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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 14 days

Text

𝙎𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙧𝙢...

Read part 2 here - Soup...

*vision bored doesn't describe readers' looks it describes the vibes of the story*

screencaps: @din-jarring they are amazing, the best most amazing person. I definitely recommend you check them out 🫶🏻

Pairing: dark!Raider!Joel Miller x fem!virgin!reader

Summary: Seven years after the outbreak and with two days of starvation looming, desperation drives you to attempt stealing from your own assailant. But in this dire bid for survival, what unforeseen consequences await?

Warnings/tags: MDNI 18+, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, BLOOD, VIRGIN READER, breaking and entering, bondage (belt), groping, spit, fear, non/dub-con, guns, toxic people, degradation, praise, (maybe kind of), fingering kinda, biting, male moaning, breeding kink, kissing, kidnapping, mean joel, daze, kinda inexperienced reader, UNprotected sex wrap it before you tap it, kids. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME

WC: 2.5K

Your pulse quickened as a looming silhouette tore through the door of your family's cabin, a formidable rifle in hand. The once serene sanctuary of your family retreat had morphed into something ominous during the seven years since the outbreak. Time had shrouded the cabin in secrecy, but now it felt like it held more secrets than safety. With no one around to offer aid and your provisions dwindling, a sense of foreboding gripped you. Who was this intruder, and what did they want?

Huddled behind the worn fabric of the couch, you trembled, trying to decipher the intruder's intentions. The eerie silence of the cabin was only broken by the sound of your racing heartbeat and the slam of the empty cupboards. The emptiness of the cupboards, devoid of sustenance for two long days, added to the dread coiling in your stomach.

Your father's departure had cast the first shadow of unease. Taking the only means of protection—a small pistol—he left behind a void filled with questions and fear. When days stretched into weeks without his return, your mother embarked on a desperate quest to find him, leaving you alone to wrestle with gnawing uncertainty.

Peering cautiously from your hiding place, you observed the intruder ransacking the kitchen. Panic surged as you spotted the cabin door ajar, a white van parked conspicuously outside. Desperation prompted a daring idea – if there was nothing left to steal, why not take whatever the intruder possessed? With knowledge of the terrain on your side, you calculated a plan to hide in the woods until the coast was clear.

You watched the intruder's every move, hoping for the perfect moment to act. When he cautiously ventured into the bathroom, likely searching for supplies you lacked, you seized the chance to make your move. With a deep breath to steady your nerves, you slipped out the door and tiptoed toward the van, determined to reclaim control of the situation.

Peering into the dim interior, you scanned for any signs of danger before cautiously stepping inside. The van's interior was a jumble of crates and boxes, their contents obscured by shadows. Time was of the essence, so you swiftly lifted the tarp covering the crates, revealing precious bottles of water. With careful precision, you gathered as many as you could carry, ensuring not to drop any or create any disturbance.

Exiting the van, you concealed the bottles in a nearby bush, intending to wait there until the intruder departed. Once the water was safely stashed, you returned to the van, continuing your search. As you reached for a few cans of canned food, you suddenly found yourself confronted by a terrifying sight: a tall, muscular man with a rifle pointed directly at your face.

The sound of the cans dropping from your hands seemed to fade away as you stood there frozen in fear, unable to move or even think. The man had a heavy, muscular build, with dark hair and an incoming beard that made him look even more menacing. It was clear that he had been watching you, and that he had no intention of letting you leave without a fight.

As you struggled to comprehend the situation unfolding before you, the man's voice shattered the eerie silence, causing a shiver to run down your spine. "Caught red-handed, are we? Thought you could just waltz in and help yourself to my supplies?" His words were like a cold slap in the face, jolting you into a state of panic.

Before you could utter a word in response, he roughly pushed you onto your back, the barrel of the gun pressing into your chest. Fear gripped you tightly as you found yourself unable to move, your mind racing with thoughts of imminent danger.

"Please, I didn't mean any harm. I'll put everything back, just please don't hurt me," you pleaded, your voice quivering with desperation. But your words seemed to fall on deaf ears as he grabbed your arm with force, pushing your chest against the center console. Your heart sank as the cold metal of the gun dug into your back, a sense of hopelessness washing over you.

In that moment of vulnerability, you couldn't help but curse yourself for choosing to wear a dress today. The fabric rode up your thighs, leaving you feeling exposed and defenseless. It served as a harsh reminder of how unready you were for the predicament unfolding before you. While you weren't naive, you'd had discussions before, even received "the talk" about the delicate subject of virginity. But contemplating the act itself was a realm you never envisioned venturing into, especially not now. The weight of such responsibilities loomed heavy on your mind, intertwining with the immediate danger at hand, creating a tangled web of fear and uncertainty.

He knelt behind you, his rough, calloused hand replacing the gun at your back. "You want to leave here in one piece? Then you better be prepared to compensate me for what you were trying to steal," he demanded, his grip firm as he lifted the hem of your dress.

As panic surged through you, you attempted to break free, but his hold only tightened. He swiftly changed tactics, his unfamiliar touch gripping your waist just above where your panties ended. With a rough tug, he pulled down your panties, his words and actions leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"Now that's a pretty lookin' pussy," he taunted, his fingers tracing over your folds. You squirmed uncomfortably under his touch, his chuckle sending shivers down your spine.

Feeling trapped and afraid, you remained frozen, unable to escape his looming presence.

He started to palm your bare clit, making sure to rub the wet spit onto your pussy. You were starting to become wet at his actions, he rubbed his middle finger around your damp pussy teasing you, making you squirm again. “I like it when you squirm. Makes things more interesting," he chuckled, his words sending a shiver down your spine. In a desperate attempt to escape his unsettling presence, you jolted forward, scrambling towards the front of the van, hoping to create some distance between yourself and the menacing figure behind you. He pulled you back and firmly grasped your shoulders, preventing you from escaping further. Then, he cupped your face with his hands, his touch possessive yet tender, his eyebrows lifting in a silent question as his husky voice filled the space between you.

"I'm never—" he began, his lips pressing against yours briefly before he lowered his voice, his gaze locking onto yours, "gonna let you go." His thumb traced gentle circles on your temple, a stark contrast to the intensity of his words.

But then his touch shifted, his lips leaving yours to trail along the curve of your neck and shoulders, igniting a tingling sensation that sent shivers down your spine. It was as if he was trying to seduce you, drawing you in with each caress.

Returning to your lips, he initiated another kiss, and you found yourself torn between conflicting emotions. Part of you felt trapped and scared, but another part couldn't deny the thrill coursing through you. As he deepened the kiss, you found yourself responding, losing yourself in the moment.

Finally pulling back, a small smile played on his lips as he shook his head in disbelief. His voice dropped to a whisper as he repeated his vow, "Never."

As one of his hands traveled down your stomach, a shiver ran down your spine, and he began planting kisses along your neck. For a moment, you closed your eyes, lost in the sensation, feeling a sense of serenity wash over you. But reality crashed back down as he suddenly shoved you forcefully onto the center console. Your head collided with something hard, causing a sharp pain to shoot through you, and blood began to gush from your nose.

Shocked and a little dizzy from the sudden impact, you struggled to gather your bearings, your head throbbing as blood continued to trickle from your nose. Blinking rapidly, you tried to focus, but the dizziness made it difficult to think clearly. Panic began to rise within you as you realized the severity of the situation, your heart pounding in your chest.

One of his hands held you down harshly against the console keeping you trapped once again sanity has left you, his other hand swiftly unbuckled his belt, the sounds of his movements echoing in the tense silence of the van you felt hopeless and dazed as you felt his dick rub against your pussy still wet from the desire of his kiss.

He leaned closer to you, his entire body weight pressing down on yours, his chest now firmly against your back as he roughly pushed his dick into you. he was big you let out a loud shriek as a burning sensation cascaded through your body, causing your eyes to squeeze shut in pain. Desperately, you reached for his thighs, trying to push him off you.

"Quiet." He groans as he pushes deeper into your cunt you felt his pubes brush against your clit, he was so big so overwhelming you could feel him in your stomach even as he was still. He gripped your hands and grabbed his belt from beside him before tying your hands together behind your back. you could feel every movement making you let out small sounds of discomfort as his dick rested inside of you.

"Suckin' me right in." He lifted your dress higher taking a moment to stand and bask in the view of his dick being swallowed by your pussy. he started groping your ass taking his time as he started he's penetrating your soul. he began to thrust setting a slow but harsh pace. "You're gonna be achin' for days.” you let out a few broken moans at his movements your daze and confusion were replaced with a sense of pleasure and warmth as he continued thrusting in and out of you.

He shifted his hands to grip the makeshift restraints around your wrists, then began pushing you towards him so that you met his thrusts. As the new sensation overwhelmed you, you started to squirm again, unable to contain the mix of pleasure and discomfort. "I said squirming makes it interesting, I didn't say be difficult," he murmured, his voice low and filled with amusement. With a swift movement, he hooked you up so you were pressed against him, your struggles futile against his strength. He noticed the blood from your nose and chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as you whimpered in fear.

He started to thrust up into you harder. more primal for his desire, he moved one of his hands to play with your breast. you let out a loud moan as one of his thrusts hit just where it was needed for his movements to feel like he was heaven. He pushed you back onto the console, this time skillfully avoiding the sharp object, sparing you from any further facial damage.

His weight presses you down onto your back again, forcing you to stay still as he pounds deep into you over and over again. His power and speed never slow down as he bites down hard on your shoulder to muffle his moans, he hits that sweet spot inside of you with every thrust making it impossible to hide your obvious pleasure from his actions making sure to move your hips back to meet him every time it makes you feel so dirty, "You tried to take from me, but now you're learning your place. Beneath me, where you belong, like a whore".He stopped biting your shoulder and whispered, letting out a soft moan

"Don't call me that," you manage to mumble, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance, though you still push back into him, your back arching involuntarily making you press into his chest. "I-I can call you whatever I want when... when..." Your words falter as you struggle to find your voice, the pleasure taking over you. As he continues to pound into you.

But he cuts you off sharply, he pinched your side hard, causing you to whimper in pain. "Shut the fuck up," he commands, his voice harsh and threatening. "I'm tired of your mouth. Keep it up, and I'll find another way to shut you up."

His thrusts grew more erratic, his grip tightening as he abandoned any pretense of restraint, his small moans and grunts escaping him freely. "Shit, I'm gonna need Viagra or something to keep up with this pussy," he muttered, his words punctuated by the force of his pistoning movements. "Gosh... feels like you're gonna swallow me whole."

Suddenly, he stopped hitting that spot that had pleased you, and a sense of disappointment washed over you. As his thrusts became sloppy, you ceased meeting him halfway, hoping he would find that sweet spot again. But he didn't.

With a final, desperate thrust, he let out a guttural groan, his body shuddering as he reached his climax. As he withdrew, leaving you feeling empty and unsatisfied, a wave of sadness and confusion washed over you.

Your walls were slick, not with your arousal, but with his, milky ropes of his release making an obscene set of sounds as he pulled out of you. Still restrained, you watched silently as he got dressed and exited the van, leaving you feeling abandoned and exposed.

Minutes passed, the silence heavy and suffocating, before he returned with a few papers and items you recognized from your cabin. "Hey, those are mine!" you protested, your voice tinged with a mix of anger and desperation.

He ignored your protest, tossing the items into a bag without a second glance. "They're mine now," he replied coldly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

As he released you from your restraints, you felt a surge of defiance rising within you. "You can't just take everything!" you exclaimed, trying to assert some semblance of control over the situation.

But his gaze was icy as he looked at you, his expression unreadable. "Watch me," he muttered, before turning and striding away, leaving you feeling small and powerless once again.

"Get comfortable," he called over his shoulder as he headed towards the driver's seat, his voice devoid of any warmth or compassion.

You watched him go, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. As you sat alone in the van, surrounded by the remnants of your life that he had taken from you, the reality of your situation began to sink in.

He wasn't just taking your belongings. He was taking you.

With a heavy heart, you realized that you were now at his mercy, trapped in a situation you couldn't escape. And as he started the engine and pulled away from the cabin, leaving everything you knew behind, he turned to you with a chilling smile.

"You're mine now," he said quietly, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "And you're not going anywhere."

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lavendertales · 1 year

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love your content sm!!! I've seen people request different heights but I'd THOROUGHLY enjoy joel/frankie/javi/dinxplus size reader if you're comfortable. it doesn't need to be one of those "reader hates their body and the man tells her she's pretty even though she's fat" but maybe just details of wide hips, bigger belly, thick thighs. I personally think joel, javi, and frankie would be all over a curvy girl...

HELL YES! I wholeheartedly agree with you, Joel/Javi/Frankie/even Din would be all up on that... but I'll try to paint a more vivid picture with Joel, just for funsies. I've had an idea for another Joel fic so this request comes in at just the right time😌

Mine || Joel Miller x plus size!f!reader**

summary: calling Joel Miller mine awakens something in him that turns out to be in both your favor.

word count: 1.5k

WARNINGS: established relationship; possessive!Joel, unprotected piv, cunnilingus, a dash of dirty talk, creampie.

A/N: Comments/reblogs are always very much appreciated! 💕

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!!!

gif: @manny-jacinto

When you first arrived to Jackson, you wouldn’t have thought things would turn out this way. Hell, this wasn’t even on the list of things you planned for yourself.

It began slow and simple, with lingering glares, followed by tentative touches over the arm and back, and then, desire was born. You didn’t think much of it at the time, but as time went by, there was no denying it.

Joel couldn’t get enough of you.

It surprised you a little, you couldn’t lie; you knew you didn’t fit the beauty standard, but to hell with those. Living in an apocalyptic world meant living from day to day, sometimes even moment to moment, so why worry about such ridiculous things like body image? Joel definitely didn’t care about that. Quite the opposite: he seemed to be far too immersed in the ways he could hold your body close to his. This could be either snuggling up to you at night when he couldn’t sleep, letting you be the big spoon, or causing you to shiver and moan his name on a broken loop when he made love to you and caused your orgasm to rip through your body.

You’ve developed the habit of addressing him by several pet names as your relationship developed—sweetheart, baby, honey, whatever rolled down your tongue in key moments. However, one slipped past your sharp tongue before you could think it through when you saw some woman at the bar trying to put her moves on Joel.

Mine.

You were never the jealous type, not to this degree, but when you marched to Joel’s side with a cocky smile and grabbed hold of his arm, telling the woman “I’m sorry, this one’s spoken for. He’s mine”, you were surprised by your own reaction.

It woke something in Joel, too.

The whole way home he stared at you, sizing you up and down, his heart thrumming in his ears. Mine. You called him yours. You were jealous and territorial, and something clicked inside of him.

Once the door closed behind you two and you could finally breathe into the chilly air, Joel stared suggestively at you, his hands on your hips, teasingly tugging at the hem of your shirt.

God, how he loved the way you felt under his touch. Soft in all of his favorite places, flesh spilling from in between his fingers when he kneaded it harshly, the smacking, wet noises when he buried himself to the hilt inside you and your skin turned red.

Fuck, it always gets him so hard just thinking about it.

“Before you ask, yes, that was me being jealous or… whatever,” you rolled your eyes.

“Why?”

You were half amused and half shook that he would feel the need to ask such a ridiculous question.

“What do you mean ‘why’? That woman was all over you,” you replied. “She was ready to give you a lap dance if you stared at her for an extra five seconds.”

Joel scoffed, sneaking a hand underneath your shirt and rubbing your back and your soft belly. He could instantly see the flush of your cheeks, the auburn reaction to a mere touch, and his breaths nearly stammer in his throat.

“Why would you be jealous?” he asked in the most ridiculously calm tone. “I’m yours. You said so.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed and already feeling a burning craving when his hands move to the front of your shirt to unbutton it.

“I did,” you admitted, gulping.

“Say it again.”

You flashed a faint smile as you remained topless before him and Joel’s mouth peppered kisses on your neck. “You’re mine.”

Joel hummed somewhere in the crook of your neck. He glued your flushed body closer to his, and you felt the outline of his cock poking against you. His lips found yours not long after, all the while his hands massaging your breasts, tweaking your nipples till they pebbled under his touch. Your hands roamed all over his broad shoulders and muscly back as you grew needier and more impatient.

You knew Joel could well be rough and harsh, and you expected him to bend you over and take whatever he wanted from you, but you’re once again surprised when he instructed you to remove the rest of your clothes and get on the bed. You did as you were bid, breathlessly staring at the rushed way Joel disposed of his own clothes and parted your legs, kissing his way up your thighs.

He had a bit of an oral fixation, as you liked to tease him sometimes. He spent a whole lot of time kissing and biting your thighs, and of course, he could’ve spent hours buried in between your legs, making you fall apart in his mouth over and over till you cried in overstimulation. He loved your full thighs, the way they felt when you crossed them around his waist. He loved your hips and your belly, the way the skin there bounced when he fucked you rough and fast from the front, and the way it jiggled when he held onto you from the back. You were ethereal, a gorgeous woman plump in all the perfect places.

Joel licked a wet stripe between your folds, earning the first moan from your side. He grabbed ahold of your thighs, keeping them in place, and began to eat you out like a man absolutely famished.

“Joel—fuck… oh my—“

You tugged on his hair once his tongue darted in and out of you, and you began to squirm. Joel hummed in your pussy, maybe even muttered something, but there was only so much you could focus on. And you didn’t even get the chance to warn him when you felt that familiar, much-needed burn in your stomach. You simply came on his tongue, soaking his mustache and beard, the sight causing you to blush as Joel came up for air.

He grinned in utter delight, bending over to kiss you roughly, giving you a taste of yourself.

“Joel,” you could barely breathe out. “Please—“

“Hm? D’you need me to fuck you?”

“Yes, please.”

He couldn’t deny you, or his own craving. He knew he probably wouldn’t last long, but fuck, he desperately needed to feel you, to watch mesmerized the way your tits bounce along with his thrusts.

Hand curled around his cock, Joel guided himself to your soaked entrance, entering you in one swift thrust. He started fucking into you without any time for adjustments, his hands secure on your sides. He was holding onto your hips so harshly you believed there’d be some bruises there tomorrow, but you couldn’t care less about that.

You felt him deeply, big and thick and borderline desperate, just the way you liked him.

“You like it this way, darlin’?” he teased, leaning down to bite your earlobe.

“Fuck, yes—“

“You like takin’—all of me in your—pretty cunt? Is that it?”

“Yes—“

Pleasure and pain alike prickled your skin, blossoming into a deep ache inside of you, but damn if it wasn’t blissful.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous—“Joel grunted. “Say it, again—say it—“

You knew what he wanted to hear. You couldn’t believe that a possessive pronoun could get him this hot and bothered, but if it did, you were all for it.

“Mine—you’re mine, Joel M-Miller—“

“That’s right, that’s—fuckin’ right—yours—”

“Mine, no one else’s—“

“Mhm—all yours, darling—you take me so fucking good, look at you—fuckin’ soaking me—“

He was pushing his cock so far deep inside you that it downright felt as if he pressed a button, that little button that made you see stars, and you instantly knew it wasn’t gonna be much longer.

“You gonna come for me, hm?” he smiled above you, delirious with ecstasy at this point. “Gonna soak my cock, hm?”

“Yes, yes—“

“You get so tight—when you come, shit—lemme feel it, darling, c’mon—“

You couldn’t handle it, all the sweet talk mixed with his filthy words. You felt tears in the corners of your eyes, stealing blurry glances at the fast way his cock was vanishing inside your cunt.

“Touch yourself,” Joel commanded, and your hand bolted in between your legs, frantically rubbing your clit. “Atta girl, there you g-go—“

His own orgasm hit much harder than he expected; suddenly you were rubbing circles around your clit while Joel stroked himself to completion partially inside you and all over your soaked folds and plush belly, painting the messiest canvas you’ve ever seen. When you do come, it’s blinding and ecstatic, and you moan a series of cuss words and his name. Always his name when he brings you to completion.

And now, the word mine as well.

Joel pecked your lips, smiling before adding, “You’re mine too. Don’t you forget that.”

You smiled back at him. “Never.”

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imnotselfryed · 1 year

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You'll be okay. [d. djarin]

(this is on my wattpad also! "Another Child?" Is too! user: @selfryed)

word count: 554

content/warnings: mentions of blood, dad-child relationship again, very angst 💔, definitely not proofread made this at 3 am, protective dad din is a warning itself, highly based off 2x08 (chapter 16) of the mandalorian, kind of a part two to “Another child?” but like MONTHS later, tried to keep it gender neutral this time **gif not mine**

☆♫☆♫

It's been a few months since you and Mando have met, and he has grown protective of you and Grogu even more since. It's like he had two children now.

“I swear to Maker, if you don’t get back to the Crest right now, I’m gonna-” Din was cut off by you stabbing each stormtrooper with your dagger, a weapon gifted to you when Mando first took you to meet the Armorer.

“Din, no. I want to help. He’s my brother after all.”

You and Din are now in Moff Gideon’s ship trying to save your little baby brother Grogu who was now captured in a room. It was a part of the mission to save him, and you both hoped that part would go as planned. Quick and easy. You both arrived there just in time as Din hacked in the door.

Grogu was just sitting there like the little bean he is. Apparently they found small enough handcuffs for him. Din pushed you behind him, protecting you as he held up his blaster as a threat.

“Drop the blaster,” Moff said as he lowered the saber dangerously low to Grogu’s head. “Slowly.”

Din sighed quietly as he put the blaster down while you looked at him in a shock. Seriously? you thought as Din also kicked the blaster to Moff. You started to grip your knife just in case Moff decided to make a move. You really wanted to be a help to Din, to save Grogu with him. You didn’t really hear a word Moff said as he rambled about the Dark Saber he was holding. You already knew Din’s impatient look under his helmet as he kept an eye on Grogu while he held you back. “I see you’ve brought another here?” Moff said as he inched closer to the two of you.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t harm them.” He said as he looked at you. “Take the child. But you will leave my ship immediately and we will both go our separate ways.”

You look up at Din as he walks forward slowly, not to pose as a threat and cause more of a problem. He already felt terrible he brought you on the mission and felt it was his fault Grogu got captured to just get a blood sample. He went to pick up Grogu, but at the moment he was going to, Moff activated his saber and slashed Din’s beskar across the back. “Mando!” You yell as he tries to protect himself and you. “Go! Get out!” He yelled at you as you ran to pick up Grogu and dash back out, but you weren’t fast enough. As if time had slowed, Din saw Moff slash you across your abdomen as you winced in pain, Grogu falling out of your arms as you fell to the floor and sat up against a wall.

Din used his spear to knock Gideon off his feet to save some time. He rushed over to you both as you held onto your stomach. “Hey, hey it's me, Ad’ika,” he says softly as you look down at your bloody hands. “Din?” “Shh, it’s okay. We’ll get you out of here, don't worry, okay?” Din held on to Grogu as he held your small hand.

“You’ll be okay.”

☆♫☆♫

Translation:

Ad'ika: Kid, child (correct me if im wrong)

#mandalorian #din djarin #starwars #star wars drabble #din djarin drabble #child!reader #angst #angsty #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #din djarin angst #mandalorian x child!reader #mandalorian imagines #star wars imagines #imagines #blurbs #drabbles

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lincolndjarin · 6 months

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ro's very reasonable 2023 wrap up schedule.

hi lovelies!! (figured out how to do a color gradient, took me weeks, i'm fucking thrilled, expect more of that nonsense in this post lol)

it's mid november and as the year comes to a close i'd like to wrap up a lot of stuff so here's the plan :

NOV 12 : BKS 26 : crucifixion (currently being edited will be out by tonight.)

NOV 12-19 : BKS 27 : the apostate (will be released at some point here, it's gonna be on the shorter side so it shouldn't take too long

NOV 25 : Oh Honey, Chapter Four : painting the roses red (another long chap, gonna need some time to get this one out so at the latest it will be out on the 25th!!)

The First Week of December will be my 1,000 follower celebration, I'm going to be doing a week of Best Kept Secret content leading up to the final BKS chapter !! (this will include the release of my 500 follower celebration whoops)

Best Kept Secret Week :

DEC 1 : BKS 28 : a place for us (the technical final chapter of BKS)

DEC 2 : BKS Q&A (gonna ask for questions at some point here i'll make a post and answer any final questions about bks!!)

DEC 3 : Bound in Beskar - 500 follower celebration (a one off based on the book princess reads in bks)

DEC 4 : BKS what ifs (it's 8 days of stuff they can't all be hits. tbh i needed a day filler and i've got a lot of alternative story lines in bks so fuck it, i'll talk about those here)

DEC 5 : Best Kept Secret Art!! (i commissioned three artists to illustrate some of my favorite scenes bc i'm a sap so i will be posting all of that on this day and i'm so excited for y'all to see it!! they're wonderful artists and they've done wonderful work so far <3)

DEC 6 : Secrets Best Kept - 1,000 follower celebration (a one off where Din Djarin is the new reluctant ruler of Mandalore, a tutor is hired to help him during his early days as a ruler to learn proper etiquette for royalty)

DEC 7 : A love letter to Best Kept Secret. (pretty much just gonna be one last corny post to thank everyone for reading)

DEC 8 : BKS 29 : the best kept secret (epilogue) (corny ass name ik, anyhow, this will be it!! this will be the last main update of best kept secret!!)

DEC 16 : Oh Honey, Chapter Five : a very merry unbirthday (this will be the last chapter of oh honey!! i've always intended for this to be a short form story so it will be wrapped up at the latest by the 16th!!)

DEC 24 : Best Kept Christmas (gonna sneak one last good bye to bks in at the end of the month with a christmas special lol)

and then i will be taking the last week of december to write my next fics! rest!

so yeah lol, my goal is to wrap up all ongoing fics this year but but but if you made it this far (i love you *mwah*) here's some of the fics coming in 2024!! i won't be starting anything new this year but next year i've got big plans >:)

Then & Now (probs gonna change that title) - this will be my main fic for a bit, i've been itching to start this for so so long, f!reader x joel. definitely gonna be more on the angsty side

i'm participating in pmamc 2024 so there will be an Oberyn one off in January!!

Andromeda - this is gonna be my next din x reader !! i don't have much other than the base idea but im gonna keep that a surprise haha

And plenty of other stuff i'll figure out lol

#lincolndjarin #fic : best kept secret #fic : oh honey

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weird-writes · 1 year

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Easy Mark (The Mandalorian, E)

Title: Easy Mark (10k)

Series: Part two of Creed, a non-linear series about Din Djarin and his favorite... distraction.

