshly, “This is for the protection of the child. You are his guardian when I am not nearby.”

Locked onto that T-shaped, black slit, your eyes flicker a little at his callous, impatient pronouncement, but you nod.

“Of course. For the kid.”

__________________________________

Unhappy to be removed from where he had curled up on his father’s pilot seat, Grogu had insisted upon sleeping in the cockpit with his little metal ball. You had assured the Mandalorian that you didn’t mind staying in the passenger chair for the night. The cushions were comfortable enough, and it made the child happy.

An hour after Grogu had begun purring in his sleep, you’re brought to consciousness by a deeper, labored sound. Bolting to your feet, worried about the Mandalorian below, you descend the ladder.

The door to the Mandalorian’s bunk had not fully closed, apparently jamming on some loose junk part that Grogu must’ve picked up. There is no light on in the enclosed space, so you cannot see him. But you can hear the way he mutters your name once, rough and agitated. You can hear the sound of material jerking and his rasping, vocoded grunts.

Your throat tightens and your breathing stops. Eyes wide, you slowly back up, terrified for him to find you in this way. A molten weight in your stomach wants you to push open the door and take care of him, but after the manner in which he spoke to you the entire afternoon, and the obvious way he tries to forget about that day in the field, you can’t. You can’t even fathom why he would be uttering your name. It’s too confusing.

Dazed, you return to the cockpit and try to block him out. Sleep does not come to save you for far too long, and when it does, it provides you no escape from the Mandalorian.

__________________________________

Din’s tortured use of your name had kept you awake far into the night. When you groggily open your eyes the next morning, you know you won’t be able to let this go. You must talk to him. Bravery is a muscle you’re trying to flex anyway, so you might as well try it on the scariest thing you can think of: an angry Din Djarin.

While Grogu plays with a ship part you pretend to have never seen, one Din had pried out of the receiving slot of his bunk door this morning, you and he traipse down the boarding ramp, intending to save the rest of the Gornt meat for traveling.

Absolutely guessing at how you’ll begin this conversation, you decide you’ll just hope for the best.

“I- I heard you last night.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

The Mandalorian stops dead in his tracks and you stumble, trying not to run into him. He turns on you, a solid wall of muscle and metal, but says nothing. You swallow and force what shred of courage you have to the front.

“I heard you say my name. You don’t have to do that alone. I can help you,” your final words are almost inaudible.

The Mandalorian provides food, shelter, and companionship. Ignorant to any kind of normal relationship, friendly or greater, you want to show your gratitude. And if that was how you could help him, all the better.

Your inner self, the one that’s been unthawing since the day your master was frozen in carbonite, wants Din in a far more genuine manner. You want him. His compassion and honor, his fatherly love for Grogu, his non-pitying care for you, and his primal confidence have you in danger of becoming a hopeless devotee.

“Help me,” he reiterates, his tone worryingly neutral.

“Passage for assistance,” you try to ease the tension slightly with another old quote of his. “I can still assist you. It’s repayment for your aid.”

Even as you say it, you feel the depth of the lie. You want Din for yourself.

He’s silent. At his side, the fingers on his right hand fidget. The broad bounty hunter leans over you. As he tilts his head, the cold sun glints off his armor.

Din’s voice is as sharp as his vibroblade but twice as lethal, “You are no longer a slave - do not make me say that again. This is not a business transaction.”

Not a business transaction? While technically a rejection, his clarification makes you dizzy. Your breath comes out shakily, fogging in the chill air.

“Okay. What if that’s not my real reason for asking?”

That does it. Stunned, the Mandalorian might as well be a statue made of beskar. Din had found it easy to believe you allowed him to touch you because you felt in his debt, and he hated it. Made him feel as slimy as a Hutt.

“Tell me.”

Din watches your facial expressions run the gamut and he knows that whatever you’re about to say is the truth.

“I care about you.” Will you ever stop whispering? “For you, not just what you’ve done for me,” your second greatest act of bravery this morning is touching his cold chestplate. You swallow as you look up into that blank face.

Din doesn't move. Doesn't think he can move, but then his body responds before his mind does. Soft leather brushes your cheekbones as he takes your face in his large hands. He tilts his cold helmet to your forehead, and you instinctively close your eyes, sighing in relief. This was not what you were expecting when you followed him out here.

You can't hear the first thing he says, but it sounds like dank farrik. You laugh quietly in his hands.

"You are a menace,” he mutters a little louder, the modulator somehow enhancing the timbre of his voice. “You and the kid.”

Grinning, you open your eyes as he lifts his helmet from your skin. “Don’t bring him into this,” you joke.

Din’s thumb ghosts across your lips and you shiver. The Mandalorian is calm. This is inevitable now. He need not fight himself any longer. He grasps your wrist and brings it upward. Gently guiding your fingers underneath the edge of his helmet, Din presses them to his lips.

Utterly shocked at this new gift, you gasp. A scratchy cloth wraps around the bottom of his chin, but above it, his soft, scruffy facial hair and plump lips make your skin tingle. Nerves jumble in your lower stomach. He presses another kiss before slowly lowering your hand.

You tell him disbelievingly, "I thought there was no way -”

“What you thought was wrong.”

Your heat signature rises at the sincerity in his voice. Din tilts his head, watching your reaction to him. He lets his covered fingers drift over your lips again, then he drags them down the column of your throat and past your exposed collarbone, enjoying your whimper. Your pupils are dilated.

“You want me now, don’t you?” He asks, his voice hoarse.

You nod, whispering past your suddenly dry mouth, “Yes.”

The Mandalorian crouches for a split second, hefting you into his arms with no effort. Your legs automatically wrap around his middle, arms around his neck. His hands clasp underneath your thighs as he strides up the loading ramp as though every second he delayed was one wasted.

Din lays you out on his bunk and hits the button for the door without looking at it. He does not turn on the light. In the tiny, black room, you can hear him divesting himself of his flight suit and armor. It makes your heart throw itself against your chest. You sit up and struggle out of your own clothes, wanting nothing between you and him.

“Will I ever get to kiss you?” You ask timidly.

Din answers you immediately. His rough palms bracket your face, then he reverently pushes his lips into yours. His facial hair brushes against your skin and you weakly moan into his mouth, parting your lips for more. The Mandalorian groans, as well, enraptured by this new sensation.

Din wraps a muscled arm around your waist, crushing you to him in the small space. His warm, broad chest forces yours to mold around him. Your hands gently drag along his torso, mapping him. He shudders underneath your fingers.

His lips break like waves around yours. You could be floating above the bed and it would feel no different. He kisses you like it’s what he needs to survive; his occasional noises of desperation stake your heart and dampen your thighs.

“Need to touch you everywhere,” Din’s real, untampered voice knots your stomach.

“You can do whatever you want,” you breathlessly repeat the unspoken affirmation you’d given him the first time.

He chuckles, and you shiver again, drunk with lust. Din lowers you back onto the hard bed, settling over you.

His hot mouth surprises the sensitive skin of your breast. Din moans, involuntarily you think, as he tastes you there, gently pulling and sucking. You jerk, pressing up into him with a cry. Who knew that could feel so good?

His big hands flow down your sides, pressing into you, exploring, and you get a burst of understanding. This man is starved.

Your hands comb into his hair, and while you wonder what its color is, you’re choked up to find that it’s soft and wavy. Din groans loudly when your fingers rub on his scalp. He seems invigorated by it as he growls and returns to your lips with a fever. His tongue demands you allow him inside, but there is no resistance on your end.

Suddenly, Din breaks the kiss with a wet pop of his lips. He vanishes from above you, but then two large hands slide up your thighs. He pushes them apart and your breath hitches.

“You trust me?” The Mandalorian knows the answer, he just wants to hear it.

Nodding dumbly in the dark, you realize he can’t see you and squeak, “Yes.”

He shifts down and presses a row of kisses up your inner thigh. His nose brushes your coarse hair, and your breathing breaks a second time.

Din flattens his tongue and licks the spot he already knows you like. You jolt and his arms wrest around your thighs, holding you in place for him. You whimper as he buries his face in your folds, shocking your system. Your hands return to his hair, and his chest swells as he quickly shoves you toward your end. His nose continually nudges your bundle of nerves and each time it feels like you’re hurtling through hyperspace.

Your back arches when he traps your clit between his lips, and he responds with another obscene noise. This time, the vibration of his deep voice rips your orgasm from your marrow. Crying out his name, you quake, chest heaving through the waves of euphoria.

Too overwhelmed by all his options, Din moves back to your mouth, breathing heavily himself, “Incredible.”

He licks into you again, his hand cradling your face to allow him deeper. Taking advantage of his position, you wrap your legs around his trim waist, pulling him down. His hips cant toward you, and you feel his length fall onto your abdomen. You hadn’t forgotten how big he was, but the heft of it makes your body tremble.

The Mandalorian could be a patient man, but this would never be one of those moments. Din fists himself, rubbing once along your soaked seam. He pushes forward, steadily feeding his cock into your tight, forgiving heat. Din grunts several times, overstimulated.

“You don’t know what you’ve done, mesh’la,” he gruffly murmurs, his naked voice still so shocking to hear.

You have no idea what he means, and you file it away for later study. Solely focused on how he feels halfway inside you, you clutch at the back of his thick thighs, encouraging him. But then he snaps his hips, driving himself to the hilt.

“Din, oh,” you sharply gasp.

He grinds his pubic bone into your mound, stimulating you; his chin tilts up, proud, when you shudder. The Mandalorian grabs one of your hands and brings it to where he’s joined with you.

“You feel that?” Din’s voice is weighty, meaningful.

“Mhm,” you sigh, your fingers leaving his hand to explore his dark curls. He’s right. The deviant way his thick member disappears inside you is intoxicating.

He languidly draws himself out, letting you experience every ridge and vein, pulsing with your filthy sounds. He re-enters you just as intentionally, and when he’s given you everything, he leans down and drags you into a kiss. A kiss that means something to him. His tongue surges through your mouth in a single stroke before his full lips pull on yours, one hand gripping the back of your neck.

He lets you go, trailing his mouth down your throat, obsessed with the taste and the feel of you on his skin.

Din returns to your lips, his forearms framing your head. His fingers twist in your hair, and he begins to pump faster. His length strokes along a spot that makes your eyes flutter in the pitch blackness. Your nails carefully rake at his toned back, drawing a strangled moan from him as he shoves himself inside again and again. Losing a measure of self-control, he thrusts hard, placing a palm on the back wall for stability.

Your hands finally, finally, reach up for his face, expecting at any moment that he’ll stop you. His lips are parted as he pants in exertion, his facial hair fluttering with his breath. Din’s cheekbones are round and high; his nose is angular and fitting.

“I knew you were handsome,” you praise, the words fluctuating in cadence with his pounding strokes. “Wouldn’t have mattered.”

He scoffs, barely conscious of what you’re saying. His forehead drops to yours again, and he can’t believe the life he’d known had unraveled so drastically. In under a year, Din had gained a child and this.

“Turn over,” he orders.

Of course, you obey without hesitation.

His calloused fingers slide around your hips, pulling them upward. With your chest still pressed into the bunk, you moan when he slowly re-inserts himself. He nearly chokes when your body draws him in; the angle and drenched grip of you makes him shake his head in disbelief.

“You okay?” He rumbles.

Your chin scrapes on the metal bed as you nod, “Please move.”

He clasps an arm around your middle, hunching forward. His scruff and lips tickle the top of your spine as he begins to rut into you. It’s already too much - Din grunting, his chest hair scratching your upper back, his muscled arms holding you in place as he fills you over and over. You begin to clench around him again, crying out harshly in a rush of pleasure. Your legs shake, giving out underneath you.

The Mandalorian’s large hand splays across your breast, and he pulls you backward onto your knees alone, welding you to his perspiring chest. As his length plunges up into you, his lips brush your ear. He’s whispering something, but you can't understand the words.

Then, Din exhales with a groan and rolls several long, pulsing strokes, burying his come as deep as he can with a final, gravel-filled grunt.

***

In the dark, there’s only the sound of two people fighting for breath. Din has leaned against the cool wall; he tugs you to him. You sit somewhat beside him, your legs tangled together. Your head rests on his heaving shoulder, and every now and then, you feel the press of his lips in your hair. He laughs once, quietly.

“What is it?”

“Your life is not the only one that has changed.”

Blinking rapidly, your heart glows with warmth. Yours had changed the most. This Mandalorian had come into your non-existence and given you everything. Courage, freedom, responsibility, love.

“I know you like to fight, but this is one I’ll win,” you laugh softly.

___________________________________

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nahoney22 · 2 months

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Congratulations on the followers⭐️ I have a scenario I think you’ll absolutely smash! If possible can I have the prompt “I want to help you… if you’ll let me.” With Hunter and a F!reader.

Hunter is quite hard on reader but only because he’s protective but it comes across super badly and one night you had enough of his nagging and go to a bar for a drink but start getting a bit hassled by a drunk patron and hunter comes to help you out? BUT reader can fully handle herself bc bossbitch 😆 Would love it to be angsty, classic enemies to lovers and it may end with a little smooch?

Thank you if you do this and no worries if not ♥️

4000 Follower Prompt Celebration

Hunter X F!Reader

word count: 3.3k

prompt:

“I want to help you… if you’ll let me.”

authors note: thank you for the request! Love this idea. Enjoy and sorry for the wait 🤍

warnings: enemies to lovers, drunk patron who can’t take no for an answer, canon typical violence, angsty, mild injury to reader, reader gets insulted, female reader, hunter is a bit of an arse at first, first kiss which is a little steamy, protective hunter. I

The aftermath of the latest mission left a sour taste lingering in your mouth, the tension between you and Hunter palpable in the crowded bar. Despite the success of the mission, Hunter couldn't resist injecting his bitter critique into the - what should be - celebratory atmosphere.

As the squad was basking in victory, clinking cups and allowing Omega to indulge in a very sugary concoction that almost had her bouncing off the walls, Hunter's biting words tainted the mood.

His critique of your tactics cut deep, branding you as reckless and a threat to safety, all delivered in front of the entire squad.

Flushed with embarrassment and fueled by anger, you hastily abandoned the bar, seeking refuge in another dimly lit establishment down the strip. Unbeknownst to you, the others exchanged scornful glances, Echo remarking, "She gets it from you, you know?" A subtle nod to your adoption of Hunter's techniques, albeit with less finesse.

Swallowing his pride, Hunter trailed after you with a heavy sigh, the weight of his words hanging heavy on his shoulders as he tried to find a way to make it up to you.

Meanwhile in the new bar, a sketchy run down looking thing with flickering strobe lights, you find yourself situated between two patrons in a world of their own.

