#fuck is a mando'a word

[oflgtfol]

banging my head into the wall i think so mcuh about mandalorian armor. in so many different ways. like is there a word for the weird cheek indent things i cannot possibly call them cheek indents but i mean if youre a mandalorian and mandalorian armor is something you wear approximately every day if not all the time and your armor is like considered A Part Of You then surely you have a word for every aspect about it. what are those cheek indents

#i need like a diagram with all the anatomy outlined and labeled. in english and mando'a also #the ANATOMY of mando armor.. thats a great word for it #not only this but like also again if your armor is like so fucking important for not only you individually but also just your entire #culture and has been for millennia upon millennia #then surely so much must go into the design of it - in so many different ways #pure functionality. practicality. but also yes aesthetic !!! #mando armorers coming up with different designs and tweaks to ensure its at its highest functioning but also it looks damn good!! #which is why the neck is so annoying to me ITS SUCH A GLARING WEAK POINT #after MILLENNIA of design tweaks for maximizing functionality why is there such a terrible weak point #why is every mando in live action out here rocking a BARE NECK #YOU ARE GOING TO DIE!! #JUST LOOK AT JANGO FETT !!! #or god forbid when fanartists draw like din with his head tilted up and then you see bare skin LIKE BARE SKIN? #HE IS GOING TO GET DECAPITATED . #IS THIS YOUR MAN? #clears throat. sorry. im normal #brot posts #mando posting

[skiitter]

fighting for my fucking life trying to come up with a star wars canon friendly nickname for this stupid fucking fanfic. literally in the trenches on the Mando’a google sheets dictionary, screaming and crying and throwing up.

#SHE CALLS HIM TINMAN AND THAT DOESNT WORK OK #THATS NO CANON FRIENDLY #BUT ALSO SHE BARELY SPEAKS MANDO'A #BUT THE LANGUAGE SHE DOES SPEAK DOESN'T HAVE ANY FUCKING WORDS ANYWHERE #i;ufdhglkduhgfgdfijksdi. #please im dying #in hell #two seconds away from using elvhen from dragon age and calling it a day

[endlessthxxghts]

Solace

Din Djarin/The Mandalorian x afab!reader || W/C: 4.3k

Summary: You help Din release his frustrations after he comes back from a weeklong hunt.

Content/Warnings: Canon divergent around season 3 (no Grogu here; one tiny reference to Living Waters). Reader is able-bodied, but there are no specific physical descriptions. Pet names for both reader and Din (fem pet names for reader). Implied established relationship (you've seen his face and call him Din) - THEY'RE IN LOVE. Reader knows a bit of Mando'a. Helmet comes off. 18+ MDNI. This is 100% porn. Boot riding...blanket..riding...(there's a lot of riding lolz). Multiple orgasms. Cunnilingus. Din is a talker when his mouth isn't occupied. Blow job/face fucking. Unprotected P in V sex. Reader is on whatever form of birth control they have in space LMAO, so #twinkie time😋. Hints of a breeding kink. Praise kink (lots of it). Switch BDSM dynamics. Soft Dom!Din along with subby/desperate!Din. Sub!Reader and soft Dom!Reader. Please let me know if I missed anything! Xx

A/N: First picture was made by @djarin-desires, and honestly, this whole oneshot was inspired by this post they made! I literally could not stop thinking about these pictures all day, so I just had to write my ✨thots✨ down. I hope you enjoy!! Other two photos are found on Pinterest - middle does not represent anything about reader’s physical appearance.

MASTERLIST || FIC NOTIFS BLOG

“Oh, shit-” you gasp. “Din, please,” eyes rolling back in pleasure, your body shivering in its nakedness compared to his fully armored form. 

“What is it, sweet girl?” he coos, his fingers caressing your cheekbone, pushing the hair from your eyes. 

“Need- stars- need more,” you cry out, your current situation proving to only bring you to the edge, but not carry you off of it. 

“One more like this, cyar’ika, then I’ll give you what you want,” Din reassures you, his leather-clad thumb running across your bottom lip, hooking himself in your mouth for you to make a mess of. “I wanna see that boot soaked, you hear me?”

Din always gets like this when he comes back from a weeklong bounty hunt. He gets hard. Dominating. In need of control. To take back the situation that got out of hand. 

You were sitting on the ground cleaning one of his blasters when he came in. He was tense. Weirdly quiet. He’s always quiet, but not with you, not for a few years now. He threw the bounty into the carbon and froze him, his chest plate rising with every breath. You knew him well enough now to know when he’s seething, and this was it. 

“Din?” you called out softly. 

He just points his helmet at you, the visor staring you down. 

“Everything okay?”

“What do you think?” He responds rather harshly.

“...Din,” you whisper, feeling every ounce of anger in those four words.

You like how it ends in these situations, though. It always ends with him a whimpering mess beneath you. There’s usually some kind of switch. He takes a third orgasm out of you, and always on the third, he becomes needy. Desperate. He just wants to be inside of you. To be balls deep and stay there, to release all of his tension while being wrapped up in you. 

You’re his solace. His warmth. His home. He always needs you. But right now, he needs his control back, so even though it’s you who’s in control by the end of the night, you stay prettily on your knees and obey dutifully. 

“I hear you, Din,” you struggle to get out with his thumb holding your tongue down, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth. 

Your thighs are on fire from your constant back and forth motion, the squelch of your slick rubbing across his shoe sending blood straight to his groin. He can feel himself itching to make you rise, to spread your legs and split you open until he can’t hold himself up anymore. But he knows you’re close even though you whine and plea for more. He knows your tells—the way your eyes struggle to stay open, the sweat beading at your temples, the way you slowly start to clamp down harder and harder on his thumb. His personal favorite, though, he discovered in this new position, is the way you start hugging tighter onto his leg, your chest rubbing against his thigh plate in an attempt to cool yourself off, but you’re just so close, the cool beskar doing nothing to ease the heat. 

“Just like that, pretty girl, come on,” Din groans, the sight before him truly testing his strength. You two have done many things together, but this? This is something new, and Din isn’t sure how long he can last. “I know you can give me one more, baby. Just one more, and then I get to feel you, come on,” he pleads, voice bubbling up into a whine. 

Oh, he’s starting to break, already? 

The thought is what sends you over, your hips stuttering in their rhythm as your arousal pours out of you, your clit shooting a sharp sensation up your spine at the sensitivity. “Dank farrik, you’re so damn gorgeous when you cum all over me, baby, so so gorgeous,” he pulls his thumb out and spreads your drool across your mouth, cradling your cheek softly in his palm as you shake in his grasp.

“Oh, fuck- oh yes, yesyesyes, Din,” you sob, head falling back between your shoulder blades. 

“Oh, my sweet girl, Maker, you’re so beautiful,” he coos, leaning down to let the forehead of his helmet rest against yours, your hot breath fogging his visor. He smiles to himself as his vision blurs momentarily. 

Din’s hands situate themselves beneath your armpits, pulling you up to your feet and supporting you as you allow your limp legs to gain their strength again. “Can I taste you, cyar’ika?” He asks as he wraps his arms around your waist, guiding you to sit on the armory crate in the corner of the hull. 

“Thought you said you wanted to feel me?” you retort, a small smirk forming on your flushed face. 

“Yeah,” he says as he drops down to his knees. “My tongue goes first.” Even with his helmet on, you can still hear the shit-eating grin with his comment. 

Din reaches for his helmet, the hiss of air signifying it’s about to come off never fails to cause butterflies to erupt in your belly. The minute his chocolate brown eyes meet yours, your heart grows two sizes greater. Your hands reach for his face. “There’s my pretty boy,” you whisper. 

His heart nearly jumps out of his chest at your words. He turns his head to kiss your palm. “My pretty girl,” he responds, bashful. “Lean back, baby.” You lay yourself back, body resting against the metal wall as his hands settle underneath you. 

Din brings himself forward, the flat of his tongue starting at the bottom of you and licking upwards—slowly, thoughtfully, calculated. He takes his time moving through your soaked folds, as if he’s mapping it out for the first time even though he’s mapped your body more times than the amount of bounties under his belt. 

The way you moan under his touch has him groaning into you, his fingers tightening their hold, his face more flush against you. He can’t get enough. His licks turn less controlled and more hungry; he uses his lips to help rub the surrounding area as he suckles every part of you he can, drinking you in, bathing in your slick as if to reclaim himself, as he did not too long ago in the Living Waters of Mandalore. His nose nudges your sensitivity as his tongue claims your entrance, the softness of your walls dancing with the softness of his tongue makes you breathless. 

Your fingers find their way into his curls, grabbing on in an attempt to ground yourself, to keep your soul beside him as he brings you to the brink of ecstasy for the fourth time since he’s been back. You whimper in distaste as his tongue leaves your hole, but the disappointment is quickly replaced by a whimper of desperation when his mouth wraps around your throbbing bud and he sucks. “Just- oh, fuck, Din- just like that,” you let out, your hips involuntarily lifting to buck into his face.

He’s quick to bring his mouth back down to your entrance, licking up every drop of the sweet nectar you always keep him full with. His nose massages your bundle as he drinks from you, and the action prolongs your climax and syrupy moans; Din works to pull as much as he possibly can from you. It’s been a week of rations and shitty meals he can sneak. So when such a delicacy is placed before him, solely for his taking, oh, he’s not going to waste a single drop. 

By the time he’s satisfied, the bottom half of his face is covered in your shine, the armory crate’s ledge is soaked, and you’re completely blissed out—face flushed and sweaty, tired eyes, a weak smile… to the average eye, you appear properly satiated. Although, Din knows that you are far from it.

“You alright, sweet girl?” Din asks, rising to his full height again. He brings his hand out for you to take, pulling you up to stand. Delaying your answer, you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him in for a messy, open-mouthed kiss, all tongue with your flavor embedded in each and every one of his taste buds. You moan into the kiss, pulling away with a bite to his plump bottom lip. “Perfect, baby,” you smile, pulling him to the makeshift bed—a pile of blankets—in the hull that you two sleep in. 

You drop yourself down onto your knees, beginning to work his armor off from his legs as he starts on his shoulders. With you helping, he’s down to his flight suit in no time, and your mouth salivates at the sight. As soon as the last clink of the precious metal leaves his body, you’re leaning your face into him, into his bulge, pressing sweet little kisses to its covered form. You can hear Din’s breath hitch, his cock twitching under your touch. “Need you in my mouth, Din,” you say as you look up at him, his eyes already hooded over at the sight of your mouth near his length. “My turn to taste you, huh, pretty boy?” You ask in a teasing tone, his face too hot to register that you’re waiting for a response from him. 

He finally registers the question when your hand dips into his bottoms, his hardness meeting your hand eagerly. You look at him expectantly. 

Although technically it’s his cock’s turn to feel you, he cannot bring himself to deny you or your skillful mouth. He cannot bring himself to deny anything you want, really. “Y-yeah- yes, baby, your turn,” he says shakily, the anticipation putting his body into sensitivity overdrive. 

He helps rip the rest of his flight suit off, and without giving him a second to breathe, you’re already spitting in your palm and working the length of him the way you know he loves. You use your mouth in tandem, your tongue licking from his base to his tip, and instantly, a loud whimper comes from the back of Din’s throat at this particular touch. 

You’re delighted by his reaction, so you repeat the motion a few more times to pull more of those sweet sounds out. “My baby is so sensitive here, isn’t he?” You pump him with your hand as you speak, placing a wet kiss to his tip when the foreskin pulls back to expose it. 

“Kriff…” he moans, his head suddenly too heavy to maintain upright. “Mesh’la, please,” Din begs. 

With one more kiss to the tip, you stop your hand’s movement completely. “Please what, baby? Use those words, honey,” you look up at him, eyes wide and full of promises to please—as soon as he vocalizes what he wants. 

His chest is heaving already at the sight of you, on your knees and looking up at him again, yet this time around, you’re the one calling the shots. 

He prefers it this way, he thinks. Sure, he comes back from a particularly frustrating hunt and ends up taking his stress out on you. Sure, it’s the most beautiful sight seeing you so worked up and at his mercy. But he is always the one in the driver seat—calculating everyone’s every turn, every action before they even have the chance to act. Din’s mind is always active, always alert. Yet, when you have him like this, in this yielding state, it’s like his mind gets to be quiet. With you, under your touch and under your gaze, Din is able to exist in your presence without a worry. He’s finally able to just be. Not a bounty hunter, not the big and tough Mandalorian everyone fears. No, he’s Din. Your Din. Your sweet boy. Yours. And that’s the greatest honor to ever bestow upon him. At least, that’s how he sees it anyway. 

“Y-your mouth, mesh’la, p-please,” he says softly. Your eyebrow quirks up. You want just a little bit more. “Want your- need your mouth on me, baby, please,” he breathes out, attempting and failing to ease the neediness in his voice. 

You hum triumphantly before you begin pumping him again, your hand focusing on his base while your mouth lavishes his leaking head. You swirl your tongue around, the salty flavor of him quick to override your senses, and Din lets out a strangled moan, his hips softly bucking in your grasp. 

Your hand releases him, letting your mouth take full control. You grab onto his thick thighs for stability, breathing through your nose as you let the tip of him reach as far back as you can handle. He gasps when he hits the back of your throat, the twitch of his body triggering your gag reflex, your throat tightening in on where he’s most sensitive. “Oh, fuck,” he grunts, fighting his hips to stay in place and let you do your thing. 

You garble something incoherent, humming into his cock as you pull yourself on and off of him a few more times. Pulling back for a small breather, you use your finger to collect up the spit-arousal mixture from the sides of your mouth and pump it on his erection, his hips twitching once again at your ministrations. 

You know what he really wants right now, but with his head in cloud nine, you know he’ll never ask for it himself. “You wanna fuck my mouth, Din?” You ask bluntly. 

His entire face and chest turn red faster than the speed of light. He sputters in his response. “I- oh my Maker, mesh’la, is that- are- are you sure? I-”

You cut him off by leaning in to kiss his thigh. He softens in your touch. “Din, pretty boy, it’s a yes or no. One word. Choose.” 

“Yes,” he replies, not a single hesitation in sight. 

“Good boy,” you purr. “See what happens when you say what you want from me?”

You shift yourself to a more comfortable position sitting on your haunches, fluffing the blankets underneath you to soften the ache of the metal floor. You look up to Din who’s watching you eagerly but with a softness that tells you to take all your time in the world. Doing this isn’t just for him, though. Letting him take control of you here turns you on just as much as it does him, maybe even more. 