Description: The Mandalorian comes home drunk, desperate, and absolutely unwilling to admit anything to himself. So you do it for him.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Real, unbroken sleep on a planet with diurnal cycles will be nice, he thinks resolutely, even if he'd had other plans for that luxurious bed. And there are advantages to privacy. He unlatches his helmet with a hiss that sounds like a sigh, strips off his gloves, and then begins to unstrap his beskar, fingers taking him through the motions automatically. When he's done, and with his blaster in easy reach on the table beside the bed, he lays back into the enveloping softness and dims the already low lights. He wants to sleep but he knows it won't be possible yet. His body has started its own cycle, as inexorable as the spin of a galaxy, and he won't be able to rest until he completes it.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, sex work, masturbation (mutual if you squint), ruined orgasm but on accident, dry humping, dirty talk, hand kink kinda sort, oral sex, fingering, a pinch of D/s, alcohol use, hangover, canon what canon, no betas we die like men

Tropes: you know that thing where you're talking with someone and it turns out you're having two totally separate conversations, yeah like that but with sex, idiots with feelings, angst, the helmet stays on, boy HOWDY does that helmet stay on

Author's note: Writing the first one was an out-of-body experience and then it turned out Din and his distraction weren't done with me yet. A couple days later I woke up in the middle of the night and said to myself: "listen bitch i have two words for you - helmet riding." So here we are. Set before Distractions, in the bad but fun times before our idiots sorted out their feelings. Please note that this one does involve Mando visiting a sex worker while lusting for the main character, so if that's not your cup of tea no worries. Personally I like 'em hot, confused, and suffering.

***

This was probably a mistake.

The woman on her knees in front of him is beautiful in a generic sort of way. What Din can see of her face in this position is smooth and symmetrical, and she's groomed her brows into the fine expressive lines that are fashionable in the Core, or at least were fashionable several years ago when he was last there. She has high cheekbones and dark eyes and the rest of her is probably equally well-tended but he can't tell since she's got her mouth around him and is doing something with her teeth that is both precise and masterful. It feels like heaven, the clutch of her throat around the head of his cock a welcome respite after so many months of artificial substitute. She's been working him with lips and tongue for quite a while now, and though he's hard enough that she'd at first had trouble getting her jaw around his not-inconsiderable thickness, the sensation has not yet ticked beyond pleasant relief.

Okay, this was definitely a mistake.

It's not that Din's body isn't willing. He can tell from the dull throbbing in his balls that the purely mechanical parts of him would love nothing more than to empty quite a lot of pent-up frustration into this girl's talented mouth. No, the problem lies elsewhere, and not with anything as obvious as his mind either. He's not thinking about anything in particular, and when he closes his eyes no troublesome images burn themselves on the backs of his eyelids. It's a feeling in his chest instead, a nagging tightness when he breathes in, a sort of perpetually suspended flinch that reminds him of nothing so much as the infinitesimal time between watching someone pull a trigger and hearing the blaster bolt. He's keyed-up, jittery, waiting for an explosion that isn't coming, and he has no idea why.

It had all seemed like such a good idea at the time. He's no stranger to brothels. He has needs, and his mind is calmer and his work better if he attends to them. Not frequently, not enough to be an indulgence. Just enough to remind himself that the same physical facility that lets him shoot straight and fight hard has more demands than only food and rest. He's been distracted lately and the tidiest solution is to find someone who makes it their business to solve problems like his. It's really no different than bounty hunting, and unlike fellow hunters, none of them have ever objected to him keeping the helmet on.

He's learned the wisdom of seeking out professionals the hard way. There are plenty of beings of all species who'd jump at the chance to fuck a Mandalorian. In his youth, he'd sometimes indulged them. It had never gone as poorly as it might have, but eventually he'd understood the motivations every entanglement distilled to in the end - sex was just a clever way to keep him on a leash. Whether it was through intimidation or seduction, everyone was after the same thing: control. And if it worked they'd forever feel they'd won, that they'd somehow put one over on an untouchable Mandalorian. That smug surety had been a source of trouble more than once.

Damaging his public image will not be an issue here. Everything from the decor in the foyer of the tasteful building in the corporate district to how the woman currently servicing him is touching him with her slim fingers screams of discretion and professionalism. She's as practiced with him as he is with his weapons, although to her credit it comes off as attentive rather than perfunctory. When he'd first arrived and made his very specific wishes known she'd acquiesced without fuss, happy to provide what he needs within such clear boundaries. Then she'd used her mouth to release the buckle on his belt, one hand holding it steady while the other slid up his thigh. She'd even smiled up at him once she'd gotten him as undressed as the occasion called for. He suspects her enthusiasm isn't entirely feigned - if the reputation of his people sometimes comes with a cost, it also has benefits.

So now here they both are: her with one hand cupping his sack and the other curled around the base of his cock as she parts her tinted lips, him watching her slide her tongue along his slit with an appreciation that refuses to rise past tepid despite his best efforts to convince himself otherwise. He feels bad that he is not enjoying this more, ashamed of himself in the most absurd way. It seems horribly impolite, as though he is choosing to refuse to respond to her talent, one professional snubbing another. And the problem with someone like her, who makes her living by being perceptive about others' pleasure, is that of course she can tell.

His guilt is amplified when his companion lifts herself off his cock and gives the tip what feels like a genuinely sympathetic kiss. "You like this, but you don't love it," she says gently, and it's very much not a question. She stands and one hand tips his helmet up to meet her kohl-rimmed eyes. "I think you need something else. Something a little more... engaging." She feels him flinch, and her hand dips to smooth his cowl as she comes closer, the soft edges of her robe tickling his knees. "I'm not asking you to undress. There are all sorts of possibilities open to us." The word open is lightly emphasized, lingering on her tongue like a sweet, and oh she is good. There's a world of promise in that one sound. Perversely, it makes him feel worse.

"No," he says, and clears his throat. "I mean, no thank you. I don't think so. I appreciate... your work. I think it's better if we stop here."

"Are you sure?" she asks. Her fingers are skimming along his shoulder now, a touch that's both flirtatious and reassuring. "It doesn't cost more, you know. You have me booked for the whole night. It's my pleasure." This close to him, she smells wonderful even through the helmet, like refrigerated flowers and expensive cloth.

"Thank you," Din says again, because he doesn't know what else to say. "That– won't be necessary. I intend to pay in full, but I don’t think… I don't think I want company."

She hums a little in acknowledgement as she steps away. "Well, it's certainly up to you. If you need anything just touch the button by the door, that's the comm. And really--" she leans forward again, just enough to show the tempting swell of her breasts under the thin fabric, "-- if you get lonely, Mandalorian, don't hesitate." There's a warmth in her tone that sounds like she means it. She blows him a breezy kiss on her way out the door, the privacy panel sliding shut behind her.

Kriff. Kriff. She's gorgeous and she knows it and he likes that in a woman. She knows what she's doing, too, and he likes that as well. And even if he is paying her she clearly doesn't object to him, and he likes that best of all. And he'd just sent her away like an idiot. Leaving him with nothing but an uneasy feeling he can't name and a tight ache in his balls that promises real pain if he doesn't attend to them sooner rather than later.

Din toys with the idea of calling her back, telling her he'd changed his mind, but there's no reason to expect the outcome to be any different the second time around. It's late, and at least he'll be able to sleep as long as he wants. Real, unbroken sleep on a planet with diurnal cycles will be nice, he thinks resolutely, even if he'd had other plans for that luxurious bed. And there are advantages to privacy. He unlatches his helmet with a hiss that sounds like a sigh, strips off his gloves, and then begins to unstrap his beskar, fingers taking him through the motions automatically. When he's done, and with his blaster in easy reach on the table beside the bed, he lays back into the enveloping softness and dims the already low lights. He wants to sleep but he knows it won't be possible yet. His body has started its own cycle, as inexorable as the spin of a galaxy, and he won't be able to rest until he completes it.

It's nothing like the serene attentions he'd been receiving before he'd asked to be alone. He's flat on his back and completely undressed now as he would never be with another person in the room, and his callused hand is a poor substitute for her soft touch. He wraps his fist around his cock and brings himself back to fully erect with a few short strokes, uninterested in prolonging this experience beyond the necessary. At least he no longer feels the pressure to applaud an artist at work; he knows himself and knows exactly how to get this over with while still wringing out the pleasure he seems to periodically require. His hand speeds up as he replays the night in his mind: her fingers on his shoulder, her mouth on his cock. He's imagining her still and that's an appreciation of its own, assuaging the sting of guilt.

His eyes drift closed and his grip tightens, stroking over his length, rushing him toward the conclusion of this little farce. It's not what he wants, not really, but at least he'll feel better. He feels the pressure rising in his gut, the knot in his groin tightening, and there's a brief instant where he thinks about his hand - about his fingers - about a few nights ago and where his fingers have been and the slick wet heat he'd wanted to suck off them -

And that feeling of waiting for the blaster bolt crashes in again, knocking the building tension of his orgasm askew and ripping his touch away from himself to seize convulsively at the cool sheets.

Din opens his eyes and sits up so fast his helmet clatters to the floor. His chest is heaving and his palms are damp and there's a piercing pain around his temples that presages an exceptionally memorable headache. The moment of climax is gone as surely as the woman he'd sent away, and he knows himself well enough to know it's not coming back tonight. "Fucking-- kriffing-- fucking-- hell," he mutters and then descends into the most offensive Mando'a he knows, trailing off only when he runs out of rude words. He collapses back into the blankets, wrenching a pillow over his face. He needs to clear his head. He needs to sleep. He needs to come. One isn't happening without the other two, and at least one of the other two apparently isn't happening at all.

Well. If he already can't sleep, and his cock is not going to cooperate, he can at least do something else equally unwise. He'd paid for the room for the night and he intends to use it. He touches the built-in comm by the door and it clicks into life instantly, the concierge's smooth tones rendered only a little tinny by the size of the speaker. "Can we do something for you, sir?"

"Yes, I hope you can. Do you have a cantina on the premises?"

***

Something is wrong.

It's Mando's walk that gives him away. It's not that it's sloppy or loose; it's that it's tight. Normally the cadence of his boots sounds - relaxed. Ready, confident, easy in himself and his capabilities. You've become familiar with his long stride coming up the gangway, the slight hitch in his gait born from years of maneuvering in layers of armor and weapons. Right now it's too precise, too measured, as though he is concentrating entirely too much. You don't know what the problem is but you can hear that something is different, and by the time he's in the cargo bay that difference is blaring in your consciousness like a proximity alarm.

You wouldn't have noticed with anyone else. You've never attended to the messages of another's body as closely as you do his. You're not sure precisely why you feel the need to catalogue every variation of his mood through the tip of his helmet and the semaphore of his hands. Maybe it's to do with the fact you don't know his face, so you cling to every other detail. Nevertheless, your careful scrutiny reaps a reward: you can't see him, tucked into your own bunk folded down from the wall, but you can tell something has changed just from the sound of his steps.

Your first assumption is the obvious one. He'd left you last night, saying something about meeting a contact, and the life of a bounty hunter is risky even when not chasing quarry. Old marks hold grudges and old friends can turn into old enemies. A blaster graze or a stab wound, neither of them catastrophic, could easily be the cause. But he's back, clearly well enough to return to the ship under his own power, and he hadn't commed you to ask for entry which means he retained his vambrace and his ability to remotely disarm the ground protocols. It can't be anything too serious. He knows where the medkit is. He can patch himself. There's no need for you to get out of bed.

You've drawn the curtain to your bunk closed behind you and your bare feet are touching the floor before you have time to invoke your better instincts. Despite how your - whatever this is - has evolved recently, the Mandalorian often remains closed off to you, withdrawn behind the remote shine of his armor. Finding out exactly what's going on is at least a way to participate, to gain some level of understanding about his person and the kind of life he leads when you're not trapped together in the forced proximity of hyperspace. And if he refuses you - well, it's morning, and the thought of caf is enough of a consolation.

It's early still and the breeze through the open gangway brings with it pale dawn and the smell of growing things. The heat is already oppressive, promising another stifling equatorial day. Mando is leaning against a bulkhead, hip hitched casually on a crate, visor tilted to the floor. One pauldron is in the square of sunshine from the hatch and the tiny imperfections on its surface bounce pinpoints of light through the hold as his chestplate rises and falls with his breathing. It's the only movement you can see, and your stomach flips uneasily. You can tell he's holding himself back somehow, every line of him composed. You've seen him go still like this when he's angry with you. Maybe his meeting went sideways after all, but there's no blood or any of the other telltale signs of violence.

You're already regretting your curiosity. Whatever this is, it doesn't look as simple as a wound.

Mando must know you're there, his instincts too sharp for anything else, but he doesn't greet you. So you don't bother with the niceties either, saying "Are you all right?" in a voice still thick with sleep as you move towards the small galley and the plasma heater and the battered pot that serves as a makeshift kettle.

"What?" His head comes up too fast, as if he's only now remembering your existence, that the public areas of his ship are no longer places for himself alone. "Oh. Yes. Yes, I'm fine."

He doesn't offer more than that, and you resist the urge to pry further. Your - your what, exactly? Your traveling companion? Your erstwhile employer? Your occasional fuck? Better to stick with the obvious, you suppose - the Mandalorian - is hardly expressive at the best of times, but standing silent in the cargo bay this early in the morning with a stillness that implies nothing so much as intense concentration, as he would focus his attention on a difficult target or a mark in a crowded street, is unusual even for him. He's not blocking your path to the galley though, so you occupy yourself with the business of hotplate and kettle instead. You'd found your favorite brand of instant caf at the last trading post and somewhere in a drawer there are still a few packets of dehydrated milk.

You're distracted by the familiar routine, which is probably why you ask. "Would you like some caf?"

A stupid question, and one that makes you cringe as soon as it's out of your mouth. Of course Mando doesn't want caf. And even if he did, he couldn't drink it anyway - not with you there, your presence restricting him as surely as a pair of magcuffs. You've managed to avoid offering him anything that would require the removal of his helmet so far in your time together, but it's so early, and just for a minute you... forgot. Forgot he's Mandalorian, offered him something you would literally any other sentient creature who was awake with you at such an atrocious hour of the day.

His response surprises you. "That seems like a good idea," he says, which is a weird as hell way to put it but whatever. And what about the helmet? Maybe he'll take it to his rack and drink it there. Not your business. You open two pouches and rummage in the cabinet that holds the cheap tin cups. You chase the caf with hot water from the pot, watching the brown grains bleed into something that nearly passes for drinkable, then add milk in one cup and hesitate over the other. You don't know how he likes it and it seems strangely invasive to ask about his eating habits again. After a second’s indecision you tip two of the milk packets in and stir, same as yours. If he doesn't like it he can make his own.

When you're done you take both cups in hand and turn. At some point he must have changed positions, although you hadn't heard him. How he moves so quietly in all that metal is a mystery that continues to elude you even though you see it happen regularly. Now he's sitting down, leaning back against the wall, folded in on himself in a way you haven't seen before and that immediately makes you question whether or not he is, in fact, all right. Maybe you were wrong, and the injury just doesn't show under all his layers of cloth and steel. His posture mutes the inertia you'd sensed and he looks... if you're being honest he looks just a little pathetic, or as pathetic as a man wearing so many weapons can look, which is not very. It's oddly affecting. You don't know him well enough to judge with any level of precision but if it were you against the wall looking like that, you'd say you'd just lost a fight.

Impossible. Mandalorians don't lose fights. At least, this Mandalorian doesn't.

"Would you like some company?" you ask before you can stop yourself. It's apparently a day for firsts. You've never inquired if he wants your presence before, except as a matter of expediency on a hunt or going into a settlement. It's something in this morning's particular tableau that pulls it out of you, memories of your own bad nights echoing in sympathy with the set of his shoulders. It's easier when he's sitting down, too, the level of his helmet well below your eyeline. You wouldn't have dared if you were facing the wall of beskar that comprises a Mando upright.

His response is direct as he is always direct, and polite, as he is nearly always polite with you. "That would be... acceptable. Thank you."

So you slide down the wall next to him, probably graceless and noisy in comparison, still holding both cups. As you do the wind outside shifts, stirring the heat and bringing with it the inevitable warm damp of impending summer rain. It brushes past your strangely moody Mandalorian, pushing steam from the caf before it and tapping your hair against your cheek, and as it does you're hit by a wave of the familiar. A scent everyone who's ever worked a bar or relaxed after a long day in any town in the galaxy knows.

It takes you no time at all to recognize it, and only a beat longer to locate the source. Mando smells - and not subtly - like alcohol. The sting is unmistakable, announcing itself in the air between you. You can't even contemplate how much worse it would be without the intermediary of his helmet. A sequence of events clicks into place, as tidy as a relay switching shut. That's why he's so still, why his walk up the gangway was so careful. He's hungover. Or maybe still drunk. The Mandalorian is drunk.

You don't even know how he got drunk, considering the constraints of his helmet. You can't imagine him sitting in a cantina all night shoving a hydration tube under the faceplate and sucking in spotchka. The thought is so undignified that you almost laugh out loud. You choke down the impulse but it must show on your face somewhere because Mando says, in a tone that even through the modulator veers close to petulant, "What?"

Now you are laughing, the image of the feared warrior staggering - well, as close as he'll ever get to staggering, which is basically the exact opposite - into his own ship and half-collapsing, felled by something as mundane as alcohol, too ridiculous to ignore. "Oh, I see. Leaving late, coming in early, needing caf. What did you get up to last night, Mando?"

It's a sing-song question, meant as a tease, but that glacial quiet comes over him again and you swear the temperature between you drops several degrees. He's silent for a long while, contemplating an answer that seems weighty for him in a way you didn't intend. Did you upset him? Was intoxication forbidden to Mandalorians? Are you witnessing something as simple as a temporary lapse in judgment - and Maker knows you've had plenty of those yourself - or as serious as a violation of his Creed?

"I made some bad decisions," he says finally. "I thought it would... make things a little easier. It didn't."

And you have no idea how to interpret that, if he's talking about the job that went sideways that brought you to this planet in the first place or the drinking or something else. Or if you could be classified as a bad decision, one that he might need the escape of alcohol to make a little easier. Your brief moment of levity twists in your mouth, turning sour, and you shove the second cup toward him across the bay floor with unnecessary force, sloshing milky caf over the rim to puddle on the metal.

Mando doesn't comment on your lack of tact. He doesn't say anything at all, picking up the cup and contemplating it as though it holds the secrets of the universe. You'd slumped back against the crate after your little outburst but you're still watching him in your periphery. Not a single atom of you believes that he's going to remove his helmet. Not for something as banal as this, not with the hatch open for anyone to see, certainly not in front of you. But he might have some trick you haven't seen yet. A port somewhere, some way of getting sustenance in public when necessary. Maybe that's how he'd made last night's bad decisions.

He doesn't quite bring the caf to where his mouth would be but it's close. You don't see anything about the faceplate change, but the Mandalorian next to you inhales deeply and makes a quiet, satisfied noise. Then he does it again and you realize what's happening - if the visor weren't in the way he'd be burying his nose in the cup to breathe the bitter, scented steam. It's a mundane thing to do, nothing you haven't seen a thousand times before, and you want to be irritated by it. He makes another sound, the modulator obscuring its finer details. You hear it anyway, casually warm and appreciative, and your own mouth goes dry instead.

You are suddenly extremely aware of your body in proximity to his: your shoulders a few long inches from each other, your crossed knees so close to his strong thighs. You didn't mean to but you've turned your head to face him now, lips parting, and you can feel the rush of blood rising up your neck and creeping along your collarbones. You've caught his attention too, your reaction to his enjoyment nowhere near as subtle as you'd like. He doesn't put down the cup, doesn't do anything as predictable as reaching for you. Instead he slides across the floor and presses one long leg against yours, hip to knee, not touching you with intent but just... letting you feel him, solid as granite and twice as unmoving. Then he raises the cup again, slower this time, draws the steam toward himself, and makes the same noise again, deliberately.

Sweat springs up on your skin, the warmth of his nearness combining with your flush and the hot breeze still fluttering through the gangway. The helmet is pointed straight ahead but you can feel him considering you, the stalemate of shared desire spreading between you like ink in water. He seems to be waiting for something but you'll be damned if you're going to start coming out of your clothes just because you like the way he drinks - no, not even drinks - his caf. So you wait too, expecting him to call your bluff, or at least wordlessly take charge as he has taken charge of things between you before.

Nothing happens. You drop your gaze, fixing it on the way he cradles the cup, the tips of his gloves flaring orange against the dull alloy. It's precisely because you have expended so much attention on his hands as a substitute for his face that you notice it: a tiny motion on the surface of the liquid, a gentle waver like the very beginnings of a boil. It's not that the cup is trembling, not really, it's just... not entirely steady. You've already seen his grip around a blaster more times than you can count and you've sure it's always been reliable as a sun. This is new. Is he really that far gone?

"Would you do me a favor?" Mando's voice is carefully neutral, as if he's noticed your scrutiny.

"Sure," you say, not really listening. You could tell him no, discourage whatever drunken whim this is, but you're still watching the minute quiver of his hands, visible only through the ripples in his caf.

"Take off my gloves."

***

It's an insane request, and most of Din is having trouble believing he just said it. The words came out of his mouth unbidden with no direction from anything as capable of higher functioning as his brain. The rest of him - the part he’s forced to admit is housed mostly in his cock and in the bottom of a bottle discarded several hours ago - can't believe he's waited this long to ask. He saw the way you looked at him, the tip of your tongue suspended over your bottom lip. He's painfully aware of the soft skin of your thigh pressing against his, even if he can't feel it through his armor as more than a light pressure, a ghostly kiss of heat. He wants your touch somewhere, anywhere, ideally on the rock-hard erection that's straining against the buckles of his belt, but even as he thinks it he holds back, knowing it would be too much. The gloves instead then. The feeling he thought he'd drowned in revnog is back, the tightness in his chest ratcheting to life, making him shake with anticipation for something he doesn't even know the shape of.

Suddenly he's worried that he's overplayed his hand. You've allowed him to take liberties for your benefit before, but this feels different. This is you touching him for no reason other than he's asked you to and that's dangerously close to crossing the line he's drawn for himself. He sets down the caf and is about to say something sensible like "Never mind," but you're already reaching toward him.

***

Mando doesn't raise his arms for you, doesn't do anything at all to make his demand easier to meet except for putting down the cup. The hand closest retreats to rest on his hip and you chase it without thinking, picking it up like you would any other piece of equipment he’d tasked you to maintain. You can feel a faint tremor all through the capable muscles of palm and wrist. You yourself are sober as a Jedi but that doesn't stop you from fumbling at first, trying to understand how to get around the knuckle guard and loosen the magnetic tab cinching it tight just over the point of his pulse. You pull the glove over his fingers as efficiently as you can.

It's the closest you've ever come to the Mandalorian, which is an absurd thing to say considering what you've been doing, or rather what he's been doing to you, intermittently these past weeks. It's also true, and you feel your breath fraying as you reach for his other side. Undressing him even just this inconsequential amount seems unbearably domestic, an intimacy you haven't earned and probably never will. You remove this glove the same way, running your fingertips over the leather to find the catch, working the fingers loose in a movement that can't help but feel obscene as your smaller hand encloses his bigger one. Then you draw it off, still holding him, and stop. Because you have no idea what to do next.

There's a halting moment where you think he's looking at you and you're definitely looking at him and the tension is enough that you snag your lower lip between your teeth -

"Let go," Mando says softly. You drop his wrist like a thief caught in the act. You expect him to stand up, escaping from your proximity as he often does. You unwisely hope this might be one of those occasions where he turns you around instead, pushing your sleeping shorts down and plunging his fingers between your thighs where a needy hum has just hopefully kicked to life. An even more unwise part of you, a part you try very hard to ignore, wants him to pull you closer, face-to-face.

No such luck. The only sound is your own breathing buzzing in your ears. At this angle you can see the cowl around his neck has shifted, revealing a glimpse of his throat. His pulse shows through the thin skin, tripping steadily but fast. You can't drag your eyes away from it, a warm and traitorous bit of humanity amidst hard metal. There's only been one other time you've seen him like this and on that occasion his reserve, when it finally broke, heralded a storm you’d swear parts of you were still recovering from.

You're kneeling beside him, frozen in the same position you'd used to remove his gloves, and it's easy to notice how much lower and richer his tone is, even through the modulator, when he speaks again. "I'm sorry, mesh'la. I'm not trying to be rude. I just-- I can't."

"Can't what?" you probe, bewildered by the combination of his denial and the unmistakable heat threading through his voice.

"Can't... this." He makes a vague gesture that somehow encompasses himself, you, and the narrow space between you.

"Okay," you say. "Okay. You can't." Fuck whatever this is anyway, you're tired of him being the one to decide all the rules of engagement, where and when and how and if you are even in a position to look at him during. You start to move away but his bare hand briefly finds your knee, pinning you in place with no effort on his part. Even with that feather-light touch you can feel the rough texture of his palm. It raises the fine hairs on your neck with how much you want more of him.

"I can't," Mando says again, as though you'd asked him something, and you realize what he's telling you. He can't.

You can.

Something ignites in your blood, racing down your spine to pool between your legs. He's not refusing you, he's making you an offer, a chance to decide for yourself how this encounter will go. You wonder why now. Is this a misguided attempt at chivalry, a way of making sure that he doesn't push past your limits while he’s under the influence? More importantly - are you going to take him up on it?

You feel your heartbeat accelerating as you reel through the possibilities. You could touch him like he's been touching you. Would he let you? Could you remove more of the layers between you, finally chase your pleasure on his cock like you've spent so many furtive hours thinking about? Or you could deny him, get up and take your leftover caf and leave him to face his biochemical consequences alone. He wouldn't stop you, would accept your choice without protest, and somehow that feels most powerful of all.

The helmet is still watching you. Mando's gloveless hands are quiet in his lap, his chest under the armor rising and falling evenly as though he hadn't just implied you might want to use him like a toy. You meet the eyeless gaze of the visor, seeing only stark lines and your own warped, unrecognizable reflection. Just for an instant you let yourself pretend, wishing he had a face you could read anything in at all. Then you lean forward and grasp his hands in yours and stand up, putting one bare foot on either side of him, taking his hands with you. You hook his fingers into the drawstring at your waist, your meaning clear. Take them off.

You know exactly what you want. And you're almost sure Mando will give it to you.

Your shorts slide easily over the curve of your ass, puddling to the floor as you step out of them. You're wearing nothing underneath and his skin against yours is excruciating as he traces the hard bones of your shins, the backs of your knees - and stops, making it wordlessly clear that he's leaving you to dictate what happens next. You shrug out of your shirt and trail up your body to cup your tits, tossing your hair over your shoulder. Then you look at the Mandalorian under you and give your first order: "Touch me."