As you waited for the service droid to serve you, a small shift from you caught the attention of the man on the left. A rugged looking man with a rather stale odor to match.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” His inquiry, laced with unwanted charm, sent a shiver down your spine as you maintained a polite smile, avoiding direct eye contact.

“In this dump? Not quite sure. But, just here for one drink,” you replied, hoping to discourage further conversation.

The man chuckled, a smug grin etching lines on his worn face, followed by a troubling cough that was hacked into a dirty rag that makes you squirm. “That so?” He asks after his coughing fit. “Mind if I get ya one?"

"I'll get it myself. Thanks for the offer," you replied, freezing him in his tracks.

"Heh, you think you're too good for me?" he retorted, his gaze piercing.

Sighing, you turned to face him, attempting to maintain composure amidst his growing aggression. "I didn't say anything like that. I'm here to buy my own drink and leave."

But as his tone escalated and his proximity grew, you reached your breaking point. Despite your attempts to politely decline, he persisted, his invasive advances refusing to relent, leaving you feeling increasingly uncomfortable and trapped.

Until you snapped.

Hunter found himself darting his head into every bar and club, your current whereabouts unknown. Frustration gnawed at him as he went to check your location only to see you had switched it off, thwarting his attempts to track you down.

However, a subtle whiff in the air caught his attention, and his stomach churned. The same sensation he developed whenever the smell hit him. He finds himself gulping a little as he instantly recognised the faint scent of the floral soap that only you used.

It left a lingering trace, teasing him that he was on the right track. A part of him wanted to clear the scent away; he had smelled it so often in the Marauder that it always sent his mind into a spiral of confusion and found it rather distracting.

His thoughts on your scent dissipated as the sound of loud banging reverberated down a stairway to a rundown bar. Hunter froze, his senses sharpening as he listened intently. The familiar sound of your voice had him bolting down the steps, instincts kicking in as he rushed to your aid. Or so he thought he had to.

Upon entering, Hunter's heart quickened its pace as he was greeted with the sight of you, hands raised in a defensive stance, facing off against a man whose laughter echoed brashly in your face. The tension in the air was thick as you snapped, “Keep your dirty, mucus breath away from me!”

The man, undeterred by your sharp words, retorted with a smirk, “That ain’t very ladylike of you, sweet cheeks. Calm down and have a drink with me.”

Your nostrils flared in anger, steam seemingly emanating from you as you glared daggers at him. “I said no,” you snarled, your voice dripping with venom. “And call me ‘sweet cheeks’ one more time, I’ll kick you between the legs so hard it won’t be the cough you’re choking on!”

As the confrontation intensified, Hunter's eyes widened in surprise and concern as he watched from a few feet away, momentarily frozen by the scene unfolding before him.

Then, his protective side kicks in, taking a step forward, the need to intervene pulsing through his veins. He speaks your name which causes you to freeze and glance over your shoulder to meet his penetrating gaze. Great.

Meanwhile, the man, sensing the shift in dynamics, glanced over your shoulder too and directed a question at Hunter. “Oi, bandana, does she belong to you?”

Your eyes flashed with defiance as you interrupted before Hunter could respond, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “I don’t belong to nobody, let’s get that right,” you hissed, your gaze locked in a fierce glare with the patron.

“You best listen to her,” Hunter piped up, stepping in between you and the man with a protective stance. “But,” he continued, turning to look at you, “I think me and you should get going.”

You stared at the clone, a wave of anger and confusion washing over you. What game was he playing? First, he mocked you, and now he was trying to act like Prince Charming? So, you shook your head adamantly. “I’ve still not had my drink.”

“I said I’ll buy you one,” the patron quipped.

“Will you shut up?” Both you and Hunter snapped at the same time, sharing a surprised glance at the oddity of the moment, but quickly brushing it off. You nudged past him and leaned back on the bartop, determined to get the attention of the service droid.

Hunter's sigh was loud as he stood beside you, gesturing for you to follow him, but you persisted with a shake of your head. You came for a drink, and you would leave with one.

Just as you thought things couldn't get any worse, the patron approached you, reaching a hand towards you. But Hunter was already on the case, swatting the man's hand away with a swift motion. “Lay a finger on her and I’ll break all of yours. Leave.”

You stared at the back of Hunter’s head, your eyes wide in surprise at his tone and sudden threat. He was always a commanding presence, but never to this extent. It made you feel a strange mix of emotions, a tingling sensation spreading from your belly to the tips of your fingers.

The man glanced between you and Hunter, his expression a mixture of defiance and resignation, before taking a final swig of his drink. With a nod of his head, he seemed prepared to leave, but not without delivering a parting shot.

“Put her on a leash next time.”

Despite Hunter's heightened senses, he was not quick enough to respond as you pivoted on your heel and unleashed a hefty punch straight to the man’s nose. The force of the blow sent him sprawling to the ground, landing hard on his rear.

The man, stunned and ready to retaliate, found himself abruptly halted by a boot pressed firmly to his chest, courtesy of the tall Clone. With his hands raised in defense, he hesitated.

“Apologise to the lady,” Hunter demanded, his voice firm and unwavering.

“Forget it, Hunter,” you muttered, adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you shook out your hand. “I’m not going to ask someone or force someone to apologise to me.” There was a certain edge in your voice, a subtle reminder of Hunter's own failure to say sorry for his earlier words.

Unfortunately, the disruption had drawn the attention of the service droid (finally), and you and Hunter were promptly forced to leave.

As you were ushered out, you wasted no time in striding ahead, your steps heavy with frustration. The rhythmic tap of your boots echoed against the pavement, a stark contrast to the fading sounds of the bar behind you.

"Hey, wait up!" Hunter's voice called after you, but you were resolute in your determination not to stop. You didn't want him to see your tears, didn't want to show any vulnerability in front of him. Not after everything that had just happened. Not after that painful punch that felt like hitting a brick wall.

Ignoring his calls, you continued forward, your jaw clenched tightly to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over. But your pace was abruptly halted as Hunter caught up to you, using his body as a barrier as he stopped directly in front of you.

"Come on, we need to talk. I need to—Are you crying?" Hunter's voice softened, concern evident in his tone as he noticed the telltale signs of tears glistening in your eyes.

"No!" you snapped back, a reflexive denial, but the tremble in your voice betrayed your true emotions.

Hunter sighed softly, his shoulders slumping slightly as he realised the depth of your distress. "Let’s get back to the ship. We can talk there," he suggested gently, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

A part of you wanted to stay stubborn, to refuse his offer and continue on your own path to perhaps another bar. But the night was growing darker, and the pain in your hand from the earlier punch was becoming increasingly unbearable. With a resigned nod, you reluctantly allowed Hunter to guide you back to the port.

Once inside the ship, the air felt heavier with tension as you stood in the cramped space, watching intently as Hunter meticulously sifted through the clutter of supplies and equipment scattered around. With a focused determination, he located a medkit.

When you insisted that you didn't need him to attend to your injury, considering it wasn't that serious, Hunter's expression hardened, his voice taking on a stern edge. "Yeah? Want to explain why there’s now blood on the ship floor?" The sharpness in his tone made your face flush with embarrassment as you glanced down, noticing the small tear in your skin that had resulted from the brief scuffle.

"Oh," you muttered awkwardly, feeling hot under Hunter's scrutiny.

“Sit here.” Without missing a beat, Hunter gestured for you to sit on a nearby crate, his demeanor firm yet oddly reassuring. As he patted the surface in front of him, you couldn't help but wonder about his motives. Was it your earlier words about his lack of apology that lingered in his mind, prompting this gesture of care? Or was there another reason behind his actions? The uncertainty gnawed at you, but deep down, a part of you couldn't deny the comfort of his presence in that moment.

“I don’t need coddling,” you mumbled half-heartedly, attempting to maintain a facade of independence despite the conflicting emotions swirling within you. Nevertheless, your feet moved almost of their own accord, carrying you towards Hunter as you settled yourself onto the crate in front of him.

"Oh, I know, you handled yourself well," Hunter chuckled softly, his hands moving deftly as he pulled out pads to dab at your skin, preparing to disinfect the area. “I want to help you… if you’ll let me.”

You grumbled in response, your eyes trained on his hands as they worked. "Ha, next joke please."

Hunter raised a brow at you, his expression serious for a moment. "I mean it," he insisted, his tone earnest.

You couldn't help but scoff, the bitterness of his previous criticism still fresh in your mind. "Yet I’m reckless and a danger to others?" you retorted, your voice tinged with sarcasm and frustration.

A heavy sigh escaped Hunter's lips, and he paused in his actions, looking you directly in the eye, though you were doing your hardest not to meet his gaze. "I want to say sorry for what I said. I… I should have said it to you alone. And differently."

You could hear the slight awkwardness in his tone, but it did come across as honest. Yet, you were still annoyed. “Yeah well, you completely embarrassed and upset me.”

He blinked, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as your voice took on a gentle tone tinged with sadness. “I know, and I am sorry. Truly. But, I only said it because…” he trailed off for a moment, his eyes trained on the medkit again, as if searching for the answer within.

“Because?” You prompted him, giving his leg a small nudge with your foot.

“Because I care. I don’t want you taking risks like I do. Like what the others do.” Hunter's admission hung in the air, revealing a layer of concern and perhaps a touch of vulnerability.

There was a gravity to Hunter's words, a weight that seemed to hang in the air, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions within you. It was as if his sudden sincerity reached out and tugged at the strings of your heart, tempting you to lean into the warmth of his presence. But you resisted, holding back the urge to act on the tumultuous feelings that were suddenly swirling inside you.

“You certainly have an odd way with words in that case,” you found yourself saying, your voice slightly breathless as you struggled to make sense of the complex emotions churning within you. Hunter seemed to notice the subtle change in your demeanor, his senses catching the telltale signs of your heightened heartbeat.

“You’re not wrong,” he admitted quietly, his own voice apologetic. With gentle precision, he applied some bactaspray to your knuckles, his touch light yet reassuring. As he dabbed away the blood, you couldn't help but hiss in pain, the sting overlapping the odd flutter in your heart.

“My apologies,” Hunter murmured, his gaze meeting yours with sincerity.

Despite the slight discomfort, there was a flicker of amusement in your eyes as you watched him meticulously care for your hand. Never had you seen him so gentle and so indulged at the task at hand.

As you watched Hunter, the smirk gradually faded from your lips, replaced by a sense of awe as your eyes traced the finer details of his face. His strong jawline, the depth of his intoxicating eyes, and the tattoo that adorned his skin, its colors slightly faded but still complimenting his rugged appearance perfectly. His long locks, usually tucked back by his bandana, had fallen forward, framing his face in a way that emphasised his rugged charm.

You came to a sudden realisation of just how handsome he was. Of course, you had always known it on some level, but now it struck you with a new intensity that made your heart quicken and your cheeks flush with a sudden shyness.

“So, do you forgive me?” Hunter's voice broke through your reverie, pulling you back to reality and you found yourself momentarily lost in the depths of his gaze.

“Sorry, what?” you blinked, feeling a flush of embarrassment heat your cheeks as you snapped out of your reverie, realizing you had been lost in awe-struck admiration of Hunter.

He chuckled softly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he raised a brow at your dazed stare. “No, it’s me who is the one saying ‘sorry’ this time.” With a gentle touch, he guided your attention back to your injured hand, his movements careful and deliberate as he applied a dressing before neatly packing the medkit away. “But I’ll ask again, do you forgive me?”

“Oh,” you mumbled, feeling a mixture of confusion, shyness, and bashfulness under his attentive gaze. “I suppose… just please don’t do it again.”

“You have my word,” he nodded, his smile warm and reassuring. When his gaze met yours, the swirling storm of your emotions came back, and your heart raced even faster than before when he extended his hand towards you.

You tried to play it off as a simple gesture to help you off the crate, but as you placed your good hand into his, there was a gentle squeeze in his touch before he effortlessly pulled you forward, almost causing you to stumble into his chest.

“Oh!- oh,” you stammered, quickly steadying yourself but growing increasingly aware of the proximity between you and the Sergeant.

His eyes remained locked on yours, his head tilting slightly to the side as he studied your reaction. “Everything alright?” he asked, his voice soft, the warmth of his hand still lingering on yours.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you nodded firmly, though the erratic thumping of your heart betrayed your composure, and you couldn't shake the feeling that Hunter could sense it, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Tell me,” his voice was hushed, his warm breath brushing against your features as he leaned in closer, “why is your heart beating so fast?”

You gulped, feeling his proximity overwhelming your senses as you searched his eyes for an answer, but all you found was a reflection of your own turmoil. The truth was written in the depths of your gaze, but your words failed you, and you found yourself stuttering over your thoughts, unable to form a coherent sentence. It was as if the weight of your unspoken feelings hung heavy in the air between you.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Hunter spoke aloud, his other hand moving to gently push a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “I can’t help but wonder if you…” He trailed off, uncertainty lacing his words, but he couldn't ignore the palpable tension that crackled between you any longer, “if you have feelings for me.”

“Do you truly care about me?” you asked, your voice a delicate whisper tinged with a shyness as you found yourself yearning to inch just a tad closer to Hunter's body. Every nerve in your body seemed to hum with anticipation, the air thick with unspoken desires.

Sensing your feelings, Hunter gently pushed you back with his body, his touch sending a shiver down your spine as your legs hit the crate behind you. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You don’t understand how much I care,” his voice rumbled low, the depth of his emotions evident in his tone. “I’ve never cared about anyone so much in my life.”

With just the two of you here, the atmosphere crackled with an electrifying tension, each heartbeat echoing in the silence as you teetered on the edge of something unspoken yet undeniable.

“Well,” you whispered, your injured hand reaching out to touch his chest, your fingers tracing the contours of his shirt as if seeking reassurance, “maybe I do too. Maybe I do have feelings for you.”

A sigh, almost a mix of a moan and relief, escaped Hunter's lips at your words. “Come here to me,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

Without hesitation, you closed the distance between the pair of you, your lips meeting his in a somewhat long-awaited embrace. Hunter's arms enveloped you, one hand cradling your body with a firm yet gentle touch, while the other slid to the back of your head, holding you close with a tenderness that made your heart flutter as his fingers tangled in your hair.

Lifting you, you're placed on top of the crate once again, Hunter sandwiched between your legs as you both savor the quiet and serene moment. Your bitterness had vanished, replaced with the soft taste of his tongue dancing with yours. An alcoholic tang.

For a moment, all the tension, all the longing and arguing melted away as you molded into each other, lost in the sweetness of the kiss and the warmth of each other's embrace. “Hunter,” you whimper breathlessly.