You take one more glance into his thirsty eyes, and, well, okay… maybe he enjoys this slightly more. Nonetheless, you don’t take your time because you can feel the butterflies in your core beginning to flap once again as Din brings himself closer to you, lining himself up with your mouth.

“Don’t waste this opportunity, Djarin. Better use me good, yeah?” You tease, leaning your head back slightly as you stick your salivating tongue flat out, waiting for him to enter. 

His entire body shivers at your words. “Yes, ma’am,” he says under his breath, focusing on easing himself into your mouth as steady as possible, trying to maintain some ounce of self-restraint he’s inevitably going to lose. 

Once his tip is in your mouth, his hands find their home rooted at the base of your air, his thumb reaching forward to caress the apple of your cheeks. He doesn’t move at first, apprehensive in the case he might hurt you. He’s always like this at the beginning, and every single time, you reassure him it’s okay. 

You let out a muffled mhm, his signal to keep going. Din’s fingers flex, guiding your head further in as his hips slowly meet you halfway. He’s holding his breath, you can tell in the way his belly twitches. But the moment your swallow reflex triggers around him, he’s gone. “Oh, shit-” he moans ragged, his hips never fully retreating before he’s bucking into you again. “Oh, sweet girl, fuck-” he gasps. “Always so perfect, feel so perfect around me, stars, baby-” he praises, his hips moving at a comfortable, steady pace now. 

You moan around him, eyes rolling back at how good and heavy he feels coasting the expanse of your tongue. Your spit drips further down your chin and neck with each thrust, the messiness of it all mirroring itself between your thighs. Your hands leave the expanse of your thighs and reach for the blankets underneath you. As best as you can, you shuffle them in between you, using it to grind your hips on it, giving you a much needed relief. The material catches on your clit deliciously, pulling a muffled gasp from your throat, sending the sensation up Din’s spine. 

“Oh, fuck, look at you,” he groans, his eyes fighting to stay open at the raw pleasure coursing through his veins as he starts thrusting into you harder, faster. “So pretty, baby, fuck- thank you, pretty girl,” he rambles. “Maker, you feel so damn good.” 

Your moans and whines don’t stop, they reverberate off each metal wall and into his ears, providing him with the sweetest song. Din, ever the talker, is long lost in the way you feel and the way you move. 

“Keep moving those hips, sweet girl, rub that pretty pussy on our blankets, baby.” 

“Gonna cum like that again, baby? Gonna make a mess where we sleep?” 

“Shit, gonna make me lick it up and clean it? Please make me clean it, baby,” he whines, his hips beginning to falter. 

The last thing he says to you is what sends you over the edge, your fingers gripping the blankets below you, bringing it flush against your core as if it were Din’s curls you’re hanging onto. Your hips speed up, chasing the orgasm that is just right there, and with one last thrust forward, you’re cumming. You’re breathing heavily through your nose, tears streaming down your face as you whimper around his dick, begging for the one thing you know he’s not gonna give you. 

With a few more thrusts, you can feel his cock start to twitch, and just as you suspected, he pulls out of you before he can finish. 

“Baby, no,” you cry, leaning yourself forward, chasing after him. Right away, he’s dropping down to his knees, hands still on either side of your face as he’s finally eye level with you. 

“Baby, cyar’ika, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please,” he repents, his chest rising and falling heavily, still out of breath from edging himself. “I just- I didn’t- I… I wanted to cum somewhere else, baby,” his voice falls quieter, shyer. 

Your scowl fades, forming into a more mischievous demeanor, more hungry. You can’t quite argue his reasoning. Because, you, too, would very much like him to finish… elsewhere. “Yeah, baby?” You taunt. “And where do you wanna cum, sweet boy?”

He swallows thickly, his needy eyes on yours, blacked with a ferality he’s addicted to. “In- inside,” he whispers. 

“Inside?” you’re quick to repeat. “Wanna cum inside me, sweet boy? Fill me up? I’ve made so many messes today, is it your turn to make one, baby?”

He leans in to meet your kiss, but you pull away slightly. Answer me, your face tells him. 

“Y-yeah- yes, stars, yes- fuck- please, baby, I wanna cum inside you, wanna make a mess of you so fucking bad, please-” he starts to answer. Satisfied, you cut him off with your lips on his.

You wrap your arms around his neck, lips never breaking the seal, you pull him over you as you lay yourself down on your guys’ bed, scooting farther up for your head to reach a pillow, your back barely missing your puddle of arousal. Din multitasks, grabbing one of the other near pillows and placing it underneath your hips as your body lands on the ground. Your legs are already hooked onto his waist, not giving him the space to stray too far. 

Once you’re settled, Din’s hand is cradling the back of your head while the other reaches for his cock, covered in your wetness and leaking with his own arousal. He guides himself to you, running his tip along your slick folds, stopping to tap on your clit before bringing himself back down to your entrance. He breaks the kiss when he does this, his eyes laser focused on where you two connect. His hand on the back of your head pushes to angle you down, so you can watch, too, both of you observing and listening to the lewdness of it all. 

Finally, his head catches at your entrance, pushing himself in slowly. He’s always a stretch, always something you’ll never quite really get used to, but you love the feeling. Obsessed, even. There are some days where you rile him up on purpose just so he gives it to you, no preparation or foreplay. On those days, he has you screaming, your fingernails digging deep into his back to tether yourself to reality in some kind of way. On his softer days, you have to beg him to, reassure him that it doesn’t hurt—in a bad way. 

As soon as he’s seated all the way to the hilt, he pulls back out entirely before he thrusts back in. You both moan out at the action, your pussy immediately releasing a fresh new wave of arousal around him. “Oh, fuck,” you both mutter at the same time, your eyes meet, and a euphoric smile graces each of your faces. 

“Y-you feel so good, baby, s-so fucking big,” you mewl, your hands tightening their hold around his neck, both the tips of your noses kissing each other. 

“It’s like you were made- fuck-” he stutters, his hips slowing for a brief moment, allowing himself to really feel you. “It’s like I was made for you,” he corrects himself. “I was made for you,” he says again, leaning in to slot his lips against yours.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” you say against his lips. I love you. “And I was made for you,” you squeak out, your head bobbing back and forth as the pleasure brings your mind further and further into space. 

“Shit, mesh’la,” he grits between his teeth. His hips speed up at that, loving the way his native tongue sounds on yours. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he repeats back to you. “I’m yours, cyar’ika. Yours,” he murmurs, his head crashing into the crook of your neck and shoulder, sucking and biting at the sweaty flesh. 

He sits up on his haunches for a second, hooking the crook of his elbows into your knees before leaning back over you—the angle allowing him to hit so deep and allowing his pubic area to stimulate your pulsing nerve with every thrust in—you scream out as he repeatedly makes you feel things that no one has ever been able to do, not even yourself. 

“Din,” you keen, his name leaving your mouth like a sinful prayer. “Din, baby, please, I think I’m gonna- fuck-”

“Gonna cum again for me, pretty girl?” He smirks. “Fuck, I’m never gonna stop saying this- you’re so fucking perfect. Come on, baby, cum for me, fucking soak me. Soak me before I make you fucking overflow with me, my sweet girl,” he snarls, his lips meeting yours in a bruising kiss, truly a dance of tongue and spit as he fucks into you at the same pace that brought you to yet another climax. 

Your hands yank on his fluffy curls, back arching into his body as much as this restricting angle allows you to. “Din, oh my-! Fuck- so fucking good, fuck-” you wail out, your heart beating out of your chest as your pussy pulses around his cock, making an utter mess between your two lower halves. 

The flutter of you and the instant wetness consuming him is what sends Din to his finish line. He continues thrusting, shakily, through his own orgasm, his load coating every inch of you, both inside and out. You wanted a mess, so he truly gave you a mess. 

He releases the hold on your legs to wrap his arms around you, his entire body flush against yours as your legs wrap themselves tightly around him again. He’s still inside you, his hips softly still moving in and out as he leaves kisses all along your lips, your jawline, your neck. 

The way you feel, full of him and him, has your hips meeting his small advances, both of you reveling in the aftershock of your highs as you use the pleasure to ease you back down. 

“You okay, mesh’la?” Din asks eventually when you both come to an exhausted, satiated halt. 

“Perfect, my sweet boy,” you smile, repeating your sentiment from earlier. “You okay, though?” You ask hesitantly, and not about what you two just did together. He brings his lips to yours. Soft, and not in a way to arouse you again. In a way that says thank you and I love you in a way spoken tongue will never be able to convey.

“I will be,” he answers truthfully. “Pick a planet, you can pick me apart after we get food.”

“Sounds like a deal, baby.”

“Come, let’s get cleaned up.” He kisses your forehead before he untangles himself and pulls you up to your feet as well, both of you making your way to the refresher. 

In the corner of his eye, he sees his now semi-shiny boot, starting to dry off in the midst of everything else you two did. He smirks to himself. 

You catch it, of course. “What’re you smiling at, Djarin?”

“Nothing,” he says nonchalantly. “Just… I clean my armor and boots after every bounty.”

“And?” You ask, still not realizing where he’s headed. 

“I don’t know if I wanna clean my boots anymore.”

Your eyebrows raise to the middle of your forehead, eyes bulging out of your face. “Din!” you slap his chest. Then, your face goes stern. “You will be cleaning those boots more often if you want me to do that again."

Oh. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

End notes:

Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you guys enjoyed this one! Please let me know what you guys think, I really love hearing your guys’ reactions and feedback!🫶

Also, did y’all clock how many orgasms reader had in this damn thing?! Coochie of fucking steel fr 😭😭

Moon divider by @saradika-graphics 🩶

@pedrostories

#endless thoughts fics #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #smut #pedrostories #one shot #fic #smut fic #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian smut #din djarin x you #star wars fanfiction #din djarin x female reader

[beskarandblasters]

Breaking in the New House

Husband!Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Summary: After marrying Din on Mandalore you move into a new house on Nevarro. Din gives Grogu to Greef Karga overnight to christen the new house in the best way possible; by fucking in every single room.

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent, established relationship, took some liberties as to what I think the layout of the house is like, helmet is on and off for sex, oral sex (M and F receiving), Din Djarin is an uncut man and I stand by that, he also has stamina and can pick reader up, cum eating, nipple play, vaginal sex, semi public sex?? (idk they do it against a window 💀), multiple rounds, multiple positions, creampie, squirting, cockwarming, praising, aftercare, use of Mando'a words (cyar'ika = sweetheart, mesh'la = beautiful, riduur = spouse), no use of y/n

“Thanks for taking him for us!” you say, passing Grogu off to Greef Karga. 

“Of course. I love this little critter. Is it date night tonight?” he says, taking him in his arms. 

“You could say that,” Din says, placing a hand on the small of your back. 

You recently moved into a new house on Nevarro following the Mandalorians retaking Mandalore and a spontaneous marriage ceremony for you and Din. And now that you have a stable place to live and don’t have to figure out creative ways to have sex without the Razor Crest, Din wants to fuck you in the new house; every room in the new house. But Karga doesn’t need to know about your plan. 

“Stop!” you scold him, turning around and lightly slapping his bicep. 

“Right… Well have fun you two!”

You wave goodbye to Grogu and turn to walk home. Din’s hand on the small of your back travels down to your ass, giving it a squeeze. 

“Din! We’re still in public!”

“You know I don’t care.”

You sigh in response. “You ready, cyar’ika? I meant it when I said every room.”

“Minus Grogu’s room, of course.”

“We can just do it in the backyard to make up for that.”

“Don’t push your luck,” you laugh. 

You walk up the path to your front door and step inside. Din wastes no time taking off his helmet because you can hear the hiss of the modulator behind you. That’s something you’re still getting used to; seeing his face regularly now that you’re married. Not that you’re complaining. You hear him set the helmet down on a shelf behind you and his hands grab your waist, spinning you around to face him. His eyes are filled with pure lust, pupils blown out so wide leaving only a small ring of brown. 

“What order should we do this, cyar’ika?”

“Bedroom, living room, kitchen, bathroom? Maybe in the refresher at the end so we can wash up after?”

“Oh yeah you know we’re going to be filthy by the time we’re done,” he says, going in for a kiss. 

His lips collide with yours and in an instant the kiss turns passionate. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging on it lightly and letting out a small groan. He needs to be inside you now.

Your bodies move back and forth in sync, inching your way to the bedroom with you shedding layers of clothing and being careful to not break the kiss. You arrive by the edge of the bed and you’re completely undressed by now but Din is not. He wants you to remove his armor and weapons for him; something he can’t get enough of every time you have sex. The way you respect his creed and treat his armor so gently does something for him. You start with the armor on his thighs, removing each piece and setting them down lightly on the nightstand and working your way up. You take off everything from his breastplate, shoulder pauldrons, belt, vibrances, holster, everything until he’s just in his flight suit. You notice the large bulge already forming against the fabric. He takes off his gloves, boots and flight suit, leaving them in a small pile on the floor. And there he stands in front of you, completely bare. Your riduur being naked in front of you shouldn’t be such a surprise but up until now, sex was always something spontaneous; wherever you could fit it in, leaving no time for him to remove everything and be completely vulnerable with you. But here with you in this house he feels safe. Your eyes trail up and down his form, taking in every detail from his scars, body hair, and tummy. And also his hard cock; roughly eight inches long, uncut with a patch of pubic hair he keeps neat. And it’s all for you. 

“You like what you see, cyar’ika?”

“Always,” you smile, meeting his gaze. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to take the lead. He falls to his knees in front of your legs and spreads them apart. He brings his hand to your belly and pushes lightly, prompting you to lay down. You oblige and rest your back on the bed, shivering in anticipation of his touch. His hand starts at your inner ankle, slowly moving upwards to your thigh. He pauses and stares at your cunt, already glistening for him and only him. He rests the side of his face on your inner thigh and asks, “Ready, riduur?”

“Please, Din,” you beg, aching for his touch already. 

“So needy,” he chuckles, his warm breath tickling you. 