Your meaning is obvious even though technically, he's already touching you - hasn't stopped since you began your little show. His hands resume their wandering course, running up the dip of your waist and chastely smoothing sweat across your spine. You use the warmth of his touch as fuel for your own fire, pinching your nipples to greedy points and letting your back arch. It's beyond bizarre to expose yourself like this, presenting to the impenetrable wall of his armor in nothing but your own unassailable nakedness. Mando might deaf and blind for all the reaction the blank faceplate gives you. It's as dislocating as losing one of your own senses, giving everything a surreal, hallucinatory quality.

It's also indescribably arousing.

Mando is getting bolder, touching you with more purpose. One big hand ghosts up your thigh but you stop it before it reaches its goal. You've had his talented fingers in you plenty and you have other plans. "Hold my hips," you say, and though you meant it as a command it comes out more like a plea. He obliges you instantly, thumbs settling against the swell of your pelvic bones. You want him to participate in this, even if he won't take the initiative, and you want him to feel the same sting of desire you do, even if you can't see the results.

Your excitement is growing more acute now. You drop one hand from your breast and part your folds easily, slipping your fingertips up to tease your clit before dipping them just inside yourself. You moan a little at the feeling of it, so much better than when you do the same alone in the 'fresher, and when you pull out and move back to circle your clit again, spreading your slick over your lips, you feel his grip on you convulse. You follow that theme for a while, aimlessly chasing sensation for no reason other than you want to and it makes him wait. It isn't until you slide two fingers into your aching sex, pressing up and in to fuck yourself slowly in front of him, that you hear Mando make a noise.

It's nothing at all like how he sounded over the caf. It's rough and urgent even through the modulator, and it lights a shameless fuse in the cradle of your thighs. Time to find out exactly how far he wants you to go.

"Hold still." You advance on him, still straddling his lap, tilting his head to where you need it. He doesn't let go of your hips, and if he has any idea what you're about to do, he doesn't show it. He's perfectly capable of stopping you, you remind yourself, could probably throw you across the cargo bay if he wanted. He’d invited you to be the one in control. The knowledge gives you courage to come closer still, close enough to cant your hips forward...

And push your wet cunt directly into his helmet, right against where his mouth would be.

The sounds you both make as your warm flesh hits the beskar mirror each other in their desperation. You can't help but keen as the softest parts of you feel metal, cool even in the hot morning air. The Mandalorian under you jolts at the contact, letting out a broken, bitten-off growl. He's still holding you, could easily push you away, but he does just the opposite, adjusting the angle to bring more of his helmet flush against you. Even that small action makes some deep part of you seize with empty frustration, desire roaring through your veins. It's exactly the way a lover would part your legs to give themselves better access, but all you can feel is the smooth plane of the visor and you need more.

You close your eyes, put your hands on the crest of his helmet, and give an experimental thrust. Your thighs slot easily into the curves of his faceplate and what the beskar lacks in texture is made up for by the knowledge that you are a scant inch away from riding his face. You squirm a little, opening space to shove two fingers crudely back into yourself, already past the point of trying to provoke with anything more subtle. The movement brings your clit into contact with the low ridge over his faceplate and you hiss out a word that sounds very much like yes. You squirm again, fucking yourself down onto your hand at the same time the ridge pushes into your folds.

Mando understood your purpose as soon as your cunt touched metal, the eerie ability for reading others you've seen in combat brought to bear on you. His callused hands are working your hips in earnest now, grinding you against him. It's half fuck and half shared fantasy, the helmet providing only the meanest friction against your clit while the idea of Mando's mouth - his mouth, even in the privacy of your bunk you've never dared to imagine the details of his mouth - on you stimulates you far more. The thought of all his skill and focus narrowing to pleasing you has already gotten you wetter than you imagined possible, but it's more than that. If you just could feel him that way, close the loop on the circuit between you, know he's there with you, as desperate as you are - you aren't sure you'd ever be able to stop.

The tide between your legs is rising, orgasm kindling in the nerves of your sex. His bare skin against yours, your own fingers nudging something humming and electric inside you, the hard press of the helmet: it all adds up to an obvious conclusion, your body racing to finish the equation. The closer you get the more noise you make, until you finally realize you're talking, words spilling out of you with no intention from your brain. Words like Mando and more and please. Words like feel so good and I want you, which makes your heart stop for a moment with fear, but his only response is to your hips as he holds you tighter, grip pressing hard enough to bruise.

You're teetering on the edge when you tell him what you really mean, reveal the thing you've wanted since he told you he couldn't and then tempted you with the merest brush of his hand over your skin. You would never have said it otherwise, but it's there now, the truth pushing insistently behind your teeth. You wait until the last possible moment; until you feel your climax catch and flare, pulling you into a whirlpool of mindless pleasure.

"Fuck, I-- I wish I could see you like this. I've thought about it-- about you," you confess. It feels like you're baring the filthiest, worst part of your soul, admitting that you've imagined what it would be like with his naked face buried in your cunt. The concession is equal parts humiliating and exhilarating, a glimpse into something so private that you've barely examined it yourself, a breach of your painstaking respect for his way of life. "I want to feel your mouth on me."

You can feel the shudder that runs through him when you say it and there's an indescribable sound from under the helmet, something like a groan but hungry, full of desire and frustration - the noise of a man who sees a feast in his dreams after years of famine. It goes right to your core, a bolt of lust beyond what you knew was possible sparking from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes, and your eyes fly open. You look down. It's his face, the face of his helmet, the only face you know him by, framed by your thighs as you rub your slick against the transparisteel that tips you past the point of no return, your cunt clenching and your knees buckling as you come.

***

He’d been doing so well holding himself in check. He’d even managed to tell you that he couldn’t provide what you were looking for, the service he’s done for you with great regularity lately. Din is mostly sober, or thinks he is, but he doesn’t trust himself after yesterday. His interrupted lust is still seething just under the habitual discipline. He’s not afraid that he wouldn’t stop if you asked him - there’s no world in which he’d ever be inebriated enough for that - but he’s afraid of what you might say yes to. What you might eagerly permit him. He’s clinging to his Creed like a lifeline but that’s the problem with the Way: it rarely tells him what to do, only that he must do it honorably and with intention. He doesn’t feel especially honorable right now. It would be so much easier if he were outright forbidden this, your rapid breathing and your erratic heartbeat and the convincing wetness of your cunt.

What’s happening right now couldn't be more different than the practiced passion of last night. Unlike last night, however, the chaotic tangle between you occupies all his senses. His already-interested cock has swollen to impossible hardness, somehow more sensitive to the uncomfortable bite of his own clothing than it was to any of the clever tricks that had been used to coax his enthusiasm twelve hours ago. He can't see you, but he can smell you, your musk and the scent of the regulation soap he always buys mixed with sweat. The perfume of your sex, warm and more than willing for him, is one of the things fueling his nearly painful hard-on but for some reason it's the soap that gets to him, replacing every coherent thought with wild, driving need. It's a smell he associates with himself, with his ship, it's the same soap that he's bought for years at every surplus depot in the galaxy and he's never thought about it for even a second but suddenly it’s all over you. It's him, he can smell himself when you push into him, and it makes him feel like he's going insane, like he'll never be able to get inside you deep enough or make you come hard enough to stop himself wanting more of you.

Now you're talking to him and he can hear that just fine, your breathless admission that you want this too, that you've thought about him beyond those times where he's behind you and you're begging for release, imploring him with a name that isn't even a name, just a category. He can hear when you urge more, more, and short on sleep and still half-drunk he can pretend you mean more than more pressure, more than right now, more than Mando.

And then you say the thing that ruins him, making his cock jump and his throat dry and his heart a triphammer in his chest. You tell him you want him - not the armor, not the Mandalorian, but him; his naked face, his naked self - his hips buck, driving upward against nothing, every bit of his carefully won control in pieces around him -

And the explosion he’s been waiting for rips through him, the suspended moment between trigger and blast slamming shut at last. He makes a noise he can’t even try to stop, loud and feral and animal, and comes, his orgasm taking him as hard as a fist to the gut.

***

You’re still partially on top of Mando when your breathing begins to normalize. Once the aftershocks had faded and your knees were no longer shaking quite so hard, you’d stepped off him and gently collapsed, your back against the crates and your legs draped across his cuisses. You know how debauched you must look, still naked and covered in sweat. Absurdly, it makes you feel shy, girlish in your need to conceal your soft and affectionate smile from the helmet next to you. “Holy shit, Mando,” you say instead, hoping your voice doesn’t give you away. “You should get drunk more often.”

That seems to take him by surprise, what sounds like a genuine laugh huffing through the moderator. He doesn’t respond but a hand moves up to your ankle and rests there, filling your chest with hazy satisfaction. You could probably spend forever like that, bonelessly content, but your post-coital bliss is reminding you what he missed while you were busy using him for your own pleasure.

"Do you want--" you say, reaching tentatively for his belt, but what you mean is please let me, which makes it worse when he jerks away from your touch like it’s a soldering iron, pushing you off his thighs and letting your legs slide to the floor. You hadn’t meant to offend but clearly you have somehow, breaking the rules of your little game without even knowing what they are. You open your mouth to apologize but Mando is getting to his feet and his silence is already somehow back into place between you, impregnable as a fortress. You watch him walk away from you towards the ‘fresher, sealing the door behind him with a thud that lands heavy in your ears, and all you can do is stare after him.

In a kinder version of your world, you'd get off lightly from this. The man whose armor you'd just ruined would be drunk enough to forget, or at least drunk enough to forget details. He'd wake in eight or ten hours with a pounding head and a helmet that needed polish, but he wouldn't remember exactly why, and you'd be spared the self-inflicted invasion of your privacy. But you knew there was no chance of that, no chance that your Mandalorian's mind, even clouded with alcohol, was any less reflexively capable than the rest of him. He would remember what he'd done, and what you'd done, and what he hadn't even had to ask you for. You could have kept quiet. You could have stayed in your bunk. You could have declined to imagine, or at least to declined to share, what his mouth would feel like on you.

Too late for that now.

***

Din can’t regret his choices, not if they brought him here, with you warm and sated on top of him and his own body still coming down from the stupendous high of climax. Still, he’s forced to admit to himself that he’s struggling, the bill for his past abuses rapidly coming due. A truly monumental hangover is stalking through his synapses and he can't tell if the nauseous twist in his stomach is from the alcohol or all the things he wants to say and can't. He'd thought it would fade with the last haze of orgasm, but the urge to tell you how much he wants you remains overwhelming.

He tamps it down. All social creatures have a psychological urge to reciprocate the sharing of a secret. That's all this is: the reciprocal urge. He's used it himself when tracking bounties, a false confession from him eliciting a true one from his mark. It doesn't seem like you're lying to him, not exactly, but he thinks maybe it's not quite real either. You didn't mean it the way it sounded. You like what he can do for you, that's clear, and that liking is enough to earn your tolerance of his company the rest of the time. There was no way you could be conversant with all the complex overtones that imbue something like telling a Mandalorian you want his face between your thighs. Maker, he has to stop thinking about it.

He's still in control of himself enough to push the subject away for now, bury it for later when he can examine it later with a clearer head. What he doesn't know is how to stop the feeling that flares when you’re close to him like this, the sensation of hurtling towards something he can't stop, dogged as a footrace toward the edge of a cliff. He's dizzy and sweating and suddenly everything feels too hot. You've been on his ship twelve weeks and he's had you a dozen times by now, coming so hard around his fingers so hard he can feel the clench, choking on the pleasure he tells himself only he can give you. Today he can add another entry into that catalogue, your words searing through him as you fucked yourself against his visor, and he already knows it's not going to be enough. He's going to need it again. He might need even more. He might - with the sudden taste of bile rising in his throat - he might need to go be sick in private.

At least you didn't realize how far gone he is for this, the thing that stretches between you as powerful as a riptide. Your offer to accommodate his own needs made it quite clear you had no idea what you'd done to him, even if Din’s treasonous body had made sure he wouldn't be tempted by beating you to the punch. He wants to say something to soothe the hurt he’s inflicted, something that might help the new and giddy warmth between you linger, but he has no idea what - except the truth, which would be catastrophic.

He leaves the cargo bay with no ceremony whatsoever instead, shoving you off his lap and surging to his feet. He makes his way to the 'fresher, shuts the door behind him with more emphasis than he means to, and urgently fumbles his armor off. Then he half-collapses onto the lid of the vac tube, leaning over the tiny sink, and closes his eyes.

It's only when he feels the cool bite of beskar on his lips that he realizes he's resting his face against his helmet.

***

“I’m heading to town. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

It's late, the triune suns of this world long since dipped past the horizon. The heat is still suffocating. The landing site is bathed in purple shadows, the endless violet lightning of distant summer storms flickering across the sky. You've taken your schematics outside to work, sitting cross-legged on one of the antigrav loading lifts as it rests quiescent in the mud. You're dressed in clean clothes, having already done penance in the 'fresher with the temperature dial cranked all the way to a punishing cold and the plain white soap washing away any trace of beskar and leather. You are doing your best to fill your head with wiring diagrams, ignoring the way you can't seem to control your hands as they alternately brace and rub at the back of your datapad.

Mando is clearly back to being his sober, achingly polite self, making sure he doesn't leave without informing you, which for some reason is infuriating. You don't want to ignore him entirely but you can't find anything to say that won't meet his courtesy with childish irritation. You make a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement instead. He must not have heard you, because a gloved finger drops into your line of sight and taps the top of the datapad: once, twice.

Unwillingly, you drag your gaze up, fixing it on his left shoulder. You know you're a coward but even in the semi-dark you can't meet the cool line of his visor. Not yet. You wonder if you'll ever be able to look at him again, and then - a stray thought welling up from somewhere dangerously close to hysteria - you wonder if all Mandalorian helmets are the same. You've never noticed, never had reason to pay that much attention before. What if it's not just him, what if you'll never be able to see a beskar-clad bounty hunter without blushing? Maybe it's time to find a new line of work.

"Hey," the Mandalorian in front of you says, his inflection very neutral. You still won't look at him and you know your cheek is twitching and Maker, you must look insane. "Did you hear me?"

You wave him off. "Yeah, I'm fine. Go get... whatever it is you need."

It's not a double-entente, not really, and you didn't mean it that way anyway, you just hadn't been paying attention when he'd announced where he was headed, but the shoulder you've locked your eyes on flinches and there's a slightly choked noise though the modulator. It should be funny, that your slip of phrasing could have that much effect, when you half-naked and begging for him didn't.

It isn't. It kills any shred of humor you've found in the situation instead, slamming your teetering smile to a halt abruptly as a bounty in carbonite for the second time today. You suddenly feel exhausted, the empty space yawning in your chest a poor exchange for the satisfied purr of the space between your legs. Fuck but you wish it was your turn to get drunk. Anything to get away from this for a while. Whatever this is.

But Mando is solving that problem for you, at least temporarily. He nods, already turning away to collect the speeder and head back to the city, and you wonder if he's as eager to flee the awkward interaction as you are. You wonder if you'll ever have any other kind of interaction with him ever again. Is this it for you now, prolonged silences and painful courtesy and the occasional white-hot orgasm as he spurs you - or you goad him, you aren't even sure - to acts more depraved than you've ever dreamed of?

You're still looking down when he leaves, which means you see his booted feet cross the clearing, noting that his stride is once again relaxed and elastic in all the ways that are now painstakingly familiar. Undeniable evidence that he is back to his aloof, controlled self, as though this morning had never happened, as though you hadn’t used the thought of his mouth to take yourself apart.

Now he is no longer looking directly at you, you can lift your eyes to watch him with less embarrassment. It's dark enough you can't make out more than shaded contours and straight lines as he checks over the speeder, kicking the throttle to life with a roar. Then another flash of the ever-present lightning, light cracking across his armored form, every inch of beskar gleaming as clean and precise as his practiced hands as he slings his rifle slant-wise and releases the brake. A following moment of shadow after and your Mandalorian gone, vanishing in the twilight, but you don't need him there to know what you saw. The ubiquitous helmet, shining as if newly minted, every trace of you wiped and buffed and polished from its surface.

You turn your head to follow the progress of the speeder bike across the plains into the night and wonder if you ever left a mark at all.

series masterlist

#the mandalorian #din djarin #pedro pascal #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #reader insert #star wars

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msflowerpot · 2 years

Text

For those of you who would looooove content that is just straight badass Mando (not that there is something wrong with smut but come on??)

(Re)convene Time travel, whole gang of Ezra, Din, Boba, Fennec, Omega, Ashoka, we go fuck palp up!

According To Creed Every chapter is like a new episode of The Mandalorian, kinda awesome ;3

All hail the Mand'alor Wholesome badassory, where everything is great <3 Now this one is a little tricky with it’s chronological order. I don’t really agree with the authors choice. I might be wrong, but here is how i would read it;

The found The name (first chapter) The council The historian The legend The temple The name (fourth chapter) The name (second chapter) The name (third chapter) The name (sixth chapter) The leader The name (fifth chapter) The son The name (seventh chapter) The name (eighth chapter)

All help us survive Din forces Boba to be part of the mandoade 😆 Aliit ori'shya tal'din A uncompleted story about a dad failing to not adopt every child he meets.

An Unworthy Hand Seconds after Grogu was taken away by Luke, what was going on in Din's mind?

All the story's A ridiculous and comedic story of "what happens after Din leaves with Grogu after Tattoine". Sadly, the author discontinued the story since the didn’t know how to keep it going...

Back in Beskar Another hilarious story of what happens after Grogu and Luke takes off in season 2. XD

Mand'alor'ika DIN IS TINY!!! I REPEAT, DIN IS TINY!!!! (adult mind in tiny body back in time)

Blow in Like a Hurricane (Everyone Will Know my Name) Nobody seems to realise that the unsuspecting Din is actually Mand'alor. Including Luke and Leia XD Buir Everyone’s POV on the Dadalorian and Grogurt.

Clones and Kings Rex gets a task from Ashoka, "Take care of this dude. He is a magnet for disasters" Curse and Cure Din takes (tries) his role as the Mand'alor with some help from Luke, Leia and other members of the universe. Demons Run When a Good Man Goes to War Evil people has done something bad to someone (it's Grogu, always is), and Din is royaly pissed off. Din Djarin and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Time Travel Incident Time travel, Din meets Anakin and Obi. Anakin is convinced that Din is some oooold Mandalorian.

Filling the Empty Nest Din figures out what to do with himself after season 2, misses Grogu, and somehow ends up rebuilding Mandalore. From Foundling to Father Din is eight. Gets rescued. His dad learns how to be a dad to him. (I seriously wish the author will continue the story T.T) Short works Some sad some interesting. Honor thy Clan What would happen if most of the survivors after the purge was children? General Mudhorn (and the time traveling bush) Just like the title says, plus som time travel Grogu's Adventures in Acquiring a Buir Grogus POV from the beginning to the moment Luke takes him away. Homebound Ain’t some teenage angst Ben Solo going to stop the might Grogu! if love is the answer, you're home Din is just being a dad, missing his son. And then there is Luke who is really bad at tracking.. In harmony The ehh.... the armor is alive... The Mand’alor and the Jedi These stories are by faaaar the best ones out there. I can’t give the author enough love. The writing, the pacing, all the characters that stays.... I can’t recommend it enough! If you love The Mandalorian, then you will DEFINITELY love these works!!!!!! Lost in time The clones Rex, Cody and Fives travel forward in time. Din's dad instincts kicks in. Mandalorian Menace Time travel, Din adops Anakin. F*** you Jedi more alike than apart Din and Sabine doing a heist and become mandosiblings (boba and Din are bros)😎 My Neighbor, My Neighbor, and Me Modern AU Din and others No Holy Cities Around the time when Din is introduced to the mandalorians. Nowhere King Time travel. Din has been Mand'alor for a long time, and then... the most horrible happens... he comes from nowhere and plans to fix the galaxy. Only the Parent You Will Be Hera Syndulla and Din Djarin's children call to each other and then stuff happens. Oya Manda'lor! (15 years and up (cus this ain’t america), warning of smut) This one is mostly 98% badass buuut... ehh... there is mentioning of smut.. and the other works of the same person... is hella ssmutty 😳 Time travel, Din meets Jaster. Phoenix Rising: Stronger Together Duology (15 years and up (cus this ain’t america), warning of smut) This one... again, mostly badass, around 89% badass. There is smut😑 Din is in pieces after Grogu left with Luke. Ashoka comforts him and Bo-Katan is a bitch. Ring out the song of the Midnight Blade Din and the darksaber takes on the empire. Highly recommend that you listen to the song at the same time you read this one. https://youtu.be/toJD2eJ4zvo Suddenly, I'm Respectable AU in which Bail and Breha Organa have a backup plan in place for Leia's rescue. The Consequences of Wearing a Touchy Mystical Laser Sword Din (and some others (not gonna tell😉)) shrink to their child sizes and try to fix the galaxy. Some humor, hehe. The Deserter Okey... everyone is allowed to pine for Din, but Din is as sexual as a brickwall!!!! The Pros and Cons of Time Travel and Force Visions Time travel. Mando being (as usual) a himbo, while senators and Jedi try to understand the situation... The Way of Conquest Time travel. Me, the force, Yoda and the author are giggling like maniacs 8D Truth and Consequences Okey soooo this one doesn’t really have Din in it... much... Tor Vizla and Jaster Mereel gets bonked on their heads by their grandchildren. The Mandalorian and the Rebel Spy Cassian gets adopted by Din's buir and they, sort of, grews up together. They're Gonna Give You Hell This one is by far the funniest shit ever🤣 do NOT read where you need to be quiet!! (i accidentally laughed in a quiet auditorium...) Time is a social construct Time travel, Din adopts Satine and Obi. Trust Luke travel to Mandalor and training begins. Vortex Amnesia for Din, he only remember that Grogu left. Nope. 2 years have gone by! You Can Worship the Ashes Time travel. Din saves Fives. you were only waiting for this moment to arise Rey gets (sort of) adopted by Din.

#the mandolarian #din djarin #mand’alor din #archive of our own #ao3fic #mandalorian #aot fanfiction #ao3 masterlist #mand’alor din djarin #grogu #din and grogu #mando and grogu #bo katan kryze #paz vizsla #boba fett #luke skywalker #leia skywalker

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nobedofroses · 1 year

Text

December 24

pairing: Din Djarin x reader

warnings: fluff, allusions to spice

words: 603

a/n: sweets for the sweeties

Last, Full List, Next, More Din

🏔🏔🏔

The three of you had only planned on spending one night at the little cabin on the edge of the forest. You had always wanted a real kitchen to bake in, so once a month you rented a cabin and baked to your heart’s content for 24 hours, freezing things to enjoy for the next 30 days.

But this was the first time you were doing so in snowier climes, and when you woke up in the morning, the cabin was completely snowed in. So much so that the floor to ceiling windows were covered ¾ of the way up, at least your height because the ceilings were so high.

You and Grogu were absolutely shocked at the sight of the snow, and you even brought a little bit inside so that he could touch it and play with it, though his hands got cold before too long. The thought was that it would possibly melt by the time your baking was done, but when you opened the door to check, it was still completely blocked by snow.

A part of you definitely knew that Din could clear the way between his flamethrower and strength, but he seemed content to be stuck in the cabin with the two of you. After the baking was done and Din was cleaning up the dishes, you and Grogu inspected the rest of the cabin to see what it had to offer aside from the kitchen, fireplace, and bedroom. You found a few simple card games, some old versions of data-tapes, and plenty of blankets.

Working together, you made a nice little nest of blankets, cushions, and pillows in front of the data-player and the fireplace with enough space for the games as well. When Din was done, he brought in a plate of some of each goodie for the two of you. But between you and Grogu, you were able to convince him it was safe to take off his helmet since no one could see in with the windows frosted over and the snow so deep that no one could reach the cabin if they tried.

So the three of you ate way more treats than you should have, depleting your stocks for the rest of the month by half. After a wild few minutes of running around, evading both your and Din’s efforts to chase him, Grogu eventually ran into the bedroom and onto the bed, waiting for you to catch him. But in the ten seconds it took to follow him there (you and Din had tripped over the blanket nest), he had fallen asleep. The two of you tucked him into a more comfortable position and then closed the door gently, hoping a nap would save him from the worst of his sugar crash.

Din had taken off his armor with his helmet, and the two of you went back to the blanket nest for a cuddle and to watch the fire. Leaning into his chest, with his arms wrapped around you, in front of the warm fire, you were incredibly happy.

“Din, if you ever want to settle down, live like this, I fully support that,” you said, somewhat casually.

Smiling, Din slid his hand from your shoulder and down then down some more and said, “You know, I was just thinking the same thing. Except, I wasn’t sure how we’d fill all this time when the kid is asleep.”

Turning in his arms just as his hand found your ass, you smiled up at him and got closer, until his lips were only an inch away, “I have some ideas.”

🏔🏔🏔

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #fluff #blurb #nobedofroses #snowy fics 22 #stephsdecemberwritingchallenge

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newpathwrites · 27 days

Text

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Trusted Friend Chapter 1

How remarkable that they could maintain their friendly banter while he was buried so deliciously deep inside her.

This was the dream, Bo thought - the ideal encounter - casual but not impersonal… meaningless but not cold…

Friends-with-benefits was definitely an underrated arrangement.

Summary: Din and Bo enjoy some casual ‘companionship’ while at the covert.

Note: This fic was originally outlined for DinBo week, but I’m way behind so posting in parts. The established prompts will appear at various points in the story, though not necessarily in order.

Three parts are planned in total - this first chapter is short, mostly just to introduce the nature of the relationship going in. Second chapter will be the bulk of it. Overall, I think this will be one of my shorter fics.

Warnings: Sexual content, language.

Read on AO3

————————————————————

It was three weeks into her stay at the covert when they’d done it the first time.

Bo was an outsider, and Din being a bit of a social pariah, they’d naturally found companionship in each other during those first weeks. While days were busy with training the foundlings, evenings were spent in friendly conversation over a sleeping Grogu until tiredness forced them to part for the night, each heading to their own makeshift quarters.

An unexpected friendship bloomed.

Conversation was varied - the tribe’s history, Bo’s knowledge of their home planet, stories of their respective adventures and travels…

But that one fateful night, Bo was feeling a bit cheeky. Curiosity about the more intimate ways of Din’s rather peculiar tribe had been eating away at her consciousness, and sufficient rapport had built between them by that point that she felt it was not inappropriate to seek answers.

If she had become acutely aware over the last few weeks of his respectful nature… his soothing voice… the cut of his waist and shoulders under the armor… well, that was inconsequential…

But sure, she may have had ulterior motives.

“I have a question.”

Din gestured for her to continue, tilting his helmet to the side in that way she definitely hadn’t noticed he always did.

“Are you all celibate here? Or do you just do it with your helmet on?”

Din huffed and sat up straighter, a bit shocked by the blunt question.