You hoped the others wouldn’t come back for a while.

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 6 months

Text

Murder Daddy Kinktober 2023 Day 17 - Why do you run, only to let me catch you? Din Djarin x Reader

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Please heed these warnings and the warnings put in place on each individual fic and chapter. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact. Specific Warnings: PiV sex, unprotected sex, mutual pining, grogu being a sessy bitch, blood, addiction mentions, addiction, oral F&M recieving, Whiny Din Supremacy.

Graphics made by me Thank you again to @beefrobeefcal @clawdee and @pastelnap for beta-ing! Read on AO3 Please consider checking out my ko-fi or patreon if you want to support me.

Why do you run, only to let me catch you?

Your relationship – if you could even call it that – with Din Djarin is a complex one, and one you love to hate, or hate to love. It’s been too long now that those lines don’t really exist anymore. There’s a passion in your chest reserved only for him, but to call it love would be a disservice, what you shared with the most feared bounty hunter in the system is something much more than that.

But it’s been at least a Standard Year since you last caught a glimpse of polished Beskar, a sight that set your heart racing like a jump to light speed. You’d heard of his exploits alongside Bo-Katan , and that of his adopted son Din Grogu, and how the three of them took down Moff Gideon and reunited the Mandalorian people.

But, as much as hearing those feats make you somewhat proud of the Beskar clad menace, it only makes you yearn for him more. You’re lost in thought when the droid in front of you snaps you out of it.

“Miss?”

The chaotic roar of the casino comes back to you in a flash, you’d been deep in your own thought spiral you had cut out everything but the image of a silver-clad predator from your mind as you yearned for the thrill of the chase.

The table is looking at you expectantly as you realize you’d slipped off into a daydream, it was your hand. You study the purple skinned Twi’lek opposite you with a smirk, he’s hiding it well, but he’s panicking. You look back to your hand. You’re currently holding eight cards, between the minus 6 modifier and the rest, you’re sitting pretty at seventeen.

You could stand, and hope that your opponent goes bust but there’s no fun in playing this game safe. Especially when this is all the thrill you live for now that your cat and mouse days with Din Djarin are over.

You let your fingertips hover over your side deck, drawing out the moment as you eye up the ten-thousand credit pot on the table. You close your eyes, snatching the card from the deck and you can’t keep your poker face up when you draw a three.

The Twi’lek across from you swears and stands with such force it spills his Spotchka cocktail over the table and you quickly scoop up the credits, protecting your winnings from the hazy blue liquid. The casino hushes around you and you look up from your pile of riches to see what has everyone on edge.

Then you see him.

Shining Beskar, tattered, flowing black cloak, blaster on his hip as the lacquered black T of his visor bores into you. Your blood runs cold, then burns hotter than the binary suns when you see him. A broad smile stretches across your lips. You’re not dressed for a fight, nor a chase, with ridiculously high heels and a tight sequined, green bodycon dress that was not meant for running. Time seems to still as you drop the credits back on the table. The clink of metal-on-metal deafening in the otherwise silent casino.

Mando tilts his head to the side, just enough to issue the challenge. You take a deep breath, formulating your escape as you see him reach for his blaster.

I can take you in warm, or I can take you in cold.

Those first few words uttered to you as he had you pinned over the bar of a cantina on Tatooine replay in your head as you wink at the Beskar-clad menace. Heat pools in your core as you remember how it felt to be pinned by such a strong, confident man.

You kick off your heels, snatching them up before diving through the crowd. You’re sprinting through the main hall, bare feet slapping against the smooth flooring, making you slip and slide as you hear the unmistakable spur-like clink of metal on metal as Mando gives chase.

You barge through the chaos of Canto Bight, drinks fly as you blindly frisbee a tray at Mando, he bats it away with ease as he breaks into a run, forgoing the initial long, loping strides. You dash through the service entrance, following a waitress before the security door closes. The sound of Beskar pounding against Durasteel as Mando collides with the door has you grinning in premature triumph.

You slip through the halls, ducking confused looking waiters, a Bothan swearing at you as you make your way through to the back door. You break out into the neon-glare of the city and immediately slow your pace. You slip your heels back on and try to blend in with the denizens of Canto Bight.

The streets are packed, holographic screens of kids racing on Fathiers illuminate the facades of the various casinos and hotels. It’s a big race, you should know, you’ve got a lot of money on Skystrider tonight.

Maybe I’ll get lucky a second time tonight?

You think to yourself as you lament the credits you had left behind. You just know the Twi’lek you beat would have taken the winnings in the confusion.

But there was a bigger prize at stake now, one that you were determined to win.

“You’re a hard woman to find.”

Mando’s modulated voice growls from over your shoulder. You don’t react, keeping up your purposeful stride as you weave in and out of the throng of bodies. The clink of his suit loud in your ear, you can feel his presence behind you like a heavy weight on your back.

“Was starting to think you’d forgotten about me Mando, way to make a girl feel unwanted.”

You purr as you feel a gloved hand brush the small of your back, you stop abruptly, making Mando crash into your back and you cry out. You give your best performance, letting out a terrified wail that has people turning to look at the way you cower away from the Mandalorian.

“Help he’s assaulting me, please!”

You turn on the spot, clutching at your chest as you back away from him. Mando halts as his visor scans the now antagonistic crowd around him. You wink and poke out your tongue as a man steps between you.

“Hey, tin-can, leave the lady alone.”

“She’s quarry, get out of my way.”

The man looks over his shoulder at you and you give him the waterworks, eyes pleading as you fight to keep the smile off your face.

“Heard that excuse before, just because you’re some hot shot Mando doesn’t mean you can treat a lady like that.”

The other man squares up to Din and you almost hang around to watch the pissing match, but you know you must take every advantage you can get. You take a tentative step back, Mando’s visor tilting to watch your movements as the other man keeps blustering on about honor and some other chivalrous shit. You blow Mando a kiss as you slip your heels off again.

The world blurs around you as you sprint as fast as your legs can carry you, neon lights, steam from exhaust vents, people of all races and creeds whipping by as you feel your lungs burn and you step on something sharp, but the adrenaline keeps the pain at bay.

You hear blaster fire behind you and wince a little at the fact you might have just got an innocent man killed.

There are no innocent partygoers on Canto Bight.

You think to yourself as you reach the spaceport. Your entire body trembles from overexertion as you stumble into the hangar that houses your X-wing. Your definitely, legitimately sourced X-Wing, and definitely not the one you won from a Sabacc game with a gullible young pilot.

You chuckle to yourself at the memory, opening the cockpit of your fighter until you look around the hangar and see a Mandalorian Class Gauntlet in the next bay over.

That wasn’t there when I landed.

Your stomach drops and you hear a soft modulated huff from the hangar door. Your head snaps up and you see the silhouette of the bounty hunter illuminated by the vibrant, neon rainbow of light bleeding in from the street.

You throw your heels onto the floor and launch yourself into the pilot’s seat, you begin your pre-flight checks but none of the lights or displays come online. You sigh, laughing breathily as you realize he’s done something to immobilize your ship. You have no idea how he knew this was yours, you’re pretty sure it’s still registered under the name Antilles.

You let yourself catch your breath for a moment as the clink of Beskar grows louder with every step. You try to think of a way out of this, some distraction, or final gambit to worm your way out of his clutches, but it’s futile. You’re backed into a corner.

“Alright, you’ve got me. If I promise to be good, could you forgo the carbonite? I break out every time.”

“I’m not stupid, you’d just find a way out of your restraints and gut me in my sleep.”

You shrug, you can’t blame him for that, you did shank him in his sleep the last time you promised to be good when he caught you on Endor. You can still hear the howl of pain as you disappeared into the undergrowth as he pulled the vibroknife – his vibroknife – out of his thigh.

“Fine, but I’m not moving, you’re dragging me onto that ship. I winded myself with all that running, and I think I’ve lost a lot of blood.”

You babble as you look down at the crimson liquid pooling in your cockpit. You chuckle as you feel your head spin, fractals of light crack like shattering Transparisteel across your vision as you let your head loll back onto the headrest.

“What are you-?” Mando asks as he climbs the ladder attached to the cockpit, “Dank Farrik!” He swears as he hurries to pick you up. You laugh to yourself, bemused by the way he seems to care about whether you were hurt.

“Thought you could bring me in hot, or bring me in cold?” You slur as you wrap your arms drunkenly around Mando’s neck, leaning into the cool Beskar of his chest. You breathe in the scent of Beskar, oil, and something like citrus as your vision fades to black.

~*~

You blink awake to a brightly lit hold. You hiss as the white light burns into your eyes, the sound of air recyclers humming all around you a telltale sign you were on ship, likely out of atmosphere already.

“Kriff.”

You groan as you close your eyes, you guess you’re on Mando’s ship, the Gauntlet you saw in the hangar most likely. You take in slow, steadying breaths as you try and figure out your next move. A small gurgle from beside you has you rolling your head to the side, slowly opening your eyes to the sweet little face of the little green kid Mando drags across space with him.

“Kiddo!” You cry and the little guy lights up at the sound of your voice. His large pointy ears perk up and his mouth parts open in joy as he scurries over to you, hopping up on the cot with ease and burying himself in your side as he coos softly against your chest. You smile as you feel something thin and rectangular slip under you on the cot.

“Missed you too buddy, old man’s still dragging you around the galaxy with him?”

The kid hums in a positive affirmation as he babbles away. You get hints of intention from him, like ghosts of thoughts brushing against your mind as he “talks” away at you.

“Grogu?”

Din calls from the cockpit and you sit up in the cot, the impromptu reunion with your secret best friend cut short as you watch Din freeze in the doorway to the hold.

“Get away from him.” Din’s voice is impossibly low, even through the modulator. You’ve never heard him this pissed before.

“Hey, he was the one to instigate this mutinous friendship, not me!”

You frown at the Beskar menace and cross your arms over your chest, Grogu, as you have always known him, follows suit. He plops himself down on the cot next to you and crosses his tiny little arms across his chest before grunting unhappily at his guardian.

“What do you mean friendship?”

“How many times have you gotten me this far Mando, and left me alone in your ship while you slept or got supplies?”

“How should I-?”

“Twenty-seven times, twenty-eight if we count the time I had you tied up-.”

“Naboo doesn’t count.” Din hisses as he leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms so that you are all in some strange, mirrored standoff.

“Fine, but my point being, kiddo’s curious, and you’re a heavy sleeper.”

“I am not.”

“So, you don’t remember when we played Don’t wake the sleeping Nerf and covered you with forty-six different pieces of junk from around the ship, including the Darksaber?”

“What are you-?”

“Oh, kriff kiddo, he really did sleep through that.”

Grogu laughs, an angelic little sound that makes your cheeks burn with how much you’re smiling at him. Mando stands there, rage rolling off him in waves as he tries to figure out what to say.

“Hey, Mando?” You ask, your tone softer this time as you realize you’re more likely to push him away if you keep teasing him.

“What?”

“You ever figure out my real name?”

“Your real name? No. Why?”

“Just curious, you got my puck on you?”

“Of course.” He grumbles, as if it’s insulting for you to have even asked, before bringing up the holographic image of you. Four statements swirl around the image, and you smile as you read them off in your head.

Whyte Phantom – Thirty Thousand Credits – Exclusive contract.

The final statement is a name.

“Wanna see my identity card?” You ask rhetorically as you pull it up from the datapad the kid had slipped you before his dad came in. Din’s head tilts at the sight of it, before turning to look at Grogu who is pointedly looking anywhere but his dad.

Din grumbles something under his breath as he steps into the hold, head dipping low to read the datapad.

“But that’s? You’re?”

“I put the bounty on myself, yup.”

“Why?”

The question catches you off-guard, you don’t really know yourself, other than you thought it would be a way to ward off the crippling despair you felt every time you walked through the streets of Coruscant. To combat the loneliness in your soul that festers in the darkness of a post-Empire-pre-utopian galaxy. The galaxy that has war veterans dying of Spice addictions while places like Canto Bight prosper as if nothing ever changed.

You could say that, but you won’t, that would require inner strength you just don’t have. So, you quip instead.

“Thought it was kinda hot, having one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy chase me?”

You flash him a practiced, perfect smile and you wait for the anger to come, bracing yourself for violence or harsh words.

“Fine.”

The Mandalorian walks over to your cot and picks up Grogu, moving wordlessly as he scoops him up and takes him up into the cockpit. You curse to yourself quietly as you rub your tired eyes. You were so close to telling him the truth, revealing yourself to the most closed-off person in this damned galaxy.

You lie back down on the cot and take a look at your foot. You smile at the smooth skin, no doubt the kid has healed you with his magic little claws. You can almost hear the conversation between them, Grogu would have insisted on using the force to heal you, Din would have argued against it, you deserved to heal slowly for being such a brat.

You feel Grogu’s mind brush against yours and you get two clear feelings flash through in your mind, his dad, and the intention to speak.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this, kid.

You think back, pushing your intent towards the cockpit. Grogu simply responds with a second, stronger intention, talk to him.

You sigh to yourself as you feel his little brainwaves dim as he clearly drifts off to sleep. You rub your hands over your eyes and decide to look for the fresher, and some clean clothes.

~*~

An hour later you hover outside the cockpit door, trying to decide if you should go in or not. You’re about to press the call button when the door hisses open in front of you. Mando charges through, seemingly not noticing you until he’s crashing his chest plate against your nose.

“Son of a Wompa!” You cry out as you feel your nose pop, blood gushes down your face and onto the soft cotton shirt you’d fished out from the storage bins. You stumble backwards and feel yourself pitching backwards, your head spinning as you wait for the inevitable crash of your body on the metal grating.

But Mando saves you from the fall, pulling you up into a loose embrace as he stops you from hurting yourself further.

“Maker, you’re a menace.” He grumbles through the modulator as his hands linger on your biceps.

“Yeah, well maybe you should watch where you’re going.”

“Kriff, this was a mistake.”

Din growls as he releases you and turns to walk back into the cockpit. You curse inwardly as you catch his wrist before he can move.

“Wait,” You growl, guilt and frustration making your stomach turn, “Please, can we talk?”

Din looks over his shoulder at you, giving you the perfect view of the profile of his helmet. Not for the first time you wonder what he looks like under there.

“Fine.”

You expect him to pull out of your grip – which he does – but what you don’t expect is the way his gloved hand falls to rest between your shoulder blades, steering you back towards the cot. He expects you to sit but you gesture for him to take a seat instead. He sits up straight, broad hands splayed on his knees as he follows you with his visor as you pace in front of him.

“So, I put the bounty on my head because I needed something in my life that wasn’t death, pain, suffering, or losing my mind to the poisons of gambling, Spice, and liquor.”