He brings his tongue to your cunt, licking slowly up and down your sex. Your breath shudders every time he draws closer to your clit. With one last slow lick up your cunt he moves to your clit, sucking with determination to get you to cum. You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging on it every time he adds more pressure. You arch your back in pleasure, writing against him as he keeps sucking on your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Having him eat you out was rare for you, only taking off his helmet under the cover of darkness. And to be here married to him, helmet off with the lights on as he eats you out while you lay on a real bed is something you only thought possible in your dreams. You grind yourself against his face, aching for more contact, basically fucking yourself against his face at this point. With one last swirl of his tongue around your clit you’re coming, costing the lower half of his face with your release. It’s a big orgasm, making all of your limbs feel tingly with pleasure and you’re far from done with orgasms for the night. 

He pulls away once the movement of your hips slows down and sits beside you on the bed, watching your chest rise and fall as you catch your breath. 

“That was amazing, Din,” you breathe out, still a little shaky.

“There’s more where that came from, cyar’ika.”

You giggle and say, “Oh yeah? But now it’s your turn,” moving down to where he was on the floor. 

You kneel beside the bed, taking his hard length in your hand and giving it a few strokes. You press kisses all over his thighs and groin, everywhere but his cock, making him ache for it. You bring your lips to the head of his cock when you decide he’s had enough teasing, swirling your tongue around the head and under the foreskin before taking his length into your mouth, as much as you can fit. You hear him curse and pant above you, followed by a strained, “cyar’ika”. 

Your other hand cups his balls lightly and that’s when you feel him go crazy, completely desperate for more. You bob your head up and down, keeping one hand at the base of his cock and the other holding his balls a little tighter. You switch back and forth between taking his shaft in your mouth and playing with his foreskin with your tongue. His balls tense up in your hand and you know he’s about to cum. You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, stroking his cock so the head rests against your flat tongue, getting ready to swallow his cum. With one last stroke of his shaft and squeeze in his he’s coming hard, letting out a jumbled string of groans, obscenities and your name. You swallow every last drop of his release before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and sitting on the bed beside him, watching him catch his breath this time. 

He grabs your waist and lays down on the bed, pulling you against him. His cock still hard and upright but that was to be expected. He’s been dreaming of his moment ever since he decided to move here. 

“You take care of me so well, riduur,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your lips. 

“Of course,” you say, kissing him back before moving to straddle him. You sink down onto his cock slowly, both of you sighing at the familiar, warm feeling. His cock stretches your walls and brushes against your cervix; something you had to get used to at first, just the sheer size of him. But now it’s like you two were made for each other, like his cock is right where it belongs; buried inside your cunt.  

You rock your hips back and forth and his hands grip the soft skin of your waist. Every moment you make buries his cock deeper inside you, your breasts bouncing perfectly for him. He removes one hand from your waist and brings it to the outline of one of your breasts, caressing it softly before moving to your nipple. He takes it between his fingertips and pinches it lightly, driving you insane and emitting a soft whine from you. 

“Din, I’m gonna cum soon,” you whine as he moves from one breast to the other. 

“Do it, cyar’ika. Soak my cock,” he says, desperate to feel your cunt squeeze his cock already. 

With one last grind of your hips against him you’re coming hard, the head of his cock nestled against your cervix as you cum. Your cunt flutters and pulsates around him, gripping his cock in erratic patterns. The movement of your hips slows and comes to a stop as your high comes to an end. As for Din… he’s still completely hard. 

“Alright next room, mesh’la,” he says, squeezing your ass. 

You groan, not wanting him to leave your cunt just yet, but you know he’s gonna keep fucking you relentlessly. You hop off of him and stand, knees buckling underneath you already. He grabs your waist to keep you steady before leading you to the living room in front of the house. He grabs his helmet off the shelf and puts it back on, prompting you to ask, “What for?”

“Against the window, cyar’ika,” he says. 

“Against the window?”

“Mhm. In case anyone needs to be reminded who you belong to.”

How can you say no to that?

You draw the curtains and look outside. The sun is starting to set. You situate yourself in front of the window and bend over, sticking your ass out for him and pressing your hands against the glass. He enters you slowly, letting out a modulated moan as he cock returns to where it belongs. Your breasts are flush against the window and your head is turned to the side as he thrusts in and out of you. You have a rush of adrenaline at the thought of anyone walking by and seeing you. The thought of someone seeing you take your riduur’s cock just adds to your arousal. It’s like he can sense what does to you, how wet that makes you. 

“Dirty girl,” he says, “I bet you want someone to see us.”

You just moan in response because you know it’s true. He keeps his grip on your hips tight as he fucks you relentlessly, drawing back and slamming into you with force. Your legs are getting weaker underneath you and if you didn’t have the window to keep you upright you’d surely be collapsing right now. He reaches around you and brings a hand to your clit, rubbing small circles around it as he continues to plow you. And this is it, you’re gonna cum again for the third time tonight. Your third orgasm rips through you, even more intense than the previous ones. A warm tingling feeling originates at your core and spreads outwards, making your whole body feel euphoric. With one last slam of his hips into you he’s coming, too. He paints your insides with his cum, keeping you in place against the window before pulling out when he’s finished. You stand upright and lean back into him. He wraps his arms around you as you both catch your breath. 

“Quick break?”

“Mhm. Quick,” you say. 

He chuckles and lets go of you to shut the curtains and remove his helmet again. You sit down next to each other on the couch, both of you slick with sweat from the evening’s activities. He glances over at you, breathing deeply from being fucked hard and your nipples perked up, eyeing you up and down as you’re curled up next to him. His thighs are spread apart slightly and his cock is still hard in his lap, moving slightly as he breathes.

This is supposed to be your breather but… you can’t resist. You move into his lap and straddle him, sinking down on his cock again. You’re not really looking to fuck again. You just missed the feeling of him inside you. He doesn’t protest or say a word, understanding your actions completely. You lean forward and rest against his chest. He rubs your back and whispers words of praise in your ear. 

“You’re doing so well, cyar’ika, taking my cock like this.”

You hum in response as you relax for a moment, reveling in the feeling of being full without any movement. 

“Ready for the next room, mesh’la?” he asks, after you’ve both had a moment to rest. 

“Mhm,” you sigh, reluctantly pulling yourself off him again. 

You walk to the kitchen and decide where you want to do it. You could have him fuck over the sink but it’d be similar to the position you just did in the living room. You turn to the kitchen table and notice it’s the perfect height for you to splay out on top of it as he stands at the edge. 

“Right here?” you ask, placing a hand on top of the table. 

“Right where we eat, cyar’ika?”

Blood rushes to your cheeks as you feel then heat up. Maybe that wasn’t a good call. But instead he loves it, grabbing your waist and pulling you into him. 

“Dirty girl you are,” he says, kissing you, “On the table for me.”

You nod and feel a little stupid for getting embarrassed but nevertheless you climb on top of the table, your cunt at the edge of the table and your legs hanging over. 

He bends down and licks another stripe up your cunt, something you weren’t expecting and it sends a shiver up your spine. 

“What? I have to eat it on the table, cyar’ika,” he chuckles before returning to lap your cunt. 

You sigh as his tongue tracing around your cunt and back up to your clit, finishing by sucking on it to get you nice and ready for him again. He stands and aligns himself with your entrance, pushing into you once more. But this time he pushes down on your abdomen as he fucks you, right where his cock is buried deep inside you. It’s intense; a newfound sensation you’ve never had before. 

“Stars, Din, that feels good,” you moan as your pleasure mounds. 

“Mhm, I bet, cyar’ika.”

He adds a bit more pressure, not enough to hurt you or bother you but just enough to make you feel even better. His thumb returns to your clit again and you feel like the floodgates are about to burst. And they do. Before you know it you’re squirting all over the kitchen table; all over him. And it makes him feral. Yes, you’ve squirted for him before but he’s never been able to see it without the helmet in the way and he can’t get enough. 

“Yes, just like that, cyar’ika. Cum all over my cock,” he says, fucking you harder as he grows more and more obsessed. Your soft moans and cries fill the kitchen as he fucks you through your orgasm. And somehow, it’s more intense than the previous ones. You don’t know how that’s even possible but leave it to Din to make you feel this good. 

He buries his cock into you down to the hilt and spills his release into you with a groan. His eyes are closed as he rides out his immense pleasure. You can’t believe the stamina he’s had tonight but then again you can. Your riduur is completely feral for you and only you. Completely delirious on making you cum over and over again on his cock. 

He pulls out and stares at the absolute mess you both made. Your cunt is soaked with your release and his, dripping from the table and onto the floor. You sit up so you can see it for yourself, marveling at the sheer amount of liquid you both produced. He grabs your chin and kisses you again, tugging at your bottom lip and growling against you, “Good girl”finishing with another kiss before pulling away. 

He helps you off the table as your legs just keep getting shakier as the night progresses. It’s time for the final round; in the refresher in the bathroom. You follow him into the bathroom and he turns the water on, letting the small space feel with steam. You step inside and let the water run down your body, soothing the soreness you’ve built up tonight. He wraps your arms around you from behind and pulls you into his chest.

“You’re so tired, cyar’ika,” he muses. 

“Mhm. But I’m not giving up, not now,” you sigh. 

“Good,” he says, pressing a kiss by your ear, “Turn around for me.”

You do as you're told and turn around for him, facing him and staring down at his still hard cock. He bends down and picks you up by hooking his arms around your thighs, pinning you against the refresher wall and bringing you down onto his cock. It always amazes you how strong your riduur is, how he can pick you up and fuck you so effortlessly. He plows into you against the wall and you think back to all the different places and positions you’ve been fucked in tonight. You’re truly spent but that doesn’t mean you’re tapping out now, not at the final round. 

Your bodies are pressed up against each other, warm and wet from the shower. His biceps are peppered in droplets of water as he keeps his grip on you tight, fucking you in truly an animalistic way. His hair is getting wet from the water above and you take a mental picture of this sight; the first time having sex in the refresher with Din. 

The sounds in the small bathroom are truly obscene, between your moans, his grunts and the sound of skin colliding with skin you’re grateful no one is around. With one last slam of his hips you’re coming undone, writhing against him and the wall. He keeps his arms hooked tightly around your thighs as he cums, too, releasing his final load of the night inside you. He keeps you upright against the wall until he’s sure you’re done riding out your high before letting you down gently, helping you get steady on your feet. 

“Thank you, cyar’ika,” he says, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him.

“Of course, my love,” you say, “I had so much fun and I’m glad we finally have a home together.”

“Me, too,” he says, kissing your forehead. 

He knows you’re exhausted and he wants to take care of you. So, he grabs the soap and starts washing you, lathering up your body as you hold onto him for stability. He rinses you off and washes himself quickly to get you into bed already. He helps you out of the refresher, keeping your hand in his as you step out. He grabs towels and wraps one around your shoulder and his own around his waist before walking you back to the bedroom. He helps you dry off, running the towel up and down your legs, across your back and the rest of your body. You both choose to sleep naked and pressed up against each other. You both crawl into bed, resting your head on his chest as he rubs your back and kisses the top of your head. 

“I love you, cyar’ika,” he murmurs.

“I love you, too, Din,” you reply, feeling sleep start to overtake you.

“Oh!” he says suddenly, “We forgot the backyard.”

“Let it be a morning delight, my love,” you whisper.

“Deal,” he whispers back with one last kiss to the top of your head.

That was certainly a way to break in the new house. 

End note: Thought of this idea today and it wouldn't leave me alone!! Send me requests for the tin can man, I’m a bit feral for him rn 😵‍💫

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[eatommo]

All is Fair [d.d]

Summary: A heated argument lets emotions, and confessions come to the surface.

CW: din djarin/female reader, the helmet stays on, angst, misunderstandings, mutual pining, confessions of love, din leaves bruises on her, marking kink, rough sex, d/s dynamics, use of pet names, p in v, creampie, mentions of gambling/bets, mando'a, oral (m reciving) (I probably missed some sorry)

a/n: This is a little messy, I'm just falling so hard again and need to get some of my own pining out. enjoy :)

You swear you hear the creak of his gloves tightening around your arm, “I told you to stay inside the ship.”  His fingers are thick and robust as they dig into your flesh, properly leaving your skin purple.  Helmet sweeping side to side he scans the crowd for someone showing too much interest, “The imps have eyes everywhere, you're going to get us killed.”

“Right. Because you’re an average man walking around, definitely not  inside your own fucking casket.”  His grip gets impossibly tighter, and he stops in his tracks, halting your movement completely. The adrenaline in your body peaks as his blank, concealed, stare fixes on your face.

“You’re tiresome.  Did you know that?”  His voice is pure vitriol, you’ve never seen him so angry.  “I don’t care if I get killed but you can’t be bringing the kid out for a dessert run.” 

“It was his idea!”  Deep down you know he’s right, but being cooped up in the crest for weeks has made you all antsy, and the kid was very persuasive.  “We didn’t just get cookies.” You try and keep your tone even, emotions mounting in your throat.  “I got some bacta, and a new compressor for the carbonite chamber.” His posture is iron, shoulders, and head still as a rock and you trail off.   

“You could’ve told me to get those things.”  He turns away from you and pulls you back towards the ship.  There are several coos and cries from the pouch now snug to dins hip and covered by his skewed cape.  “You can’t let the baby tell you what to do.” 

He’s been nothing but kind to you, and although you hate him confronting you he would’ve gotten anything you asked for, he always has.  “You’re right, I’m sorry, but you don’t need to scold me like a child.”  

His hand loosens slightly as if he is becoming conscious of hurting you, as he practically shoves you forward with his body while you instinctually resist. “This isn’t the first time you haven’t listened to me.”  

You set your jaw, swallowing more bitter words, and scan the crowd with him, slightly turning your head every few steps to get a glimpse of people behind you, just like he taught you.  Miraculously, you make it to the hangar without another bitter word.  

Even as he pays the balance of the ship repairs his hand doesn’t leave its place on your arm, the man glancing between the two of you suspiciously.  Your cheeks heat in embarrassment, and you begin to feel like a scruffed loth cat.  “Do you have to drag me by my bones?!”  You twist your arm in an attempt to escape, but all it does is shoot lightning through your arm down to your wrist.  

He remains silent until he practically throws you onto the ramp of the ship.  To further your shame, you trip and fall to your knees scraping them both on the rough texture of the ramp.  With a huff and barely-kept tears, you storm up the ramp and drop the sack of supplies on a crate, heading straight to the fresher for a rinse in the shower, in a desperate effort to collect yourself. 