“No, most are not celibate. And yes, unless bonded, the helmet stays on.”

“Even in the dark?”

“Yes, Bo, even in the dark.” He sighed. “I don’t think anyone wants to risk their soul on a technicality.”

Too bad about the helmets, she thought, but it was still certainly promising information.

“And the rest of the armor? Does it have to stay on, too?”

Din was a little dumbfounded by her perseveration on this topic, but he had to admit it was giving him some ideas… ones that he definitely shouldn’t be having…

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, forcing away the sudden awareness that he was experiencing an undeniable sort of attraction to this woman at the moment.

“The armor can come off. But if you haven’t noticed, we don’t have a lot of privacy around here. So I imagine it tends to stay on.”

Shit… he hadn’t meant to imply inexperience on his part - just that he hadn’t ever indulged here, in these caves. Why were they even having this conversation? He wished she would move on to spare him further embarrassment.

No such luck. Bo picked up on his word choice immediately.

“What do you mean ‘I imagine’? Have you not ever…?”

He subtly groaned, closing his eyes in frustration behind the visor. “Yes, of course, I have. But it’s been awhile… And I doubt anyone here is interested in cavorting with the apostate…”. He finally looked up at her again, adding, “Can we stop talking about this, please?”

She considered dropping the subject as requested… but he’d just placed an unwitting invitation right in her lap. How could she let it go after that?

“Well, Din… I’m interested…”

____________________

That first time was awkward… but it was a good kind of awkward. It was comfortable… and fun, even.

When was the last time Bo had such an encounter? The best word she could think of to describe it was wholesome. In what galaxy would anyone think of sex that way?

The galaxy where she platonically fucked Din Djarin, apparently.

He’d been so gentle and respectful - and by the gods, he was very good with his hands. He didn’t rush it, and that was definitely a new experience for her - a nice one if she was being honest.

They’d spent much of their time in the act itself huffing with laughter as their chestplates clinked together in time with each thrust despite their best efforts to remain quiet. Finally, they’d managed to unfasten them and place them to the side, still joined together at the pelvis.

She’d joked then that they were both surprisingly flexible for their age, and he’d quipped right back that they’d find out in the morning if they were really still as limber as they wanted to believe.

How remarkable that they could maintain their friendly banter while he was buried so deliciously deep inside her.

This was the dream, Bo thought - the ideal encounter - casual but not impersonal… meaningless but not cold…

Friends-with-benefits was definitely an underrated arrangement.

____________________

It became habitual after that.

They certainly didn’t partake in this new pastime every night, but it had become an unspoken custom - that if Grogu went down to sleep early, Din was welcome to accompany Bo to her quarters for more intimate companionship for an hour or so before rejoining his foundling for the evening.

Oil lamps were always turned down, and care was taken not to make excessive noise, in hopes of keeping their late night rendezvouses relatively discreet. But who were they kidding? These caves were prone to echoes.

There was only one hard and fast rule: The helmets stayed on.

Most of their clothing and armor stayed on, too, save for those pieces covering the essential anatomy.

But if hands occasionally slipped underneath layers to caress the others’ skin, well… they didn’t need to talk about that…

____________________

Something shifted after Bo was ordered to remove her helmet, though they didn’t delve into what it meant.

The memory of that night was the subject of her secret daydreams. And that was bad… very bad…

None of this was supposed to be about feelings.

But feelings had bubbled up the moment the words left his mouth.

“Could we leave the lamp on this time?”

“Why?” she’d asked with a shaky breath as his fingers deftly unzipped the bottom half of her flight suit. Her mouth went dry considering the possibility behind his request.

He’d hesitated briefly before offering an uncharacteristically gentle response - “I’ve missed your face…”

The butterflies fully erupted then, but Bo was determined to remain stoic in the face of his probably unintentional flirtation.

“I didn’t take you for a romantic, Din,” she’d smirked lightly, turning her focus instead to unfastening the clasp of his pants as his belt came free, though her burning cheeks may have given her away.

“I’m not,” he’d answered a little too quickly. But then he shrugged, the smirk clear in his own voice. “Not my fault you’re easy on the eyes…”

Stars, this man was going to be the death of her.

“Din…” She couldn’t help but look away shyly. This was really unbecoming behavior for a Kryze.

He chuckled lightly, almost affectionate. But affection was ok, right? They were truly friends, after all. Or at least that’s what Bo had told herself when warmth filled her heart at the subtle gesture.

He’d taken her right there against the wall, the torch lit just beside them casting a warm glow over the contours of her face. He couldn’t tear his eyes off it as her arms wrapped around his neck and legs locked around his middle, enveloped safely in her embrace.

He wasn’t supposed to want more… but how he yearned for it in these softer moments.

____________________

It was different once they’d left together in the Gauntlet to search for her fleet.

It had to be. This wasn’t neutral territory - in many ways, this ship was her home.

And something about sex in a real bed was just a little too intimate for comfort. And so, while they enjoyed nearly all of their free time in each others’ company, their late night intimacies came to a rather abrupt end.

It was fine… The casual sex would naturally have to stop once they were with the Nite Owls, anyway. And if it had always been just meaningless fun, then… same difference.

Right?

To be continued…

________________________________________

Thanks for reading!

#din djarin x bo katan kryze #dinbo #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #trusted friend #newpathwrites

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galacticwildfire · 7 months

Text

Found.

Twenty Six

Pairing: Kenobi!oc x Din Djarin, former Kenobi!oc x Boba Fett.

Summary: Satine and Obi-wan’s daughter fought in the war against the Empire and lost her faith when she lost Mandalore. Until she found him. A lone Mandalorian searching for a Jedi.

Warnings/tags: Trigger warnings for flashbacks: choking, intimate partner violence, explicit consent given but mentions of painful sex and dubcon, mentions of abortion/miscarriage. For the rest of the story: angst and more angst, a little bit of fluff and non-explicit sad smut at the end but mostly angst and violence. Discussions about domestic violence and overall violent and toxic relationships, depictions of ptsd and mentions of torture. It's an emotionally heavy chapter.

Content Warning: This chapter may be confronting for those who have experienced domestic violence. STRICTLY 18+ FOR MATURE THEMES.

Word Count: 9.5k

A/N: Her relationship with Boba has been one of the most interesting ones I've written, and I want to return to the prequel to flesh it out more and I will give him another pov sometime soon as well. It's certainly the darkest relationships I've written, the definition of enemies and lovers. Also as an apology for not updating for like six months it's nearly 10k.

I feel Din gently pulling wet hair out of my face as one part of me shuts down and another awakens. Compartmentalisation I'd called it during the war, but in truth it was shutting down the part of me that was raised by a Jedi in favour of something far more violent. I can almost hear my father pleading with me.

"Kyra, cyar'ika," Din says, trying to bring me back to him by jumping straight into a plan of action. "Solo's coming here to help, now you're awake we'll go to Navarro and-"

"Excuse me," I say quietly in a voice I don't quite recognise, needing to end this and get the truth before we can even think about anything else. "I have some business to take care of."

"Kyra, no," I immediately hear Lando say in recognition of whatever look must be in my eyes but I'm stumbling out of the room and blindly marching down the hallway, disassociation turning to something else with primal rage consuming me body, mind and soul the moment I lay eyes on him and then everything comes rushing back.

"Ah, you're alive," Boba says, standing there without his helmet despite already knowing how this ends.

"You betrayed me," I say numbly before I bodyslam him into the wall with a knife in hand only for him to push me into the opposite one, wrestling the blade from my hand and restraining my wrists to the wall, finding myself jarringly weak after the impact but not that weak.

"Listen here princess-"

"No!" My knee comes up hard between his legs, him having neglected to put on that piece of armour, the shock of the attack leaves me able to break his grip and strike him across the face. My hand reaches for the nearest thing next to me which happens to be a decorative lamp, smashing it over his head before grasping a shard in my hand and bringing it into his neck as I pin him to the wall. "You fucking listen to me!"

"Kyra-" he hisses as I press the edge of the glass into his neck with a shaking hand, hard enough to draw blood. "I had nothing to do with it!"

Even as blood runs down my hand it still does not feel real. "And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"Yes," I hear a voice say and look to see Din of all people with his hands out trying to calm me. "I know you don't remember what happened, I know you want him dead and if you want to kill him then kill him, but he didn't take the child. He got us off the planet and away from the Empire."

"Listen to your boyfriend," Boba says but my mind is too far gone from whatever injuries I sustained to comprehend what I'm being told let alone believe it. "All I wanted was my armour, not this."

"All you wanted was your armour?" I repeat, fueled by madness alone as the broken pieces of my mind put a picture together no matter how ill fitting. "All you wanted was your armour and to keep us there until the Empire arrived?"

"You did that, not me-" he curses again as I dig the glass deeper. "Kyra!"

"Oh, does that hurt?" I ask him and look him in the eye as I begin to twist his mind as Vader once twisted mine. "You know nothing of pain."

"Kyra!" Lando yells once he realises what I'm doing. "Put the glass down."

"Kill him and be done with it," Din says with an edge in his voice I've never heard directed towards me as Boba yells out weakly in pain. "We need to find the child."

"Where is he?" I ask Boba, ignoring Din and Lando's attempts to intervene as I invade the walls of Boba's mind and watch him wince as I dig deeper. "Tell me."

"I don't-"

I slam him against the wall again as Han and Chewie come in running only to quickly come to a halt at seeing me with a shard of glass at Boba Fett's neck. "Where is he!"

"I didn't have anything to do with it!"

The truth does not matter to me, not anymore, not when his blood is staining my hands.

What's another drop?

"Okay," I say calmly, withdrawing my mental attacks along with the glass from his neck. Din cautiously steps closer and I look at Han and Chewie who stand there with blasters in hand and know Han has been waiting for this since the last time we all stood in this city together. "Chewie grab him."

Chewie roars as he grabs Boba who elects not to fight and Han has a blaster at his back as I drag him through the halls with my fist in his clothes, pulling him by the fabric around his throat until we reach that damned room Lando sealed off before I ever agreed to step foot in this city again. The room where I listened to Han being tortured before Vader threw me in there.

The room where my mind was broken for the last time, where Vader finished what he began after the purge. I tried to kill myself on Mandalore so it wouldn't happen, but it did. I begged Boba to kill me so Vader could never harm me again. But he didn't.

And now he can suffer the consequences.

"Kyra you are not what Vader tried to make you in that room," Lando calls from down the hall, him and Din chasing after us with blasters in hand. "Luke-"

"Isn't here," I say as I use my saber to cut open the sealed room and Chewie throws Boba inside. He and Han block the exit as I come to stand over him, Din and Lando running now in pure panic as I look at the saber in my hand with no inhibition left.

Boba looks up at me and truly realises for the first time I am not the same girl who walked into this room. I can see it in his eyes, the trauma, his father falling to the same weapon, his head rolling on the ground.

Perhaps I am cruel enough to do the same to him, but not yet. Not until he is begging me to kill him as I once begged him to do to me. Only then will he know what true pain is.

"I am going to show you exactly what happened in this room," I tell him, Han holding a hand out to stop Lando from intervening while Din stands there silent. "But first you will tell me where my child is."

"You can torture me all you want, but I didn't have a hand in this," he swears to me. "Search your feelings or whatever the fuck you Jedi do, you know I didn't."

"Kyra," Lando warns me, choosing to be the insufferable voice of reason in Luke's absence and I realise Luke had prepared him for this very situation because the words he speaks are not his own. "This isn't you. You swore you would never become what Vader wanted to make you, only the weak give in to the darkness. You don't use the force to make people suffer."

"I don't need to use the force to make him suffer," I answer and bend down in front of Boba, brandishing my saber and bringing it close to his face, ignoring my father's voice trying to break through the veil separating his ghost from this world. "I don't believe a word you say."

"I loved you," Boba says to me as if that matters now but it's enough to make something burn inside of me. "I came to you on Tatooine to protect you against the Empire, why would I fucking send them after you!"

"Because that is who you are!" I yell, knowing only one thing. He comes and my child is taken. Nothing else matters. "A traitor. To me, to Mandalore-"

"That might be true," he says, sacrificing his dignity for the sake of his life. "But I still loved you."

Four years I'd known him. Four years I'd loved him for better and for worse. From after the first Death Star was destroyed until that day at Jabba's palace. Never once had he spoke those words to be.

"I don't have time for this," I scoff in exasperation, wielding my saber too freely for Lando's liking. "My child is gone."

"I loved you right from the start Kyra," he tells me, trying to provoke me into giving him a quick death but Jedi do not kill in anger and so I put my saber away. I will not use a Jedi's weapon to strike in anger, and so I pull free a blade instead. "But you know that."

I laugh now, shaking my head in utter disbelief at that claim. "You ruined me right from the start-"

But it's his next words that make me lose control of my emotions. "You were the one who wanted it."

"I was barely nineteen!" I scream at him, remembering it all too well. "I was a kid!"

"So tell me," I asked him during that very first fight after he'd brought me to Mandalore. "Are you the same as the bounty hunters who gave me over to the Inquisitors for some extra credits, the same as the men who stood by while a ten year old girl screamed for help?"

He was quiet and put his helmet on the table, taking a step forward toward me. "The Jedi took children screaming from their parents all the time, killed my father in front of me. They were no different from the Empire. Evil exists everywhere-"

"Oh shut up," I breathed, not taking that excuse. "You are blind if you don't see what the Empire does."

"Oh I know what the Empire does, better than you," he replied, looking me in the eye. "I never claimed to be a good man. If I'm given a job I finish it. Honour doesn't do anybody good unless they're looking to get killed."

And so I asked "Then why didn't you give me to Vader? I have the highest bounty in the galaxy."

He spoke but did not answer the question, not willing to admit he'd been deceived.

"A young woman who hides her face comes to me asking for passage to Mandalore who can pay me in beskar. I knew damn well there was only one woman in the galaxy who can pay that price," he told me, but if that was true I would have been in Vader's hands. "I was curious to see how long you would keep up the act."

"And now?"

"Now," he said and brought his hand up, his thumb running over my bottom lip. "Now I'm curious about this so-called Mand'alor."

He shook his head as if he hadn't enticed me first, a girl who was barely a woman. Han was the same age when he met Leia but he spent years fighting alongside her, loving her, before he ever touched her. He never used her, he respected her despite their fights, he would have died for her and he would have never betrayed her.

Han loved her unconditionally through those same years I hid my affair with Boba with the understanding that Leia's devotion belonged first and foremost to the Rebellion. He loved her enough he was willing to walk away at the end of the war if it was Luke she'd loved and not him. He loved her selflessly while Boba would at every turn try to convince me to abandon all I loved for someone who could not even say those words to me.

I'm still younger now than he was when we met, old enough to know that no man like him sees a young girl in pain and chooses to do what he did. Even now he can dare to look at me and say "And you would have thrown me out of that palace if I called you one."

I look at him now, body as deformed and horrid as his heart is. "You were the one who started this. You were a grown man who knew exactly what he was doing."

I grabbed his wrist, raising a cautious eyebrow. "You are a bold man Boba Fett."

His eyes traced my silhouette, skimming over the skin bared by the dress I'd worn just for him. "Then what does that make you?"

The corner of my lip turned upwards. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I would," he said, backing me up against the table until it pressed into my tailbone. "Because I think you and I aren't that different."

That made me let out a dangerous laugh. "If you believe that you aren't just bold, but blind."

He moved his hand down along the bare skin of my arm, my body reacted as if his touch was electric. "You can claim you're better than me, doing what you do for the greater good, except you're lying. You don't care about the greater good or honour, you do what you do because you want revenge. You kill because you like it. You have a cruel streak in you, princess. Deep down you are just as ruthless as I am."

He nudged my leg open with his knee enough that the slit of my dress opened and revealed the small knife tucked into my garter.

"You can call yourself a Jedi all you want," he told me, hand coming to brush the skin of my thigh until it reached the cold metal of the blade. "But you're a Mandalorian, you can't change that, so stop pretending you aren't."

With that he stepped away from me and I couldn't help the small gasp that left me at the absence of his touch. He didn't say another word as he reached for his helmet, putting it back on before leaving the room, as if he was never there.

"You were the instigator, not me," he argues while I'm the one shaking my head now. "You're the one that gave me a bar of beskar to smuggle you back to Mandalore, you were the one who gave me another to stay and fuck you when I tried to do the right thing and leave."

"Don't-" I warn but he is past listening.

"Call me a traitor but don't accuse me of manipulating you into anything," he says and I'm shocked by the genuine offence in his voice that I could almost call hurt. "Curse me for handing you over to Vader and all the rest, but don't pretend you didn't want it. I asked you if you would regret it before I ever touched you, so don't pretend you didn't know what you were doing."

The beskar on the table along with my offer to make him my commander was not enough to make him stay, but that days war council had proven to me the need for loyalty, even bought loyalty.

But we both knew that wasn't the reason I wanted him to stay. He'd set something inside of me alight and I wanted more. I wanted to feel what the Jedi Order forbade, not just passion, but something deeper.

Which is why I kissed him when he'd asked me why I wanted him to stay, a brief kiss that no doubt showcased how purely inexperienced and unfortunately desperate I was, but it got my point across.

He remained standing still with a self control that left me embarrassed by the lack of my own, that left me doubting if I had somehow misinterpreted his actions before, and suddenly he was hesitant the moment I returned what he began.

Little did I know he liked the chase and this disrupted it.

"How old are you little one?"

For a moment I debated lying but answered honestly. "Nineteen."

His eyebrows shot up and I realised he was indeed hoping for a different answer. "Nineteen?"

"I am not a child," I said quickly. How could I be a child when I had blood on my hands and the weight of a planet on my shoulders? How could I be a child when I'd given the orders not to take any prisoners when retaking territory from the Empire?

And yet I found myself having never even kissed a man until then.

"Oh I wouldn't go that far," he assured me. "I knew you were young but-"

His hesitance was enough I felt stupid for being so forward but countered "That didn't stop you before."

Little did I realise it wasn't my age he cared about, but the fact in a simple kiss I'd shown him I'd never felt a touch like his before. That despite my bloodshed I was an innocent in his eyes. The very thing he didn't want to see me as, but still there was a glimmer of interest at that prospect. A sick enjoyment following the initial hesitation, a newfound fetish for corruption.

"That was before I saw you throw a man twice your size to the ground and realised you aren't just a spoiled princess, before I actually respected you," he said and left me speechless as well as frustrated. "Do you want me to fight for you or fuck you, because business and pleasure are two very different things."

With those simple words I found myself stammering for an answer, my eyes falling to the floor "I-" I knew what I was supposed to say, business and nothing more, but it wouldn't have been the truth. "Both."

He tilted his head, his silence and imposing presence suddenly left me backtracking.

"I shouldn't have-"

But I fell silent as he placed a knuckle beneath my chin and lifted it up to look him in the eye. "I never said no."

He must have felt me swallow for just a hint of a smile played at his lips, one that was no good.

"I am not a good man," he said, fingers toying at the shoulders of my flimsy dress.

"I know," I said, that fact having been horribly clear to me but did little to deter the ache I felt at his touch. "But maybe I like that."

Or maybe I believed there was more to him than that.

"I think you do," he said, watching what the mere trail of his knuckle along my skin did to me. "Do you want me to fuck you princess?"

My body flushed with heat and I opened my mouth to answer but he stopped me with a thumb over my lips.

"Think before you speak."

I swallowed hard before giving a simple answer. "Yes."

He raised a warning eyebrow as his hand came to my waist ."You won't regret this?"

I paused again before answering but the answer was the same. "No."

His other hand moved down from my chin to gently hold my throat and I had to bite back a whimper as he found my pulse point with deadly precision.

"Tell me you want it," he said, leaving no room for misinterpretation, and for the very first time I felt in control to take what I wanted. Even if I was sorely mistaken in believing I held the power in that moment as his hand tightened around my throat. An action that had my heart pounding with fear as the memories of Vader's torture prior to the Death Star's destruction came to mind, but I refused to back down. "Say it."

"I want you."

I look at him now, barely recognising his face but still remembering how it felt when I had him that first time. The pain and pleasure it brought, as well as the tears that came once I was finally alone. His hand wrapped around my throat as he split me open with little mercy, when I cried out telling me that surely the Mand'alor could handle a little pain. A degrading reminder that I ruled Mandalore and yet he had me at his mercy. A metaphor that told me I had no true power unless I took it.

Eventually I did, the second time I had him I ensured that, but in that moment I'd never felt more vulnerable. There was no love, no affection, but any gentleness he showed in taking me was more than I'd ever felt. In time the rest came perhaps, or maybe I fooled myself into believing it was there. I'd never known any different after all.

Not until now.

"You're right," I admit to him for the sake of my pride if nothing else. "I took what I wanted until-"

"Until you ran away," he finishes, choosing to be just as cruel. "From Mandalore, from me, all for your rebellion. You ran like you always do. Like you always will."

"Until you ruined me," I correct, trembling now with the anger I try to restrain, realising that not even my pride can come above the pain. "Until you brought me to this room."

Every fight I ever had in those early days with Bo-Katan comes to mind, every single time she warned me against trusting Boba in the name of protecting me. I'd thought she was trying to control me, even when she actually struck me when she found him in my room one night, telling me that I'd only learn the hard way if I didn't wake up and listen to her.

And she was right.

"You're the pretty little idiot who trusted a bounty hunter, seems you haven't learned your lesson yet," he says looking past me at Din. "And if you keep believing righteousness can save you you're never getting that kid back."

My words to Lando turn into a lie as his head slams back hard into the wall and Lando and Han both try to hold me back from killing him as I find one of the many hidden blades within my armour and grab him by the throat, raising the blade to drive it down into him, only for it to slip from my hand when Boba twists it violently and finally I see it in his eyes, the realisation that this time I could really kill him.

And I will.

He sees the decision in my own eyes and reaches for me as I move for the blade, throwing me back by the waist and slamming me facedown into the ground as I reach for it, only for the idiot to forget I'm a Jedi after all. It flies into my hand as I twist out of his grip and the men rush forward only to jump back as Boba's kicked across the face in his attempt to pin me down. No one, not even Din, dares to interfere as I throw him onto his back and pin him down with my knee, the bone pushing straight down into his lungs I raise the blade only for him to catch my wrist when I drive it down and the tip hovers just over his neck. I'm screaming as I try to overpower him, to finish it.

To finally bring this never ending nightmare to a close.

"Kyra!" Boba barks out as I strain against his iron grip and he says the words I never expected to hear from his mouth. "I'm sorry."

For just a moment I falter but refuse to let his words break my resolve as grief overcomes me.

"Sorry?" I repeat, feeling fear flooding the room and none of it my own. "Do you know what they did to me here?" I whisper, the blade tight in my violently shaking hand as I quake "Do you know!" Even now I can still feel it, my mind being unmade. "They put me in a mind flayer," I tell Boba and watch what little colour is left drain from his face. "And that was just the beginning."

"Lando get Leia here now!" I hear Han yelling as Boba stares up at me and for the very first time I see fear in his eyes as he truly realises what Vader made me, what he twisted me into that final time all because he wouldn't kill me. The ruin my mind became because of his weakness. Then behind that fear there is only pure remorse. "Mando will you grab her already before I do!"

Finally Din moves, forcefully pulling me off him and it's all I need to break free of Boba's iron grip. The blade cuts across his throat as my hand slips, but not deep enough to kill, and I'm fighting as Din hauls me out of that room with a strength he's never used on me before. I'm thrashing as he drags me down the hall until finally I go limp in his arms and he pries the blade from my hand as I collapse, he's all that's holding me up as something in me that's long been broken finally shatters completely.

"I-" I quake as suddenly everything becomes horribly real.

"I know," he tells me and for just a moment I feel him grasped by the same madness as he pulls me to him, the madness of having watched a child be taken. "I know cyar'ika."

He's terrified and I'm crying, the monster inside me Vader created not dead as I'd been led to believe, but merely tamed, now loose.

And yet it does not scare me anywhere near as deeply as the Empire does in this very moment.

Din holds me as Han comes and bends down in front of me, having been the one who'd stopped me from killing Mon Mothma in the same fit of rage after Mandalore. Having always seen just what I tried to hide from Luke, always the big brother I never had, or at least thought I never had.

"Leia's coming," he tells me and promises "We're going to get your kid back, whatever's out there no doubt wants your boy and mine both, we aren't letting that happen."

My throat is tight as I nod, needing to pull myself together for the kid's sake. I made a promise. I can't let my emotions get in the way of saving him. If Dad could save Leia and I from them at their height then I can save the kid from them now.

"Her room's this way, come on," Han says to Din who helps me back to my feet, all but keeping me standing as I'm guided down the hall into a room I haven't visited in over a year but is still intact.

He sits me down on the edge of the bed and the noise inside my head drowns out whatever words the two exchange but it ends in Din nodding his head and Han leaving, closing the door behind himself.

Din sighs as he comes over to me, there are many things he could say right now but instead he just takes me in his arms, holding me tight and cradling my head so gently the touch feels wrong while I have blood on my hands.

"Why did you stop me?" I ask and he slowly pulls away as I ramble in confusion. "You said you'd be by my side as I took whatever vengeance I wanted so why did you stop me?"

"Because vengeance is one thing," he says, his demeanour suddenly changing. "Losing your mind is another."

"What difference does it make what state my mind is in?" I ask defensively and he slowly steps away, that simple action filling me with a fear I've never had before with him. "Din?"

"You need to rest."

His words go utterly ignored as I repeat. "Why did you stop me?"

"Because you weren't going to go through with it and we don't have time for this," he says roughly, unable to even look at me. "If you aren't up for this stay here, I'll go get the kid back."

"Excuse me?" I breathe, taken completely aback. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Rest," he says before he goes to leave. "We'll talk in the morning."

He opens the door but jumps as I use the force to slam it shut and get to my feet. "No, we won't talk in the morning, we'll talk now."

He shakes his head at me. "We aren't doing this now."

"Do what now?" I repeat, not understanding what's going on, and exclaim "Why are you acting like this?"

The words that leave his mouth next shock me "Do you still love him?"

Never before has silence been so heavy as I look at him, unable to believe the question he's asking, but he's deadly serious as I look at the blood on my hands and back to him.

"I just cut his throat and that's the question you're asking me?"

I expect him to backtrack, to clarify, to do anything but double down. "He told me love and hate are the same for you."

I scoff now, not backing down as I size up to him. "So while I was dying he chose to give some grand speech about what we were?"

His answer is short with no elaboration. "Yes."

I look at him now in utter disbelief. "Are you truly asking me if I still love him?"

His voice is thick with pain. "Do you?"

My moment of hesitation is all it takes for him to walk to the door. "Din!" He only stops when I run forward and grab his wrist to keep him from leaving. "If you think I love him why didn't you just let me kill him?"