“Go on.”

You pause, looking down at the crimson spill of blood on the stolen t-shirt. You drag the back of your hand across the wet smear on your top lip and let out a soft sigh.

“I ran circles around the first six bounty hunters, and it was getting boring, I was considering calling it off,” You continue pacing, wringing your hands on the hem of the t-shirt that barely covers your ass, “Then, you come along, Din kriffing Djarin, one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy.”

Din is silent but you see him shift, sitting up a little straighter at your harsh words of scornful praise.

“And the chase began, you were always so close, often a step or two ahead, and it was like I was breathing fresh air after having only ever known the stale, recycled air of a space station my whole life.”

Din turns his head, the action jarring as you realize he’s avoiding your gaze, you can almost imagine him blushing under that helmet and the thought alone makes heat flutter under your skin.

“And by the fourth time, on Coruscant, you became my own personal blend of Spice.”

You stop pacing, waiting for Din to say something, anything. He sits, still looking away from you and you shake your head. You’re barking up the wrong tree, you’ve kriffed up yet another thing in your life.

But this was by far the most pain you’d ever endured, spilling your guts to a man you had no right feeling anything for. It feels like your skin is positively charged, tremors rocking you as you fight the urge to cry, your chest tight and painful as you feel the binding sting of rejection heavy and constricting.

“Look, just forget it, space me, drop me off at the nearest system, whatever. I’ll get your credits transferred now. You won’t have to see me again.”

You pull up your datapad and through blurry eyes you close the contract, the credits transferring instantly. You turn away, making for the fresher once more, you need to set your nose and clean up. You also need to cry, and you weren’t going to make yourself look any more pathetic in front of him than you already had.

Your skin is on fire, nervous sweat beading on your brow as your skin itches and tingles. Pain rocks through your body as you force the sobs down, just a few more steps and you can cry before wresting your bleeding and broken heart – or whatever is left of it – back into submission.

A Spice addiction can’t be that bad surely?

You joke morbidly to yourself as you reach the fresher door, it slides open just as you hear the spur-like clink of Beskar behind you.

“Wait.”

You halt in your tracks, heart threatening to burst from your chest as you feel him looming behind you. Two armor-clad arms wrap around your waist and pull you back against him, the cool press of Beskar on your flushed skin is blissful.

“I don’t want you to go.”

His voice is so soft, barely above a whisper that you almost miss it through the modulator.

“What?”

“Let me fix your nose, then we should talk, for real this time.”

You turn in his grip and look up into the glossy black “T” of his visor. You can’t see his face, but you can see the way his chest is heaving, the way his arms are wrapping around you like the moment he loosens off you’ll disappear.

Can you blame him?

You think to yourself as you realize that every time you managed to escape, it was harder and harder for you to leave. Not because you had grown bored of the chase – no quite the opposite – you were afraid that with every time you left the chances of him giving up on you grew. One day he was going to stop coming for you.

And for a year he did.

“Ok.” You say softly as you let him steer you into the fresher, he hoists you up before setting you down on the edge of the Durasteel sink. He removes his gloves, stuffing them in the back of his belt before readying himself.

“This’ll hurt.”

Din warns you as he lines himself up in front of you. He slots between your thighs without hesitation, and you regret not stealing a pair of his boxer briefs to slip on under the t-shirt. You had thought that was crossing a line into his privacy. But now, as your bare, embarrassingly wet core is but millimeters from his crotch, you really wish you had.

“Ready?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. Din braces himself a little closer again and you hiss through your teeth as his strong, warm fingers snap your broken nose back into place.

“There you go,” his modulated voice is soft as he cups your cheeks with his impossibly broad hands, his fingertips ghosting your hairline as he turns your head back and forth with meticulous care for his handiwork, “Should heal up just fine.”

He starts to pulls away from your face, but you capture his wrists in your hands. You gently pull on his wrists and guide them to your hips. His chest heaves as you hear his breathing speed up through the modulator and you squeeze your thighs around his waist, pulling him closer. You feel the heat prickle over your skin as your drenched core presses against his crotch. You gasp as you feel him twitch in his flight suit against you.

“What are you doing?”

“What I should have done on Naboo.” You breathe as you gently unclasp his cloak, fingers trembling as you pull down the neck of his flight suit, baring a thin strip of tan skin. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and press a delicate, feather-light kiss to his exposed skin.

You don’t know what to expect, but the soft, whimpering moan that crackles through his modulator is more than you bargained for. You arch up into him, nipples pebbling as the thin fabric of his blood-soaked shirt does little to mute the cold press of Beskar against your skin.

“Maker.” Din whines again as you latch onto his skin, laving your tongue over his pulse point as you pull the collar down further, you nip lightly at his skin as you grind your core against him. He slowly pushes up the hem of the oversized t-shirt and as his fingertips reach the swell of your ass. He grinds forward aggressively, and you can tell he’s fully hard now. He leans back and tilts his helmet to the side in a silent question.

“Didn’t think stealing your underwear was the right thing to do.”

“So, you just decided to go commando?”

“What can I say? I like the freedom, besides the synthetic silk of my thong was starting to chafe.”

Din swears in another language, you assume Mando’a, before laughing softly, he presses the side of his helmet against your cheek, and you are reminded of the way Lothcats headbutt to show affection.

“We don’t have to do anything,” You say softly as you slowly pull away, moving the collar back up to cover his tantalizing skin, “I just needed to touch you, just once.”

“I want you.”

You pull back and look into the deep depths of his visor and you nod slowly, you place your hands on either side of his helmet, nestling in the concave cheeks. He flinches and you feel his hands twitch on your thighs, but you shake your head slowly before leaning in to place a soft, lingering kiss over where you guess his lips are.

“Bed. Now.”

Din barks as he picks you up with ease, one arm wrapped around your waist as he strides through into the crew quarters. He uses his free hand to turn off the lights on the control panel next to the fresher door. The cavernous space is pitch black as Din lays you back down on the cot.

“Din what are you doing?” You giggle softly, anticipation making you giddy.

“Want to taste you,” Din murmurs as you hear the sound of Beskar buckles and plates sliding over one another. He sets them down gently somewhere near the bottom of the cot, followed by the soft sound of his flight suit dropping to the floor, “Need you.”

“Din, you have me.”

You feel him settle between your knees and Maker is he broad. Then you hear the soft hiss-click of his helmet coming off. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing the significance of him taking his helmet off in your presence.

“I won’t look, I promise,” You whisper as you feel him covering over you, his strong hands roam your body, mapping out your dips and curves.

“I trust you. You could have taken my helmet off many times over the years, and yet, you did not.”

His voice hits you like a long-lost melody, silken and sweet with a burning richness to it that makes you whine and keen up into him. Your hips roll against his length, and you gasp as his tip glides through your folds.

“Can I taste you, please?” You ask, suddenly feeling bold in the darkness.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to.” Din suddenly sounds bashful, and you smile to yourself as he shows you the side of him you’ve only caught in glimpses when he thought you were out of earshot. The softness he shows Grogu, the care for his adopted son. This is different, unlike those interactions entirely, but the man beneath the Beskar is finally laid bare, for you.

“I want to Din, please.”

“Anything, take anything you want.”

Your heart swells and your pussy clenches around nothing at his words. You blindly reposition, careful to keep your eyes shut, until you’re kneeling between Din’s knees. You run your hands over the thick expanse of his muscular thighs as you gently, teasingly move towards his cock.

Your hands brush over neatly kept curls at the base of it, and you smile to yourself as you use your hands to blindly size it up.

“Interesting.” You hum to yourself and you feel Din shift under you.

“What? Do you not like it? Is it too small?”

“Din, shh,” You coo as you cup his balls with one hand, making your way to the base of his shaft with your lips, “Just expected you to be painfully large, you give off some serious big dick energy strutting around in your Beskar like you own the entire Maker-be-damned galaxy.”

“So, you like it?” He huffs out, squirming at your praise as you flatten your tip against his soft foreskin, licking a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock.

“I think it’s perfect, you’re perfect.”

You wrap your lips around his tip, pressing your tongue against his slit, circling around his tip, lapping up the pre-come before sinking down his length.

He pants and whines under you as you feel him shift under you, he cups your jaw with one hand as he props himself up on his elbow with the other. You feel his eyes on you, you expect his night vision to be pretty good at this point, but you keep your eyes clamped shut.

“You’re beautiful.”

You groan at his praise and wish you could open your eyes, to look up at him as you choke on his cock. You sink all the way down, you breathe through your nose, inhaling the musky scent of his cock and you let out a soft whine as he nudges against the back of your throat.

“Kriff.” Din grunts as he trembles underneath you, his breathing is shallow as he twitches and whines at every particularly deep bob of our dead.

“Stop.”

He growls aggressively as he sits up, moving you off his cock before pushing you onto your back. He settles between your legs, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he buries his mouth in your dripping folds.

“So sweet.” He murmurs into your skin as you feel the coarse rake of facial hair on your outer folds. His lips find your clit and you cry out when his tongue licks a stripe up from your core to your clit. Everything about him is broad, his tongue laves over your swollen bundle of nerves and you near lose it.

“Din, kriff your mouth feels so good.” You pant as your hips cant up, you glide your fingertips in his hair, not thinking to check if he even had hair. You’re met with soft, damp curls that you immediately twist into your grip. You pull him closer, letting him devour you with abandon. His tongue is unrelenting as two thick fingers come to press against your core.

“Please.”

Is all you can say as you need him inside you, you’re already so close and you want to feel him inside you however possible.

“So kriffing tight.”

Din breathes incredulously as he buries his fingers to the knuckle, his lips find your clit once more and he sucks. You bite down hard on your lip as you fight the urge to scream. Pleasure assaults you like a solar flare, permeating every cell of your body in violent waves as you come hard around his fingers. You’re delirious as you sob through your aftershocks, his thick fingers finally stilling as you tremble from overstimulation.

“Can I have you, please?”

“Yes.”

You hear the lewd sound of him sucking his fingers clean before he crawls back over your body, wet fingers trail over your left nipple and you chase the touch, arching up off the cot.

“So pretty like this.”

Din hums softly as he rolls your nipple between his calloused thumb and forefinger, making you squeal in overstimulated pain and pleasure as he lines up his tip at your core with the other hand. He eases in and you pant at the delicious stretch. He enters you with ease, yet makes your walls flutter and clamp around him as he fits you snugly.

“Kiss me.”

You plead. His lips crash into yours without hesitation and you moan into his mouth as he starts to move, rolling his hips into you like he knows exactly how you like it. You tease your tongue over his bottom lip and his tongue darts out to meet yours.

Your tongues meet outside of your mouths, sliding over one another in a lewd dance as his thrusts pick up speed. You’re both panting hard when Din seals his lips over yours. His tongue presses into your mouth as you dig your nails into his back. You press together, skin to skin, nails digging little crescent circles in the broad expanse of his back.

Your lips part only to gasp for air before you both dive back in for more, more, more. One of your hand moves to fist into the curls at the nape of his neck, the other drops to your clit. You want to come for him one more time, you want him to feel you squeeze him tight.

“Din, going to come.” You pant against his lips and he groans as he picks up the pace, railing you like it’s the last time.

“Come for me Cyar’ika, let me feel you.”

You do as your told, for the first time in your life, and you come hard. Pleasure seeps into your very bones as fire dances down your spine. Your clit throbs as you press hard circles into it. You feel Din stutter inside you and you feel him start to pull out but you hook your ankles around the small of his back.

“Come inside me.”

You whisper into the crook of his ear as you pull him deep into you.

“Maker!”

Din roars, no longer caring about noise it seems, as he pounds into you, it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You’re whimpering in his ear as his desperate grunts and moans fill your own. He stills inside you, buried to the hilt as he twitches inside you, his spend coating your walls as you pant in his ear.

“Are you ok? I didn’t hurt you?”

Din’s voice is heavy with concern, his breath fanning over your slick skin in soft puffs and you wrap yourself around him like an Ewok.

“No, no you’ve never hurt me, Din.”

You breathe as you nuzzle into his neck, you leave soft, open-mouthed kisses against his skin. You never want this moment to end.

“Come on, we need to shower.”

“Nooooo,” You whine, “Just a few more minutes, don’t want to lose you.”

The words escape from your lips before you can stop them; and Din huffs a short, barking laugh against your skin as he presses a soft kiss to your temple as he pulls out.

“You can’t lose me, I’ve been tracking you for too long, I know you.”

“And I know you. Forever.”

You say, knowing those words in Mando’a means much more than in Galactic Basic. Din presses a soft kiss to your lips, neither acknowledging them nor refuting them. But there’s no rejection in his silence, just a mutual understanding that you are both in this for real.

“Five more minutes.”

Din grunts in submission as he settles on the small cot, pulling you against his bare chest as he places soft kisses to your hairline as you both drift off into the best sleep either of you could ever remember.

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153 notes · View notes

iliumheightnights · 8 months

Note

Cal Kestis getting a nice back massage from reader, rudely interrupted by BD-1

"Ugh. This is...so nice."

Cal was lying on his stomach on the bed. His shirt was off and bunched up on the floor. M/n was gently, yet sternly, pressing his hands into the other man's skin.

"You are so knotted up. I'd ask what's got you so tense but I feel like we both know the answer to that." He grinned as he continued to give his boyfriend a massage.

"Hey, I don't wanna hear it. You're not the one dangling off buildings most of the time."

"And every time you do, you make me get more and more grey hairs."

"Eh. Just adds to your looks."

"Ass." M/n playfully pushed Cal, the other man rolling onto his back to give him a decent look. He moved his hands to hold M/n's sides. The other man leaned in to give him a kiss.

However before their lips could meet, a little beeping sound was heard. "Bwoop?" The metallic clinking sound of Bd's feet could be heard hopping onto the nearby table. The little droid looked at them curiously.

Of course, that killed any sort of mood. M/n laughed and pulled back. Cal on the other hand let out a sigh and rolled his eye. "Yup. Hi, Bd. Nice timing."

"Bwoo!" The droid didn't seem to notice what they had interrupted.

#cal kestis #star wars jedi fallen order #star wars #jedi fallen order #x male reader #x male!reader #male reader #male!reader

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fromasgardandback · 10 months

Text

Not A Damsel In Distress

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Princess!Reader

description: A Sith Lord kidnaps you and you’re saved from a handsome Jedi Master.

word count: 1.3k

masterlist | oneshots

It was another typical day on your planet. You were a princess of the kingdom, a loving ruler to your people, and a kind-hearted woman who everyone adored. You were fearless, a fighter, and a smart mouth when need be. Your elders did not like that, but who are they to comment when you were the one to end the civil war they started? You knew your place and what your duties were. You took your job very seriously, but when a powerful Sith Lord comes to your home planet and demands to either destroy every last living creature or take you, you did not hesitate to follow.