The ship takes off in no time with a lurch and the immediate hum of hyperspace envelops the crest.  Only then, do you feel safe enough to let out a choked frustrated sob.  The cry is relatively quick, and the water does wonders for the tight knot of the new bruise on your arm, but not quite the cleansing of your heart you were praying for. 

You rinse the soap from your hair rigorously and not kindly, in an attempt to shake the need for these bruises to linger until they faded without the use of bacta.  He would think you were being ridiculous, he might even taunt you about being young and dumb if he found out how you felt about him.  You’d be lying if these weren’t tears of heartbreak, he embarrassed and chastised you in front of crowds of people and practically dragged you halfway across town.

Yet, you found yourself wanting to seek him for comfort.  Longing for the long nights of telling him about your childhood on bespin, and the comfort of his laugh as he gave you a simple story about the fighting corps that had your eyes full of admiration and bewilderment.  He had been kind and soft and protective.  Today was the first time you remember him being so assertive with you, with enemies and bounties yes, but never to you.  

Maybe it was time for you to take off.  The thought felt like a slap on the cheek, and you bite your lips as you swipe across the ripped flesh of your knee.  It is not a terrible scrape, but the skin is tender and bruised around the minor cuts.  You wanted him to apologize, and you wanted him to see you bleed, you knew he’d feel terrible, he stepped on your foot last week and apologized three times.

Stepping out of the shower you realize that in your rush to the refresher, you didn’t grab a pair of clothes.  Swearing to yourself, you take a look at your dirty clothes from earlier.  They're caked in sand, and rather than put them on you’ll wrap yourself in -shit- his towel.  Sending a prayer to the maker, whoever she may be, you open the doors and set your gaze on the floor towards your bunk and set course confidently.  Unaware he is watching intently from the container you left your sack on until his boots are in your vision.  

He hears the squeak die in your throat and watches your heart race as he scans your near-naked frame with his visor.  His breath catches in his throat at the sight, his hand still radiating warmth from holding your skin even with his gloved hand.  He wanted you, and his body responded to the small friction of your body against his front like he was a teenager.  Then he starts picking up on the scrape on your knees, and the swell of a bruise on your left arm.  As your heart leaps into your throat, he drops to the floor on his knees, he hurt you.  In his scared frustration, he scolded and towed you around like a misbehaving massiff.  

This is where his career failed him, he could de-escalate a bar fight, but he had heard apologizing to a woman was not easy, especially when he so desperately needed you to forgive him.  Not to mention the beautiful distraction of his cock twitching in his pants as he settles on your face, trying not to think about your skin smelling like him.  “Focus.”  Fuck. Did he just say that out loud? 

“What did you just say?”  You take a larger step forward, your leg peaks out of the wrap of the towel, wrath keeping you from caring.  “I always admired your bravery, and now I’m wondering where all the audacity came from.”

He stammers, modulator picking up his sharp confused gasp, “No. I mean-”.

You don’t give him the chance to finish.  “I want to go home.”  The words dry your tongue to ash.  But his posture goes rigid again, and for the first time since you met, you’re afraid of him.  

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” As a wave crashes over him, he resets.  His shoulders slumped over, and the helmet hanging as if he is adverting his eyes.  You watch with bated breath as he reaches up in a familiar movement, flicking through types of vision processors in his helmet, and your blood turns cold.  

With a fluid movement, he guides your hand to his shoulder with his free hand and reaches for your calf with the other, pulling your leg free to examine the scuff on your knee.  

You misread him and in your panic pull away, falling over your own feet his grip catches you as your towel parts to reveal almost your entire body to him.  He’s standing slightly, having to abandon his seat in his efforts to catch you.  The helmet snaps to your eyes, and then to the wall beside you as he stands you up.  

You take a step back while adjusting your towel and holding it closer to you.  “I’m mad that you treated me like a child.” He keeps his eyes trained on the wall, “I shouldn’t-” 

“I panicked, I was worried.”  He is defensively talking over you, but also afraid to tell you of his feelings for you so his voice is low. 

“Be carted through the city on a leash like some misbehaving whore.”  The words are pouring out of you as if coating your tongue with honey as they crack across his bleeding heart, far too much happening too fast as he scrambles to catch up.  

“I want to go home.”  You say it again, but this time it's less convincing as he comes to rest on his knees in front of you.  

“I’m sorry.”  He creeps pathetically closer to you, resting back onto his feet and leaning the forehead of his helm against your stomach seeking comfort that's more intimate than you’ve ever offered.  “I’m not good at these things.”  He shifts again, this time looking toward your face until just the chin of the visor is digging into the skin of your abdomen, “I’ve never had the chance to look after something I’ve cared about so much.”  His voice although clear is quiet, shy even, “I was so scared I didn’t even think until I saw you set the bacta on the crate.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat, tears slipping down your face wordless as you watch him grovel, you must be dreaming. 

“Ni ceta.”  His heart aches in time with the throbbing pain of his knees on the floor, and for the first time since pridefully placing his helm on his head, he wishes he could abandon it at your feet.

Everything he does is intense, he is fiercely protective, he is lethal, and you might even describe him as passionate when it comes to his creed.  The child, who you assume is somewhere sleeping, was possibly the most fiercely protected baby in the galaxy.  Having come to know him over the last few months, you wondered how he ever survived on his own, he cherished the companionship the two of you have brought and he always seems to welcome your antics, often at his expense.  Like a light in a dim alley, the conclusion flickers in your brain, it's the only thing that makes sense. 

“I’m sorry I brought him into danger.”  You clear your throat, unable to look away from the dim reflection of yourself in his visor.  “I’m just feeling a little like a prisoner.” 

He says that unfamiliar phrase again, “Ni ceta, mesh’la.” [I kneel, gorgeous] In what you assume is Mando’a, “I will do better.” Your hands twitch at your side, as you fight the urge to caress his head. 

“Okay.”  You give a reserved nod, the ice in your heart melted and you feel as vulnerable as ever.  “Is the kid asleep?”

 Mando gives a soft hum, “He ate a few cookies and then promptly collapsed in his pram in the cockpit.”  You realize his voice is hoarse but he clears it, “Can I give you some bacta, and make you some caf? I know you won't forgive me right away.” He trails off, as the glint of his helm holds your stare. 

“I’m not upset with you anymore, you don’t need to get anything for me, I can still walk just fine.”  A small giggle erupts from your chest, surprising the two of you.  There he is. 

He stands but doesn’t do anything but lean back slightly, “I want to.  I feel terrible.”  You take a step back as he stands, he speaks in a hushed tone, “I’d carry you around if that’s what you’d wanted.” 

There’s a glitch in your brain he doesn’t miss, and it's hard to ignore the small sound that you make, suddenly he’s thankful for the privacy of the helmet and the loose-fitting fabric of his flight suit.  “Is it what you want?” This is an interaction he is slightly more comfortable with, albeit a little rusty.

You clear your throat and shake your head as if the intrusive thoughts will fade with the harsh movement.  “Yes and no.”  You settle on a bit of honesty while also playing coy.  “Who doesn’t want to be carried around by a big strong mysterious man?  It’s every girl's dream.” 

“Maybe I should add that to the list of services I provide.”  He is leaning up against the walls of your bunk, subconsciously blocking you from abandoning the conversation and seeking the warmth and privacy in your bunk.

“We probably would make a killing.  But I wouldn’t want you to…” You trail off, not initially liking what the taunting was morphing into, but what the hell? “To carry anyone but me if I am honest.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want me to?”  He’s tasting the sweetness of your confession on his tongue, processing it while trying to keep the tone light.  

“I want you to want to do those things outside of guilt.” The conversation is far past smooth, nothing like the holodramas you’ve imagined the two of you a part of.  “I want you to like spending time with me.”

“I do feel guilty, but I would do these things for you regardless, and I do like spending time with you.  We both do, or I wouldn’t fight so hard to keep you here.”   There’s an air of caution in his statement, he’s scared of rushing headfirst into his adoration of you and scaring you, even if his face is protected in his bashful admission. 

“You do?”  You squint an eye at him as if scanning him through your own tech-clad helmet.  “Are we on the same page?” You chew on your lip, analyzing his cool, relaxed posture before settling on his pitch-black visor again, in the flicker of your heart you know he’s meeting your stare.  “I like you.”

His chest rises sharply with an inhale as if he’s been injured and you quickly try and find a way to backpedal out of this conversation.  “Well, maybe we aren’t. I was going to say I’m in love with you.”  

If you didn’t know the child was asleep, you would’ve thought he was pushing you toward his dad.  There was a tug at your heart and you rush to embrace him, met with the cool metal against your bare skin.  Your instinct calls for you to kiss him, and you want to terribly, but you’re unsure of what his customs allow.

You let your hands search for the gaps in his armor, looking for warmth and settling right below the gusset of armor on his back and squeeze him so impossibly tight he groans contently.  “This feels so weird, I’m sorry I don’t know what to do.”  Your cheeks heat, and he chuckles.

“What are you trying to do?” He finally seems to have settled into the space in front of you, a pliant but also stiff bundle of warmth juxtaposed by the cool faces of his beskar plates. “I can take the armor off if you’re trying to get comfortable.” 

“I know how to do it, I just don’t know if I’m allowed to.  I want to kiss you Mando…”  The bashfulness in the way you bury your face into the crook of his arm, makes his heart skip to an unfamiliar beat in his chest.  

“I can take everything but the helmet off, I would eventually.  I’m not ready for that.”  Now he’s the insecure one, how could you want to be with him without seeing him? “I know it’s not ideal, I’m sorry.”

You sense the insecurity right away, and rather than letting it fester in his always-thinking brain, you do your best to soothe his worries with a caress and a change of subject.  “Everything else you say?” Lifting your brow, you hook the rim of his chest plate with your fingernail, separating it slightly from its place. “I can wait for the helmet,” you look up through your eyelashes,  “ I want to feel you.”

Lacing your fingers through his, you stroke the palm of his hand silently asking for permission to remove them.  He nods slowly, and you slide beneath the fabric slowly revealing the tanned, callused skin.  Human skin.

You remove the other glove, letting your fingers soak in his radiating warmth.  Drawing long slow circles on his palms, you search for his approval but his head is fixed on your hands in his.  He is rigid and his posture is stiff, as if afraid if he moves you’ll stop.  

Every nerve in his body is alight, he’s practically vibrating as you run your fingers along his skin, your hands are cold and feel wonderfully soft.  It takes everything not to whine when you go to take his vambraces off and the comfort of your touch is ripped away from him.  

“I don’t know how to do this.”  You admit, well aware of the whistling birds that are more than dangerous and you're afraid to set them off.  He laughs nervously, and you’re leaning so close to his face that you can almost hear the air without the modulator. 

“It’s safe.”  He reaches over and shows you how to remove the armor.  As you lift it away you motion for him to remove the other one while you get to work on his chest plate.  The heavy metal plate joins the rest of it in a compartment to his left, and you lay your hands flat on the broad plain of his chest.

He moves, remembering his strength, and tilts your elbow until your hand is resting on the zipper hidden beneath the collar of his cape.  Working in tandem, he removes his cuirass as you unzip his flight suit.  

Your vision rakes over the ripple of his muscles, a few bruises and scars mark his skin, and you without thinking lean in and leave an open-mouthed kiss over a yellow bruise on his left peck.  This time you are close enough to hear the whine that escapes from beneath the helmet in time with his posture going slack with a flood of goosebumps on his skin. 

The noises go straight to your core, the idea of this hard exterior broken by a hint of your mouth on his chest is enough of an invite to step closer.  Slotting between his feet, you press your mouth to the center of his sternum, chasing it as he flinches away from your cold hands brushing against his lower stomach before curling into the fabric to pull him tight against you.  

He steps back, maneuvering around the crate and leaning against the wall behind it so he can slot his thigh between your legs gently inviting you to grind against the cool metal plate, only separated by an ever-falling towel his brain scrambles, only thinking about how your mouth feels hot against his skin and wondering what you taste like.  

You lean harder into him, feeling the weight of his cock dig into your stomach and trying to focus on nibbling on the tight muscle of his shoulder as the fabric of his flight suit falls off his shoulders.  You hear a loud clang as he throws his head back, likely breaking something behind him, when you dig in your teeth and suck hard on one of his collarbones.  You suckle and kitten lick at the same time, the groans and shivers only provoke you further, only pulling away when your lips start to feel swollen.

He’s thankful again for the privacy of his helmet, as frustrating as it is to not return the favor he can’t seem to regain control of his limbs and jaw, everything going slack as he fights the urge to rut against your body like a horny teenager. 

The weight of what's left of his armor is dragging the thick fabric to the floor, revealing the rich sculpted muscles of his abdomen and the tortuously scandalous dip of his hip bones.  The dull ache of your jaw is ignored as you trail down his warm skin, laving across his nipples as you take your time kissing him, tasting the salt of his skin. 

You blow across the trail of kisses, knowing that the air will feel cold and feeling a little dauntless.  A shiver rolls through him, bringing his hips forward as if begging for your attention.  His cock struggles against the fabric of his underclothes, its weight heavy and practically weeping a delirious amount of precum.  It's the hitch of your breath at the realization of his size that breaks his stupor.  Digging one hand into your hair and shoving the final confines of his clothing to the ground, he takes his cock into his hand, using the precome to tease the head just above your waiting mouth as you admire.

You finally meet the visor with your eyes again, as he stokes himself tauntingly above you, he’s thicker than any you’d seen before, his fingers not even connecting around its circumference, and the flesh is a tad darker than his skin, with slightly darker veins throbbing for your waiting mouth. 

He swears under his breath, as you let your tongue rest on the underside of his thick tip.  He pulls you onto him, barely pressing into your mouth but the edge of his heady moan is irresistible, you need to hear it endlessly until he begged you to stop.  You take more of him in on the accompanying thrusts, swallowing around him as tears brim your eyes.  There's a sense of desperation as he loses his composure his movements less consistent and his body relaxes into the skilled warmth of your mouth. 

By the time you work your way to the base, his sparse curls tickle your nose as you hum around him in contentment, and drool runs down your chin onto your chest.  You realize in embarrassment that you were holding onto the towel, placing it under your injured knee for padding, and you settle more comfortably onto the ground, allowing you to start caressing his balls with your hand. 