"If I didn't stop you the others would have tried, and I was the only one wearing beskar," he answers coldly. "Besides, you were taking too long."

"Taking too long?" I repeat, my composure already long gone. "What part of that show convinced you I'm somehow still in love with him!"

"Because I knew it from the moment I met you on Tatooine," he reveals. "You were there with unfinished business after all."

"I was there to kill him," I slowly remind him.

"And would you have gone through with it?" he asks me, but he already knows the answer, and unfortunately so do I. "I knew then that no matter how much you hated him, you still loved him. I knew it all along, I just refused to believe it."

Tears fill my eyes now as I look at him, the man I love more than I ever loved Boba. "Din-"

"If you love him I won't stand in your way," he says as if he's resigned himself to that before I can even open my mouth. "If you leave I won't hate you for it."

Standing here now only one of us is prepared to leave with grace and my heart is breaking at the realisation I found the selfless love I spent my life searching for, and that I've ruined it.

"What did he tell you?" I demand to know, except I'm nowhere near prepared for his answer.

"Nothing that wasn't true."

My chest tightens knowing every awful accusation Boba could ever hold against me, knowing there is truth in all of them. That I'm a hypocrite, that I ruin the people I love, that all I've ever done is run. That Mandalore was destroyed because of me.

Despite those words, I love Din too much to let my bloody hands stain his own, no matter how much blood they already may be dripping in. My father would be disappointed if he lived to see what his little girl became, and my mother... she would be horrified.

"Alright," I say, challenging him as much as myself. "If you believe whatever he told you then go."

But he doesn't.

"He told me that the first thing you would do was try to kill him, but that you wouldn't go through with it, among other things," he says and I open my mouth but find no counter argument. "But that doesn't mean I'm walking away." He leaves me stunned into silence as he removes his gloves to take my bloody hands in his own. "He told me to run, that no man escapes from you unscathed."

"It's the truth," I state, unable to hide from it now. Not with every man I've ever been with in the same cursed city. "You should run."

He just tilts his helmet down and shakes his head. "When have you ever known me to run?"

I swallow hard, finding his feelings still resolute but only find myself confused. "Then why are you-"

"Because he was wrong about one thing," he continues, looking down at our joined hands, both trembling. "I know you, and since the moment I met you on Tatooine you have been the light of my life. You and Grogu." His voice breaks slightly. "I never knew it was possible to love like this, to want to be more than a clan of two, not until you."

Tears blur my vision as I begin again "Din-"

"But it's not my heart in question," he says and at those words I'm slowly pulling away, not knowing how I can make him see what he refuses to. "Kyra."

"I love you Din, you know that," I say, and he gives a slight tilt of his helmet at my attempted deflections. "Nothing else matters."

"It does matter," he insists, gravel in his voice and for the first time asks for information, not out safety, but for his own assurance. "How long were you with him?"

"Four years," I answer stiffly, having downplayed it in our previous conversations but I can hardly do that now. "On and off from after the destruction of the first Death Star to just before the destruction of the second."

There's silence before he says "You were pregnant with his child?"

I find myself blinking away tears, feeling the tip of Boba's blaster pressing into my stomach the night Jabba gave me to him on Tatooine. The night he confronted me over the supposed crime he selfishly believed I'd committed against him. Knowing if I'd been given a choice in the matter the result would have been the same I let him believe it was my choice to end the pregnancy instead of the nightmare I'd lived. It was the first time I thought he might actually kill me. I wanted him to, but he still couldn't do it.

But for a moment...

I look at Din now, realising this doubt is coming from somewhere. That more was said while I was unconscious than I can begin to theorise, but I have inklings. Although I know only one man would have told him the truth whilst still respecting my name.

"Lando told you what he saw didn't he?" I ask, vaguely remembering Lando having been with Leia when she found me in that cell. Lando tried to mention it once and only once to me after we'd begun sleeping together, he never tried again.

Din gives a single nod. "He told me you kept saying that you didn't know."

I was raised to hold my mother's moderate beliefs in contrast to those held by Mandalorians such as Din and realise neither of us have spoken about such sensitive matters. Neither did Boba and I but it seems he's made his thoughts on it hypocritically clear despite the blood on his hands. Although I suppose the blood of innocents would only begin to matter to him when it's own.

However, I sense only pain from Din rather than judgement. My memories of what happened at the seeing stone and up to now blurred, but the memories of that final night with Boba when I discovered he knew... those are crystal clear. I'd told Din bits and pieces when it was important, but not the worst of them.

"In Boba's grand speech did he ever tell you about that night at Jabba's palace?" I ask him. He gives no answer but there's enough recognition that something must have been mentioned. "Let me guess, I was sadistic nymphomaniac who decided to sleep with him one last time after trying to kill him because I was so sickeningly in love with him?"

He still doesn't speak, I'd almost forgotten how silent he could be, but still I continue.

"Jabba stripped me down and put me in chains before giving me to Boba as a reward." I find myself hesitating, telling him what I could never bring myself to ever willingly recall let alone speak of. I'd told Din Boba let me scream and beat him until I grew weak, but it wasn't the whole truth. "He put a blaster to my stomach and told me I'd robbed him of his chance to be a good man and a father. I was half convinced he was going to kill me, I wanted him to kill me, so I let him believe whatever hurt him the most as he choked me until I could barely breathe, but the coward still couldn't go through with it."

I'd reached for his blaster only for him to grab me, chained and almost naked, and the pure hate in his voice was worse than anything he could do to me as he pinned my wrists to the wall. "You took my chance to be a good man from me, to be a father-"

Tears burned in my eyes and I realised the greatest cruelty I could inflict upon him was to let him believe whatever Vader told him and I stopped fighting then as I looked him in the eye. "And I would do it again."

He held me by the throat and I watched seething as he dragged his blaster along my exposed body, the same blaster he'd used countless times to do such degrading things to me, and I didn't look away as he pressed it into my stomach.

He was deadly silent, finger over the trigger as I searched his cold eyes and felt the things he never learned to hide from a person like me. But something in them drove fear into my heart, the same obsessive hate that had consumed me for so long... it had consumed him as well.

"I know you Boba Fett," I told him, I might have been the only person in the galaxy who did, which is why I knew that even if he couldn't kill me he'd just as easily make me wish for death. "I know you love me."

His hand around my throat was a familiar feeling, a hold of dominance but never of pain. Never until then. Finally his fist closed around my throat but I hardly blinked as he held it tight to the point I strained for air, but not enough to bring me to the brink of unconsciousness. The cold metal of the blaster dug further into my lower stomach but I refused to remove either hand as my airways closed beneath his grip. As I searched his eyes I knew he still couldn't bring himself to stoop so low to have the woman he loves dead at his own hand, and somehow that made it worse. "Don't be a coward now, you could choke me to death and still would never come close to inflicting the pain Vader did."

"You were my target," he told me, digging the knife deeper with his words since he couldn't bring himself to do it physically. "From the moment you returned to the rebellion. You were my target when I dug you out of the rubble on Mandalore, every night together was all to get the information I was paid to bring to Vader, but you knew that didn't you?" I didn't give him an answer, I couldn't even give myself one as he tapped his blaster against my cheek as finally panic began to take over with every breath I struggled to take. "And you let me do it because you loved me."

I could have used the force to pull the trigger, to end this as I begged him to do half a year before. For my blood to be on his hands, the blood of the woman he loved. I would haunt him for the rest of his life as I knew he would haunt me for the rest of mine. It would have been cruelly poetic, but I was too bitter to die before seeing the end of the empire.

"How?" I finally asked him as I searched his heart and mind, finding such strong love twisted with darkness, finding the same in mine own heart and that darkness was what I could not forgive. The darkness that corrupted me came not from Vader, but from the man I loved. "How could you do this to someone you love?"

"This was never love," he told me, seeing what I couldn't but his heart- he could not hide it from me, not from a Jedi and I reached for his hand around my neck, my mind as sick as his when I believed it to be a loving touch.

"Liar," I breathed, smiling at the hate in his eyes, his lips hovering just above mine. "If it wasn't we would have killed each other a hundred times over by now."

He shook his head, and for the first time I saw remorse in his eyes. "You're insane."

"I'm only what you made me," I'd said, my mind still in pieces from the mindflayer and Vader's torture. Not even the medications that Leia shoved down my throat could even begin to repair the connections in my brain that had been destroyed. "This is what you wanted isn't it?"

He finally released me and stepped away before taking his cloak and wrapping it around my shoulders as he told me "All I ever wanted was to make you strong, to help you lead Mandalore into a new age." His hand was gentle on my face, barely able to comprehend the depth of what had been done to tear my mind apart. "You're a broken woman Kyra. A shell of the Mand'alor who'd liberated Mandalore from the Empire."

"Yes," I said, anger replacing the grief at what had been taken from me. "I am."

I feel Din's hand on my face now, his touch just as gentle, just as concerned, and his voice turns to something dangerous. "You told me he never laid a hand on you."

"He never truly hurt me that way," I still insist, the kinder memories I'd blocked out resurfacing. "He could never bring himself to do it."

"You just said he choked you," Din states, leaving no room for me to try to excuse it as anything else. "You'd said he wasn't that type of man."

My throat's tight as I try to rationalise "He wanted to make me strong, to teach me to fight back. He always thought I was weak, certainly too weak to rule Mandalore, and he was right."

"Kyra," Din immediately begins to argue and I raise a hand to quieten him.

"You never even knew other Mandalorians existed, you can't speak to my competency as a ruler," I mean to state factually, but the bite is there, the unintended insult to him and his creed.

"You're right," he throws back curtly as he removes his hand from my cheek, voice thick with frustration. "It seems all I've done is learn how little I know."

And again I find myself wondering what the hell Boba said to him to leave him like this. Boba is the one person who has seen the absolute worst of me so there is no limit to the truth's he can use against me. But, the worst of me is only a fraction of the worst of him. If I told Din everything Boba had done he would be going to kill him without a second thought. If I asked him to I know he would, and yet the thought pains me.

"Alright then," I say, seeing as we have enough time to air whatever this is out before Leia arrives for us to formulate a plan and decide to spit it all out if Din truly believes what he does. "What do you want to know Din? Because if you think I have any warmth left in my heart for that man how about I tell you how the first time I'd ever kissed a man was mere minutes before he wrapped his hand around my throat and fucked me while telling me the Mand'alor could handle a little pain when I cried out?"

Din's head snaps back towards me and I certainly have his attention, along with a cold, violent, anger that I've rarely felt from him, remnants of the man he was before Grogu.

"But as you heard him say, I wanted it, or at least I thought I did until it ended and realised I was never in control," I continue, knowing he's likely heard some reiteration of me being a heartless sex addict from Boba's recollections. "Or how about I tell you about when I decided to take a battalion of Mandalorians to fight for the Rebellion and my second in command shot him because she thought he was going to kill me for being a 'stupid fucking little girl who would make her mothers mistakes.' Although unfortunately not fatally." Even now I remember Sabine's face when she walked into my office at the wrong moment and saw him grab me by the throat as he spat that along with other insults in my face. "Or how about when Darth Vader even showed disgust for the way his brother's daughter had been treated despite torturing me at that very same moment." That holds the greatest irony in my mind even now. "If I were to tell you everything that had transpired over those years that brought me to the scene you just witnessed we'd be here for days."

"And you still love him?" Din says, not an accusation as before, but now of statement of pure concern and just like that I'm seeing those final days in my relationship with Lando beginning to unfold again when I thought that would never happen with Din.

And so I finally confess the truth I've refused to accept. "Maybe when I met you I still loved him." I force myself to be brutally honest because that is what I owe him. "Maybe I still do."

I could stop there, I could be merciful and let him believe that I love Boba more than I could ever love him. When I walked away from Lando it was the cold hard truth that I loved Boba more than anything we'd built, but that isn't true for Din. He and everything we've built is worth more to me than whatever sick attachment I forged with Boba in those painful years. Din showed me what love is meant to be, what it can be, and I refuse to let that go.

"For each time he betrayed me he's also saved me, even now as much as I hate it, and you're right, I never could bring myself to kill him as much as I want to. I never thought I could ever love anyone like that again, and I won't and I'd never want to," I tell him, feeling the blood sticking to my hands as I take his in mine once again. "Because I never knew I could love anyone how I love you."

Still he refuses to believe it, that he is the one I love truly and I anticipate his words. "Then why act like-"

"Because he brought the Empire to us!" I exclaim in pure exasperation. "For every crime he can be acquitted of he's guilty of a thousand others and I know he had a part in this!"

He sighs deeply and grits out "You aren't thinking clearly in this state of mind."

"And what state of mind would that be?"

He pauses at the challenge in my voice and hesitates before reluctantly answering "You're hysterical."

"Hysterical?" I repeat, having heard my mother been called that a thousand times and snatch my hands away. "Of course I'm hysterical, the kid is gone! I'm surprised you're not hysterical, maybe if you were you'd understand-"

"Understand what?" he argues. "Our child is taken and the first thing you do upon waking up, upon seeing my face, is to go chase him down-"

"I wake up after getting hit by a fucking missile, not knowing where I am or what's happened and I still don't!" I yell, pleading for him to understand. "The kid is gone and he's there, that's all I need for my head to tell me he was responsible so call me hysterical for torturing him to find where they've taken him!"

"We don't have time for this!" he yells, raising his voice more than he ever has towards me and the rawness of his voice quickly reels me back in and he immediately lowers it to a desperate plea. "We need to find him."

"Leia is on her way and when she comes I'll use her resources to locate Gideon," I promise him, trying to put my emotions aside to think clearly, to diffuse this before it escalates further. "She heads the defence council, she has access to intel we don't. I'm close to another General who had a son with a Jedi. Gideon's targeting force sensitive for his experiments, her and Leia both have sons with those abilities and they won't let Gideon live long enough to touch theirs."

That seems to calm him enough and he asks "How long-"

"Twelve hours, she should arrive tomorrow morning," I estimate, knowing Leia will come as soon as possible and that Din works best with parameters. "I have the resources to find him, but in the meantime-" Against my better judgement I reach for his hands again, knowing we cannot find Grogu if we're at each other's throats like this, forcing myself to put aside my own frustration and pain and to try to compose myself. "I know I'm out of my mind right now okay but I love you and I need you to trust me so we can get through this," I whisper but he doesn't say anything, nor does he move away, and I'm too out of it to read him so I just plead "Please Din."

He looks down at our hands, squeezing mine tight and I hear the tears in the shaky breath he takes before saying " "I- I thought you were dead Kyra, I- do you think I wasn't begging you to wake up the entire flight here? Do you think I wasn't scared out of my mind for the first time since I lost my parents?" My throat tightens and I look down with cold tears wetting my cheeks. "I thought my entire world had been destroyed in a second, I- I felt like I was losing my mind with very second that passed when I didn't know if you'd live or die."

"Din," I whisper, aching to take him in my arms but something keeps me frozen in place knowing that I'm the source of his pain. Something I've never wanted to be.

"I know I've been harsh and I'm sorry, I just-" he's quiet for a moment, treating carefully. "The mind flayer," he quakes, having held me through the nightmares that have come of that. "You never told me."

"I spent five years putting my mind back together," I say hoarsely, for a short while having thought I had if such a thing is possible. "It seems I still have some work to do."

"I know you're in pain, and I love you- more than almost anything," he says, his voice as gentle as he can make it with the fear pounding through our chests. "Which means one of us has to keep it together for the sake of the kid and if you aren't up to this I'll find him myself."

"You're right," I quickly agree, forcing myself to bring myself back from that edge, to be better than this. To be more than the mess I was years ago and think strategy. "You're right and I'm sorry and when Leia gets here we will use her contacts to find out where Gideon is."

"Thank you," he says, and we could leave it there, but it feels as if I let go of his hand and watch him walk out that door I'll never be able to salvage this and so while choking on tears I can't fight back I make one final plea to him. "You can believe me or not when I say I love you, but I will not walk away from the child I've sworn to protect. Our child."

"Kyra," he says quietly, voice filled with pain.

"I need you to trust me when I tell you that I'm in love with you," I breathe through the tears. "That I will do whatever it takes to get him back."

"I trust you," he tells me but still it does little to ease his heart. If I was calmer, if I had my composure I'd leave it there for the sake of peace but I can't and so I take his helmet in between my hands. "Cyar'ika"

I don't go to remove it, but I need him to look at me as I tell him in no uncertain words "If you think I love Boba Fett more than you then I will go kill him without hesitation, or if you want to do it yourself you can go ahead and do it. I won't stop you."

"I might be a bounty hunter," he begins. "I might want to tear him apart after the things he'd said and done, but I wouldn't hurt anyone you loved."

I blink through the tears, because it wasn't love, I can see that now.

"And Din Djarin that is why I will always love you more than I ever loved him. Love and hate were always the same to me but not anymore. You taught me it's not." He pulls me in closer now as I bare my heart to him. "I never planned to fall in love with you Din, I tried not to but I couldn't stop it." I bring his forehead down to mine as I tell him "When they- when they put me through that mindflayer it scrambled all the wires in my head to make me believe this could never be possible, but it is. You showed me that and I made a choice not just to love you, but to choose you over fear, over anything else so please believe me when I tell you you are the only person I want, the only person I need, and if you let me I will choose you every day for the rest of our lives."

He gently pulls my hands away from his helmet and I shut my eyes in pain, only to hear it being placed aside and feel his lips on my forehead as he holds me to him. "I believe you." Tears spill down my cheeks and he tells me "Open your eyes cyar'ika."

I do, and this time I look upon him how I should have before and again find tears in his beautiful dark eyes, equal pain and adoration etched across the handsome and worn face of a hardworking man who possesses a rare heart. Wiping a tear from the corner of his eye I hold his face, looking into those brown eyes as I tell him in no uncertain words "I love you Din Djarin and I swear to you that we will take our son back and when we do we will say our vows to him and adopt him, and then we will say our vows to each other."

His emotions are written so clearly across his face, having never learned or had need to control them, and yet I can't help but gasp as his lips meet mine. It's a mixture of pure pain and desperation, of love and the fear of loss. Everything a Jedi should never feel.

But as we slowly remove the beskar from one another nothing else matters to me, not when I'm safe in the hands of the man who has never wronged me, who would sooner cut his hand off before laying it on me or betraying me. The man I trust completely, love completely.

As I search his eyes I know with no doubts that he shares that love just as deeply, and he tells me so as he lays me down and takes me in his arms. Making love as if that could heal our pain, but our fight has only just begun.

And I know as Din captures my lips and grasps my bloody hand in his that he will be by my side as we unleash hell upon Moff Gideon and in whatever may come.

#din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x oc #din djarin x oc #din djarin x original character #galacticwildfire #found.#the mandalorian x original character #Din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic #boba fett x oc

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dans-den · 1 year

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The Mandalorian Season 3 Review

Hey what's going on everyone? Dan here and today I'll be reviewing The Mandalorian season 3 on this May the 4th be with you day!

Even though the season has ended weeks ago, I'll give spoiler warnings for those who do not have Disney Plus because these streaming services add up.

Now I love The Mandalorian, I've watched all three seasons and Star Wars content is the only reason I wanted Disney Plus in the first place. The Mandalorian is indeed Disney Plus's number 1 show and there is a reason for it. I enjoy the series greatly and in my opinion, season 2 is the best of the three. Season 3 I'd say is on par with season 1, it's rough in some areas, but overall still enjoyable story and entertaining to watch. I'll be going through what I liked and what I dislike about season 3.

One major complaint that I and several others have is that they intertwined the Mandalorian with the Book of Boba Fett show. They're doing what Marvel is known for and connecting everything in a universe but the issue here is that Book of Boba Fett happens between season 2 and 3, meaning that if you're new and trying to watch The Mandalorian then you're gonna be confused about what happened between seasons 2 and 3. A newcomer wouldn't know to go to Book of Boba Fett for context so it loses points off the bat just for doing that. Book of Boba Fett was decent imo, but everyone else doesn't find it entertaining and find it redeemable because of Mando so a newcomer would likely stay away from that show. It's not good when you have to intertwine two shows to get the full context of one or the other, it's inconvenient and just unnecessary to me unless it's meant to lead to a universe which if they plan to cool, if not, unnecessary.

Now with the Book of Boba Fett stuff aside, I do enjoy the continued story of Din Djarin and Grogu on their adventures, this time around we actually get to see them amongst the Mandalorian tribes and culture. I love the lore of Mandalorians and this is a great addition to the series and the lore. I especially like Bo Katan, I think of all her varients, this version of her is by far my favorite only matched by her Clone Wars version. Din Djarin played by Pedro Pascal is great and his character continues to get fleshed out with each season. Grogu, I can't say much because it's puppetry and effects and it's done well enough, it's adorable as well. I also like how we get the return of Moff Gideon as the Antagonist, is he finally gone? we'll see.

Now the episodes this season were a mixed bag. Don't get me wrong, most of Season 3 episodes are fun and action packed, but I'd say there were two episodes in the entire season that were just filler for the most part. Episode 3 was kinda boring to follow because it was literal filler about reformed villains because it barely served any connection to the plot. Episode 6 filler was Mando and Bo on a wild goose chase of a mystery finding defective droids for Lizzo and Jack Black (I love Jack Black but this is definitely one of his weaker roles) and the villain turned out to be Christopher Lloyd and makes it like we care but it felt so rushed and phoned in. These two episodes are definitely lackluster compared to the rest but at least the other episodes make up for these two so I won't hold it too hard against season 3.

I loved the last two episodes where the Mandalorians all band together to take back Mandalore from Moff Gideon and his Beskar Stormtroopers. It did Kill off one of the Mandalorian characters we came to know and respect but at least he went out in true Mandalorian fashion fighting till the end. Gideon got wrecked the third time around and Mandalore was taken back and Mando himself has settled on his land with Grogu as his new adopted son/apprentice where they're gonna go on many more adventures together. This makes me excited for a Season 4 and hopefully we will get a season 4. Though if we do get one, maybe if should be the last one but also the best one yet. Though this is Disney, so it is possible they will try to milk the Mandalorian until its dry but maybe I'm wrong there, who knows?

Overall, season 3 was pretty good and while I still think season 2 was better, season 3 still added to the lore and world of the Mandalorian culture. I would like a season 4 but we will see what happens in the not so distant future. Jon Favreau, you busted out another banger of a season here!

rating this season I'm giving it:

8/10

While I don't think it's the best season, I still think it's great and adds plenty to the story of Din Djarin. I would recommend this season just as much as 1 and 2 and you'll definitely need to watch the last few episodes of Book of Boba Fett to figure out what happens between seasons 2 and 3. Here's to hoping for a season 4 and make it the best and last one.

May the Fourth be with you all

See ya!

#dans den #tv show review #the mandalorian #may the fourth be with you #din djarin #bo katan kryze #moff gideon #star wars #season 3 #disney plus #din grogu #jon favreau

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writing-to-nobody · 1 year

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Memories Mine and Not (A Glimpse Into Worlds Beyond)

Against her better judgment, Annemarie decides to attend a Fazzari-Carlisle-Desrosiers family reunion (if only to make Ophelia happy). It's hard enough making small talk with twenty-plus strangers as a reclusive former-assassin without her ability to mirror other demons' powers making it all even more of a headache. Still, she's managing...right up until she has a run-in with Lewis and takes a trip to a considerably less-friendly timeline.

Content warnings: unwanted pregnancy, termination of a wanted pregnancy, somebody gets filled with snakes, suicide

Rating: M

Words: 5,351

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Annemarie protested, standing a few feet back from the doorway of a rather imposing house. House was almost an understatement. Then again, it had to be, with how many people had to be crammed inside on occasions like this one. Even with walls between herself and the guests who were already present, her skin was prickling and there was a faint humming in the back of her mind that she couldn't dispel.

"It'll be okay," Ophelia assured her, "If it gets to be too much, we can leave. It would make my brother and his spouses very happy, and I haven't seen them in so long…"

Annemarie still didn't see why she had to come along. It wasn't that she disliked Ophelia's brother or his wife. In fact, she considered them some of her only friends. She wasn't the biggest fan of Thomas's husband, but he was tolerable when he didn't speak. The trouble was the rest of the family.

Somewhere along the line, Nanette Carlisle had decided that fourteen was the right number of children to have. Now, as far as Annemarie was concerned, zero was the right number, but she understood that the rest of the population also found fourteen to be a bit much.

She'd done her best to avoid the Fazzari-Carlisle-Desrosiers household for the past few hundred years lest she be required to interact with a child. Ophelia told her they were all grown up now, with no immediate plans for more. So that was one thing, at least.

However, that still meant potentially interacting with fourteen people she didn't know, plus their respective spouses, if they had any, in a house that was likely still crowded regardless of its size.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "You are very lucky I love you," she told Ophelia.

Ophelia smiled.

Whatever part of Annemarie was still resisting going into the house of horrors crumpled at the sight, and she allowed herself to be led inside.

They were immediately met by cacophonous chattering.

Annemarie winced and held Ophelia's hand tighter.

"Thomas, we're here, wherever you are," Ophelia called over the din.

After several seconds, a tall, skinny blond man emerged from one of the side rooms, followed closely by a familiar red haired woman and a less familiar man with paper white skin and red and white striped horns. It was strange to see that he was the only one in his true form, given that everyone assembled was a demon.

"Oh, it's good to see you!" Thomas exclaimed, throwing his arms around his sister.

Annemarie let go of Ophelia's hand and took a couple of steps back. She had forgotten how enthusiastic Thomas could be.

"It's been years. You need to visit more often!" Thomas scolded.

"I know," Ophelia said guiltily, "I just—you three have been so busy."

"Never too busy for family," Nanette said with a smile that lit up the room. When Thomas finally released his sister, Nanette hugged her too.

Family. The word echoed strangely in Annemarie's brain. Did it apply to her too? Or was she too far removed? If Thomas's spouse could be family to his sister, then could she, as Ophelia's… partner, be considered family to them as well? It was all very puzzling. By the technical definition, she supposed she was not. After all, they were not married. Such flowery ceremonies were not to Annemarie's tastes, and Ophelia had never pushed the issue. Still, Nanette had looked at both of them as she'd said it.

"Come on, then, this way," Nanette said, gesturing for them to move toward the source of the obnoxiously loud, overlapping conversation.

Annemarie grit her teeth and took Ophelia's hand again.

"Are you going to be okay?" Ophelia asked her softly.

Thomas and his spouses were regarding her with something akin to concern. She didn't need or want to be pitied.

"Of course," she said, smiling.

Ophelia didn't believe her. She could tell. But she didn't need Ophelia to believe her. She just needed the other three to stop looking at her like she might break. Thankfully, the smile seemed to be enough to fool them.