“You are a fool if you think that by killing me, you would be gaining my people and their planet. They are fierce, loyal, and honorable people.” You started fighting against the chains that held you to the cold, condensation concrete wall.

“And you princess are naïve. We did not take you because of your people and their “loyalty”. Your home planet drives on a powerful force that preserves life forms. You were in the way, we took you. Your home planet is blowing up as we speak.” One of the generals posted outside your cell talked back to you. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his stupidity.

“You are a fool. They will fight to the death to protect the given right to our natural elements. Nor do you know how to use them. You would not be able to use them correctly or to their full potential. Only certain people who are still alive on the planet know how to use these natural elements properly.” You spat at them, a slight smirk curling at the corner of your lips. “That would be such a shame to kill everyone, including the people you need to use the tool you’re looking for. Oh, but alas, you’ll never find them. Such a pity.” You smirked harder when the door opened to reveal the general standing outside your cell with an angry look.

“Back away, general. We need her alive.” Another voice followed, soon to take the form of a tall, older, gray-haired man. “Count Dooku. A pleasure to meet you, princess.” He creepily stared down at you with a serial killer smile.

“Count Dookie. Nice to meet you too. Say, which one of these bozos learned their wits from you. I can smell the desperation since we landed.” You smiled innocently as if you had not just insulted the Sith Lord.

“Keep it up. You won’t be showing your quick wits much longer. I don’t need you conscious to get what I need from you.” With that comment, he turned and walked away from your cell. The loud, metal-clinking doors closed, and as night settled in, you started to lose faith in someone coming to rescue you.

“Master Kenobi, we need your help. Our princess was taken by the Imperial Empire. We have valuable natural elements of our planet that they want. Please help us.” The kingdom elders spoke desperately in the hologram message R2D2 played.

“We need to find the Princess, Master. She is highly acclaimed and knowingly fighting against the Imperial armies.” Anakin said crossing his arms, looking at the hologram.

“I know the Princess personally. She is a fighter. Tell your men we are ready to leave.” Obi-Wan sternly said, nodding towards Anakin. What Obi-Wan didn’t tell Anakin was how he knew the Princess. They met on Corasaunt when she came to talk to the council about having Jedi assistance. She was fierce and quick-witted, and even though it was against the Jedi Code, Obi-Wan fell for her. Rather fast that it surprised him.

Obi-Wan, Anakin, and the 501st landed their ships in the docking bay of the Imperial ship. Anakin ordered Rex to go search the area for any known threat and the two Jedi searched for the kidnapped Princess. You sat there waiting to be rescued, listening to the droids continuously say “roger roger” over their intercoms every time they got an order. It became a game that each time they responded with the double word. Although you forced yourself to find some peace and solace in your cell. Besides th droids being completely annoying and useless, it was rather quiet. A little while longer you heard the electric sound of lightsabers being used down the hall.

“Secure the Princess. They’ve come to save her.” A general droid said to the other lower life form droids.

“Roger Roger.” The comment only made you laugh, and a little too loudly.

“Come here, Jedi.” They said going to shoot them, but instead came falling to the floor.

“I’ll get the Princess. Find Count Dooku.” Obi-Wan instructed Anakin.

“Yes, Master,” Anakin responded leaving. Obi-Wan used the Force to open the cell doors and release you of your chains.

“Master Kenobi. How’d you find me?” You smiled thankfully, watching him release you.

“Princess Y/N, Sith Lords are our specialty,” Obi-Wan smirked cutting your ties loose. You rubbed your wrists where the chains had been and followed Obi-Wan out.

“Fighting is mine.” You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck, and hugging him closely. “Thank you for saving me, Obi. I knew it would be a Jedi. I’m delighted that it was you.” You tried to fight back the blush creeping onto your cheeks.

“I couldn’t let my best girl be taken forever, now could I?” He smugly smiled. You rolled your eyes at his playful antics, a side only you got to see.

“Let’s get out of here, I practically know my way around this forsaken ship.” You followed behind him. Once you got into the elevator and no cameras, people, or droids around, you sneakily leaned up and kissed his cheek. His face started to turn a shade of red as the doors opened to reveal a disgruntled-looking Anakin. His hair was all over the place and he was slightly panting.

“Anakin, are you ok?” You asked him, tenderly looking out for your secret love’s Padawan.

“I am fine, Princess. Thank you for your concern.” Anakin nodded placing his lightsaber back on his belt. “I found Count Dooku.” Not long after his sentence, the Count came down the hall after Anakin, lightsaber in hand.

“Princess.” Dooku seethed. “A shame you must die for your actions here.”

“Ah, Count Dookie. Tell me, did you wake up one day and decide to be an evil white-out raisin with no personal life but following orders as a pitiful man because you have no backbone or what?” You said putting your hands on your hips. Both Anakin and Obi-Wan tried to keep in their chuckle, but both failed to do so laughing at your quickness.

“You think you’re smart, Princess. I will not hesitate to destroy you.” But what he didn’t take into account was that your insult was a distraction that had the Count flustered long enough for Obi and Anakin could apprehend him.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Obi-Wan commented looking at the sky on your balcony overlooking the ocean on your home planet.

“It is stunning. I wake up to this each morning.” You said looking up at him. “You could enjoy this view every morning too. I told you, you were welcome anytime.” You gently placed a fallen hair behind his ear.

“I wish I could. It’s against the order, you know that.” Obi-Wan sadly looked down.

“Attachments are forbidden. Love is not an attachment, only a pure gift few get to indulge in. Indulge in it with me, even if it’s just for the night?” You pleaded with him, gently holding one side of his face in your hand.

“For you, I’d give up the order.” Obi-Wan closed the gap between the both of you. He held you close to his chest, kissing you deeper with years of emotion.

#sarah's specials #obi wan fic #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan fanfic #obi wan & anakin #obi wan x reader #obi wan imagine #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #princess #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader #star wars prequels #count dooku

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girl-next-door-writes · 4 months

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In My Life

Characters: Poe Dameron x reader

Summary: Taking a much needed break and joining the seasons festivities give Poe the opportunity to explore a connection he had been thinking about for a while.

Word Count: 1154 word

Prompt: Crowded party. Mutual pining. Tugging you closer by your waist.

A/N: This is the eighth of my Build-A-Festive-Fics so thank you to my very dear friend @kjs-s who put these prompts together for the lovely Poe.

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In the heart of the bustling city on the desert planet, a lively Cosmic Solstice celebration was unfolding at a crowded local cantina. Laughter resonated in the warm air, accompanied by the melodious clinking of glasses and the distant hum of starships passing overhead. Amidst the jubilant revellers, the charismatic resistance pilot Poe Dameron took a well-deserved break from the relentless pressures of warfare, savouring the tranquillity that prevailed on the quiet war front.

The cantina, decked out with holographic snowflakes and vibrant festive lights, served as a comforting refuge from the harsh realities of battle. As Poe navigated through the spirited crowd, his flight jacket adorned with subtle Cosmic Solstice-themed patches, he raised an eyebrow when he spotted you across the bar, clearly enjoying the festivities.

Observing you in this carefree moment was a rarity for him, and he couldn't help but be captivated by the sight of you letting your hair down, engaging in laughter with fellow comrades. The genuine joy reflected in your expression intrigued him, making him wonder about the source of your amusement and whether he could be the cause of such infectious delight that illuminated your face. Contemplating the idea of manoeuvring through the lively crowd to join your revelry, he hesitated, considering the potential dampening effect a superior officer crashing the festivities might have on your enjoyment. Instead, he stayed where he was, stealing glances at you but keeping his distance.

As Poe continued to watch you from a distance, he couldn't shake the magnetic pull of your infectious joy. Curiosity, a desire for connection and a great deal of alcohol, prompted him to make a decision. Determined to bridge the gap without disrupting the festive atmosphere, he summoned the cantina's droid bartender and discreetly handed over a holocommunicator. He asked the droid to deliver it to you alongside a festive cocktail.

Poe watched with bated breath as the droid delivered your surprise. The holographic snowflakes shimmered around you as a soft beep emanated from the holocommunicator now in your possession. Glancing at the device, you activated it to find a holographic message from Poe. A warm smile crossed his face as he extended a silent greeting, raising his glass in a subtle toast. The cantina crowd, unaware of the holographic exchange, continued their merriment, and the festive lights danced around you as you scanned the crowd with a soft smile playing on your lips, trying to spot the charismatic pilot.

Your eyes met his and, for a moment, the cantina seemed to quieten. A cheeky smirk adorned his face, and he raised an eyebrow suggestively, a playful expression that prompted an eye roll from you, accompanied by laughter. As a silent acknowledgment of gratitude for the drink he had orchestrated, you raised your glass in a subtle toast.

The shared moment lingered briefly, suspended in time, before the animated crowd closed in, obstructing your view of Poe. The ambient noise of the party once again enveloped you, marking the end of the fleeting connection. Despite the interruption, the memory of that brief interlude lingered, leaving you with a sense of intrigue and a smile that persisted in the midst of the bustling Cosmic Solstice celebration.

With an empty glass in hand, emboldened by the lingering warmth of alcohol, you found yourself scanning the lively crowd once more, fueled by a false sense of bravado. Amidst the jubilant revellers, a familiar figure emerged, and your feet guided you through the animated throng toward him.

Poe's eyes lit up with genuine excitement as he noticed your approach, his heart quickening its pace. In a spontaneous attempt to appear more presentable, he ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture not lost on you.

“I believe this belongs to you,” you said, holding up the holocommunicator.

A carefree smile graced Poe's face. "I was wondering where that had got to," he replied, reaching out to retrieve the device, his fingers lingering against yours.

“I bet you were.” You teased, clearly not buying his feigned innocence.

Engrossed in conversation, the two of you leaned closer to each other in order to be heard over the lively energy of the cantina. Soft, flirtatious words blended seamlessly with intense eye contact, creating an unspoken connection that resonated between you. 'Accidental' brushes of fingers, arms, and legs added a playful dimension to the dialogue, the physical contact growing progressively less subtle as the evening wore on.

As the Cosmic Solstice celebration continued to unfold, the vibrant energy of the cantina seamlessly synchronized with the palpable chemistry shared between you and Poe. The rhythmic beats of the music reverberated through the venue, pulsating from the floor and encouraging the patrons to surrender to its infectious beat. The festive melodies seemed to cast a spell, compelling the crowd to immerse themselves in the joyous atmosphere.

Numerous times, you found yourself caught in the sway of the music, your body instinctively responding to the rhythmic vibrations. The dancefloor beckoned, and your every step seemed guided by an unspoken invitation to join the lively celebration. As the Cosmic Solstice magic enveloped you, the desire to lose yourself in the dance became irresistible, a silent plea echoing through your being, tempting you to succumb to the enchanting allure of the rhythmic celebration.

Poe's smile deepened with a touch of satisfaction as he observed the subtle transformation in your demeanour. Reacting to the unspoken invitation of the music, he placed a hand on your waist and skilfully guided you through the animated crowd, carving out a space on the bustling dance floor reserved for the two of you. In that moment, words became unnecessary as the shared desire to dance spoke volumes.

The rhythmic pulse of the music enveloped both of you, orchestrating your movements as you willingly surrendered to the enchantment of the Cosmic Solstice celebration. Poe's gaze remained unwavering, a witness to every nuance of your dance, each step etched into the canvas of his memory.

Poe's hands rested confidently on your hips, their touch becoming a tactile connection that transcended the dance floor. With a wicked smile playing on his lips, he tugged you closer, the magnetic pull between you intensifying.

"Happy Cosmic Solstice," Poe hummed warmly in your ear, a gentle prelude to a moment that held promises of deeper connection. Pulling back ever so slightly, he captured your lips in a tender kiss, the warmth of the embrace hinting at a passion waiting to unfold. In that suspended moment, the cantina and its vibrant celebration faded into the background, leaving only the shared intensity between you.

As you both relished the sweet exchange, Poe couldn't help but feel grateful for choosing this particular night to take a break in that lively cantina. The connection forged in the dance and sealed with the kiss held the potential for something truly remarkable—a beautiful beginning to a journey that promised to be nothing short of amazing.

#Poe Dameron #Poe Dameron x reader #build a festive fic #gndw fic

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thedarlingdearestdead · 7 months

Text

I'm scared:

Summary: Obi Wan and reader are fellow Jedi who grew up together and are now both on the council. A trip to the halls of healing brings up some feelings...

Warnings: None, pretty fluffy, bit angsty, a bit of talk of violence but otherwise fairly normal.

Word count: 1,992

"Alright, council adjourned," Master Windu said, his deep voice resonating through the dimly lit chamber as he wrapped up the discussion on war plans. The Jedi Council members gathered around the large circular table began to rise from their seats, their expressions a mixture of solemnity and determination. As they dispersed slowly, the room buzzed with hushed conversations and the clinking of lightsabers being adjusted for the battles that loomed on the horizon.

You breathed a quiet sigh of relief, grateful for the respite. The weight of responsibility had been pressing on your shoulders for days now, and any moment of peace was a blessing. Hastily, you stood up from your chair, eager to leave the council chambers, but before you could make your escape, a firm grip closed around your arm. It was Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"Not so quick, Master L/N," he said, his voice calm and composed amidst the chaos. "You're scheduled for a medical check-up."

You frowned, puzzled. "Why do you know that, and I don't?"

Obi-Wan's blue eyes twinkled with a hint of amusement. "I had my own check-up this morning, and they mentioned your appointment to me."

"Isn't that a breach of doctor-patient confidentiality?" you grumbled, reluctantly following him out of the imposing council chamber and into the well-trodden corridors of the Jedi Temple.

He chuckled softly. "Not when the doctor is a busy droid."

"Very well, then, Kenobi," you said, resigned to your fate. “How was your appointment? Are you physically fit? Have you recovered from your very long list of injuries - broken ribs, fingers, fractured wrist, cracked skull, and blood poisoning?” You counted them on your fingers in jest.

Obi-Wan smiled wryly. "Just about. Enough to be cleared for active duty. How did you even find out about the ribs? Anakin swore he wouldn't tell."

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I suspect your Padawan isn't as tight-lipped as you might think."

"Mmmh," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement as he continued guiding you down the corridor.

"You don't need to escort me to the hospital wing, you know," you quipped. "I am perfectly capable of finding my way around the building that I've grown up in and inhabited all my life."

Obi-Wan appeared genuinely surprised at your protest. "I'm not escorting; I'm accompanying. I want to see whether you've recovered from the smashed kneecap, severe laser burns, concussion, and broken toes."