His gasp is sinful, depraved even as his hand furls tighter in your hair, teasing the line between pain and pleasure.  You moan around him as he twitches against the back of your throat.  Gently you shake your head side to side, as you get the last inch or so into your mouth.  You hear another loud smash as his head hits the wall a second time, you pause waiting to hear the hiss of a cracked pipe.  Instead, he tugs your head back and forth, hand griping tight but the pace is teasingly gentle.  

Humming in approval, you look up, watching his body fight for breath between curses and moans.  Maker was he handsome, his skin was riddled with various scars and bruises but remained soft and clean, the muscles of his body taut with pleasure and even quivering in his legs as he fought the urge to cum down your throat.

Surprising himself, he guides your head all the way off him, letting himself get a good look at your swollen wet mouth and your naked body as he pulls you back to your feet.  “You’re so beautiful,” he is practically whispering, and you feel as though he’s caressing you with his voice, “Can I,” you step closer to him, pressing more open mouth kisses to the tender base of his throat, “Kriff, Can I fuck you?”  

You hum against his skin in affirmation before taking his collarbone between your teeth and sucking a fresh mark into it.  His arms wrap around your frame as he effortlessly lifts you and you wrap around him, pressing a few gentler, less hungry kisses to the helm where you envision his hairline.  He manages to open the door to his bunk and lays you down.  

He finally gets your entire body laid open for him, letting his hands caress your sides, committing the shapes of your body to memory as he runs over the planes of your body, stopping for a moment to drag his rough fingers over your nipples.  You arch into his touch, feeling as though he is dragging a heated blade of pleasure across your skin.  Coaxing your thighs open with the backs of his hands, he emits a low groan as he swipes two fingers through your folds.  “You’re so fucking pretty.” 

You open your mouth to respond, but he rolls your clit between two fingers effectively shutting you up.  He nudges against your entrance and then slowly stretches you open while continuously toying with your clit, scissoring two fingers while paying close attention to any shifts in your breath and small noises.  

He pushes his fingers up, and your legs try to close as the new pleasure makes your vision fuzzy.  “Keep those legs open for me c’yare.” He demands, massaging that spot a few more times, and you feel as though you’re gasping for each breath in time with the movements of his fingers.  

Just when you’re about to start begging for him to let you cum, he stops completely, using the moisture on his hands to slick up his length haphazardly before lining up with your fluttering pussy. 

Again, his gentleness stuns you, slowly rocking his hips as he edges deeper into your core.  The stretch is shocking at first, but he gives you plenty of time to adjust, slowly circling your clit with his thumb.  He hooks your legs around his waist, grinding deeper and deeper until his face is hovering inches from yours.  

He presses his forehead to yours in a keldabe kiss.  Each slap of his hips is punctuated by your breathy gasp that fogs up his visor. He’s finally close enough to your skin to smell his soap lingering, and it awakens a part of his brain he didn’t know existed. 

“You’re mine, mesh’la.” He rubs your clit just a fraction harder, “I wanna hear you say it.” 

You struggle to get enough air in your lungs to speak, but the need to please him is greater than your need for breath, “Yours Mando,” His body is fire compared to the cool air of the crest, causing your skin to flush hotly, and a sheen of sweat coating your body, “Anything you want.” 

His grunting is entirely animalistic, the ship could fall out of hyperspace or get attacked by purgills and he would be none the wiser.  The tight grip of your pussy drives him further into insanity, he feels his orgasm creep up his spine and even then he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop. “Yeah? I’m gonna cum inside you baby.”

He sits up slightly, changing the angle of his hips to shove impossibly deeper into you as you tighten around him, your own orgasm brimming.  With each faltering snap of his hips, your whine grows louder until you’re pleading with him to cum inside of you, feeling like it’s the only possible way to bring you relief.

He cradles your head in his arm, needing to feel your moans ripple across his skin as he feels you squeeze him like a vice, your legs shaking and practically bucking him off you with the force of your orgasm.  It’s only a few more thrusts before he’s spilling himself inside you and grinding deep until his nerves are on shot and his body is ready to collapse from the stimulation. 

A few quick moments pass, and while collecting your wits, you search his visor again, longing for just a bit of eye contact, but unable to find anything, you give him a soft smile. “I owe Peli 50 credits.” 

Almost unbelievably bubbly, he resigns “I owe her 150, I think we got caught in a sure bet.”  You feign surprise. “I can’t believe she knew before we did.” 

“Sounds like she was a double agent. Maybe she just thinks she’ll get another baby out of it.” Your cheeks heat before you can finish speaking and he’s blushing profusely beneath the helmet. 

He hums in contentment, letting some of his body weight rest on you as he slips free, before shifting to lay your head on his chest.  “I love you.”  His hand rubs circles at the base of your neck, but he can’t help but stare at the dark bruises on your arm. “I’ll get up and get you some bacta in a moment.” 

“I love you too.”  You listen intently to the steady falling rhythm of his heart, as you come down from your highs together.  “I think I’d rather have them.”  You gently run your fingers over the deep purple marks you’ve sucked into his skin, smiling sadistically at his sharp intake of breath. “It’s only fair.” 

#din djarin fanfic #din x reader #the mandalorian #mandalorian smut #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin x reader smut #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian spoilers #star wars fanfiction #star wars

[kiwisbell]

Told Before and Told Again [din djarin]

One time you saved Din, and one time he saved you.

series masterlist

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: established relationship, dubious consent due to sex pollen, unprotected piv (no following the leader), the helmet stays on, actually everything stays on, but reader gets nakey, animal handler!reader, grogu being a good kid, protective din, dirty talk, fuck or die, creampie, fingering, rough sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, thighplate riding, masturbation, top din, soft din, din fucking the babysitter, extreme amounts of fluff, allusions to animal abuse, din djarin being actually the biggest mess to ever inhabit the galaxy, happy family, din is in love, mando'a pet names

word count: ~ 7k

this is installment one of my din djarin series entitled told before and told again. please enjoy din being very bad at his job, a mysterious pouch of pink powder, and din coming to your rescue. emphasis on coming.

Told Before and Told Again

You’re getting sick of staring apprehensively into pitch-black tunnels, waiting for your warrior to emerge from the darkness. 

Next to you, a worried gurgle emanates from the floating pod. You press your lips together. “Yeah. I know, sweet one. He’s going to be okay.”

He grumbles his disagreement, reaching out a three-fingered hand toward you. You shuffle closer to him and let him clutch your index finger. “How long has it been?” you ask him. “It can’t have been that long. Right?”

Lothal is about as Outer Rim as you can get. It's a pretty planet, when you aren't trudging through a wind-blown desert to find the mountains. Not that the mountains were hard to find: they erupt from the earth in the west, snow-capped and bridged by rocky plains. The air is temperate, but you shiver, waiting for him. Always waiting for him. 

Never get brave for me. Understood? 

Something clatters to the slick, rocky ground and lands on your foot. “Ow,” you gasp, picking up the blaster and pinning Grogu with a stare. He stares back, owlish and yet somehow stern. “You know I can’t shoot this for the life of me.”

“You're holding that thing like you want to choke it out.”

You huffed, trying to loosen your grip around the blaster. “Like this?”

“You're not supposed to be scared of the weapon you're holding.”

“Unbelievable.” You closed one eye to home in on the target: the severed head of his latest bounty, a raper and pirate. “My last boss never micromanaged this much.”

The air behind you shifted. A rough, gloved hand slipped around your waist and pressed on your belly. It was an adjustment of your posture, straightening your spine, but you knew, and he knew, that he had pulled you just a little bit closer to him. His voice, modulated and raspy in your ear, knocked your knees together. “I'm not your boss. Open your eye.”

“What if it kicks back?”

“It won’t. It’s a blaster.”

“What if they take it from me?”

He covered your hand with his, shifting your fingers to tighten around the grip. “Hold onto it,” he said plainly.

You rolled your eyes and levelled the weapon at the raper’s head. The shot missed by a foot. “Better,” he said after a beat.

“Now you’re just being mean.”

“My job is to keep you safe,” he said, “not play nice. Now try again.” He placed his hand on your lower back, tightening your posture, his armour cold on the back of your thigh through the thin material of your dress. You held your breath to keep from visibly trembling against him, but he noticed. Of course he noticed. “You’re allowed to breathe.”

“You’re making me nervous.”

“Good. You should never be relaxed in a fight.” He lifted your elbow slightly. “Shoot.”

“You just said I was allowed to breathe. Now I can't relax.”

“They're not the same thing, and you're stalling. Don't be difficult.”

You fired a shot at the severed head, and it blew past the target by a wider margin than the last one. You huffed, “Some people aren't meant to fight, you know.”

You sensed that he was amused. “And what were you meant to do?”

“Look pretty. Give moral support.”

The noise that rumbled out of his modulator definitely seemed amused. “Then I’ll be the fighter. You just need to know the right time to shoot.”

You turned in his grasp, forgetting wholly that you were holding a blaster. “And what if you aren’t there?”

A glimmer of sunlight blinded you as his visor shifted, tilting downward. “I’ll be there.”

You relented, firing another shot, then two, three, at the pirate’s head. Only the second one managed to graze the greasy, wily strips of hair that sprouted from its ugly head. When it was over, you slumped, pouting, against your firm warrior. 

“This is hopeless,” you told him. 

For a moment, he said nothing, and you wondered if he'd finally snapped with impatience. 

“You are, you know,” he said.

“What?”

“Pretty.” He nudged your finger back onto the trigger. “Now go on, dangerous girl. You're not done until I say you are.”

You try to peer into the tunnel but it’s so shrouded in darkness you would have to peel it aside like a curtain. When you take a step forward, the cave wails. Or, more accurately, someone inside the cave wails, howling with pain. It’s not your Mandalorian’s voice, which makes your body deflate. “See?” you say to Grogu. “He’s fine.”

But a roar erupts from the depths of the cave, followed by the telltale echo of your warrior’s pained groan, and you decide that it’s best to intervene. You’ll chew him out later. “Stay behind me, cyare,” you tell Grogu. He gurgles worriedly, but you grip the blaster firmly in your hand and press your back to the wall of the cave. 

“This is stupid,” you tell yourself. “This is very… very stupid.” You skirt along the wall, its jagged rocks catching the fabric of your shirt as you keep your blaster up near your shoulder, pointed away from your body. 

Never point the bad end toward you.

Don’t patronise me. I’m holding a deadly weapon.

Well, I’m holding a dozen. And I’d prefer if you kept your face.

My pretty face?

Shoot properly and I’ll tell you.

“Mando?” you call out, cursing the way your voice trembles. You cannot call him by his real name while he pursues a bounty. You cannot give them a weapon to wield against him. 

No one answers your call. You don’t particularly expect him to, but it still makes your stomach plummet as you navigate the darkness until the light is barely a pinprick in the direction you came. Grogu coos to signal that he is still floating behind you, but you lift your forearm and press a button to close the roof over his pod. You hear a faint clank as he pounds a fist against the door, but you will risk the consequences of his tantrum when this is over. You will not risk his life. 

You come to a fork in the cave, but another deafening roar makes the decision for you. You leap to the other side of the cave and keep your back flush to the damp, cool walls as you shuffle past the narrow opening. Grogu’s pod scrapes along both sides as it floats along, making you grimace. Another cry from the creature in the depths of the cave, something mammalian, high-pitched, screeching. It grates your ears and makes you wince as it gets undeniably closer. 

This is so stupid. For some reason, the acknowledgement of it makes you feel better. 

The cave yawns into a wide opening—one that drops precariously into blackness after two steps. You gasp, jumping backward to avoid toppling over the edge. It seems deliberate, this pit: you can see a platform skirting around the gaping width of it, and your stomach churns as you peer into its depths. You fumble for a match and strike it against the wall. When it falls, it bounces off another wall and illuminates that it's really not all that deep… 

But there's something curled up inside, and it's covering the body of your Mandalorian. 

Behind you, Grogu’s pod wedges itself into the narrow passageway. You keep your body square in front of him. All you glimpse, before the match bounces against the thing’s coiled horns and fizzles out, is a pair of black, glowing eyes. Covered in coarse black fur, breathing like a charging rancor through its large nostrils. It's got four legs and it's purposefully pinning the Mandalorian down on the floor of the pit with one wolf-like paw. You wonder how it even managed to squeeze inside this cave and squeeze back out to hunt its food. When you strike another match and catch a pair of legs out of the corner of your eye, you understand. 

The legs connect to the immobile body of the Lothalian bounty you'd come all the way to this planet for. You aren't sure if he's dead, but it doesn't matter. He keeps this creature as a pet, and it's got your warrior in its clutches. 

“Mando,” you hiss. It's a complete wager: one that doesn't pay off. He’s clearly unconscious, and the terror of it throbs in your chest. The creature’s head tilts in your direction. 

Shit. 

You think back to your days as an animal handler. The first day a Mandalorian warrior appeared on the doorstep of your facility. Your first day of adventure.

“I need a babysitter.”

You looked up from your embroidery—you wanted to hang it up inside your newest ward’s cage; he was a runt-of-the-litter loth cat who didn’t know any better, but you wanted to make it special for him—and peered around your boss, who was speaking with a man dressed in silver armour.

You don’t remember thinking much of him. You do remember looking down at his feet and gushing over the tiny, green, big-eared thing at his feet. You fell over yourself to introduce yourself to the little guy before you even looked up at the warrior. Your boss had been humiliated (“That is a Mandalorian ,” he later scolded you with a firm grip on your ear), but you think it’s exactly why the Mandalorian hired you. 

“I can pay you well. Just… protect him with your life.”

The little green thing was nestled in the crook of your arm, cooing happily and twisting your hair around his three fingers. You looked up at the masked warrior and said, “I don’t care how much you can pay. I’ll keep him safe all the same.”

To your credit, you did. Over and over again. 

You don’t remember how or when your job description began to include keeping his father safe, too.

You spent your days handling small creatures left out on the street. You don’t know how to handle this gargantuan, snarling beast. Skirting around the pit in the ground, you point your blaster at the monster’s head. It growls, lashing out with one giant paw, and you yelp, jumping backward and pressing yourself up against the wall. It backs away when you turn the blaster away from its face.

You take in your surroundings. The Mandalorian’s blaster, smashed to pieces in the pit with him. The Lothalian bounty does not carry a blaster, but you spot a plasma rod strapped to his belt. It’s the sort of tool an animal handler recognises: the length of a forearm, white as the heat of a flame, the hilt cold steel, built for a strong grip. It’s similar to an Imperial baton, but you could pick this weapon out anywhere. You were used to confiscating them from clients.