Nanette led the way out of the entryway, and the other two followed. Ophelia and Annemarie trailed along behind them.

"You know I can see right through that smile," Ophelia murmured. "If you need to step outside, tell me, okay?"

Annemarie gave a small nod of acknowledgement. Part of her would have preferred to turn around right then and there and leave. A more insistent part wanted Ophelia to be happy, and if spending time with Thomas's ridiculously large family would make her happy, then that was what Annemarie was going to do.

"Okay," Ophelia said, giving her hand a little squeeze.

It was an odd gesture. Annemarie knew it was supposed to be comforting. She supposed it was, a little. At least she knew Ophelia wasn't going to leave her alone.

Nanette led them to a spacious room where a variety of people, in true forms and human-passing alike, were standing or sitting and chatting. Annemarie spotted a couple of children sitting on the floor and playing with a toy train.

"I thought you said they'd all grown up," she hissed to Ophelia.

Ophelia followed her line of sight. "Oh. Yes, those are Julia's kids. And Victor has a new baby. I don't see him. He and his wife must have stepped out of the room."

"You can tell who's here and who isn't?" Annemarie asked incredulously.

"I do visit occasionally, you know," Ophelia replied.

Nanette turned back to them. "Well, make yourself at home," she said. "We have snacks near the back over there, left and right, Thomas made most of it”—she leaned over and kissed Thomas's cheek—"so you know it's good."

"Did he burn himself this time?" Annemarie asked.

Ophelia gave her a stern look, but Thomas just laughed.

"No, I did not," he said, "I have vastly improved since the early days of chocolate chip cookies, thank you!"

"That's good to hear," Annemarie replied flatly.

There was a long beat of silence. Annemarie had a talent for creating those.

"Well, we'll be around if you need anything," Nanette said.

Thomas nodded and Nanette's other husband gave the two of them an uncomfortable thumbs-up. Then the three of them headed back into the throng of people.

"Annemarie," Ophelia said sternly.

"I wasn't making fun," Annemarie said defensively. "It's my most vivid memory of his baking!"

Ophelia sighed. "Oh, all right. It didn't seem like you hurt his feelings in any case."

Annemarie shrugged. "I don't suppose you're content to go now that you've spoken to him?" she asked hopefully.

Ophelia gave her a look.

"Right. Didn't think so," Annemarie mumbled. "Well. I've resigned myself to my fate. You mingle; I'll hover next to you and make people uncomfortable like I always do."

Ophelia pursed her lips. "It won't be as bad as you think. I think it would be good for you to meet more people."

Annemarie stared blankly at her.

Ophelia sighed and tugged her toward the crowd. "Come on. Come meet my family. You can go back to being antisocial in a couple of hours."

Annemarie grumbled in protest but allowed herself to be led toward the rest of the guests.

As they drew nearer, the constant thrum she'd been aware of since arriving at the house that day grew louder. She winced and pressed the heel of her hand against her temple.

Ophelia paused, frowning. "Are you all right?" she asked softly. She brought a hand up to cup Annemarie's cheek.

Annemarie ducked away, feeling her face burning. Thankfully, it wouldn't be visible to anyone assembled: a benefit of her involved makeup routine.

"Sorry," Ophelia said quickly, letting her hand drop. "I forgot."

Annemarie shrugged. "I know you mean well. I'm fine, though. I just haven't been around this many people in a long time. I should have figured their children would be as powerful as they are, and with Nanette around…"

Ophelia nodded sympathetically. "If you need to step outside—"

"Yes, yes," Annemarie said a little irritably. "I know. You've said. I'm fine. I can handle it."

A flicker of hurt crossed Ophelia's features and Annemarie instantly felt guilty for snapping. That was a relatively new feeling, and she did not care for it.

She was about to apologize when someone called Ophelia's name.

Annemarie looked over to see a man heading toward them. He had white hair and a crooked tail and he leaned heavily on a cane as he walked, favoring his left leg.

"Judas!" Ophelia exclaimed, immediately breaking into a smile. She hugged him. "It's been too long."

"I'll say," Judas replied, returning the hug. "You know you're allowed to visit more than once a decade, right?"

Ophelia released him and crossed her arms. "Oh, don't give me that. I have it on good authority that you were very busy with your studies. How are those going, by the way?"

"Uh, over for a couple years now, thanks," Judas said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "I'm a licensed mortician now!"

"Oh!" Ophelia gave him the fakest smile Annemarie had ever seen in her life. "Right! And… Why did you go into that field again?"

Judas shrugged. "Somebody's gotta do it. What else was I gonna do: taxes?"

Ophelia grimaced. "Heaven forbid. Well, I'm very proud of you."

Judas grinned. "Thanks, Aunt Ophelia." Then he looked over at Annemarie. "Who's this?"

Annemarie felt her shoulders tense up. Judas was studying her. Why, she didn't know, but the look in his eye was that of someone trying to solve a puzzle. She didn't much want to be solved. She took a step back, half-hiding behind Ophelia.

"Oh, this is Annemarie, my—" Ophelia glanced back at her.

"Partner," Annemarie supplied.

Judas's eyes widened. "Oh my God. Seriously? I've wanted to meet you for—like—ever! Aunt Ophelia's told me so much about you!"

"Has she now?" Annemarie said, glancing at Ophelia, hoping her displeasure was evident in her tone. "Like what?"

"Like how you kicked my evil great grandma's ass with a bunch of cool magic!" Judas exclaimed. "Did you really stop time and summon an army of every lost soul she'd wronged since the creation of the universe to destroy her?"

Annemarie glanced uncertainly between him and Ophelia, caught off guard by Judas's enthusiasm.

Ophelia gave her a thumbs up and a weak smile.

"Um. Yes," she said, "that is quite literally exactly what I did. But it was only for a few seconds, it's not as if I stopped time or summoned that many spirits for very long."

Annemarie had never really understood the expression: 'to have stars in one's eyes' before now, but it was the only way to describe the way Judas was looking at her.

"That is so. Fucking. Cool." Judas said.

"Um." Annemarie was blushing again. "Thank you? It was either that or die. So. You know."

Judas was still staring at her adoringly. She looked to Ophelia for help.

"Uh, Judas, why don't you tell us a little about your work?" Ophelia said quickly.

Judas stared at her, puzzled for a second, then appeared to realize something. "Oh, am I being weird?"

"A little," Ophelia said gently, at the same time as Annemarie said, "Yes, very."

Judas grinned sheepishly. "Er. Sorry. It's just super cool to meet you. I'm gonna-" He chuckled nervously, pointed over his shoulder, turned on a dime, and hurried away.

"Well, that was odd," Annemarie said as soon as he was out of earshot.

Ophelia smiled. "Oh, is it really that weird that someone thinks you're cool?"

"Yes," Annemarie said. "It's very weird."

"Oh, well. Why don't we go meet some of the others?" Ophelia suggested.

Annemarie thought that was a very bad idea, but she kept her thoughts to herself and followed where Ophelia led. As she walked among the strangers, she felt her consciousness pulled in a dozen different directions. She had to make an effort to focus only on herself. She had practice after spending so many years with Ophelia, and it had served her well enough in small groups, but crowds like this were overwhelming under the best circumstances, and these were not the best circumstances.

They met Margaret, and Annemarie was struck by how much she resembled her mother. Well, in all ways but one: she was holding another woman's hand, and their matching rings told Annemarie they probably weren't just good friends.

"See? I told you, honey. I'm gay on my dad's side," Margaret said. Her tone made it clear she was joking, but Annemarie didn't understand the reference.

The woman holding Margaret's hand rolled her eyes and smirked. "Yeah. I know Maggie." She glanced over in Thomas's direction. He was smoothing out a wrinkle in his overcoat, pausing only to straighten the ridiculous top hat he always wore. "It's not exactly the world's best kept secret."

Margaret snorted. "Don't let my mom hear you say that. Anyhow. Nice seeing you again, Aunt Ophelia. And nice meeting you, Annemarie. Come back again sometime before the next decade!"

Annemarie did not think she would. She hadn't minded meeting Margaret too much, though. She had a comfortable presence, and she didn't seem like the type to ask too many prying questions.

"I could probably tolerate being around her again," she confided in Ophelia.

Ophelia laughed. "I think that's the most positive thing you've said all day. I'm taking that as a good sign."

After that, they spoke briefly with Nanette's only other daughter, Julia, and her husband, though Julia ran off suddenly in the middle of the conversation. As it turned out, one of her children had stuffed a toy train car up their nose and gotten it stuck. Lovely.

They met Julia's twin brother, Victor, briefly before his wife came back into the room to hand off their crying infant and he had to leave again.

"Promise me we'll never have one of those," Annemarie whispered to Ophelia once she'd uncovered her ears.

"I don't think that'll be a tough promise to keep," Ophelia replied. "For multiple reasons. Yikes."

They'd met Vincent, who blushed with every word he spoke and was so quiet Annemarie had had to lean in quite far to hear him. Ophelia then had to tug her back to her side and remind her that personal space was a thing and that Vincent probably didn't want her in his.

Of course, that meant she hadn't heard a word he said from then on out, but he seemed nice enough. He was the opposite of his father, Cain, and Annemarie appreciated that greatly.

Ophelia tried to introduce her to Isaac and Sigmund, two more of Thomas's sons, but the two seemed to be in the midst of a heated debate about whether or not psychology was a pseudoscience. Ophelia assured her that this was not the first time they'd had this particular conversation.

They steered clear of William, another of Cain's, who gave Annemarie a disdainful sneer as they passed. She flipped him off when Ophelia wasn't looking.

They talked briefly with Noah and his partner, a nervous little golden demon of indeterminate gender named Cae. They left the room shortly after, since Cae needed some room to breathe. Annemarie couldn't help feeling a bit envious.

She was starting to develop a headache but had thus far been able to block out much of the noise. She had felt a few sparks of unfamiliar power within her, but she'd managed to suppress them. She thought about asking Ophelia if they could take a break, but convinced herself she could manage meeting a few more people, even as fatigued as she was starting to get.

They met Raphael and his wife Rosamund, and Annemarie felt blurry around the edges. She wasn't sure how to describe it other than that. She took a step back from them, and the feeling subsided a little.

Ophelia chatted with them briefly before moving on to greet a pair of identical men standing in the corner of the room. Atticus and Angel. She remembered Ophelia telling her about them once. They were private detectives. Annemarie wanted nothing to do with that, so she hung back as Ophelia talked to them and gave a half-hearted wave as she was introduced. She focused her gaze on the floor, and when she noticed that her vision seemed a little funny, she closed her eyes until Ophelia rejoined her.

"Are you doing okay?" Ophelia asked quietly.

Annemarie nodded, but she wasn't really. The blur of conversation in the room had broken into several smaller conversations. They overlapped but did not mix. She could hear every word and each one tied to the others as if stitched together with thread. There were too many threads, though, and she was getting them tangled.

"I think we should head outside for a while," Ophelia said.

Annemarie opened her eyes and tried not to see every detail in the carpet beneath her feet. She gathered as much energy as she could muster and forced herself to focus inward. She took a breath and drew in her remaining energy with it.

"I'm okay," she said, "that was… Twelve, right? I can do this. I'm fine."

Ophelia gave her a doubtful look, but didn't press the issue. She took her hand and led her toward one of the last people they hadn't spoken to in the overly crowded room.

Annemarie felt too warm. Each breath was difficult, but she managed it, and when she couldn't manage it, she simply waited until she could. Demons didn't really need to breathe, after all.

"Hello, Florence," Ophelia said quickly, "I'm sorry. I know we haven't spoken in a while, but—"

"It's all right," Florence said calmly.

Annemarie could breathe again. She still felt too warm and her head ached terribly, but she wasn't struggling for every breath, and the energy within her stopped fighting itself for a few blissful seconds.

Ophelia nodded. "Thank you. Tell Thomas I'll visit sooner next time, will you?"

"Of course," Florence replied. "Take care."

Ophelia nodded and ushered Annemarie quickly toward the door.

"I'm fine," Annemarie mumbled. "You don't have to make such a—"

"Oh! I'm sorry!" a soft voice exclaimed.

Annemarie had very nearly walked into someone, so inwardly focused that she hadn't been watching where she was going. "My fault," she mumbled, looking up into blue-green eyes as deep as the sea.

At that moment, every wall she had built against the energies of the crowd around her crumbled.

This is the one I've been sensing, she thought, and then she wasn't in the house any longer.

She was in another house: smaller and unfamiliar, warming a kettle on a stove top and humming a song she didn't know. Someone's hand touched the small of her back. She gasped and spun around, puzzled to find Thomas standing behind her.

"Something the matter, love?" he asked. There was something odd in his voice, not to mention the way he was addressing her.

"No, nothing," she said, almost involuntarily. She had the strangest sense of déjà vu.

Thomas smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. A chill ran down Annemarie's spine.

The scene vanished.

She was kneeling on cold linoleum, and she had never felt more alone. It was amazing how such a small, simple symbol could fill her with such dread.

"No, no, no," she whimpered. "What am I going to do?"

She was foolish. She should have taken care of the problem immediately, but she'd been in denial until it was impossible to deny. Until someone noticed. Of course her brother couldn't keep his damned mouth shut. And once he knew, their father knew as well.

And then it was too late.

She hurt all the time. She was sick almost as often. She was always dizzy and she wasn't allowed to leave the house. It wasn't as if she'd be able to get far anyway, with how tired she always felt. Besides, where would she go? Her father told her she would die if she ran.

So she stayed. She waited months and months and tried not to look down. As if it helped.

She didn't die when it was over. Not right away. But she wished she had. The bullet in her brain six long months later almost felt like mercy.

But that wasn't the end. Oh no, it couldn't have been the end. That would be too kind. No, she had to come back all over again, remember all over again, hiding beneath threadbare covers and crying at nightmares that tormented a brain too young to understand.

And then one day she met him again. The one who had done this to her. Not her father, no. Thomas. The man who had abandoned her. The man who had made her suffer for fifteen long months before death finally released her.

He was with a woman. He was laughing. He was happy. There was a light in his eyes she'd never seen when he was with her. A gentleness in the way he held the woman's hand: gentleness that he had never shown her.

Something inside her snapped.

She wasn't sure how it had remained unbroken up to this point when the rest of her had been taken and torn and misshapen and bloodied beyond recognition, but it hardly seemed to matter. Her thoughts focused in on a single goal. She was going to make him suffer.

And she had the perfect opportunity. She could see that the woman was afflicted with the same condition that had plagued her in the last year of her life. Hell, she would be doing her a favor, whether she knew it or not.

All it took was a bit of poison and an equal measure of cleverness in how she used it.

How was she meant to know the woman wanted to keep the parasite growing inside her? How was she to anticipate the rage of a mother in mourning?

What a surprise then, to find poison in her cup. What a surprise to awaken in a dusty warehouse with her hands bound above her head while a dozen serpents squirmed inside of her. No matter how she begged, there was no one to release her.

Until someone found her. How, she didn't know. How was it that he would find her at such a low point, nearly as weak as she'd ever been? Why did he always seem to be there to witness her failings?

Andy had knelt before her, tutted, and pulled a knife from his pocket. He carried her home, sobbing incomprehensible nonsense, unable to shake the horrible feeling. Despite her hatred, she couldn't help but feel gratitude toward him.

She should have given up then and there, but she didn't. She was too deeply angry at being made a fool of. She could still feel the serpents in her belly and every night she dreamed she was back on that linoleum floor, or in her father's attic, aching and bleeding and dying again and again and again.

And Andy was there every night when she awoke screaming and crying. A witness to every moment of weakness. She couldn't hide behind her mask anymore. It wasn't fooling anyone.

In pieces. She was in pieces. Figuratively and literally. It took her centuries to reform. No matter what she tried, she failed, and no matter what she did, the memories returned. Hundreds of years later, she still flinched at the sight of serpents and the wail of a newborn sent her into a panic. She would huddle in whatever relatively isolated space she could find, feeling faint with dizziness and far away, gasping for breath she couldn't seem to catch.

Pathetic. Terrified. She hid away from the world until a thought occurred to her.

It wasn't hard to procure celestial steel. It wasn't hard to slot it between two ribs and drive it into her chest: the only thing she was sure would kill her.

Her last memory was of burning from the inside out. But then, hadn't she been doing that for centuries?

To Ophelia and those who witnessed her fall, it must have seemed like only a moment, but for Annemarie, it was a lifetime.

When she came to, she almost didn't want to open her eyes, for fear that she'd see that world again.

She heard Ophelia say her name softly, nothing like the harsh voices and shouting in her visions.

She reluctantly opened her eyes.

Ophelia was kneeling beside her, looking down at her with a deeply worried expression and holding her hand.

Annemarie winced and brought a hand to her head. It wasn't aching as badly as before, but the memories of what she'd seen echoed in her brain, flashes of images and scenes playing over and over in her mind's eye.

"Are you all right?" Ophelia asked, "you just collapsed. I—"

"I'm fine," Annemarie said as calmly as she could manage, considering she was quite the opposite. She sat up and glanced at the crowd of people watching her from a distance, their eyes wide and worried. Lovely. She'd managed to create a spectacle on top of everything else. "Can we please go outside?" she mumbled, only loud enough for Ophelia to hear, "I think I need some air."

Ophelia nodded and stood up, holding out her hand.

Annemarie took it and Ophelia helped her to her feet. She tried to ignore the feeling of so many eyes on her as she limped out of the room.

Someone started to protest, Thomas's husband, from the sound of it, but something or someone thankfully shut him up.

They were soon outside. With a wall between herself and the rest of the assembled guests once again, her splitting headache subsided to a dull throbbing.

There was a beat of silence while she gathered her thoughts and relished the feeling of the cold, fresh air on her skin.

"What happened?" Ophelia asked.

Annemarie took a deep breath and held it a moment. She exhaled slowly. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "I was there a moment, then gone. Somewhere else. Some other time or—or reality—"

Ophelia didn't look surprised. "I'm sorry. I should have known. Lewis…sees things like that. I should have seen you were getting tired and—"

"Stop," Annemarie said sharply.

Ophelia flinched.

Annemarie hissed out a sigh and rubbed at her temples. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for raising my voice and I'm sorry for earlier as well. It's not your fault, and it's not your responsibility to monitor my condition, either. I should have told you I wasn't doing well instead of insisting on staying."

Ophelia shrugged, averting her gaze. "It's… It's fine—"

"It's not," Annemarie insisted. "I oughtn't shout at you when you're only trying to help. I'm sorry."

Ophelia looked back to her, her expression conflicted. Reluctantly, she nodded. "All right," she said, "I accept your apology."

"I'll try to be less stubborn next time," Annemarie muttered. It pained her a bit to admit a failing, but if she hadn't pushed herself too far, she wouldn't have fallen. She could have saved them both a lot of trouble by being honest about her limits. She could have avoided—

A series of images flashed through her mind, and she shook her head furiously trying to banish them. It didn't work. Her skin prickled with sensations that she knew weren't real.

"Damn it," she hissed. She shut her eyes, but that only made it worse. There was nothing to distract her from the images and feelings: squirming beneath her skin and the world exploding around her. She opened her eyes again and saw Ophelia watching her anxiously.

"You can still see it?" she asked.

Annemarie shook her head. "Just echoes. It'll stop. It's just pictures. It's not…real. It doesn't matter. I'm fine." She could tell she was protesting too much, but the alternative was silence, and every moment of silence seemed to invite the memories back in.

"You're not fine," Ophelia insisted. "How can I help? Do you need a distraction?"

"No. I'm not afraid of pictures," Annemarie insisted. She felt a ghost of a twitch in her belly, then a sharp pain. Her head spun. She would have fallen again had Ophelia not been there to catch her.

"Why must you be so stubborn?" Ophelia exclaimed, clearly distressed.

Annemarie was disoriented. She couldn't remember if she was here or elsewhere, now or some other time. She knew she was with Ophelia though. She leaned against her, hiding her face in the fabric of her flannel shirt, as if it would keep the nightmarish sensations at bay. It did help a little.

Ophelia held her close, and Annemarie took solace in the contact. She felt herself begin to breathe normally again. She hadn't noticed her rapid, shallow breaths or the pounding of her heart in her ears until now. But now, the echoes were receding. The images faded and the points of pressure all across her body eased up until they vanished altogether. She sighed.

"I'm okay," she murmured, "really this time. Thank you."

"I'm glad," Ophelia said, but she didn't let go. Annemarie noticed she was trembling. She looked up and saw that her blue eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

"Are… you okay?" she asked quietly, though the answer was clear.

Ophelia started to reply, but her voice seemed to fail her. She tried again. "I was just so worried," she said shakily. "I didn't know what happened. I didn't think about how your ability would interact with so many people. I didn't think about… L-Lewis or our bloodline or—"

Annemarie stood on her toes and kissed Ophelia's cheek.

That seemed to shock her out of her rambling.

"It's okay," Annemarie said. "I'm feeling better now. Granted, I don't want to go back inside. Maybe we limit it to a maximum of, say, five extremely powerful Emperor-line demons at a time the next time around, hm?"

Ophelia made a sound halfway between an incredulous laugh and a sob." You want to come back after that?"

Annemarie shrugged. "It wouldn't hurt to see… Family little more often than once a decade," she said. The word felt strange on her tongue. She wasn't sure she'd meant what she said, but she wasn't sure she hadn't either. She felt an unpleasant memory brush against the boundaries of her thoughts, but she was able to push it away, at least for the time being.

Ophelia gave her a teary smile and hugged her tight.

Annemarie closed her eyes. "I love you," she said, and she meant that for sure.

"I love you too," Ophelia said, "more than anything."

Annemarie let herself be hugged for a couple more seconds than she was accustomed to without complaint. Then she asked: "can we go home?"

Ophelia nodded and let her go.

Annemarie took her hand. "I would like to snuggle, and perhaps take a nap, if you are amenable to that."

Ophelia giggled. "Yes. I think that sounds acceptable."

Annemarie started to picture their home, then stopped herself. "Maybe you should take us home. I don't—...I mean—"

"Oh! Of course," Ophelia said.

In a moment, they were no longer standing on the front porch of the huge house, but in their cozy room at home. In another several minutes, Annemarie was all but hidden beneath several layers of fuzzy blankets, cuddled up to Ophelia's side. A few centuries ago, she would have balked at the thought of finding herself in such a position. These days, she'd swallowed enough of her pride to allow herself the harmless comfort.

Annemarie felt her eyes starting to drift shut as Ophelia ran her fingers through her hair.

"Ti amo, dolcezza," Ophelia murmured.

Annemarie sighed contentedly. "Love you too. Sorry. Falling asleep."

"Don't be sorry," Ophelia said, "rest."

If she said anything beyond that, Annemarie didn't hear it. She was already fast asleep.

#story #annemarie #ophelia #darkfic #I'm just going to tag everything having to do with that timeline as that due to the subject matter #old stories #stories

3 notes · View notes

copiousloverofcopia · 2 years

Note

Psssst, Ren!

*whispers* can u write some stuff with a prime mover and lactation following your awesome breeding fics? Maybe a papa gets a little snacky when he’s having fun with his beau

If that’s not ur cup of tea then please delete this!!

Thank you 😘

Absolutely!

Anon,

I swear you all must see my to do list somehow 😅

There is something planned for you dairy lovers coming soon!

**EDITED for Added content**

Sweet Taste of You

also available on AO3!

Definitely NSFW below the cut

Copia had been anxiously awaiting this moment since you said you'd let him. The hunger and anticipation bubbling beneath the surface, making him tug at the collar of his vestments. His mouth salivating at the thought of tasting you. He was more than ready.

It didn't help that you'd teased him all afternoon. Enticing him with the jiggle of décolletage, licking your lips, and intentionally bending down all day in his office, wearing that low-cut dress you knew drove him wild. Since even before you started lactating, Copia told you it was a fantasy of his to drink from you. You were hesitant at first, but he had been such a good Papa this week–you figured he deserved something special.

A bell chimed and you peered at the antique clock on Copia’s desk, it was 6PM on the dot. Right about now everyone would be headed to the dinning room for dinner. You and Copia, the only ones left in his office–just how it wanted it. You just finished filing the finance reports in the cabinet, when you heard a familiar sound. The latch of the door, hitting the strike plate followed quickly with the click of the lock.

"Cara? Would you mind staying a little longer to…ahem…help me with something?" Copia said, his body firmly pressed against the door. You hadn't yet turned around and already a smirk was creepy across your face.

"Oh course Papa–anything for you." you said, adding a rich sultry tone to your usually sweet demure voice. Your tonal shift made Copia's already hardening cock twitch. You may not have admitted it, but you were just as excited as he was–and he could tell.

The two of you made eye contact as you approached him at the door. The lustful gaze of Copia's eyes on you, causing a heat rush through you–finding its destination between your thighs. He pulled you in closer to him, using the large golden grucifix that hung at your neck once nestled between your cleavage.

"Papa, aren't you hungry?" you teased him, already knowing the answer. "Everyone is going to wonder where you are."

"I am not hungry cara….I am, however, very thirsty you see." he said bringing his mouth to yours. His lips were warm and soft, melting you with his kiss. His tongue finding its way inside to meet with yours. The kiss was deep and full–making you lightheaded, swirling with the rush of adrenaline from the things promised to come. You both pulled back from your embrace, mouths open and breathing heavy, as he slid the backs of his fingers against the swell of your breasts. Your nipples, becoming taunt to his touch.

"Papa, I–" you gasped. You both felt it. The dampness growing between you both, as you glanced down at the bodice of your dress. The warm liquid from your breasts had begun to seep through the fabric.

"Oh cazzo. Non lo sopporto più, devo bere da te il mio dolce." Copia said, biting his lower lip, sucking in air through his teeth.

"Then take me, do what you want with my body Papa…I am all yours." you said, Copia groaning and ready to rip you free of your dress..

"Come with me." your Papa ordered, pulling you over to the large black arm chair in his office. He gingerly removed his vestments–leaving only his paints to hide behind. Copia sat down in the chair, allowing himself to sink into it. He began to stroke his cock, wetting it with his precum, his mismatched eyes looking you over. "Take it all off for me, let me see all of you cara." he demanded, his voice more commanding than before.

"Mmm...oh!" you moaned, accidently rubbing the fabric over your sensitive nipples, aching for Copia's touch. The sound, making Copia grow impatient as he cleared his throat to hurry you along. Having done as you were told, you stood there, completely bare, your full breasts on display for him as you watched him slide his hand up and down on his shaft.

"Mmm…no bra or panties? Cara you are such a good girl for your Papa–always prepared.” he praised you, as you went to straddle him. Placing each of your thighs to flank his own, as he sat in the belly of his oversized chair. Copia's eyes widened as you hovered above him, the milk from your breasts glistening where it had begun to bead up on your swollen nipples. He looked to you for approval, continuing at your nod, Copia delicately caressed your breast and kneaded it gently in his hand.