You couldn't help but wonder how he knew about the concussion. "Rex?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes."

You huffed in frustration as you arrived at the sterile entrance of the medical bay. Of course Rex had ratted you out, the gossiping fiend. You would be sure to give him a telling off later on. Once inside, you were promptly ushered into the scanning chamber. Through the transparent glass, you shot Obi-Wan a pointed look, and gestured for the droids to get the examination over with.

Master Che, the Jedi healer in charge of the medical bay, walked into the room with a holopad in hand, her brow furrowing as she registered Obi-Wan's unexpected presence. "I thought I dismissed you this morning! Force, I don't think I've ever seen you in here voluntarily.”

Obi-Wan's cheeks tinged with a faint blush, caught off guard by her remark, while you couldn't help but laugh at his expense. "I only came because you mentioned Master Y/N's appointment. I had to be sure she would keep it.”

"You're just as bad as each other," Master Che remarked, her tone a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "I thank you, Kenobi. Be assured I will not try to hold you here any longer.”

To everyone's surprise, Obi-Wan seemed unusually reluctant to leave. He hesitated, his eyes fixed on you. "I don't mind the wait.”

Master Che furrowed her brow, perplexed by this unusual behaviour but ultimately had more pressing matters to attend to. "Very well, then. Master Y/N, your knee looks to be healing well, but I would like to discuss your head injury with you. You really ought not to be back on missions so soon..."

You listened to her words, a feeling of frustration building within you. The war had demanded so much of the Jedi, and the weight of your duties often left you with little choice but to push your physical and mental limits. You exchanged a knowing glance with Obi-Wan, who stood nearby, his presence offering silent support.

You sighed, knowing that Master Che was right but also knowing that the urgency of the war often left no room or time for personal well-being. "I'll consider it, Master Che," you replied, offering her a small, weary smile.

Master Che nodded, her expression disapproving. "I do understand your persistence, Master Y/N. But you must remember that even Jedi have their limits.” This was not something you liked to be reminded of.

The medical bay's antiseptic aura couldn't conceal the impatience and turmoil which grew in your heart as the droids carried out their examinations. The air was heavy with the scent of bacta and the soft hum of machinery, and you couldn't help but feel like a wounded starship in need of repair. Obi-Wan, ever the silent sentinel, watched from outside the glass partition with a reassuring smile. You had always hated the halls of healing the both of you did whatever you could to avoid them, having spent far too long confined to these rooms in your youth to have the stomach for it as adults. Adults who had better things to do than lie down and worry about some minor bruises and scrapes.

After the droids completed their scans, you were freed from the sterile confines of the examination chamber. Master Che offered her final words of caution regarding your head injury, then returned to her duties. Clearly expecting to see you in a few days and resigned to your lack of personal care and self preservation. Obi-Wan fell into step beside you, waving cheekily to the doctor who thought even worse of his habits. He was a comforting presence amidst the uncomfortable halls, and it was reassuring not to be Master Che’s worst patient.

Walking together through the echoing corridors of the Jedi Temple, you both knew that these turbulent times and great battles tested your resolve like never before. Physically and mentally perhaps you both were too flippant about the effects that it could have on you. The war was a tempest, and navigating its treacherous waters required more than just lightsabers and Force abilities; it required the strength of bonds forged through hardship. Bonds which were strong between you and your companion.

Breaking the silence, you confided in Obi-Wan, your voice a quiet murmur. "I sometimes wonder if our efforts make a difference at all. I feel I’ve hit a cycle and gotten caught up in it. I spend all my time constantly on the way to the hospital.”

Obi-Wan's gaze met yours, his eyes a reflection of the galaxies of thought swirling within him. His hand brushed against yours, a subtle, wordless gesture of solidarity. “I prefer to think I am constantly evading it.”

“But you don’t.”

“I am constantly trying to evade it then.”

“But you agree? There is far too much of a need for the halls of healing these days.” Your journey ended as you reached the entrance of your chambers, and you turned to Obi-Wan, heart pounding with a blend of trepidation and longing. "Obi-Wan, there's something I must confess."

He regarded you with curiosity, his eyes glowing like the distant stars. "What is it, Y/N?"

“I’m scared. I know I ought not be, I know it is not the Jedi way, I know I should trust in the force, in the council, in so many things but…” You trail off and breathe deeply. It was Obi Wan, you could continue… “I find it all so difficult lately.”

You could see the conflict in his face. Your perfect Jedi trying to comprehend your crisis of faith. Obi-Wan did not say a word. Instead he turned more directly towards you. He was scanning your face making it grow hot. Making doubt and fear grow in you by the second. Would he tell on you? Was he disgusted? Shamed? Instead of recoiling or accusing you though, you found him growing closer to you.

And suddenly he was on you. Hands reaching to cup your cheeks and holding you as you melt in to his kiss, the world seemed to stand still. It was a moment filled with the echoes of countless stars, a revelation of love that had remained hidden amidst the tumult of war.

The weight of your fears and doubts melted away. It was as if the Force itself had guided you to this moment, because here you felt it. You had not known the reassurance and certainty of the force since the war began but in that moment it was as all consuming as his touch.

Obi-Wan's kiss was a declaration, a promise that he would be there for you, he was that blinding, cosmic, inexplicable thing that once you had called the force. His lips were warm and tender against yours, a testament to the depth of his feelings. You responded with equal fervour, your hands finding their way to his waist, pulling him closer as if to never let go.

The echoes of the Jedi Council meeting and the chaos of war plans faded into the background. The fear of battles, of death, of destruction dissipated. That you could handle, that you would suffer for the price of this man and the love you shared, a love that had grown silently but was now impossible to ignore. It was a love that defied the darkness of the galaxy and illuminated your path forward.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and with your hearts beating in sync, Obi-Wan's forehead rested against yours. His eyes bore into yours, filled with a light which told you he felt the same. He was all understanding, he was all yours now. "Y/N," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion, "I want you to know that you're never alone in this journey. We may face uncertainty, but together, we can find the light in even the darkest of times. You don’t have to be scared.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, not tears of fear or doubt, but tears of joy and gratitude. “I thought you would be horrified by me.”

He kissed your forehead gently, his embrace warm and protective. "I have not known peace from my fear for years, it has been my constant companion. But when I am with you… I feel the stillness and peace of the force that I have not known since the war began.”

As you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, you knew that the love you shared was a beacon of hope, a reminder that even in the midst of war, love could conquer fear and uncertainty. And as you gazed into each other's eyes, you were filled with a sense of peace and determination, ready to face whatever the future held, hand in hand.

Stepping into your chambers, hand in hand, he became a source of strength in a galaxy consumed by chaos. Together, you were prepared to face life's fiercest challenges, for your love was a bond that transcended duty and destiny, a love that would shine as brilliantly as the stars for all eternity. Or so you hoped…

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader #star wars fanfiction #star wars #clone wars #obi wan star wars #kenobi fanfic #general kenobi

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cinnamon-galaxies · 5 months

Text

Jealousy and Principles (Obi-Wan x reader)

Pairings: Obi-Wan x GenderNeutral!Reader

Warnings/Tags: Jealousy, light swearing, dispute

Summary: The reader is a former Jedi who's left the order many years ago! You and Obi-Wan are on a mission to obtain information from a high-ranking Separatist. In a cantina, which according to rumors is supposed to be his retreat, you decide to use advantage of your flirty skills which awakes jealousy in Obi-Wan.