The realisation sparks to life in your head. You lean down and set the blaster on the ground. Confirming your suspicions, the creature’s gaze follows it. 

There’s a large rock nearby, so you pick it up and begin to smash the pieces to shrapnel. The beast watches you all the while until the job is complete, and your hands lifts into the air to show it that you’re unarmed. 

It shifts off the Mandalorian as it rises to all four feet and approaches you. But you aren’t afraid when it sniffs your hands. “Hello,” you say softly. 

It snorts, the smell of its breath like death in your nostrils. “That’s my friend you’ve got there.” You indicate with your head the Mandalorian, stirring slightly out of unconsciousness. You doub the creature understands you, but you keep talking. “If we take your master away and let you free, will that make you happy?”

The beast snorts again, and there’s some spittle on your clothes, but you smile. “That would make me happy, too.”

In the pit, the Mandalorian awakens with a star, rolling over onto his back and pointing the flamethrower on his vambrace at the beast. “Stop!” you cry, your hands flinging out. “Don’t hurt it!”

“Don’t hurt—” The helmet turns to look your way. “What?”

“We are going to take our bounty, and we’re going to free this creature.” You pin your warrior with a glare. “Got it?”

For a moment, he says nothing. The beast sits back on its haunches and waits patiently. Finally, the Mandalorian scrambles to his feet and lifts himself out of the pit. The first thing he does is point his finger in your direction. “I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re welcome.”

Just because he’s in a grumpy mood, you let him drag the unconscious Lothalian out of the cave. He takes a different route than you did, though: it’s much larger, big enough to fit the beast if it were to squeeze through. If you had only taken a left, you would have had a much more pleasant journey into the cave.

“Come on,” grunts the Mandalorian, pulling the Lothalian by the ankles.

You shake your head. “I won’t leave it. It might think I’m abandoning it.”

His helmet levels you with what you guess is an incisive glare. “You—”

He stops himself and seems to decide it isn’t worth it. Next to you, Grogu opens his pod and gurgles curiously at the creature. The beast lumbers out of the pit once his master disappears and sniffs your fingers some more. “Look at that,” you coo at your green companion. “Our new friend.”

Grogu lifts his head toward the entrance of the cave and you can feel the Mandalorian’s presence behind you before you hear his voice. 

“C’mon. Time to go.”

The beast follows dutifully as you depart, though it struggles to fit its great width through the cavern passageway. Once you see light again, you're so blinded by the shift that you trip over a rock while shielding your eyes. A firm gloves hand steadies you at your lower back. 

Once your eyes adjust, you find yourself staring up into those giant black gems in the beast’s head. For good measure, it stomps over to its Lothalian master and gives him a firm kick in the ribs with its paw. While the Mandalorian manhandles the bounty onto the Crest over his shoulder, you turn to the beast. It bends its head low to your face and nuzzles as gently as it can against your cheek. Grogu coos next to you, and the beast turns to lumber back down the cliffs. 

You follow the Mandalorian into the ship and find him already in the cockpit, polishing some blood off his pauldron.

“Are you hurt?” you ask him.

“No,” he says.

With that settled, you stalk toward your warrior. “You’re a complete and total mess.”

He cocks his head to the side. A challenge. Oh, you’re willing to challenge him right back. Your ears are burning and your chest is heaving.

“You're clumsy.” To punctuate your point, you poke him in the chest. “You're a great warrior in an ancient line of great warriors, and you're clumsy. Why do you have to be so… so… ugh!”

You can only throw yourself against him and wrap your arms around his neck. It's metal and cloth, cold and smooth, and the faint grunt of surprise you can hear from the helmet. His arms steady you, gloved fingers on your back, cradling your head, a warm assurance. He’s alive. He’s a moron, but he’s alive. 

“Look at me.”

He gently guides you away from him. You feel rough, cracked leather swipe away a frustrated tear from your cheek. “Dangerous girl,” he says, whisper-quiet. “I’ve told you to never get brave for me.”

“It wasn’t brave,” you say firmly. “That Lothalian was just a coward. He enslaved that poor creature. You were too big and dumb and impulsive to stop and think that it might not be fond of plasma.” Your fingertip comes to rest on the barrel of his blaster. “It’s a damn good thing you have me, Din Djarin.”

His thumb and forefinger hold your chin in place, looking up at him. “I know that. Next time—” He slips a hand around your waist and digs each finger against a rib. He knows every breakable part of a body; you wonder if he finds those parts of you on instinct. “I’ll send you in first.”

When you both strap yourselves into your seats and he begins to flick switches, you find you aren’t quite finished.

“Five minutes.”

He pauses with his finger on a switch, his helmet turning to the side. “What?”

“Five minutes, Din. I left you alone for five minutes. How can you manage to get your life so fantastically endangered in five minutes?”

He swivels in his chair and folds his arms over his broad chest. “Are you hurt?”

You purse your lips. “No.”

“Then everything’s fine.” And he swivels back around. Neither of you speak again until the ship lands. 

~

“No.”

“I haven’t even—”

“But you’re about to, and the answer is no.”

“How do you know—”

“Because I know you. You stay.”

“I’m not your dog, Din.”

“No. A dog listens.”

“Oh, my sweet, charming warrior. Remind me again why I like you?”

“I’ll let you know when I find out.”

The bounty was already dead when Din finally managed to track him down on some backwater skug hole in the Otomok system. It took a day of tracking the fob through a waterlogged forest. The bounty is propped up against a tree. Something seemed to have struck him like a sickness: he's human, but a shadow of one, sallow and ashen and stiff as bone. Din curses, checking the bounty’s pockets for anything of use. All he can find is a small pouch, one Din doesn't open. He pockets it himself and leaves the body behind. 

You're dozing in the cockpit when he returns, Grogu tucked away in his compartment. Din watches you for a moment. You're peaceful when you sleep, so unlike the whirlwind he's come to know. Your smiles and your zeal and your beauty: it all knocks him off-kilter. It's distracting. It's always been. 

Your heart is something he sometimes has trouble contending with. It's so big. It spills through his fingers. He cannot comprehend how a soul like you can settle for blood and space and silence. Selfishness defies the Creed, but it is this one thing that he indulges in: you. 

You stir, mumbling, your eyes peeling open. His footsteps are quiet, but you sense him nonetheless. Your sweet voice makes his name sound like something to be loved. 

“Din?” You rub the heel of your palm into your eye. “‘Dyougetthebounty?”

He shakes his head and produces the pouch from his pocket. “Just this. Bounty was dead.”

You frown, taking the pouch and squishing the contents around over the canvas. “Feels like powder. Was he a spice runner?”

“Gambler,” corrects Din. Your fingers begin to untie the twine that keeps the pouch closed, and his gut rolls with instinct. “Don’t—”

But there’s a small opening at the top once the knot is loose, and a cloud of pale pink powder bursts in your face. 

In your shock, it drops to the floor, but Din lurches forward to catch it, hastily tying the knot that will keep it closed. You begin to cough, standing up and backing into the wall as you try to hack out the powder in your lungs. 

“Shit,” you rasp. “Shit, Din. What the hell was that?”

He shakes his head, crowding you with his body. You know he's assessing you, but the heat of his closeness lights a fire that licks at the ceiling of your brain. “Din,” you croak, blinking hard, “I’m… fine.”

His hand closes around your wrist, and the fire spreads. It's napalm where he touches you, the flame coursing throughout the rest of your body until it singes your nerves. “‘Fresher,” he commands. “Get it off you. Could be dangerous.”

You know it’s the right thing to do, but your body disagrees. A whine slips out of your mouth when he releases you. You’re hot. Your bones are candle wax, your blood lava flowing from molten rock. You need…

You don’t know what you need. 

You break away abruptly from Din and hurry out of the cockpit, scrambling out of your clothes before you can even lock yourself in the ‘fresher. 

You scrub and clean and stick your face in the stream of hot water, but when your hand glides idly down toward your cunt and swipes the washcloth over your clit, your knees buckle. 

Oh. 

You cover your mouth with your free hand when you abandon the washcloth and press your fingers to your clit, rubbing in slow circles that ease the slow drag of flames over your skin—

“Din.”

The fire only roars when you buck your hips in a desperate attempt to deepen the friction. It isn't what you need. It isn’t good enough. 

You need—

“Din.” It's a pathetic, wrecked whisper. One that rattles your brain long after it's left your lips. The ‘fresher dries you off, but your forehead is cool with sweat and your core turns and tightens with the cloying, sickening need you have. 

The powder. It’s the powder. It will not leave your skin. It's infected your bloodstream. You stumble out of the ‘fresher and rush to find Din. Your gut churns with the trembling of alarm bells. You're sick. 

Something is wrong. He knows it the instant his eyes take their fill of your face. You're paler, swaying on your feet, your pupils engulfing your irises. You hold onto the doorway to steady yourself, as if Din isn't already there, catching you around the waist. As if he isn't the only one who can truly right you. 

“Hey.” It's soft, a little panicked, his hand brushing your hair away from your face. “Tell me what's wrong.”

“Don't…” You swallow, trying to look at—or maybe look through —his visor. Your eyes are glassy, unfocused. “Don’t know. I feel…” 

He sees the minute shift of your body toward him, your chest pushing out and your hips seeking contact with his, weapons and all still strapped to his belt. He grasps your hip, kneading the bone gently with his thumb, and the soft whine that slips from your mouth makes him squeeze his eyes shut behind the helmet. 

“Din…”

“Cyar’ika.” 

Between you—neither of you are sure when—a game starts. Your voice is thick, raspy, desperate when you say his name. “Din. I… I think—”

Your eyes flutter shut and he winds an arm around your waist, picking you up and depositing you in his pilot’s seat. You’re hot to the touch even through his gloves. It strikes terror inside him: your lively eyes dark and shrouded, your body quivering, your sweet smile twisted into a grimace of pain as sweat springs to life above your brow. 

He thinks back to the bounty he found dead. Powder in pouches, passed discretely from planet to planet. A drug, most likely. They can dull the senses or heighten them. This one seems to have the latter effect on you, and if your heart continues to beat at the pace it does now to keep time with the rest of your body, it could give out. 

He kneels in front of you, and your eyes meet, your lashes spidery on your flushed cheeks. “Am I sick?” you ask him. 

He nods, honest as ever. “The powder,” he says, surprised by how weak his voice sounds. He needs to be strong for you. He needs to help. His fingers brush your hair out of the way. It’s matted with sweat. “Tell me what you feel.”

Your hands grapple for his shoulders. “I feel hot ,” you whimper, squeezing your thighs together. “I’m—fuck, I’m so hot, Din. Need to…”

When you pull your hands away and tearfully grab at the ties on your pants, he goes blind. “Wait,” he tries, barely above a whisper, but you're pulling off your shirt, shucking off your pants, and your lashes stick together with tears as you pull your panties down your legs. 

He rears back, his cock stiffening in his pants at the sight of your wet cunt, unabashedly bared to him. You're lost in the haze of desire, your entire body trembling and perspiring with the lust that rapidly floods your senses. And yet, it feels senseless and desperate as your fingers dip to your clit and press down. Your hips buck, and he hasn't once torn his eyes away from your core since you presented it to him. 

“‘M sorry, Din,” you cry, one hand squeezing your bare tit as your fingers frantically rub your clit. You're so drenched that you spill onto his seat. His seat. “I can't… I feel like I’m dying.”

You've said things like that before in times of mild inconvenience, but he's always called you dramatic. Now, he's certain you don't have enough of a mind to hyperbolise. You may very well be dying, and his cock is so hard in his pants that he has to refrain from reaching down and squeezing his length to relieve the tension. 

Why can't he move?

A moan, pathetic and mewling, slips past your lips. He's never been more frustrated that he can't kiss you. He needs to grab you everywhere, melt your body into molten steel and shape it the way he wants, burn his lips on your scalding softness. He needs to possess your body. He needs it to take all of him, a shadow swallowing flame. 

And you're reaching for him, the way he now reaches for you. You do not understand what is happening to you. But Din will be good to you. That isn't his job—his job is to keep you alive. But he can do both. He will. 

He thinks he’ll die if he doesn't touch you, too, and he hasn't been assaulted by a faceful of pale pink powder. 

Your body is bare, confronted with all of his armour, and then it’s the cold press of beskar steel to your chest, your stomach, your thighs as he drags you out of the chair and turns you around, replacing you in his seat. You're on his lap, pushing your tits against his chest plate and breathing hard. His visor fogs up when you rest your forehead to his. He keeps you there with his hand cradling the back of your head, cooling you down with his body. 

“Feel me,” he tells you, and it feels like a command, even as his voice comes through the modulator like a prayer. It's soft as your name on his mouth. “You’ll die if you don’t move, cyar’ika.”

Your arms wind around his shoulders as you begin to grind down on his thigh guard. “Din,” you whisper, your brow furrowing in the pleasure of your clit sliding up against that cold steel. “Always… always feel like I’ll die if I don't touch you.”

“Now you're being dramatic,” he huffs, his helmet tipping back to get a better view of you. You're a vision, the movement of your hips mesmerising as you take pleasure in his warrior’s steel. Your lips are parted, a perpetual picture of desire, your body heat spiking in his thermal reader. 

He cannot grasp enough of you in his hands, so he holds you in place around your ribs while his other hand brushes over your hard nipples. You gasp at the touch, back arching and chest pushing toward him. Your cunt soaks his thigh guard, your body heat blurring the clear reflection in his armour as you burn and writhe on top of your Mandalorian. He’s so hard it aches, but watching you take pleasure from him is worth delaying his own gratification. The Creed propounds patience.

And yet, his fingers dig into the spaces between your ribs, watching your lungs expand beneath your skin. He watches you as if he wants to dissect you, spread you open, display your delicate bones for him to see. He needs to know that they are unbroken. He needs to ensure that you never know pain again. 

“Oh, Din,” you moan, grinding hard and fast on his thigh, your voice syrupy and breathless. He pinches your nipple and you gasp, the air pushing out against his visor and expanding your ribs beneath his hand. It's fascinating: knowing he can make you feel like this without shedding a scrap of his armour. 

You want all of him, all the time. You don't need skin to find it. He is this . The warrior beneath you, connected through generations to the steel he wears, unwavering in his beliefs and his strength. He is the armour as much as he is the man beneath it, the face you've never seen. You're just fine with that. 