He took his other hand from his cock, bringing his fingers to you. You let out a moan as they slipped past your entrance, in and out before coming back out to dance within your folds, occasionally brushing your clit–just enough to tease you. Copia relished the feeling of the plumpness of your breast in his hand, giving it a firmer squeeze–sending streams of silky white liquid through the air, hitting the carpet of hair on his chest. He growled at the sight, working his fingers faster inside you.

"Ah…Papa…put your mouth on me." you cried, Copia's cock twitching again, anticipating your taste..

"You tell me cara if I am too rough, si?" you nodded, your head falling back as he continued to glide his fingers in and out of you. Your pussy intensely throbbing and fluttering with every touch. You knew as soon as his lips made contact with you, it would set you aflame. He brought his mouth to your breast, taking in your nipple with the swirl of his tongue, his fingers still working you to climax.

He moaned as his mouth filled with your fluids, traces of them dribbling down the side of his chin and hitting his belly as they dripped. He continued to suck and lick, increasing his intensity little by little–paying close attention to your response.

"Mmm… Papa, yes! Ah! That feels so good. You make me wanna cum.." you mewled.

“Mmhm.” Copia moaned, never completely breaking contact. He continued to lap and nip on your breast, using his tongue to guide your nipple in and out of his mouth. Finally you could no longer hold back, rocking your hips to meet with Copia’s rhythm, cumming hard on his fingers. He couldn’t hold back any longer, pulling his fingers from you and taking hold of his cock–thick and ready.

"Cara mia you taste so sweet. I want–I need to be inside you. Feel your pussy tighten around me as I drink from you." He growled, still lapping at your breast and stroking his cock

“Oh fuck Copia, yes let me ride you.” you cried.

“Yes, amore mio–ride your Papa. Ride me until you cum on my cock. Make me cum for you.” he commanded. Copia lined himself up with your entrance, milk leaking from your nipples covering your chest in a pearly white lattice. Copia slammed his hips upwards, forcing his cock with full force into the furthest point of your cunt, meeting him at the hilt.

“Ah!” you moaned, Copia licking the milk from your chest and bringing the next breast into his mouth. You leaned back, placing your hands on his thighs to balance. You rutted hard on his cock, Copia fucking up into you with full gusto. His mouth firmly latched on to your nipple. He sucked and squeezed you, the mixture of pain and pleasure already bringing you close once again.

“You feel so good around me, the taste of you on my lips. Kiss me cara.” Copia said, bring his lips to yours. You could taste the light sugariness of your milk on his kiss and knew now there’d be no denying him this in the future. Copia’s thrusting intensified, his hands now going to grab either side of your hips, bringing you down tightly on to his cock with each thrust.

The two of you were absolutely covered in sweat and breast milk. Panting, moaning–in full sexual intoxication and fucking eachother silly. You felt yourself building up to your orgasm as the feeling of his cock pressed so deliciously into that spot that makes you keen–over and over. His cock tightly rubbing against the walls of your cunt as he moved in and out from you.

“Papa, make me cum. I wanna cum for you again!” you begged, as he continued to pump hard inside you.

“Argh…grrr… Cara, why do you feel so good?” Copia groaned, bringing his mouth back to your breast and making it his mission to make you cum on him once more. As the sensation of his tongue circling your nipple, coupled with the feeling of his cock filling you up inside became too great, you came hard. The fluids from inside you, leaking out from around him. Copia, too, feeling you start to cum, allowed himself to be released. Filling you with his hot cum–spilling every last drop deep inside you.

You continued moving slowly with Copia, your cunt quivering around him as you both came down from your highs. You were oh so sensitive, your nipples sore and your cunt throbbing. Copia’s breathing began to slow as he kissed you softly on the forehead as you tried to steady your own. He placed his hand on your chin, bringing your eyes to his. HIs other hand, resting around your waist.

“Did I hurt you mia dolcezza?” he asked you, a look of concern on his face.

“No Papa, quite the opposite.” you assured him.

“Good, good…I would very much like to spend more of these evenings with you, like this cara….but in the meantime we should shower.” Copia laughed, his smile lighting up the room as he kissed you once more.

“There is no one I would rather be a sweet, sticky, sweaty mess with than you Papa—no one.”

Notes:

Cazzo- fuck

Non lo sopporto più, devo bere da te il mio dolce- I can not stand it anymore, I must drink from you my sweet.

amore mio- my love

mia dolcezza- sweet

#you asked i answered #ghost #ghost smut #ao3 smut writer #ao3 smut #ao3 writer #ren writes #lactation kink

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todoscript · 3 years

Text

sweetest delight

SYNOPSIS: While Shouto’s out hunting down villains on Valentine’s Day, you try your hand at making some sweets to celebrate the occasion, and in doing so, find your efforts rewarded in more ways than one.

pairing: pro hero!todoroki shouto x fem!reader

genre: smut. fluff. pro hero au.

word count: 7.3k+

warnings: 18+. characters are aged up. dominant!shouto. apron kink. praising. oral (both receiving). face-sitting. 69. cum-eating.

author’s note: god, this is long overdue, but i finally got this thing out after all this time. and of course, it ended up getting out of hand again

“Fuck, fuck, fuck–”

A range of curses spewed from your mouth as the unpleasant smell of your burnt confections permeated the space of your kitchen, threatening to notify the fire alarm overhead of your latest baking mishap. Luckily, you entered the kitchen just in time to dissipate the smoke before it can do so, fanning your towel while navigating to the oven to find your crisp, blackened sweets already ruined inside. The corners of your lips slipped into a scowl at another failed batch of mini chocolate cupcakes at your hand. You slid on a pair of oven mitts to transfer the set off the rack and onto the kitchen counter.

A flicker of optimism in your head presented the thought that they didn’t seem that bad at first glance, going so far as to believe they might’ve tasted relatively fine and that the burnt parts simply added a bitter flavor that would balance the overall sweetness of the decadent chocolate cupcakes. But upon closer inspection, you knew you were lying to yourself.

Flipping the miniature cakes out of the molds, you discovered the sweets were encased in a dreary black outer shell, a sight which made you grimace, wondering how you screwed up so badly to have concocted such a dismal image. You definitely had no right feeding these to Shouto, let alone offer them to him as a Valentine’s Day gift.

As everyone knew, the fourteenth day of February marked Valentine’s Day, the day where couples expressed their love to one another by giving gifts, spending quality time through dates, and displaying many other forms of affection. This year, however, Shouto was called in at his agency to investigate a case of villains whose plan was to wreak havoc on this special occasion.

Now, any person would find it normal to be peeved over these circumstances—having their lover’s free time eaten up by work when they could be celebrating together with a nicely lit dinner or a casual, romantic night at home, and perhaps cap off a wonderful evening with a smooth transition into the bedroom. Much better than spending a day at home alone, pitifully watching couples intertwine their hands together in envy as they walked along the sidewalk beneath your apartment complex, right?

Well, you, on the other hand, were a different case. Rather than sulk around as you waited for Shouto to arrive home later, you decided this would be the perfect chance to whisk up some sweets to surprise him. After all, what’s Valentine’s Day without some chocolate delights on the side, made with vanilla, sugar, cocoa butter, and lots of love and effort. A perfect way to welcome Shouto home from his mission while honoring the festivities, you’d say.

Besides, you understood the situation well enough to recognize that the citizens’ well-being came first before any date of yours. Your boyfriend was a hero, after all, and a Pro at that. It’s not as if you and Shouto hadn’t celebrated Valentine’s Day together before. So long as he came home—intact—prior to the clock ticking to midnight, one day didn’t bother you.

Though… after witnessing the aftermath of several failed attempts at baking thus far, you started to wonder if it would’ve done you better not to get so involved, only to waste resources and pervade your kitchen with an acrid smell.

Still, despite the trials and tribulations, you were determined to come out on top. You tapped your index finger repeatedly against the surface of the marbled counter. “Did I mix up the baking times? Maybe I undermined the portion sizes so the cupcakes started cooking faster?” you speculated out loud, wondering how to troubleshoot the minor errors to come out successful in your next attempt.

After some thought, you decided not to dawdle on your overthinking for too long and shrugged off the idea of redoing another batch of cupcakes. “It’s fine, I’ll just move onto the chocolates then. They’re the star of Valentine’s Day so better to focus on those,” you told yourself. A grin found its way on your face as you rolled the sleeves of your blouse up your forearms. “Alright, let’s get to it then!”

You retrieved a recipe sheet from across the counter, scanning through the contents while overlooking the ingredients lying in front of you. Compared to baking cupcakes, chocolates should be easier to tackle since you weren’t entirely making them from scratch. All you had to do is temper the chocolate melts in a bowl over a heat source, pour them into silicone molds, and refrigerate until hardened and shaped to the perfect, bite-sized delight. Seemed simple enough.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite as simple as you thought.

Or rather, you chose to make the whole process more complicated than it needed to be, not realizing the ambitious turn your take on these chocolates was moving toward until you drove yourself into another mess.

Your first trial of bonbons was sprawled out over parchment paper, waiting for your verdict. Eyes roaming the array of sweets tentatively, you absorbed the mixture of pink and white hues with an unsure look on your face. Somehow during the process, you opted to forgo the customary milk chocolates for white and strawberry, which was the closest you could get to matching Shouto’s signature hair colors.

You’d thought it’d be cute for the treats to have a slight resemblance to him as a simple yet sweet reminder that he was on your mind throughout your progress. But staring down at the final product, you wished you guessed ahead of time that the vision you sparked in your head was not going to be as bright and pretty in comparison to what came out.

You frowned at the batch with narrowed brows before begrudgingly scooping a piece and tossing it into your mouth. The sweetness of the strawberry and white chocolates coexisted together to form a smooth texture that left behind a creamy, floral undertone on your tongue. What was incredibly lacking, however, laid in the looks department. The visuals left… more to be desired, to say the least.

With the idea of wanting to use two different flavors of chocolate, you also played on the notion of incorporating a theme. That theme being half-and-half. And half-and-half being splitting the colors on the chocolates right down the middle.

Though not a complicated plan for an adept baker, it was the exact opposite for a newbie like you who had came up with the idea on the spot. With your chocolates appearing in odd shapes and sizes, not one seemed to resemble another, which was the result of both your lack of patience and miscalculations. You had to allow one of the flavors to harden in the mold before adding the other to not prematurely mix the colors, but judging by the swirls of pink and white surrounding the chocolates, that didn’t seem to go so well. Add on to the fact you had some trouble inverting them out of the silicon molds—the edges of the chocolates ending up smooshed or torn off entirely—and you were left with another failed attempt at a Valentine’s present.

“Guess making sweets isn’t really my thing, huh?” You sighed, body slumping forward against the kitchen counter in defeat. Your eyes wandered from your sad chocolates to the hefty amount of dirty dishes piled in the sink. All this, and you weren’t able to make anything worth giving to Shouto. What exactly were you going to tell him when he came home, bearing witness to this entire mess? No, Shouto was probably under enough stress and fatigue as it was after working all day. Plus, his anticipation for a gift would only be amplified if he saw the number of baking supplies you’ve wasted today. At this point, you had to turn in the towel.

“Oh well… I better clean everything up before Sho comes home and start on din–”

Your words were interrupted by the sharp sound of the front door opening.

“I’m home!” an all too familiar voice announced, one that you were more than aware belonged to a particular fire and ice hero.

Surprised, you glanced over at the clock to check the time, which read a bold 6:00 PM—sooner than you expected your boyfriend to arrive home from his duties that day. So soon, in fact, that you weren’t able to even begin erasing any of the evidence littered around the kitchen.

“Y/n?” you heard him call. Freezing in place, you picked up Shouto breathing in a quick whiff. “What’s that smell?” he asked but didn’t wait for a response, traveling through the enormous apartment to find that answer for himself. Hearing his feet shuffling across the hardwood floor, you moved quickly.

“The kitchen smells sweet but also... bitter.”

Sweet and bitter..? you repeated but soon realized what he meant—those damn burnt chocolate cupcakes you left out. While in your rush with making the chocolates, you had forgotten to dispose of them beforehand. Though the bitter smell was not as prominent as when the cupcakes first came out of the oven, it still didn’t evade Shouto’s keen senses.

After shoving the burnt mini cupcakes in a trash bin, you scrambled to the entrance to the kitchen, thankfully cutting Shouto’s path off just in time as you met him there. “Oh hey, Sho, why didn't expect you to come home so early!” you greeted, a cheerful lilt in your tone as you leaned an arm on the side of the doorway, hoping to come off ordinarily chill to avoid any questioning looks. It seemed you achieved that much at least by how Shouto smiled warmly at your appearance.

“You should’ve shot me a quick text or something.”

“Sorry, we managed to track down the group of villains right away and finished the mission smoothly without any casualties,” he explained. “I guess I was in such a hurry to come home and celebrate Valentine’s Day with you that I must’ve forgotten.” The soft look on Shouto’s handsome features had you in a daze for a second; you nearly missed him descending his head to your level so his lips could find yours. Eventually, you broke from your stupor and swiftly turned your head so he planted a peck on your cheek instead.

You were never one to purposely avoid a kiss on the lips like that from him—far from it actually—but you didn’t want him to find any residual sweetness on your lips from the confections you taste-tested that day and have him bring up if you made anything for him. One thing you surely couldn’t avoid, however, was his puzzled face at your uncharacteristic actions. Still, Shouto wasn’t one to overthink the details. Instead, he decided to look at the bigger picture, such as the dirty yet cute, pink and brown frilly apron tied around your body.

“Your apron’s a mess,” he chuckled lightly. The comment caught you off-guard, eyes slowly traveling down to the flour and chocolate stains on your Valentine’s-themed apron. “Have you been cooking?” he asked. You fumbled with your answer.

“O-Oh yeah..! In fact, I’m… still cooking, actually!” you quickly added, making up for your lack of words. “C’mon, it’s probably been a long day for you. You should go freshen up in the shower while I get everything done and cleaned!” You tried shoo-ing Shouto from the kitchen’s vicinity, but he didn’t budge.

“I can help out if you like. I wouldn’t want you to fix everything up by yourself, especially since we’re supposed to spend the rest of Valentine’s Day together,” he said, and as much as you liked to take him up on his kind and thoughtful offer, you had to object.

Firmly shaking your head, you continued your attempts at pushing Shouto to retreat to the shower and scrub off the troubles of his day. “No, you’ve probably done enough work today as it is! Just let me handle the rest, ‘kay?” you insisted, straining a smile. However, your hurried shoving felt almost too persistent than what Shouto found normal.

“Well, what are you making then–” As he tilted his head up to sneak a peek, you followed his movements, elevating yourself onto your tiptoes to block his vision in time.

“S-Soba noodles..! Cold! Just how you like them,” you answered after partially interrupting him. Quirking a brow at your fidgety gestures, Shouto stared at the smile etched on your lips which screamed of suspicion. Now he was sure something was up.

“Love,” he said, his voice a tone lower than usual that made goosebumps appear on your skin, staring at his turquoise and gray eyes warily, “are you hiding something from me?”

“What? Psh, no,” you feigned innocence, shrugging, “Why would you think that?”

Shouto gave you a look, silently telling you that you should more than know the reason why, but you chose to remain ignorant. No point in questioning it any further then. He would have to pry the answer out himself.

Aware that you had no intention of letting him pass voluntarily, Shouto began putting his hero training to use. He side-stepped in a single motion, quickly pivoting on the balls of his feet to slip through your defenses. You didn’t have time to ask yourself what happened before you turned around to watch his reaction to what you left for him on the kitchen counter.

Upon entering the kitchen, Shouto’s heterochromatic eyes were immediately drawn to the marbled white-and-pink sweets sprawled across the parchment paper. His interest piqued, he walked straight to the chocolates with you trailing behind. You could feel the heat in your cheeks slowly rise from the embarrassment at seeing Shouto inspect your sorry excuse of chocolates.

“Hm, no soba noodles, but I may have found something even better,” he said, and you wondered if you heard correctly or that maybe he saw something you didn’t. You rapidly blinked about four times, letting your vision adjust, and yet your chocolates remained.

“You’re kidding… right?”

Shouto lifted a brow at your hesitance. “No, why would I be kidding?” he replied thoughtfully. He took one of the chocolates off the parchment paper, raising it in the air between his thumb and index finger. “You made these for me, didn’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, they were supposed to be a Valentine’s Day gift, but…”

“But..?” A frown settled on his lips, watching you nervously twiddle your thumbs while you held your hands against your apron. “Y/n, you can tell me.” Not liking how you weren’t meeting his eyes, his finger drew your chin up so he could get a better glimpse of your face.

“But they don’t look the part. They’re hideous,” you quietly admitted, your words mellowing into a whisper the more they departed your lips. The way he treated your creations as if they belonged on a pedestal didn’t sit right in your eyes. “So I... didn’t want you to see them, or any of this actually. I thought if you saw what I was doing, you’d get your hopes up for something special, only to be disappointed.” You tried avoiding his gaze again, but Shouto wouldn’t allow it, following your eyes as his hand pried yours apart to take one in his own.

His focus shifted from the pink and white chocolate held in front of him to the uncertainty clouding your expression. “I’m not sure what you mean. They look fine to me.”

“Sho, you don’t have to lie to me just so you don’t end up hurting my feelings. Anyone can see how uneven they look,” you said, pointing at the rest of the batch still sitting on the counter behind him. There was a low chuckle coming from the male’s lips, one that you guessed was out of amusement, but you were too caught in your troubled feelings to be sure.

“Well, I have to admit, they don’t exactly resemble the perfect, visual representation of the chocolates you’d find at the store or anything,” he acknowledged with you mumbling an ‘I told you so’ in response before he continued, “but that’s the reason why I like them. That means you made them for me and there isn’t any chocolate like it. They’re one of a kind.”

His genuine words took you aback, eyes glimmering and cheeks flushed. You were too wrapped up in your need for perfection that you didn’t realize you could consider your efforts that way.

“Besides,” he threw the little bonbon in his mouth, “they taste great,” he said as the strawberry and white cream melted on his tongue with its rich sweetness.

Despite his praise, you thought he had only said that because you knew for a fact that the chocolates did at least pass in the taste department. “But what if they had tasted bad too? What would you have said then?” You were bold enough to question, though half-worried about his answer in the back of your head—worried that he would have to take back those sweet words of his.

“I still would have eaten them, regardless. I’d never waste anything you’ve made for me, you should know that. To me, these chocolates are the sweetest delight not because they’re the best looking or tasting, but because they came from you,” he answered earnestly, bending down to tuck a hair away from your stunned yet grateful appearance which looked as if you were nearly about to sigh out loud in relief. You brought your body into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin, and he wrapped his arms around you, lips pressed against your hair.

Shouto didn’t grant you much time to bask in your solace however, before beckoning you over to the kitchen counter. He wasn’t done teasing you just yet.

“Normally couples give each other milk chocolates on Valentine’s day. Any reason you decided on white and strawberry then?” Shouto noted, a grin on his lips as you seemed reluctant to reveal your reasoning—lips pursed and fingers playing with the hem of your apron.

“Well, they’re supposed to be your…” You finished by motioning at the crown of your head before pointing to his red and white locks.

Heh... Cute. The grin that was persistent on his features widened, and your response earned you a kiss on the cheek. “Thinking about me, huh?” he teased. You were more than aware of your intentions throughout your chocolate-making process, but it didn’t make the whole situation any less embarrassing when your motives came to light out of Shouto’s own mouth.

You pouted profusely, turning your face in the other direction as you nudged his arm. “Aren’t you going to eat the rest then?” you asked despite your demure demeanor. You couldn’t see it, but you were positive he was aiming that amused expression in your direction, leaning his head on his palm while his elbow was leveled on the counter.

“You made a lot of chocolates today, love. You don’t expect me to finish them all by myself, do you?” You heard the rustle of the parchment liner unsticking to something behind you. Then a finger poked your cheek, and out of curiosity, you followed where the disturbance came from, only to have a swirl of pink and white pushed past your lips.

“Mm..” you hummed surprisingly in delight at the harmonious strawberry and cream flavors coating your tastebuds.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah, I got to taste them before you arrived home.” You rubbed the back of your head. “And um, I didn’t exactly make these from scratch...” You went about divulging your methods to him, explaining your usage of chocolate melts, which all in all saved you a lot of time, considering your earlier mishaps with the brownies—a misfortune you also confessed to as you side-eyed the trash bin.

The dual-haired male laughed with mirth at the disasters you tangled yourself into today. “Seemed like you had an eventful Valentine’s Day at home without me.”

He scanned over your outfit, consisting of a simple buttoned blouse and a pair of jeans. What caught his eye the most was the frilly, laced brown and pink apron tied around your body. You must have bought this specifically to get in the spirit of Valentine’s Day because this was the first he’s seen you in this. Normally you’d wear those plain cotton aprons while you were cooking. Not something so charming and—dare he say—refreshing.

As you were continuing the conversation—going on about how vanquishing criminal organizations was more productive than whatever you were concocting at home—your words faded into the background. Shouto found it hard to focus on what you were saying, while your animated gestures seemed to enhance the shape of the apron against your body, emphasizing your physique.

Recalling the story you just mentioned, he imagined what the scene of you frantically dashing around the kitchen would look like as you wore this cute thing. Was it weird of him to hold fantasies of arriving home, being greeted by your endearing self donning this garment, dolled in its intricacies with a smile gracing the lips he oh so wanted to kiss every day?

Shouto would think so. He’s never heard of any anecdotes of this kind of behavior before. Perhaps it was how dainty and frilly the material appeared against your figure that stemmed such a risqué thought from him. If that was the case, then this apron was no different than lingerie. Or more specifically, those delicate lace babydolls you’d wear for him on those special occasions, in which you displayed the zenith of lust and vulnerability that rendered him a man ensnared by his need to utterly ravage you–

Fuck. Letting those imaginations cross his mind was a dangerous move. He felt himself getting hard, body exercising the willpower not to pounce and concede to his fantasies. Then again, no one could really blame him for thinking of his girlfriend this way on Valentine’s Day. Especially when you looked so damn cute right now that he could just eat you up.

“Shouto?” Your voice diverted his attention from the growing problem in his pants, though only for a moment. When his focus returned to you, all those lascivious thoughts buried in the back of his head made their way to the forefront again. Damn, did he have it bad.

“Is something wrong? You were zoning out for a bit.”

He shook his head, dispelling your concern. However, it was going to take more than that to sweep away the lust consuming his mind. “It’s nothing. More importantly, why don’t we continue tasting these chocolates?” Pulling up a stool, he took a seat next to the kitchen counter.

Just as you were going to mention that you needed to start on dinner soon, Shouto suddenly drew your body in between his parted legs. Thrown slightly off-balance, you instinctively held onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady.

You couldn’t help but notice the hand traveling up your legs as it situated itself on the back of your thigh, but the detail was abandoned as soon as it was manifested. The proximity between you two was too much not to overlook now. Shouto peered up at you with what you made out to be smoldering intensity, and the sight reduced you to shying away from his eyes again.

Of course, Shouto didn’t take a liking to that. With you so close, he didn’t want anything hindering his front seat viewing of your candid reactions. “Baby, look here,” he called to you. You followed his command, turning back to face the grin reaching his lips. “There’s my pretty girl.”

You attempted to open your mouth to reply but found another ball of marbled chocolate placed where words should’ve been.

Soft lips wrapped around him, Shouto had to fight back the urge to groan, feeling your tongue graze the pad of his thumb as he fed you the candy. His other hand, formerly occupied with rubbing subtle circles on your clothed flesh, wandered to the satin ribbon of your apron fashioned behind you.

It wasn’t long until you discerned the game he was playing through the fiery looks and frisky touching.

Well, enter player two.

You brought a hand to his wrist, keeping him there as your tongue made work at licking away the residual chocolate melted on his finger. You moved from his thumb to his index finger, noting not to miss anything with every flick as you confidently returned the heady expression with batted eyelashes.

Shouto breathed in silently through his nose, gritting his teeth, your sultry actions having an innate effect on him, to which you smirked at. There was a slight tug on the ribbon wrapped behind you. It wasn’t firm enough to where the knot came undone, but enough that you noticed his fixation on the material. If he was making an effort to exert some self-control, it was futile at this point. No doubt, he was going to take you before Valentine’s Day was over.

“Hmm, you’re right, these chocolates are pretty tasty. But it’s probably because you’re the one feeding them to me that they taste just soooo good,” you mused, adding a sensual tonality to your voice as you concluded your words with one last kitten lick.

The man before you bit the inside of his cheek, your voice alone making blood rush south. You little minx. He was going to make doubly sure you understood just what you were doing to him.

Finally releasing his hand, you reached over beside you to grab a chocolate off the parchment paper. “For you~” You giggled as you led the confection to Shouto’s mouth. He readily accepted your gift, lips wrapping around the tips of your fingers as the mellow flavors soothed his taste buds. He made a point of re-enacting your little show, tongue languidly lapping your fingers while he maintained steady eye contact. You shuddered at the wet warmth abiding your skin, the suffocating sexual tension in the air causing you to press your thighs together. The action was not overlooked by Shouto, who smiled amidst cleaning your fingers with every brush of his tongue.

“What’s wrong, love? You were so bold and talkative earlier. Cat got your tongue or something?” he teased. A smirk ran across the curl of his lips as his licks turned to kisses he planted on the back of your hand.

After finishing his task of lapping up every essence of sweetness off your skin, he lifted himself from the stool. Doing so made him stand tall over you, and he easily cornered you to where your back met the edge of the counter. Your wrist captured in one of his hands, he wove an arm around you, pulling your body into him.

“You know, there’s something I want to eat right now other than chocolates,” he confessed, forehead pressed to yours and glinted heterochromatic eyes latent with an insatiable hunger. The baritone of his voice sent shivers through your body and a throb aching in your core.

You innocently tilted your head at him. “Oh, is that so? And what would that be?”

He chuckled darkly at your redundant question.

“Why you of course, my love.”

The moment the words reached your ears, he lunged forward to seize your lips. You quickly followed in the sensual movements of his soft lips against yours like it was a practiced routine, not resisting his tongue prying its way into your mouth and submitting to the dance that made pleasure course through your veins.

A single tap on your thigh was your cue to hop into Shouto’s waiting grasp and wrap your arms around his neck. You pulled your bodies closer to where the few layers of clothing you both possessed did nothing to hide your enthusiasm for each other. You could feel your nipples under your bra stiffen at your arousal, growing more sensitive as you pressed your chest to him. Meanwhile, his hard erection shamelessly poked the inside of your thigh to which his grip was poised on remaining firm, grinding your lower half against him.