Words: 1.4k

A/n: This is my first Obi-Wan x reader one shot. English isn't my first language so I'm sorry for any possible grammar or spelling mistakes! But I hope you enjoy it and let me know if you're interested in a part two!

~~~~~~~~~~

Thick, hot air hit you as you and Obi-Wan entered the cantina. The noise of loud voices talking over one another, laughing, and loudly clinking drinks was a stark contrast to the quiet outside on the near-empty streets of the small town on the Outer Rim planet you visited. You and Obi-Wan had a mission to complete, as there were rumors that this cantina was the home retreat of a high-ranking Separatist who was hiding information useful to the Republic.

“I think we should order a drink,” you said as you and Obi-Wan sat down at a table in one of the corners of the room.

Obi-Wan's eyebrows furrowed critically. But before he could say anything, you continued. "To blend in with the other guests."

Obi-Wan nodded in understanding. He didn't seem too keen on the idea because he knew you were someone who was likely to take a look too deeply into the glass. But after all, you were undercover. Disguised in civilian clothing, you might look like ordinary citizens but anyone who sat in a cantina without drinking anything gave a questionable impression—at least to the staff.

You looked around and raised your hand as you made eye contact with one of the waiter droids. His cylindrical form rolled towards your table and made a loud beeping noise.

“Two of those blue drinks, please,” you ordered and the droid beeped again and then rolled away.

"That guy over there with the gray jacket and the beard. That must be him," Obi-Wan stated, pointing with his chin at a small group of humans and aliens chatting and enjoying their drinks.

You followed his nod and located the group he was talking about. Your eyes scanned every single face, not only to identify the target, but also to check out his companions. They seemed inconspicuous. Like normal civilians. It was the same disguise you and Obi-Wan wore. But since you and Obi-Wan had both saved an image of the Separatist on your data pads, you knew exactly that this man, sitting in a group like a normal person, was unmistakably the target you were looking for.

"He looks much more attractive in real life than in the photo," you said jokingly, your eyes not leaving your target's frame. Tob be honest, he was surprisingly handsome. What a shame he was one of the bad guys, you thought.

By staring at the strange man, you didn't notice Obi-Wan grimacing. "I don't think that-" he started, but was interrupted by the arrival of the beeping waiter droid that brought your drinks.

“Thank you,” you smiled at the little droid as you took your drinks from his tray. They were way bigger than expected. Not as usual as in a small glass, but more like a whole cocktail. With a shallow smile on your lips, you toasted Obi-Wan and took the first sip. Your throat immediately burned as the strong liquid ran down your esophagus and you immediately felt even warmer than you already were in the hot canteen. Then your gaze slid back to the separatist and his handsome face. And that's exactly what gave you an idea. "I know how we can get information out if him," you stated.

Obi-Wan took his glass to his mouth as he listened.

“I’m going to seduce him,” you explained.

Obi-Wan paused his sip, on the verge of choking. “Excuse me?” he asked incredulously, feeling his heart beat going faster.

"You heard me right. If there's one thing that can influence a man, it's a charismatic, stupidly-faithful Y/G."

Obi-Wan, far from enthusiastic about the idea, didn't respond. The tension in him was obvious, but you didn't notice. You were far too convinced that your plan would be successful.

"Y/N-," Obi-Wan began, but by then you were already standing up, pushing the empty chair to the table and walking over to the Separatist.

Obi-Wan sighed. Clutching his drink tightly, he took a sip and watched you on the way to that man. He couldn't quite explain what he was feeling as he observed from a distance as you sat down next to the target and engaged in a flirtatious conversation. He struggled to reconcile the mission's necessity with the unsettling feeling that gnawed at his core. All of this felt so wrong to him. In many ways. Of course he was aware of the fact that you weren't a Jedi and haven't been for many years. So the rules of the order didn't apply to you. But the uncharted territory of your alliance collided with the principles deeply ingrained in his Jedi upbringing and his jaw tightened.

The melody of your hauntingly enchanting voice reached Obi-Wan's ears. He wasn't able to understand a single word you said from his distance so his mind made up it's own conversation between you and the separatist that was both exaggerated and also not very unlikely to happen. After all, Obi-Wan knew who you were and what you were capable of.

His chest hurt in a way it never hurt before as a feeling of jealousy covered his senses. Shocked by his own thought he took nother sip from his drink, his hand trembling as he reached for the glass. He wasn't jealous. He couldn't be. His inner conflict definitely had to have something to do with his Jedi principles and your inappropriate behavior.

Obi-Wan watched you lean far towards the target. A seductive smile on your face underlined the shimmer of excitement in your eyes. You seemed to be truly interested in the separatist's narration, in a way that exceeded the whole idea of the mission and your attempt to seduce information out of him. And the Jedi fcking hated it.

It felt like the whole night has passed when you finally stood up from your seat next to the separatist and strolled back to Obi-Wan.

"I was successful," you said with a slight smile on your face, your cheeks still red from the flirty conversation.

Obi-Wan, who still suffered from the echo of that awful wrenching feeling in his guts, didn't give any attention to what you just said. Instead he took a deep breath and shot his blue eyes to yours. "Was that really necessary?" he asked with a bitter tone underlining his voice.

"What do you mean?" you replied confused not understanding what was wrong with your success.

Obi-Wan stared at you with a cold expression and a feeling of discomfort and concern awoke deep inside your chest. "The flirting."

You blinked twice as you stated at him with confusion and before you were able to open your mouth Obi-Wan continued his examination. "This was not the Jedi way. You just broke the code in one of the most inappropriate ways possible and went against the most important of my Jedi principles."

The moment his words entered your brain the feeling of concern turned into anger. "Are you kidding me?" you replied harshly. "I just degraded myself by flirting with one of our biggest enemies and you're sitting here being displeased by my practices instead of being satisfied with the outcome? I'm not a Jedi, Obi-Wan!"

"But you've been a Jedi before," Obi-Wan stated.

You took s sharp breath, furious because of his absolutely dim-witted stubbornness. "And?What's the point of your arguments? I've left the order years ago and you, out of everyone, should know best that I don't give a damn shit about neither the code nor the Jedi principles!"

"And that's exactly the problem!" Obi-Wan replied, his voice becoming louder. You saw a flash of anger in his eyes and felt even more offended by his audacity to criticize you for breaking a code you don't follow while he, in the exact same minute, did the same by letting himself be guided by his emotions.

You took a deep breath before calming your voice to a level that reflected both your weariness towards this conversation and your feeling of disappointment because of the ungratefulness the Jedi confronted you with. "You knew exactly what I am when we started our alliance."

With those words you left the cantina ans entered the darkness of a starless night. You felt like even talking to a wall would have a more productive outcome than this conversation. Obi-Wan was supposed to be a good friend of yours but right now your efforts don't seem to be appreciated. And it also doesn't seem like he truly accepts you for who you are.

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phantom-of-the-501st · 1 month

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Thoughts on TBB 3x8: Bad Territory

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

Another day, another very short thoughts post.

Pabu!

Still stressed about it being taken over in the trailer :(

WHERE TF HAS ECHO DISAPPEARED TO NOW?!

Okay, I get that he's helping Rex but this is gearing up to be another episode without him 😕

Ooooh! Cross gets to meet Phee!

Phee already knows about Tech, which is understandable, but I'm also a little bit disappointed that we never got to see her reaction to finding out about Tech.

Cross is getting the full TBB lore drop so that he can catch up 😂

Awww the concern from Hunter about Cross' hand 🥲 brothers look out for each other

THERE'S ANOTHER CLINK DROID

FENNEC IS BACK!!!

OMEGA MANAGING TO GET CROSSHAIR TO HAVE HIS HAND CHECKED BY AZI!!!

Don't get me wrong, as much as I would love for Crosshair's hand to get better, I think it would be very interesting for his character if this is something he has to learnt o permanently adapt to.

Always had the feeling that the hand was a result of psychological trauma rather than physical. It makes sense giving Corbett's military background that the result of PTSD in soldiers is explored in this show

Love the slight western twang to the music 🫶

Pit droids are so cute 🥰

It's been a while since we've seen Hunter's tracking skills actually out to good use

Obsessed with Omega's outfits this season!

"You don't like anything" "True"

Looooovveee the creature design 🐊

"Apparently she got away from you too" OUCH

THE WAY THE BOUNTY SCUTTLES AROUND IS TOO FUN

CROSSHAIR MEDITATING OMGGGGGG

Echo would also be a good person to have around when discussing PTSD but I guess not...

THE SHOT OF THEM MEDITATING IN FRONT OF THE SUNSET IS SO PRETTY OMG

I enjoyed this episode. Not one of my favourites, but still good. 🥰

#don't really have much else to say atm #brain isn't really braining rn #but I enjoyed the episode #the bad batch #star wars #the bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #tbb omega #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker

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half-truths-and-hyperbole-louk · 2 months

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Louk's Bad Batch rewatch part eightttt

Another 2am edition bc why not lolol lets go batchers !!!

Bad Batch 1x04

Tech's little 👆 every time he speaks

Omega went from 😊 to 😞 as soon as she heard "not inhabited" poor baby just wants to explore

Wrecker 🤝 Tech having no idea how to bribe

Wrecker: "we're getting the hang of this civilian thing" Tech: *shakes head*

FENNEC AHXJWJWYHA 👀💕

"The only thing we have worth any money" (jumping again oops) and he uses it to save Omega 🥺😭

Omega: "sightseeing?" Hunter: NOOOO lmao I've never heard him speak so fast

Echo really cosplayed as a droid 🥲

Hunter 🤔 face

Tech: *speaking big words* Wrecker: blalalmamalanam💀

OMEGA WITH THE CLONE TROOPER DOLL 💕💕💕

ECHO WITH THE DOLL 😭💕💕💕

"Droid?!?" 💀

I can't with this whole scene pls 💀

Hunter you just sold your brother !!! Echo you just let him sell you !!!

they should just do this every planet they go to, they could end up rich lol

"Hello there" ~ Omega in her Obi-Wan era

Echo talking like a droid oml 😂

I swear I love Fennec but she actually worries me this ep lol like no I'm not rooting for you today babes

Hunter found the doll and he keeps it 🥰

"We didn't pay for these" 🥺

I'm so ready for Hunter's Joel Miller feral dad phase (@twinsunstars )

Hunter really brought a knife to a gun fight bro

more boys in civvie clothes in s3 ?? 👀 asking for a friend

"Easy with my ship" ~ Tech bro 😂 it's Tech's ship they're all just living in it

lmao Wrecker slamming the comm at Tech

they all just dropped what they're doing to help Omega 😭

"You got me for a bargain" ~ Echo 💀

Omega going down the maintenance tunnel... very Ezra Bridger of her

Wrecker picking Omega up by her arms omg 🥺

"You mess with the kid you mess with me" ~ Wrecker's dad/big brother mode activated

Wrecker hits his head count: 4

I want a Clink droid look at his lil waddle 🤲

" h a n g i n g ? "

Hunter's face watching Omega fall 🥲🙃

FENNEC !! YOU KNOCKED THE CHILD OUT WTF THIS IS WHY YOU DON'T THROW CHILDREN

lmao the driver bopping along to his banger 🎶

Fennec just killed two cops with one blaster

Rambo Hunter got his grumpy face on

OKAY but the slow mo throwing the bomb 👌👌

Fennec's superhero pose moment with the explosion behind her

"I'm missing all the action!" poor Wrecker 🥲

I could be wrong but I'm pretty sure the droid that hates Echo is voiced by Grey DeLisle (Azula from atla 👀 among like a billion others) so shoutout to her 👑

"Don't scare the kid" ~ Wrecker 🥺

aaaaand that's all for now friends 💕 I'm going to have to do like an ep a day now bc it's getting close 🙃

ignore anything that doesn't make sense lmao it's 2:45am and I'm tired lol

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ladyveronikawrites · 27 days

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LOST IN THE CONCRETE JUNGLE CHAPTER NINE

Bad Omens x Star Wars

Pairing: Zebastian (Noah Sebastian) x F!Reader

CW: none

Summary: You are the perfect senator's daughter- next in line to become his aide to learn everything about the Galactic Senate. But on your 21st birthday, your perfect life changes forever when the mysterious masked man you met at the nightclub was not who you thought he was.

A/N: POV switching from second to first occurs often in the story. Shout out to my amazing beta team @mysticdoodlez, @roley-poley-foley, and @nerdraging4point0 your insight and cheerleading has been invaluable.

word count: 2k Crossposted: Wattpad & A03 Master list Cast list

May the Force be with you✨

Scorching pain spreading through your hand jolts your body awake. As your eyes adjust to the dim light you find yourself sitting on a hard and dirty floor surrounded by concrete walls, much like the warehouse Zebastian held you captive.

But this isn’t the warehouse. Iron bars barricade you in from the rest of the area and you can hear shallow breathing in the distance. Skylar?

Suddenly, distorted mechanical chatter pulls you from your exploration. A medic droid is pulling a syringe from your hand after expelling some clear liquid into your bloodstream. Fear grips your stomach and you have to swallow down the bile threatening to release itself from your esophagus.

“What are you doing!?” Panic pitches your voice high and thin as blood pounds in your ears. Your vision starts to darken when you manage to push yourself away from the machine with your legs as you clutch your injured hand tight to your chest. But the pain is no longer there.

“What did you do? What did you put in me?!” The droid does not respond to your questions but rather turns away to plunge its key from its metal arm into the keyhole by the bars. Metallic whirring ends with a clink as the locks click and a small section of the bars gives way just small enough for the droid to roll through. Much too small for you to squeeze through. Without warning, a deep voice cuts through your panic.

“To heal you, of course,” a deep distorted voice comes from a dark figure appearing from the shadows. Instinct takes over as you spring up from the floor ready to defend yourself with- well the only thing you have, your fists. You square your shoulders and clench your fists as adrenaline pumps through your body.

“Why did you heal me?” you bite out as the figure approaches the metal bars. This didn’t seem right, your captor healing you. It’s not like they were just going to let you leave.

“To prolong the torture.”

The figure steps into the dim light, dressed from head to toe in black flowing robes and a mask covering their face. You step back until your back hits the wall, each step taking your bravery with it. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you tremble, wishing someone could save you.

Just as the bars of your enclosure begin to slide open, two stormtroopers burst in dragging someone with them. The body stumbles into the cell with you. When they right themselves you let out an audible gasp and try to reach for them, but your feet feel like they are weighted down with cement.

“Father?” you croak. All you can muster is this fragile state.

Before you can react, the shadowy figure glides to your father’s side and shoves a glowing baton to his back. Your father howls in pain and hunches over, breathing heavily.

Your captor turns to you and says, “He’s not here to save you. This is his test to prove his allegiance to the Empire.” You stand frozen in horror as your father towers over you. In a flash, any conflict he had before is gone and what is left is pure anger. Just like in his office when he found out you snuck off to level 1313 for your birthday. You set your jaw when the realization hits you that your father is not going to save you.

Don’t say a word.

“Tell me what you know about Zebastian,” your father spits out his name.

Anger starts to boil in your stomach, but you keep it at bay with your steady breathing and cool expression. In a blur of movement, his large hand makes contact with your cheek and pain shoots through your face. Stumbling backward, you lose your footing and crash into the wall, your arm bracing the impact. You scream as excruciating pain rips through the same limb as before.

Tears flow freely from your eyes now blurring your vision as the shock sets in. Blinking away the tears, you notice your wrist comm is shattered. Your lifeline, your only hope, gone. Guttural cries pull you from your despair. Your father is lying crumpled on the ground as more electric currents assault his body.

Swiftly, the shadowy figure steps aside keeping its gaze in your direction. Your father grunts as he rises to stand, a string of saliva drips down his chin as he bares his teeth.

“Don’t make me say it again,” he says through clenched teeth. Slowly, you shuffle to your feet, clutching your injured arm to your chest. You stare your father in the eyes preparing the words you and everyone in your defense training class were taught when you were learning to become a senatorial aide. Clearing your throat, you square your shoulders not breaking eye contact with your father.

“My name is-” smack. thud.

You don’t know how long it's been since you finally come to. There is a small bump on your head and your arm is definitely broken. You’ve become numb to the pain as tears stream down your face when you curl your legs into your chest for warmth as a cool breeze rushes over you.

Suddenly a swarm of shadowy figures rushes into the room. Your heartbeat races and you shut your eyes tight, curling yourself into a ball in the corner hoping to just disappear. A metallic ting rings into your ears as the bars unlock. You grip your knees tighter to stop your trembling body. Your heartbeat beats in time with the fast footfalls flooding the small cell. The air gets thick and your breathing shallows.

“There’s my lost girl,” a soft and warm voice envelops your shivering body. Afraid your mind is tricking you, you remain still for a breath longer. The same voice calls your name again and this time you look. Concern flashes in a familiar pair of brown eyes and you let out a small sob of relief.

He’s here. He’s really here.

A thousand questions flood your mind as your eyes scan the shadowy figures in cloaks and red skull masks. Your eyes bug wide and your mouth drops open. Zebastian takes a cautious step backward sensing your fear. He is surrounded by the lethal members of the Scarlet Dagger. The most notorious gang in all of Coruscant.

“Please,” he breathes out, his eyes not leaving yours. “We don’t have much time.”

Seeing no other way out, you accept his outstretched hand, covered in his signature leather glove. Somehow you comfort in his familiar touch and smell.

“Hold still,” Zebastian instructs as he leans down to grab the hem of your dress. Your brows knit together as he pulls the kal from its holster at his hip, and starts to tear the bottom of your dress into one long strip.

“Wait-”

“I need to bandage your arm,” he says quickly once he finishes debasing Skylar’s dress. Now you owe her a new dress and an explanation…if we make it out of here.

He makes quick work of splinting your injured arm and then hoists you into his arms. You want to argue that you can walk just fine, but your mind becomes hazy as the stress hormones continue to surge.

Once Zebastian starts to move the shadowy figures fall in place, shielding us as we move as one through the halls. Sounds of blaster fire ricochets off the walls and the bodies surrounding you spread out wide to cover more ground. Zebastian moves quickly through the corridors when the coast is clear. Suddenly, a deep voice crackles through Zebastian’s comm, “We got her, let’s go.”