“Take what you need,” he says, his voice pitching up a little through the modulator. Your mouth drops open and your head falls back, your chest pushing out even more. His cock twitches in his pants. “That's— nnh, that’s my girl.”

Ice water douses you as you come. Your body is electric; every touch, every wisp of air caresses your body like cold fire, sensitive and overstimulated even as the pain returns. Your scent envelops him. It's sweet and tangy. Your cunt has soaked his thigh guard, dripping over your own thighs, making a mess of yourself. Your lips find a spot just above his visor and rest there in a half-kiss, panting his name. 

“It hurts,” comes your soft cry. 

His heart cleaves in two. “I know. I know.” He’s grabbing at you desperately now, gritting his teeth when he kneads your ass but can't feel your soft skin behind his damned gloves. 

“You have to…” A shudder racks you, and you begin to clamber off him. “I’ll go. I’m… I’m sorry. Never should have—”

“Stop.”

And you do. His command washes over you like glass, sharp. It cuts incisions into the doubt that creeps in until all that's left is the debilitating need for something to satiate the fire. 

“You’ll die,” he tells you, his hands firm at your back, keeping you close. You’re straddling him, your thighs bracketing his. “If you don't take…” 

His forehead finds yours again. “Take. I want you… to take.” At his last words, his fingers slide leisurely down your body and two of them drag through your slit. 

“Oh.” You can only moan, clutching his pauldrons as he stokes the flame with his fingers pressed firmly to your clit. The scrape of the leather is delicious when he begins to rub them in circles. “Can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he urges. “Just look at me.” 

Your eyes slide up toward his visor, peering through your lashes into that black nothing, picturing eyes staring right back at you. He is watching you. He's breathing just as heavily from the aphrodisiac that is touching you. Just touching you. 

“Pretty,” he grunts, his helmet sliding along your cheek. “You're so— pretty.”

You mewl, warm water he can cup in his palm. His fingers work your clit until you seize, your body shattering. He does not relent when he feels the gush of warmth from your cunt, because he knows it isn't over. His gloved fingers, soaked with your wetness, make a squelching noise when they disappear inside your needy hole. You suck them in eagerly, your moan long and low as his palm drags against your too-sensitive clit. 

If it were any other person on the planet grasping at his cowl the way you do now, he would shoot off their fingers. But it is you, and you're just trying to hold on, to keep him close as he helps you through your sickness. He's stunned by the affection in your eyes, the reverence in your gaze despite the poison dancing atop your pretty skin. You want this as much as you always have. The circumstances are different, but it's you: the same woman he gets to indulge in. You're sweeter than the first breath of air when he finds solitude and takes off his helmet. You're the last gulp of freshness before he puts it back on. 

“Please,” you gasp, not sure what you're begging for. More of him, probably. 

He understands. His thumb rubs your clit until you come again. Your cry is delicious and clicking with saliva. “Easy,” he says softly as your hips buck against him, your body listing in pleasure before he steadies you. Always steadying you. “Take it easy.”

“Need more,” you gasp, your eyes falling to where his fingers pull out of you with an obscene sucking sound. “Din. Please.”

“Take me out,” he grunts. “Go on.”

You’re hasty and trembling in your rush to unbutton his pants, and it would be endearing if not for the constant reminder of the sweat on your brow, your skin that’s scalding to the touch. He's a firm and guiding hand. Always. He's there to catch you. 

You reach into his pants and pull out his cock, stiff and leaking. Spurts of precum stain the polished steel of his breastplate. Your mouth waters with the need to taste him but it's his hand squeezing your thigh that reminds you, through the haze of desire, that you need to take him. 

Clutching his cowl, you lift your hips and sink down on his cock. 

Din’s whole body jerks with the swiftness of your movement, how easily your hot, wet cunt sucks in his whole length in your desperation. He groans, cracked and high-pitched, bruising your hips with his thumbs. Your head falls forward at the first roll of your body, pressing yourself so tightly to him that your thighs tremble with the effort of holding yourself up. “Relax,” he whispers into your ear. The cold steel nudges your cheek to rest on him, and you do. 

Having his hard, twitching cock buried inside you is a balm to the fire licking your skin, but it isn't enough. You need to move, you need his fingers, you need him everywhere, all at once. It won't stop until—

You don't know. 

Maybe you will die here, knowing nothing but the need for him. But he's lifting his hand to your face and cupping your cheek, and you know he will not let it happen. 

“Hold onto me,” he says. 

What else can you do but obey?

He moves with your cunt still swallowing his cock, depositing you on your back on the floor, hard and cool and uncomfortable. The show of strength makes you whine his name. Din manhandles your thighs around his hips and shoves his cock so deep that the tip pummels your cervix. 

Your cry is sharp and tears are filling your eyes with the relief of having him buried inside you. Your fingers wrap around the bars of the grate on the floor as he establishes a rhythm, fucking you into the metal without a shred of mercy. It's exactly what you need. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” is vaguely what he hears from your mouth over the roar of blood in his ears. His eyes dip to where you connect. Your cunt seals around his thick cock, your slick leaking out around him and forcing filthy noises from your joined bodies with every smack of his hips into your thighs. 

“Din, oh, yes.” It’s bright and blinding when you say his name, your core tightening as your head tips back and your cunt clenches down around him. 

He doesn't once stop fucking you into the floor even when your orgasm wreaks havoc on your entire body. “Din!” you sob, grasping for his shoulders and failing, your hands falling back to the grate underneath you. 

Your chest is beautifully flushed, the colour returning to your skin, but you aren't finished. Neither is he. 

He pulls out only to turn you around, forcing you onto your hands and knees and swiftly sliding back inside your hot, tight cunt. “Nnnhh,” is the sound you hear through his modulator, rough and coarse as he fucks you from behind. You aren't much more articulate, but he's perfectly content to hear you moan in the shape of his name. 

His grip on your body is relentless, the pounding of his hips against like small shockwaves as he sucks the fever from your marrow. At some point, your hands slip, crashing onto your elbows. Your knees scrape against the grate and your body is shoved into the floor. You smell the tang of metal and your own arousal smearing against him. He tears another orgasm from your body without even touching your clit and continues to fuck you hard, your cum making it easier for him to slide inside you. 

Your throat clicks and your mouth will not close, a pleasure-touched frown perpetually creasing the space between your brows. Your eyes try to find his visor, but they slip to the back of your head when he grinds deep, the leaking head of his cock prodding your spongy front wall. 

“Din,” you croak, ruined even as your body still seeks him in your feverish need. “Wish… wish I could—”

“Me too.” His hand finds your shoulder blades, pushing down, pressing and insisting until your upper half lowers to the ground. Your cheek slides against the floor panels and it's humiliating and filthy, but it’s cool. Relieving. 

“Need…” You swallow around your groan, your hips wriggling in your need to be impossibly closer. “Need to come.”

You're so pliant and keen on this position, your cunt soaking him over and over as he bends you to satisfy the merciless demands your body gives you. It's working. So well, in fact, that he's so close to coming he can barely see through the blur of tears in his eyes. You look so beautiful, the shape of your body something made to be worshipped as your ass arches up toward him. Your hair is a mess and your body is rubbed raw from the wandering of his gloves. He gets to have you. It’s him, and no one else, who sees you like this… who makes you like this. 

“I know, cyar’ika. I know. You feel—ngh, you feel so good. My pretty girl.” He’s the only thing holding you up now, one strong arm snaking around your waist to rub your clit. “Give it to me. C’mon, save your life.”

You begin to shake from the overstimulation, your thighs squeezing together. Din shoves them apart with his own and bears down harder on your body, covering you with it as his fingers work you faster. You can't think, speak, see, hear. You can't do anything but reach blindly backward to hold onto something as you come harder than you knew was possible. 

Your fingers find his utility belt and hook into one of the loops, burying your face into your other arm. Din groans behind you, you think. You're clamping down on his cock with the force of your orgasm, gushing around him and sucking him in so deep he wouldn't dream of exiting your body. 

And he doesn't. His helmet is slick and cool between your shoulder blades as he makes a cacophony of raspy groans in your ear, his cock twitching and pulsing as he drowns your cunt in thick cum. It's that rush of liquid heat which finally douses the flames. Your body melts, your thighs so weak that even he cannot hope to hold them up. 

You both slip to the floor together, his arm shooting out to stop himself from crushing you. He rolls you into your side, his cock slipping out of you. He lands on his back, panting loud enough for the modulator to pick it up, and hastily tucks his spent cock into his pants. You hear the intermittent splatter of his cum onto the floor. Neither of you move, but he watches the gleam of sweat on your chest as it heaves. The haze in your eyes finally clears. 

“Cyar’ika.”

“Mmmmdin,” you mumble, your eyes closing. 

He holds your chin and turns your head to the side to look at him. “Give me your name.”

You tell him. 

“Now mine.”

Your blink is slow and sleepy. “Din Djarin.”

“Good.” He rests his forehead on yours, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “You're okay.”

You nod faintly. “I’m okay.”

You try to cling to consciousness by staring into his visor, picturing the eyes he's told you are brown. You picture his brown hair, you picture his mouth, and you picture it producing the sound of your name. Your body cools, the pressure uncoiling, the sweat dissolving. There's colour in your face and he can see the map in your irises again. He loves to trace the shapes inside them with his eyes. 

“I never thanked you.”

In your heavy-lidded, half-asleep daze, you draw shapes over his breastplate, where his heart is. “Hmm?”

His hand covers yours. “For saving my life.”

You manage to prop yourself up on your elbow and capture his visor in your gaze. “You should try things my way sometime,” you tell him with the wicked grin that he thinks about when he closes his eyes. “You always say to know when to shoot. I know when not to.” Your brows lift expectantly. “So tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“How grateful you are.”

Din chuckles, his helmet making a faint clank against the floor. “You're my hero.”

You roll your eyes and tuck yourself back into his side. “We’ll work on the attitude.”

#pedro pascal #kiwisbell's fics #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #grogu #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin smut

[decembermidnight]

Ner Mircet'ad (My Slave)

Summary: The Mandalorian breaks into the Imperial safehouse where you're held captive and kidnaps you to use you as his slave... and you're not complaining. Kinktober 2023 special

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ mdni, CNC, kidnapping, handcuffs, use of gag, bondage, dom!Din, sub!reader, unprotected sex (p in v), oral (m receiving), tease and denial, edging (m and f), creampie, cumplay, degradation kink, Mando'a speaking kink, dirty talk, face slapping, glove kink

A/N: Happy Kinktober! Here's my contribution! This should have been a fantasy of the reader in another story but I got a little carried away and it became its own oneshot. I'm feral about how it turned out. See below for Mando'a translations. I hope you enjoy it!

Divider: @saradika-graphics

You only saw him a few hours before, when he entered the Imperial safehouse where you’re held captive, forced to work as a scientist at the facility.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him - tall, broad shoulders, mysterious, a dark and raspy voice that made you melt in an instant. You have heard he’s one of the best bounty hunters in the outer rim. He acted disdainful towards the Imperials, pointing his rifle at them as soon as he perceived a hint of menace.

You looked at him completely entranced the whole time, devouring him with your eyes. You noticed he tilted his helmet towards you more than once, and felt his hunter gaze scouting your figure as he barely paid attention to the Imperial officer talking to him.

When he left, you felt the urge to immediately go touch yourself.

You locked the lab door behind you and slipped your hand in your panties. You sighed when you reached your slit and felt you were drenched at the mere thought of him. You started circling your fingers around your swollen clit and rested your head against the steel door behind you. Your mouth let out a groan too loud and instinctively your free hand went covering it to muffle how much thinking about the Mandalorian warrior was getting you off.

You let your body slide down until you were kneeling on the floor with your legs spread open. You thought of how hot his masculine voice would sound moaning your name while you’d be on your knees sucking his cock. You circled your clit in a frenzy, trying to be as silent as possible, but the wet noises of your arousal were betraying you. You thought of his heavy, thick body on yours, of how hard he’d fuck you, of him panting in your ear. Those thoughts drove you over the edge and felt the hot spark of the orgasm setting you aflame. You squeezed your eyes shut and had to hold your breath as that hot wave of pleasure was traversing your whole body, reducing you to a weak, trembling mess collapsed on the lab floor.

The very same night he comes for you.

He breaks into the safehouse, exterminating everyone in it, mercilessly, using his huge rifle, and then he opens the door to your room and finds you there, laying in your bed, still half asleep, scared and disoriented by all the noise, dressed only in a light nightgown.

In a second he is on you, his heavy armoured body is preventing you from moving. You do not even attempt to resist him, you stay completely still and carefully observe every action he does.

He’s holding both of your wrists in the tight grip of one of his hands, as the other one rummages in his utility belt to take out handcuffs, which he immediately uses on you.

You feel a tingle of excitement as his fingers slowly loosen their grasp and start to lightly trail down your naked arm, until they reach your neckline, where they delicately pull the fabric of your dress down to free one of your breasts.

He admires your hardened nipple, tilting his helmet sideways as his middle finger gently brushes it, drawing circles around it. You sigh at the tender touch of the leather against your sensitive skin, and when he hears that sound, his inscrutable visor immediately jerks towards your face, to look at your aroused expression.

To your disappointment, his hand stops touching your nipple, goes back to his utility belt and takes out a piece of cloth with which he gags you - not because he needs to prevent you from screaming and pleading for your life, no. You immediately realise that he’s turned on by it - treating you like one of his preys, hunting you, kidnapping you, making you his. The thought of it gets you more and more aroused the more this unspoken, borderline wicked dynamic plays between the two of you.

He then picks you up from your bed and carries you on his shoulder like his trophy through the dark, desert streets of Nevarro, all the way back to his ship, where he lays your body down on the cold steel floor and fixes your handcuffed hands to the bottom rung of the ladder leading to the cockpit.

He kneels before you and rips your thin clothes off with his hands, rabid and longing, making you gasp in arousal at that vulgar display of strength, and looks at your naked body and at the marvellous way it responds to him, so eager at the thought of being owned by him.

When his hands start to touch your body and you feel the leather of his gloves against your skin, you let out a deep, muffled moan and pathetically try to follow his movements with your body, craving for more contact.

He indulges on your breasts, tender and soft, groping and squeezing them. His touch is unexpectedly delicate, and you carefully follow it with your eyes, seeing the way he makes you simmer as he takes all the time he wants to reduce you to a whimpering mess.