You expected this was where he intended to have you—right then and there in the middle of the kitchen—but to your surprise, Shouto had other plans. He navigated you two to the dining table as you continued feverishly making out with your legs wrapped around his waist. Never breaking the hot mingle of your lips, he carefully placed you on the edge. His hands were free to roam the expanse of your body, palming at places that elicited airy moans from you as he inscribed the niceties of your bonny apron into his memory. Though he cursed the unnecessary layers that obscured your beautiful flesh from him.

Finding the clothes still on you equally unbearable in the heat of your movements, you were on the same wavelength as him. You sought out the satin ribbon tied behind your back that kept the apron on your form, but before your fingertips could even reach the material to tug the knot loose, Shouto seized your wrists and led your hands away. Your face was scrunched with bewilderment by how sudden his actions were.

Shouto didn’t think he could have a fetish over something as ordinary and domestic as a decorative garment tied around your waist, but this Valentine’s Day was proving him otherwise. He was not about to pass an opportunity to absolutely ruin you in this pretty thing.

“Keep it on,” he ordered, voice deep and commanding.

“H-Huh? What about my clothes?” you stuttered, confused at first. You wanted to ask what spurred him to give such a demand, but you were too caught in the moment to think of objecting to his request (not that you had much choice anyway).

“Let me.” That was all he said before his hands sought after the waistband of your jeans and the buttons of your top. He pulled and undid the apparel until you were left in only your panties and that lovely apron. Your bra was quickly disposed of to the pile next to his feet thanks to the clip being located at the front this time, and he was eternally grateful for the convenience. You didn’t even have to mention anything for his own clothes to float above yours on the floor, sitting back on the table to admire his toned physique, now free for you to ogle in just his briefs.

His hooded, icy eyes concentrated on every aspect of your appearance. He didn’t dare miss a single detail in front of him—from your bare, flushed skin glowing beneath the light fixture to your aroused nipples shaped through the thin fabric. You were a sight Shouto would gladly worship for the rest of his life.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, my love, and I’m going to enjoy ravaging you until all you know is my name.”

His words alone were enough to send a tingle of anticipation to your cunt. You did not shrink at his assertiveness, instead embracing both yours and Shouto’s desires with open arms.

“You have me, Sho. I’m all yours.”

The man released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding before inhaling and diving in. Your lips reencountered each other, continuing from where you left off with his tongue chasing after you. You laced your fingers in his soft hair to press him deeper to you as Shouto navigated down your neck. He sucked and licked at your skin; every tug he felt on his scalp compelled him to lay marks as he inched closer and closer to your breasts.

“Ahh.. Sho…” you mewled, feeling his hands grope one of your mounds and tease your slit through your panties. With no intention of letting this apron off your body, Shouto pushed the fabric concealing your chest inward to reveal a perky nipple, seeming excited to be covered by his mouth. Well, who was he to deny such exuberance, especially when he himself was hungry to taste?

Lips enclosing the stiffened nub, Shouto sucked and prodded with fervor. As you squirmed and squealed beneath him, your fingers pulled harder at his strands which he hummed in content at. The tip of his tongue circled your areola, making the slick clinging to your panties damper at the stimulation. The hand occupied between your thighs stroked you against the fabric before pulling it to the side to touch you directly.

“Oh fuck!” you cursed at the contact as Shouto did not hesitate to start pumping a finger into your pussy.

“Damn, you’re so wet down here. Did my kisses and teasing do all this?”

You were too distracted by the precise movements of his fingers working through you to answer, words superseded by your wanton moans. “Keep making those pretty sounds, love. I want you to cry out as I’m ruining you.”

Your noises hit a crescendo when his fingers began curling inside you, stretching into places that lit stars behind your eyes. His thumb rubbed your clit to intensify the fire building in your abdomen. Your back arched on the table as you grabbed onto Shouto’s free hand for dear life, already feeling that flame ready to ignite.

“Sho– Wait, I’m gonna–”

“Don’t hesitate, sweetheart. Coat my fingers with your cum,” he told you, increasing the speed of his thumb against your bundle of nerves as he continually hit that euphoric soft spot.

At his words, your pussy clenched hard around him, practically sucking him in. You threw your head back against the table, releasing a loud cry of his name as your orgasm engulfed your whole body with electrifying pleasure. Chest heaving up and down, your breaths sounded ragged as your vision went white before slowly adjusting to the light.

Shouto slid his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, licking at the layer of gloss. He observed your fucked-out state from above and admired his handiwork—your lips swollen, eyes glassy, and sweaty skin adorned with his marks.

“You taste absolutely delicious, you know,” he said almost too sweetly, like he had immediately gotten drunk off drinking the remnants of your orgasm. And, of course, he had to let you know how delectable you were. Shouto provided you a sample by pressing his fingers to your lips. You obediently parted them, welcoming your essence on your tongue.

“Don’t you think so?”

You hummed and nodded in agreement. Shouto grinned, bending down to mix your flavor in each other’s mouths. He finally removed your ruined panties and slid them down your legs. But to no one’s surprise, the apron stayed on your person.

When you parted, Shouto gestured for you to get up from the table. In doing so, you had anticipated this would be the time to head straight to the bedroom, but the night continued to prove you wrong. Shouto was still famished.

“Stand up for a second, baby. I want to lay down as I have my meal.” You didn’t need to guess to know just what he wanted to satiate his appetite tonight.

Shouto laid himself flat across the table, the majority of his legs dangling off the edge. You, on the other hand, were apprehensive at his approach, cautiously wondering if your modest dining table could handle the rampant motions of two adult bodies on top of it at once. Should the legs give way and the table collapses, the gravity of your descent would put all your weight onto him. What if you hurt him as a result?

“Love, what’s the holdup?” your boyfriend called, breaking your train of thought, “Come, your throne awaits.” He patted his chest—a rather peculiar place to sit but your cunt pulsed at the image of you riding that gorgeous face of his.

“O-Okay, I’m just afraid of hurting you, is all,” you said, pulling at the hem of your apron for security.

He raised his upper body halfway to see the hesitance painted on your features. “Y/n, there’s no need to worry, I wouldn’t have thought of doing this if I couldn’t handle it,” he assured, his hand reaching out for you. “Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to us.”

You stared at the hand hovering in front of you and then at Shouto’s eyes glimmering with faith, and you knew you could trust his word. So you take his hand, climbing onto the table and over his body where you straddled his chest.

“Dining tables are meant to be eaten on, right? Well, I intend to devour you until your legs are shaking beside me, sweetheart,” he promised. He stroked up and down your thighs tauntingly. Your breaths hitched as he maneuvered you above his face, moving the flap of your apron so you could feel his cold breath against your lower lips.

“As much as I appreciate all those confections you made for me, they all pale in comparison to the sweetest delight here–” He uttered praises to your core while rubbing the soft flesh of your thighs. “This pretty, soft, and dripping pussy.”

Warmth spread across your cheeks at his lewd words and how close in proximity he was to your twitching center. The one thing you detested about this apron at this moment was the fact it blocked you from what Shouto was doing, the bottom half lying right above his face. To him, however, it made everything all the more entertaining.

Despite being the one trapped under you, it must have felt like you were more in the dark than he was. After all, he was the one asserting dominance in this situation, and with a layer of fabric hiding his face, you had no idea how or when he was going to eat you out. His deafening silence was not offering you one bit of reassurance either. If he truly intended to devour you atop this table, he should just do it already.

“...Sho? Are you—Ah!” Upon questioning him, your words were choked by your surprised squeal, feeling him delicately kiss your folds with chilly lips attached to your warm pussy. You opened your mouth to speak again, yet you struggled to search for words as Shouto’s tongue flattened against you, licking a long strip before latching onto your sensitive pearl. The more he relentlessly sucked and teased, the more you sang out with waves of pleasure quivering through your body.

Hearing your beautiful noises, he chuckled, tongue vibrating on your clit. Every sound you produced made his cock stutter, still leaking and begging for attention beneath his briefs.

Not liking how inactive you were—simply sitting on his face and waiting for yourself to come undone on his tongue—you reached behind yourself to trail your hand down his abdomen. His body tensed, abs immediately flexing at your soft touch. You noticed his ministrations falter in their rhythm.

“B-Baby, what are you doing?” he questioned, pulling himself off of you to concentrate on your hand running along the waistband of his briefs. His fingers dug into your flesh as you found his length, tentatively giving it a pump that gave birth to a strained noise below the flap of your apron.

“You’ve been doing all the work so far, Sho. I just want you to enjoy yourself,” you said. His eyebrows were scrunched, hissing through his teeth at your thumb grazing his slit, mixing his precum around the tip.

“I am enjoying myself—this is all I could ever ask for,” he replied honestly. He lifted the frilly material off his face so you could discover your slick running down his lips and neck, the blush spread across his fair cheeks an more than sufficient indication that he derived nothing but delight from being in this position. He looked like an absolute mess, yet the debauched sight made both your heart and pussy flutter.

“But if you want to join in, I won’t stop you.”

At that, Shouto detached himself from your sweetness for just a second to quickly reposition you above him. You were adjusted to where you were practically on all fours on the table now, facing the prominent bulge raised on his briefs while your fluttering cunt was somehow even more obscenely split in front of him. You were thankful the piece of furniture stayed intact throughout the motions, pleasantly astounded by its strength. However, you couldn’t pause to be impressed by this detail for long. Not when Shouto’s aching erection pleaded for you to continue touching it.

Your hand returned to its original place—wrapped around his heavy length that wept with precum coating the surface of its mushroom top. As you stroked it up and down in a consistent rhythm, you altered your grip to tighten more around him.

“Ooh yeah, that’s it, baby. Just like that… Ahhhh, fuckkkk—” You were rewarded by his praises and groans at the splendid pressure surrounding his dick. It encouraged you to keep up your pace and add another hand to the fray to increase the tension.

“You’re doing so well, making me feel so fucking good, love. Can you add your mouth for me now?” he requested, and you happily complied. Your tongue flattened against his cock, noting every vein and twitch running across your wet muscle that reduced Shouto to muttering obscenities behind you. Reaching the top, you swirled your tongue along the tip before taking the entire head into your warm cavern. Shouto’s thighs flexed, body almost trembling at how heavenly you made him feel. He couldn’t be outdone.

You let out a whine on his cock, feeling his mouth working against you again. This time you felt the effects stronger than before as Shouto spread your pussy lips to grant him better access to tongue fuck you. He stimulated every sensitive area with practiced ease, making sure to flick your clit with extra vigor to achieve the best results. You delivered in your reactions—legs shaking and knees slowly and deliberately being reduced to jelly.

Even ensnared in ecstasy, you did your best to adapt to his intensity, engulfing him more into your mouth. Your hands worked together to maximize the most pleasure you could give him, fondling his balls and gripping the base of his cock.

The lewdest of sounds filled the room in an unrelenting symphony. From your muffled whimpers to your pussy squelching in the presence of Shouto’s mouth purring against you, there was no shortage of bliss evident in the atmosphere. Hearing yourselves in the throes of rapture as you devoured each other’s whole beings like starved animals, you two were simultaneously climbing toward your highs.

“Shit, keep doing just that baby, and I’m going to paint that pretty mouth of yours white,” he warned half-heartedly. You purred, the enthusiasm laced your tone informing Shouto you wanted him to do just that. He was pleased by your response.

“You want it, don’t you, you slutty girl? Well, I expect you to drown me in your honey while I cover your throat with my cum then.” Those were the last words he spared you before proceeding to manifest them into reality. His hands dug themselves in the flesh below your ass cheeks, exposing your pussy to his appendage that swiped away at your clit until shockwaves made you tremble above him.

You were the first to come undone, juices running down your thighs and boyfriend’s chin. Your cries were muffled amidst Shouto’s dick caught down your throat, tightening around his length, which surged with spurts of white all over your mouth. You swallowed every single drop of his seed, wiping at the excess on your lips as you released the hero’s cock with a loud pop.

After taking a moment to catch your breaths, you carefully moved off of each other. Shouto steadied you on his lap, letting you straddle him as he sat on the edge of the table. He intertwined your fingers through his and brought them to his lips to place a tender kiss on the back of your hand.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Shouto. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

#bnha smut #bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #mha smut #bnha fic #bnha imagine #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki imagine #mha x reader

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contemplationtown · 3 years

Text

Haven /Din Djarin x F!Reader/ Ch. 5

Synopsis: The child was what brought you two together. With him gone, what exactly was left? Feeling jealous.

Warnings/Tags: 18+. Loss. Hurt/Comfort. Slow Burn. Fluff. Smutty content (Oral F!Receiving). (Edging). (Fingering). Protective! Din. Soft Dom! Din. Cursing. Angst. Jealous! Din.

Introduction, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 (Series Ongoing)

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Phew, I had way too much fun writing this.

Read chapter 4 here.

Days later, you and Mando are finally headed back to Tatooine to meet with Cobb Vanth. You hadn't seen Mando's reaction to his suggestive comment, so you felt a bit uneasy at the thought of seeing him again in person. When you had first met Cobb, he had quite possibly been the most flirtatious man in the Outer Rim. He was handsome of course, but you weren't interested in a relationship then—and certainly not now with Mando in the picture.

You felt embarrassment when you thought of the playful nature of your and Cobb's friendship in the past, wondering if it had ever made Mando feel some type of way. You think of how Mando would react to it now that you were... together?

Honestly, the talk you had a few nights ago cleared up a lot of your confusion about Mando. He gave you a clear picture of what he was thinking: you were now sure of his affections towards you. But, the actual "definition" of your relationship was still blurry. You hadn't really had a chance to talk more after that night, Mando had busied himself with continuing repairs and communicating with Cobb about the bounty. Meanwhile, Greef and Cara occupied most of your time with requests and outings in the city.

Mando was clearly a private person, and definitely not the "public displays of affection" type either. For a first in your time together, you desired some time alone with him. If there was someone else there, Mando would keep a safe distance (close enough for you to feel his presence at your side, far enough to seem as if nothing had changed from the past.) Every chance you had, it seemed that something or someone would rudely interrupt it, and you were starting to get a bit...hot and bothered.

Every time you looked over at his bottom bunk, you would remember how he'd kissed you that night. The command he had in his actions, his sensual composure, the moans. Maker, it took everything in you to not just touch yourself at the thought of it. And even that you'd had no time to do.

Before you left on your journey to Tatooine, you'd been dragged out to spend the previous night out with Cara again. You'd momentarily forgotten that the journey was the next morning, remaining fast asleep in the Morut until late afternoon.

You awoke to the noises of the ship landing, yawning as you climbed down the bunk ladder. The two of you never seemed to be in the same place at the same time alone recently, so you felt a bit excited to get at least one moment before meeting up with Cobb.

You stood at the bottom of the ladder, arms crossed around your chest as you waited for the cockpit door to open. You didn't have anything planned to say—all you knew was that you wanted to see him after what felt like so long. When Mando walked out, you tried not to seem too eager as you bounced over to him. He seemed to be in a rush, though, and you felt your excitement falter a bit before he turned to you.

"Sorry, mesh'la. We were supposed to meet Cobb hours ago." He brushed his bent forefinger under your chin, and you blushed at his ability to read you so well. You tucked a stray hair behind your ear, "That's fine. We should head out, then."

Mando nodded, leading the way towards the door.

You had landed in Mos Pelgo this time on Tatooine, Cobb Vanth's town. The criminal that he was searching for had been jumping from town to town in the nights, hiding in the desert cliffs in the day. Cobb had told Mando they would debrief in the town's small cantina before getting to work. With nothing to do on the ship, you decided to tag along.

The town had barely changed since the last time you had been there. A few friendly townsfolk recognized the two of you as you made your way down the street, waving enthusiastically. You still remembered the giant krayt dragon tearing through the town, the way Mando had jumped into the jaws of the beast to kill it. You felt a sense of pride as you walked next to him, relishing in the people's excited stares at the man next to you.

Just as before, the local bar was mostly empty as you stepped inside.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite Mandalorian."

In the corner of the bar was Cobb Vanth, sat nonchalantly, arms draped wide over the booth at his sides. No longer was he wearing the army green beskar, but the easygoing confidence remained.

Mando nodded at him, and you followed behind as he walked over. Cobb stood up, offering his hand out to Mando. He grabbed and shook it before Cobb turned to you.

"And now, the one that got away." Cobb announced, a lazy, flirtatious smile on his lips.

With surprising quickness, Cobb took your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips. He gently kisses the back of your hand, winking as he did so. You snuck a peek at Mando out of the corner of your eye. He looked tense, frozen in place—and you couldn't help but find it completely hilarious.

Mando clears his throat, "We should get to business." It takes everything in you not to guffaw at this.

Cobb gives you another smirk before he drops your hand, turning back to the booth without another word. You all sit down, Mando at your side, and you tried desperately to imagine Mando's face under the helmet. Was he jealous? Of Cobb?

You had at first dreaded how Mando would feel towards Cobb's incessant flirting. But now, after seeing his awkward reaction, you only found it funny.

"Jug of spotchka for the table, please." Cobb calls to the bartender. He whistles at the two of you, bright smile on his face. "It's been an awful long time since I've seen you two. It's good to finally be reunited."

Mando stiffly nods as you smile, "It's good to see you too, Cobb."

He turns to you once more, drawling, "And of course, you look as beautiful as ever. Please tell me there ain't a man in your life yet."

You chuckle and roll your eyes, feeling a blush come forth as you try to avoid the question. Actually, I do. He's sitting right there in front of you, you think. Instead, you say, "Don't you two have business to get to? I'm only here for the drinks," you pour a round for the table.

Cobb laughs in response. When he gets a good look at your face, he raises his brows, mouth parting in surprise. "Now wait a minute..."

He shakes his head as he lets out a sigh, "Dank farrik, you do have someone! I can just tell from that blush on your cheeks." He points teasingly at you.

You almost smile at the irony of it all, and you wonder what Mando must be thinking at the moment. Cobb clicks his tongue, nudging him with his shoulder. "Guess we missed our chance, huh?"

You watch Mando from the corner of your eye as you sip the spotchka.

"Guess so," he replies, and you hear a hint of humor in his voice. You can almost tell the cheeky bastard is smirking, watching as he visibly relaxes and leans back in his seat. Subtly, you feel his leg brush against yours under the table, sending a tingle up your spine.

For the next hour, Cobb informs Mando about the bounty that they are planning to catch. You listen intently as he describes the criminal. He had been hiding out in the desert for the past few days, so his current whereabouts were unknown. A bantha rancher in town spotted smoke emerging between a canyon last night while herding his flock, so Cobb suspected that he would be in the area.

"Anyways, this bounty's a smart one. He knows not to leave his hiding place until nightfall, and we can't get to where he is with the speeder bikes. For now, all we can do is wait."

Cobb turns to you then, "Did you want a tour of my humble little town in the meantime? I know all the best spots." He smiles at you playfully, and you chuckle.

You get up from your seat, stretching. "I think I'll get back to the ship, now. But thanks for the offer. Good luck, boys." You say, starting to walk away.

"I'll come with you." You turn around, watching as Mando gets up as well. "Left something... in the ship." You almost giggle at the terrible excuse, but find your heart pumping just a bit faster when Mando brushes past your arm.

Cobb is none the wiser, nodding at the two of you. "I'll send you a message over the comlink if I see anything."

—

Once you're inside the ship, Mando's whole demeanor changes. He's relaxed, slower, almost sensually slow—but you might just be imagining it from the few shots you'd taken. Or were you?

Without a word, he calmly switches off all the lights, one by one. You're leaned against the wall as you watch him, nervousness brimming in your chest. "So, what'd you leave in here?" You joke pathetically. He doesn't reply.

After he switches off the last light, you hear as he sets his helmet down with a soft thud. "Mando..." You call out to him, trailing off. The darkness surrounds you again, and you blink rapidly in an attempt to adjust your eyes.

Before you can react, his lips are already on yours. He's more aggressive with it, more vigorous as he kisses you this time—and you return it with just as much passion. You groan as he slips a hand under your shirt, heat radiating from your skin. He snakes it up farther, and you shiver as his leather glove brushes against your nipple. He grabs your breast then, squeezing and pulling until you're whimpering under his grasp.

Maker, where did he learn to do these things? You whisper his name again, snaking your hands around his neck and into his hair. He slips his tongue in as you do, pressing it deeper until it earns him another groan.

With his free hand, he grabs your thigh, sliding it down until he reaches the back of your knee and hooks your leg over his waist. He pushes you against the wall harder, beskar plates digging into your skin—but you don't even feel it over the intensity of the situation. He angles his lower half, thrusting up and down until you feel his length rubbing against your aching clit. Even with the layers of fabric between you two, you can feel it. Stars, you didn't consider it before, but how big was he under all those layers?

As he continues to rub against you, nothing else seems to matter in that moment but getting that right angle in. It's almost heavenly as he goes faster, and you can only moan in response.

He breaks away from the kiss and puts his lips up next to your ear, not slowing down his hips for even a second as he whispers your name. "Doesn't that feel good?"

"Y—yes—" you whisper back, heat creeping up your neck at his boldness.

How long had it been since you'd done something like this with someone? Since you'd met him, probably. You'd practically been celibate since, and this fact hit you loud and clear as you began to feel yourself tip over the edge. "Mando—I, I think I'm gonna—"

And just as you feel it coming, he stops, slowing down abruptly, letting himself remain stagnant against you. You whimper at the lack of contact, grabbing onto his beskar-clad shoulders in a desperate attempt to bring him back. He shushes you, and your leg slides back down, foot returning to the ground.

"Be patient," he says. Suddenly, his forearms hook under your legs, lifting you up and carrying you— you don't know how he can see with the lack of light, but by some kind of magic, he's taken you and set you on the edge of his bottom bunk without a hitch. He releases his arms, and you feel as he presses a kiss to your lips before gently pushing your shoulders down with his two hands, urging you to lay back on the bed.

He meanders his hands down your chest—teasingly brushing against your breasts over the fabric. Your back arches at the contact, and you feel almost embarrassed at your own eagerness. He stops at the hem of your pants, hooking his fingers under it. "Can I?" He questions, even though he knew the answer would be an obvious, resounding—

"Yes," you breath out in response. He pulls down gently, letting his fingernails brush against your thighs as he does so. You immediately become aware of how hot and wet you've become—the air isn't even cold and it still shocks you with how menacing it feels against your damp underwear.

Hot breath fans across your stomach, Mando beginning to send fluttered kisses dangerously close to your core. Once he reaches it, he kisses your clit over your underwear, rubbing still-gloved fingers on the wet spot just lower. His other hand grabs tightly under your shirt at your bare waist. He begins to flick his tongue back and forth, an absolutely devastating feeling that causes your thighs to close shut, trapping his head in between. With just one last layer between your bare skin and his lips—it feels almost nonexistent as he continues to do his work.

He sinks his gloved fingers in just a bit deeper and faster, and even without fully penetrating it, your body pulses at the feeling. With your underwear still between, you catch yourself becoming stuck in an achingly painful limbo—unable to reach your peak, but so, so desperate to. "Mando," you whine, pulling at your underwear, wanting to take it off. You immediately regret it when his lips leave your clothed clit. You feel him shift as he pushes your legs further apart, allowing him to sit up straighter in his place. You groan, "Stop teasing—"

He gets up from between your thighs, kissing a line up your stomach to your neck again. When his lips finally reach yours, you taste a hint of yourself on his tongue. He pulls away again, hovering inches over of your face.

"Your blush was cute," he whispers, and you widen your eyes. He launches into action again, sucking on the corner where your jawline meets your neck. You find yourself smiling stupidly in the dark, but you're still kind of frustrated that he kept edging you when you have been so desperate for release. You tease him back, "And so was your jealousy," Mando freezes in his place. Without a reply, he bites on the place he'd been gently kissing, earning a quiet whimper.

He kisses a line back towards your mouth while a free hand simultaneously snakes lower down. "I don't need to be jealous—" he hooks a finger under your panties, pulling it to the side, "—because I know that you're mine."

In a devastatingly slow pace, he sinks his two gloved fingers into your pussy. It's so wet already that you feel yourself clench around him, the presence of the gloves not making any difference in how amazing it feels. In fact, its roughness is an almost welcome difference; the subtle burn of the leather edges setting you on fire.

"Fuck—" you choke out into his mouth, tugging your hand lightly in his hair. Just as his fingers have entered you, his tongue darts between your lips. You suck on it generously, hearing him voice a deep, low growl. His fingers' pace becomes faster, and you feel yourself getting close once again. You had never come from something so simple, so untamed, yet you were so far off the edge, one more step would make you explode—

But again, you were rudely interrupted. The comlink blinks dramatically. Both of you groan in frustration, and you instinctively close your eyes so you don't catch a glimpse of Mando's bare face. He gives you a quick peck on the lips and you can feel his body leave yours. He fixes your underwear, and you shiver a bit at the momentary contact of his fingers brushing across.

It's almost like ripping off a bandage when he walks away, hearing him grab the helmet off the floor.

The lights return, and you take it as a sign to open your eyes. You sit up from the bed, watching as he opens the message with his back turned. With the helmet back on and his armor intact, it seems almost as if nothing had even happened. Cobb's voice echoes throughout the quiet ship, informing Mando that the criminal had just been spotted at the edge of town. Mando sends a quick message back before turning back towards you, and you stare at him with hopeful—and shy—eyes.

You don't expect to hear what he says next. He lifts his gloved fingers to your mouth. "Suck on them."

Your mouth opens in surprise, you blink up at him.

"W—what?" You eventually choke out.

"Make them clean for me, mesh'la." He tilts his head, and you can almost see the playfulness behind his beskar helmet. You hesitate for a minute, feeling heat completely take over your face. You are so incredibly embarrassed at how turned on you are by those six words, but you almost immediately comply. With both your hands, you hold onto his wrist. You take the two fingers in your mouth, letting it's softness envelop around the leather. The taste of salty, tangy slick takes over, and you patiently lick and suck at it until you're sure that nothing remains.

Satisfied, he gently removes his fingers with a pop. With his other hand, he brushes his finger under your chin, an affectionate gesture you've recognized to be both a favorite of his and yours. "I'll be back soon. Wait for me before you do anything."

And with that, he's gone. You, with your soaked panties, wondering at the implications of "anything." Anything, as in anything sexual? As in touching yourself until you finally come, biting the back of your hand to prevent you from moaning too loud?

Yeah right, like you would listen to him after what he just did to you.

—

A/N: Just let a girl come!! (More Jealous! Din in future chapters if this was not enough btw!!) Also little life update, I'm moving up to college this week so apologies if update is later than usual <3 Thank you all so much for the support and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Next chapter.

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