Footsteps get louder as we approach a side door and Zebastian breaks into a sprint. You pull yourself into his chest, shutting your eyes tight until you hear the metal doors shut behind you.

A blur of blackness engulfs the group when we finally make it outside to the waiting starfighter. The vessel is sleek, matte black and hides amongst the shadows as more cloaked figures approach the landing ramp. A shock of electric blue peeks through the darkness. Relief washes over you as you watch Skylar being carried into the ship.

Finally safe at last.

In the medical bay of the ship, Jax and Revan rapid-fire questions at you as they assess your injuries. Exhausted, you rub your temples as a pang of jealousy shoots through you. Skylar lays peacefully oblivious and unconscious on the other bed next to yours. Both of the men have reassured you numerous times that she was unharmed but you have your doubts.

You consent to the syringe of pain blocker as Revan fits your injured arm into a sling. Once the pair have finished doting over you, which you find strangely comforting, you ask Revan to help you up from the bed. Before leaving the room, you insist they stay and watch over your best friend.

You shuffle through the small corridor to the command deck, tugging Jax’s cloak tighter against your small frame, but stop dead in your tracks. A gasp spills from your lips as you take in the scene before you.

“Wow,” you whisper, etching to memory the gold and green hues. In awe, you barely register a tall body coming to your side to ask you if you are okay. Blinking, he says your name again and you quickly nod your answer, your eyes never leaving the breathtaking landscape.

Suddenly, a warm hand envelops yours, your feet moving on their own to the chair in front of you. A deep voice mumbles something inherently behind you but you don’t hear it until a hand shakes your shoulders when it hits you.

“What?” you ask as you peel your eyes away from the trees passing by. You suck in a breath as your cheeks blush when you meet Zebastian’s bright playful gaze and dazzling smile, no mask in sight.

He takes a step closer and leans down to whisper, “Strap in princess, we are about to land.” A shiver washes over you, his voice settling into the base of your spine.

Quickly, turning away to hide your embarrassment, you pull on the lap belt at your waist and keep your eyes forward as the ship slowly descends. Nervously fidgeting with your hands on your lap, you take in a deep breath to calm your nerves only for your lungs to be flooded with his scent as Zebastian takes the seat behind you. Any attempt to cool the bubbling arousal in your stomach is useless against his suffocating proximity.

“Ready?” Zebastian asks, extending his gloved hand for you to take. Rising from the chair he leads you through the ship to the landing ramp when Revan and Jax trek ahead pushing the medical bed Sky inhibits.

A medical droid and humanoid male with the hurried men escorting the trio into Zebastian’s massive house. Heavy feet plant you to the ground as you take in your surroundings. Tall trees circle the house, a natural camouflage to a random drifter. Twirling around you realize no one would ever find you here and that simultaneously terrifies and excites you.

Noticing your absence from his side, Zebastian turns to you, “Coming?”

Zebastian, the leader of the most notorious and deadly gang, let you- you of all people, see his home; the forbidden place that very few people see and get to live to tell the tale. With a racing heart and wide smile, you confidently take his hand and let him lead you into his home.

tysm for reading!

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zoeykallus · 1 year

Text

The Imperial Bad Batch x Fem!Reader - Dangerous Seduction HCs Part 2 Of 5 (Echo)

Warnings: Suggestive / Sexual Themes / Strong Language / Dirty Talk / Angst / Dub-Con / Filthy / Smut /18+

_________________

You belong to the resistance. Unfortunately, you have fallen into the clutches of a special unit of the Empire, Clone Force 99 also known as Bad Batch. The interrogation goes completely differently than you expect, between you and the soldier who is supposed to interrogate you, a strange intense tension arises.

AC: These HCs probably don’t make much sense, and mainly consist of sexual tension and spicy incidents. Summed up; these HCs portray TBB like an upside down universe, they have still some of their very own traits, but they are “evil”, so to speak. Yes, I do have a very dirty mind. It’s never boring in here. Probably the most extensive HCs I have written to date. It’s more like Five spicy One-Shots.

_________________

The man sitting across from you in the interrogation room seems to be made largely of droid parts. Again and again you stare at his scomp-link arm, you can't help it. As he slams his fist down on the table, you flinch and look up, startled, into his amber eyes. You expect to see an angry face, but the man in front of you is completely calm, which makes his gesture before, seem confusing.

"My prosthesis seems to fascinate you," he says calmly, looking at you scrutinizingly.

You remain silent, not really knowing what to say anyway.

The man stands up, walks around the table, and finally stands next to you. You deliberately don't look at him, trying to ignore his presence. He sits down on the edge of the table, right in front of you.

You can't help it, you look up at him.

"There are ways to make you talk," he says quietly.

You remain silent, still, stoic.

Your hands are cuffed behind your back behind the back of the chair. As he leans forward, in your direction, and you automatically pull your arms forward to shield yourself, nothing happens except that a soft clink of the handcuffs is heard.

His scomp-link arm goes between your thighs, the flat part of the scomp resting on the fabric above your pubic. You want to be angry and disgusted, but instead you feel heat moving between your thighs.

He moves the scomp link ever so gently, rubbing it gently over the fabric against your swelling clit. The situation is so surreal that you don't know how to react at all.

"What do you think about my prosthesis now? Still so interesting?"

You can hardly believe it yourself, but you feel yourself nodding and see a cheeky smile in response.

"I had a feeling you'd react that way. All you need is a little attention after my colleagues were so rough with you, isn't it?"

You get wet, you can feel it clearly, your thighs automatically open a little wider.

"Let's see if I can make up for what you've been through in the last few hours".

You are aware the whole thing is a game a feint, he just wants to make you talk, but right now you want nothing more than to be touched by this man. His real hand moves to the fastener of your pants and opens them, his hand slides behind the fabric, finds the waistband of your panties and his fingers move under the fabric.

You hold your breath for a moment. It's very quiet in the room, so quiet that you hear a soft, soft wet sound as his fingers roam through your velvety, damp folds. You expel your breath with a low, husky moan, your thighs quivering ever so slightly.

He withdraws his hand from you again, and you realize that you immediately miss the touch and feel ashamed of it. He takes off your pants and panties, folds them neatly and puts them on the table.

His hand wanders to your pussy again, caresses it, massages your swollen clit and elicits a sigh from you. Automatically, you thrust your hips toward him.

"That's it, good girl. That's a nice feeling, isn't it?"

Again, you nod silently. It feels good, you can't deny that. He lets go of you again to unlock your handcuffs. Carefully, you bring your hands forward and rub your wrists. His scomp link moves between your legs, gently rubbing the flat end over your swollen clit.

He takes one of your hands in his and guides your wrist to his mouth, kissing the sores where the cuffs have chafed your skin. The touch travels through your whole body like a warm pulse.

You had expected just about anything in this interrogation, but certainly not something like this. As if on its own, your free hand moves to his codpiece and loosens it. He lets it happen, even as your hand strokes the bulge in his Blacks' pants.

He lets out a deep, pleasurable growl, pushing his lap towards you. When you look up at him hesitantly, he gives you an encouraging nod.

"Go ahead," he says quietly, releasing your hand.

With both hands, you pull the pants of his blacks down a bit, revealing his plump, hard length. His scomp link continues to rub over your clit as you lean forward a little and your lips gently touch his cock.

He lets out a shaky breath.

"You're a really good girl, aren't you?"

Again you nod, looking up at him from wide eyes as you kiss his cock again, this time just below the tip, just before sliding your tongue over it.

He twitches briefly and smiles, "Yes, that's good, I can see we're going to get along very well."

Your arousal is already dripping onto the chair you're sitting on, the massage from his scomp link making your pussy twitch with pleasure.

"Now open that pretty mouth of yours, sweetheart," he coos.

You do as you're told and let him slide his cock between your lips, pressing your tongue flat against its underside, starting to suck on it, bobbing your head back and forth.

His hand is gently on your neck and the scomp link continues to rub over your Venus. You press your abdomen against the prosthetic and suck hungrily on his cock. He moans again and again.

"My good girl, my rebel darling."

Your fingers cling to his firm, muscular thighs. You take him deeper and deeper into you until the tip of his cock bumps into your throat, triggering a slight gag reflex. But you don't let that stop you. The sounds he makes spur you on to keep going until your eyes water. Your thighs close around his scomp-link, begin to tremble, you move your hips with the friction of his prosthesis. Chair and scomp-link are stained with your juices.

Suddenly, he grabs your chin and releases you from his cock, pulling back his scomp link. He pulls you onto your wobbly legs and bends you over the table. Standing behind you, he pushes your legs apart.

"Now, you're going to tell me what I want to know, my good girl".

You moan softly as he presses his tip against your wet pussy from behind.

"Tell me where your shuttle is, and I'll give you an orgasm you won't forget anytime soon," he coos as he bends over you from behind.

The coordinates literally bubble over your lips without you thinking about it.

You can't see the satisfied smile on his face as he says, "That's my rebel darling, well done."

He pushes his hips forward, his cock parting your folds, penetrating you, stretching your wet hole, long, slow and deep, with a deep moan. He keeps his part of the bargain.

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

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night3owl · 1 year

Note

Heyyy there! I saw your requests were open so I was hoping to place one!

Would you be open to possibly writing an Obi-Wan Kenobi x teen/ padawan reader fic that takes place during tcw where they have a really close bond/relationship and it’s just really sweet and cute?

If not, no worries and I hope you have a great rest of your day!! :) <33

A Nice Day Out

A/N: Sorry this took forever lol

Warnings: none i think :)

Word count: 1730

You sit in a classroom, sharing a table with Ahsoka. You were in a class that all padawans have to take, so there was no being able to skip it. Or so you thought. Suddenly your Master, Obi-wan Kenobi, walked into the class and started talking to the knight who is teaching the class, pausing it.

“Padawan (Y/L/N), you’re free to go.” The knight said and nods to your Master. You get up and walk towards Obi-wan, looking back and seeing Ahsoka’s jaw slightly dropped, you give her a smirk and small shrug and continue walking. You reach you Master and he gently puts his hand on your upper back, leading you out of the classroom. Once you reach the hallway you furrow your eyebrows and have a confused look on your face.

“Shouldn’t I be in that class..?” You ask, pointing your thumb towards the classroom.

“Yes, but I’ve excused you from it, I’ll tell you what the lecture is later. Well, a summary of it.” Obi-wan replies with a small smile. He starts walking, “C’mon.”

“Where are we going?” You ask Obi-wan, putting your hands behind your back and following him.

“Patience (Y/N), you’ll see when we get there” Obi-wan replies, earning a nod from you. You walk past a group of younglings and eventually reach the hanger, following Obi-wan into a speeder. He starts it up while you get buckled in, knowing that he can drive a bit fast. He gives you a mock look of betrayal.

“I’m not that bad of a driver”

“At least you aren’t Anakin bad..?” You give him a sheepish look and get a chuckle from him.

Obi-wan gets buckled in and flies the speeder out of the hanger, the wind just barely missing your head. Moments later you’re in a lane filled with various speeders and small ships. You let out a yawn as you realize how tired you are. You rest your head on his shoulder, eyes droopy, as Obi-wan smiles.

“Get some sleep (Y/N), I’ll wake you when we get there.”

“(Y/N), we’re here,” Obi-wan slightly shakes you with his hand to wake you up. You immediately get hit with the smell of food and sit up, yawn, and stretch your arms. “C’mon,” Obi-wan unbuckles both of you and gets out of the speeder, you following suit.

“A diner?” You say while walking next to Obi-wan as he nods.

“An old friend owns this place,” Obi-wan says and you hum in response. You both walk into the diner and you look around, hearing a droid yell out to someone in the back. You hear a clink and look over to see a Besalisk.

“Obi-wan!” Dex calls from behind the counter.

“Hello Dex, we’re just here for food” Obi-wan responds with a smile.

“Alright, take a seat, I’ll be right with ya’” Dex walks out of view. You follow Obi-wan to a booth and sit on the opposite side of him, looking out the window. You sense Dex at the table and look at him, giving a small smile.

“Did you get a new padawan Obi-wan? They definitely aren’t Anakin!” Dex asks, making you and Obi-wan chuckle.

“Yes I did, and they definitely are better then Anakin, just don’t tell him I said that.” Obi-wan gives you a small smile.

“Alright, and what would you two like?”

After you two order, a droid comes over with some jawa juice for Obi-wan and a water for you. You both thank the droid and take sips of your drinks.

“What else do you have planned for today?” You ask Obi-wan with an eyebrow raised.

“You’ll see.” He says with a smirk, making you playfully roll your eyes.

You both eat your food and Obi-wan pays. You leave the diner, saying goodbye to Dex. You reach the speeder and you walk to the passenger side, but Obi-wan walks past. You furrow your eyebrows as he stops and turns around to look at you.

“Well come on, we aren’t going back to the temple just yet.” Obi-wan calls and you hurry to his side.

“Where are we going?” You ask as you two walk and you just receive a chuckle. “You aren’t going to tell me, are you?” Your question gets confirmed with a smirk.

After a few minutes of walking you arrive at an soft-serve ice cream parlor. You follow Obi-wan into it and stand next to him, waiting in line.

“What do you want?” Obi-wan asks you, glancing over to you while you’re looking at the menu.

“I dunno, maybe meloorun.?” You say over the course of a minute or two. “What are you gonna get Master?”

“The chai one, of course, it’s my favorite flavor” Obi-wan replies and you hum.

After waiting a few minutes in line you make it to the counter to order, a Kaminoan standing behind it with a smile.

“Welcome to Suni’s Ice Cream, what you like to order?” The Kaminoan asked, looking at you two.

“I would like a Chai cone” Obi-wan replies.

“Alright, one chai cone. And what would your child like?” The Kaminoan confirms.

“Wha?- I’m not- uhhhh” You stutter, you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“They would like a Meloorun cone” Obi-wan calmly answers for you.

“One Meloorun cone,” The Kaminoan confirms, typing it in on a data pad.

“And that’s it,” Obi-wan says, pulling out his credits.

“Alright, that will be 7.92 credits” the Kaminoan says, putting their hand out. Obi-wan gives the Kaminoan the proper amount of credits and the Kaminoan goes to the back. After a minute the Kaminoan comes back with both of your ice creams. You both grab your ice cream, thank the Kaminoan, and walk out of the shop.

You and your Master walk side-by-side on the sidewalk, eating your ice cream in comfortable silence. Obi-wan leads you back to the speeder as you both finish your cones. You both get in the speeder and Obi-wan starts it up while you put on your seatbelt. The speeder goes upwards and into a lane, going towards the Jedi Temple.

After a few seconds you decide that it’s too quiet and pull out a datapad, connecting it to the speeder. You put on your favorite playlist and put it down. You look over and see Obi-wan dancing in his seat to the music and laugh, soon joining him in his dancing. Time flied while you two vibed in the speeder as you quickly approached the temple. Or Obi-wan was going over the speed limit. Who knows? Obi-wan parks the speeder in the hanger and you jump out, knowing the sun is setting.

You have Obi-wan follow you to the gardens and you make it before the sun fully sets. You both sit on a bench and watch the sun set. You rest your head on his shoulder, savoring this moment. You feel your eyes begin to droop, sleep eventually taking over you again.

-a little bonus thing :)-

“Kid, kid wake up,” You hear a familiar person waking you up. You were in your bed again, Obi-wan put you there last night after you fell asleep.

“Yes Cody?” You sit up and yawn, rubbing the sleep your eyes. You look at your clock, 04:00.

“C’mon, we’re making the general a cake.” He walks to the door.

“Hm? Why?” You ask, still a bit drowsy.

“It’s his birthday,” Cody replies from the doorway. You nod and hum in response, getting up from your bed and following Cody out to the shared common room you have. You see Anakin, Ahsoka, and Rex already out there, caf in their hands. Cody leads you over to the kitchen and hands you your own caf in your favorite mug. You let out a yawn and take a sip.

“Thanks Cody,” You say, knowing he made it since it’s just how you like it. You get a nod and small smile in return.

“What kind of cake are we making?” You ask no one in particular. You get multiple grumbles in response.

“Seriously? No one knows what kind of cake to make for him?” You sigh, taking a gulp of caf.

“Well, none of us really knows what kind of cake he would like, not even me! We usually just go out on his birthday!” Anakin whines, making you think back to yesterday. You hum and get a datapad, ‘chai cake recipe’.

“Aha! I found what to make, he said that chai was his favorite flavor yesterday, so why not bake a chai cake?” You explain to everyone, shrugging. Everyone gathers in the kitchen as you put the recipe up on a hologram.

Three cake batter’s later—Anakin tripped and dropped the first one and Cody added way too much butter to the second one—the cake comes out of the oven. You already toothpick tested it so you knew it was baked.

“What type of frosting should we do?” Ahsoka asks, holding up chocolate, vanilla, and cinnamon frosting. Everyone hums in thought.

“We could add caf to the vanilla one, then it would be like a breakfast cake.” Rex states while shrugging and everyone agrees.

By the time it turned 06:00 the cake was cooled, frosted, and decorated. With surprisingly no mess too. You could just barely hear Obi-wan’s alarm go off and then stopping.

“Alright everyone, we got half an hour until Obi-wan comes out, let’s make it quick.” Anakin whispers, taking out a box of decorations from a cabinet.

Everyone speeds around putting up decorations, but also being as quiet as possible. You had managed to get them all up within 20 minutes and had some time to relax, sipping on caf with birthday hats on. Ahsoka could just barely hear Obi-wan walking to his door at exactly 06:30 and signals everyone that he’s coming. Everyone quietly runs to his door, hoping he was still tired and doesn’t sense you with the force since he hasn’t had his caf yet.

“SURPRISE!!” Everyone yells out, making Obi-wan jump back a few inches. Obi-wan looks around the room with a smile on his face as Anakin sneaks around him and puts a hat on his head.

“How long have you five been up? This had to have taken a while.” Obi-wan asks no one in particular. Everyone else looks around.

“Uhhhhhh- at least we have caf?”

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x reader #Obi wan x padawan reader #star wars prequels #the clone wars #swtcw #star wars x reader #star wars the clone wars #clone wars x reader #padawan reader #purely platonic #Star Wars

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