He plays with your nipples, feeling how hard they get with just the brush of his fingers circling them, making them hard and stiff.

Use me. Use me. Use me. You beg for him with your muffled voice and body language.

His hands then trail down to your soft belly and round hips. He caresses and squeezes your feminine curves, longing for the moment when he'll finally dig his fingers into them while using you for his pleasure.

You can’t help spreading your legs for him, letting him have a look at your glistening core, already so wet for him, warm and inviting. He lets out a low, guttural hum when he sees how yearning and desperate you are for his touch, knowing his painfully slow teasing is working wonders on you.

His fingers trail so close to your wet folds, and the whimpering noises you make are absolutely pathetic as he taunts you, softly brushing your inner thighs and outer lips without touching your most sensitive spot yet. Your breathing gets laboured as he gets close to your clit and barely brushes it, teasing you, making you stutter with a brief, imperceptible touch, only to proceed down your slit and slide two fingers inside of you, making you arch your back in pleasure, moaning as loud as you can as you clench around them.

"You like this, don't you?" he asks as he takes out his fingers, completely soaking wet. He seems so pleased as he admires the leather of his gloves glistening in your arousal.

"Go on. Taste yourself on my fingers." he ungags you as he pushes them inside your mouth.

You obediently suck his fingers, gently licking them with your tongue, tasting the salty of your arousal, the bitterness of the leather and the faint metallic taste left by his guns. You look at him with lustful eyes right in his visor as your tongue swirls around his fingers, letting him know with your gestures that you'd suck his cock any time he wants, that all you care for in the galaxy is just to give him pleasure.

He hums in satisfaction, thinking of the way your sweet mouth will welcome his cock, how far it'll go into your throat, and how badly he wants to cover your pretty face in cum.

He takes out his fingers from your mouth and gags you once again. After that, he stands up and goes to his well-stocked armoury, taking some ropes out and coming back kneeling between your legs. He spreads them even more open, to the limit, and enjoys the view of your achingly needy cunt, drawing a few circles on your clit with his thumb, driving you insane as he looks at you whimpering and rolling your hips towards him.

He starts by tying each of your legs to the same ladder where your hands are, so that it’s impossible for you to close them. After that, he patiently wraps a rope around each of them, tying your thigh and ankle together, immobilising you, so you’re always available, at his mercy, any time he wants, and the thought of that gets you even more aroused. You’re drenched by now, you feel your sleek coating your inner thigh and dripping on the floor below you. Maker, you've never been this wet in your life, ever.

He looks at your helpless body, trailing his gloved fingers on your inner thigh, making you feel leather against your skin once again, rejoicing in the fact that you can’t move, making you quiver with lust as he smirks under that damn helmet seeing that you are so wet for him. He sees the way you react to his body, to his dick, to his touch, and Stars, he is so turned on by that.

He unfastens his utility belt and unzips his pants to finally take out his big, thick cock. It's throbbing and veiny and its tip is deliciously red and glistening in precum. You mewl just looking at it, feeling your walls clench in anticipation.

He immediately starts sliding it painfully slowly between your folds and it’s fucking debilitating after all of that excruciating teasing. You arch your back while moaning hysterically, begging for more as your eyes uncontrollably cross as you try to keep your gaze on his tip teasing your aching cunt. He keeps rubbing, keeps rubbing it on your clit and you feel so close already, and right when your body starts shaking in preparation for the imminent orgasm, he stops, taking it away from you, and starts stroking himself at the sight of you - so desperate for his cock, getting off from your agony. He gropes the soft flesh of your thighs and keeps giving himself pleasure in front of you. You can barely hear him panting under the helmet and oh, damn, he sounds even hotter than you’d imagined. It's such a pleasurable torture to be forced to look at him without being able to do anything, to hear the wet sounds of him fucking his fist so close to you when you wish you were the one who makes him feel so good.

He gives one last squeeze to his cock, letting a drop of precum out, then he slides his tip inside of you, making you roll your head back, sighing at the feeling of having him inside of you, finally.

When he feels how welcoming and hot you are, he groans in pleasure. His raspy voice makes you clench around him. He feels how tight you get when your muscles clench, and he lets out a barely audible curse.

He takes it out and immediately slides it back in, just the tip, just to play with you, to tease you, to get you on the verge of your orgasm and who knows, maybe he won't give it to you. You're at his mercy, you have to accept anything he's willing to give you. Will he make you come? Will he fuck your pussy, or will he just tease you like that indefinitely, leaving you crying and begging for him, as he gets off in your frustration, covering your body in his cum?

He goes on tormenting you like that for what feels like forever. A long, pleasurable torment where you desperately beg for him to put it back in everytime. Your whole body is shaking at the cruel game he's playing with you.

You wonder what he looks like. You bet he's handsome and he's smirking sadistically under that helmet, getting off from your desperation. His body exudes sexuality and confidence, his voice is deep and sensual - he is hot for sure.

He puts his tip in one more time, but now he's pushing all his shaft inside of you, and he's looking at your tearful eyes and how they widen in wonder when you feel him sliding slowly inside of you - deep, so deep, like you've never been fucked before, making you feel owned, marked, his property, his. He knows how good his cock is making you feel and that you'll never be fucked this good by anyone else in the galaxy.

He can't help sighing at how tight you are, and he sounds so hot when he does. You're so wet, the obscene sounds of him sliding in and out of you fill the hull of the ship. He's grabbing your legs, thrusting deep and slow, his head leaned back, completely sinking into the pleasure that is fucking you, controlling you, owning you.

When he picks up the pace, he starts cursing in a foreign language, gasping and groaning at the way your walls clench around his cock.

“Bid pel bal piryc par ni.” he growls in between sighs. He sounds even hotter when he speaks what you assume is his native language. There's something about the way that ancient language of warriors sounds that fits him and his husky voice so well. You don't understand a word, but you can tell by how pleased his voice sounds that he's praising you and the way you feel around him. You too are enjoying his cock so much. Maker, the pleasure he is providing you with is one you’ve never felt before. You’re forced to take him in any way he wants, completely subjugated by him and his desires, and it’s so perverse and thrilling that you’re already addicted to it.

You feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he thrusts into you, hitting your clit at just the perfect angle, building your pleasure gradually, until you feel on the edge - your breathing is getting laboured, your body starts to shake, you’re just there… but he takes it out and you feel like you’ve been robbed of air from your lungs.

You're so desperate, your whole body is shaking, your handcuffs rattle against the ladder behind you in protest and you let out cries. You must look pretty pathetic to him, who is enjoying the sight of your desperation and the sound of you whimpering by viciously stroking his cock in front of you, letting you see and hear how wet you've made it, his helmet is cold and won't betray any emotion. You can only arch your back and roll your hips begging for him to put his cock back into you.

When he's satisfied and has seen you beg for him enough, he slides it back in, the both of you moaning at the same time at the feeling. He immediately picks up his rhythm and grips your throat in his hand, forcing you to look at him while he’s choking you.

"Mircet'ad." he growls as he thrusts into you. "Ner mircet'ad" rasps again.

You look at him, not sure about what it means, but his voice is hot like lava against your skin as he speaks that foreign language.

"Yes, that's what you are. Do you know what it means? I want you to. It means slave. My slave. Ner mircet'ad. That's the only way I'll be calling you."

He made a point of what you are to him - nothing more than a sex slave that he will use when he comes back after his hunts, to let off steam after catching his quarries. Bounty hunting is tough, and you'll be his relief, something warm and giving always waiting for him with open arms and legs and that will make him feel so, so good any time he wants. His Mircet'ad. That word keeps echoing in your head and you drench yourself at that thought. He feels the way you're spasming around him and how aroused that made you.

"Do you like being called like that, little whore? You like being used?" he wraps his hands around your throat even tighter.

You nod as you look at him with needy, lustful eyes.

When he sees that, he goes crazy and just starts jackhammering you, digging his fingers in your hips as leverage, making you lose control over your mind and body, completely overwhelmed by the way he's fucking you brainless.

"What a fucking slut. Feel how wet you get when I call you my slave. Fuck, you’re such a whore. Wanted to fuck you so badly since I saw you. Do you think I didn't notice the way you were looking at me, whore? Made me walk out of there rock hard, thinking of the things I'd do to you. Gonna fucking wreck your pretty cunt. You feel so good, ner mircet’ad." his voice alone could make you come, and you both feel the way your pussy reacts to him, uncontrollable spasms of excitement that further add to the already overwhelming pleasure, hoping he maintains that promise.

He takes it out again when he feels you're on the edge. And again, your body begs for him. You know he's enjoying seeing his slave begging for him.

"Fuck. Killed so many people to fuck this little pussy. Let me enjoy it. Let me hear how much you want my cock." he pants as he looks at you.

Your back arches and you let out desperate moans as the hand wrapping your throat grips your jaw instead, blocking your face in that position, letting him look at your face.

"Beg for it like the needy slave that you are." he lowers the gag from your mouth.

"P-please, please put it back in. I want your dick inside of my pussy. Please, I need it." you let out in a pleading voice on the verge of tears.

"Hmm. Go on. What do you want me to do to you?"

"Anything you want. I am your whore. I'm here to please you. I want you to wreck me and fill me with your cum. I want to come on your dick so badly, so fucking badly, please! I want you to make me scream until I beg you to stop. I want to give it to you any time you want and hurt for days. I want you to use me, please! I want to be your slav-"

He slaps you in the face, stopping that flow of obscenities from coming out of your mouth.

"You are my slave." he snarls as he grips your jaw tighter, bringing your face so close to his helmet. You look at him right in his visor, so heavily aroused by the rough way he's handling you, asserting his dominance and ownership. You are his slave. His slave. The thought of it sends a thrill of arousal down your spine and turns you on so much.

"What a filthy little mouth you have. Let me use it before we're done." he growls as he takes a good look at you.

"Damn you're pretty. Wanna ruin this beautiful face. Look at these perfect lips. Can't wait to see them wrapped around my cock." he says while tracing your lips with his thumb.

He positions himself over you, with his dick right in front of your face and you can't help elongating your neck towards it, sticking out your tongue to lick the salty slick of your arousal from its shaft, making him grunt as he feels how hot and velvety your tongue is.

"Yes, yes, lick it. Feel how wet you've made it, ner mircet'ad." he slides his wet cock inside your mouth and you welcome it, brushing it with your tongue, tasting yourself on him, adoring it.

He gasps at the feeling and goes on sliding all of his length in. You take it in greedily, keeping your gaze on his visor. He pushes it in your throat without resistance on your side. The Mandalorian is amazed at the way you take his cock.

"What a greedy whore you are. You want it all, don't you?"

You moan at that, sending vibrations to his cock, making him throb and choke a sigh as his hand grips tight to the ladder.

He loses it completely at how obedient you are and starts thrusting into your throat, making you feel used like an object for his own pleasure - you can feel by the way he's panting that he's loving it… and you are, too. When he takes it out it’s completely drenched in your saliva, and he grabs you by the hair and looks at you.

"Ner mircet'ad, I knew your mouth would be perfect. You take my dick so good. All of it, deep in your throat. Good girl, you deserve to be fucked so hard." he praises you, then he positions himself once again kneeling in front of you, lifting the gag over your mouth.

He grabs his cock in his hand and slowly slides it back inside of your desperate, throbbing cunt, letting you feel every inch of him.

"Oh, fuck, you take it so good" he lets out in a low, pleased whisper.

He immediately starts to rail you once he's buried deep inside of you, making you uncontrollably moan and tremble.

"Bet you never had a cock this good. No one's ever fucked you like I am right now. Gonna give it to you anytime I want, and you'll be taking me like the fucking whore that you are, ner mircet'ad." he buries his cock deep inside of you and he stops, as he’s close to his own orgasm this time. He’s panting and shaking as he grips tight to the ladder with both of his hands, towering over you with his broad figure. You can see the outline of his biceps from under the thick layers of duraweave and Maker, it's such a delightful view. You roll your hips against his so as not to stop stimulation, moaning provocatively. It’s so good, you don’t want him to stop just now.

“S-stop it.” he grunts as you keep moving your hips, disobeying him, getting even more aroused by the way his voice sounds when he's restraining himself.

“Fuck. Greedy slave, you want all of my cum, don’t you? You want me to fill you up and drain me, to be my cum slut, huh? If you k-keep moving like this I’ll - I’ll - fuck” he lets his dick slip out of you with the very last inch of self control he has left. His whole body is trembling and he is panting as you beg for him with your muffled voice.

“Fuck, you’re a temptress. An insatiable slave. A fucking cocksucking, cum addicted whore. Stars above, if you want it so badly, I’m gonna give it to you. You make me want to fuck you so hard and fill you so deep. Damn, take it.” he puts it back in and starts to rail you at a debilitating rhythm, making you shake your legs out of lust and roll your eyes because of the pleasure.

"Shit. I'm so close" he grunts as you look at him with pleading eyes, making your handcuffed hands rattle on the ladder.

"Do you want me to make you come, mircet'ad?"

You frantically nod your head.

"Yeah - bet you did. I will make you come. If you ever make it out alive from my ship, I wouldn't want you to say that the Mandalorian didn't satisfy you. It would be bad, wouldn't it?"

You keep nodding your head, feeling your cunt throbbing with need and lust at the thought.

"Get ready, I know you're close."

The angle at which his cock is hitting your clit is sending you to heaven, just as the thought of him restraining from his own orgasm to give one to you first.

"Let me hear you. Let me hear how fucking good I'm making you come" he finally frees you from your gag and you can finally let him hear your desperate, loud moans.

A few more thrusts of his thick cock inside of you and you feel the devastating force of the orgasm blazing through your body, making you burst. Finally, after a never-ending edging torture, he lets you come. From the position you're forced in, with your legs completely spread open, the power of your orgasm seems even more shattering than ever, nothing like you've ever experienced before. You can feel your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his cock, making him grunt as you let out the hottest, headiest moans he's ever heard.

"Fuck. F-fuck. How can you feel so good?! M-maker you're tight. Fuck. Killing me. G-going to fill you. Fill you with my cum. N-now. My slave. F-fucking mine." he snarls and fills you with his hot load, his cock pumping it deep and hard inside of you as you groan loudly and sensually and won't stop looking at him. He tries to muffle his own moans by gritting his teeth, and Maker, he sounds even hotter when he gives up, letting those heady moans out, losing control, wholly abandoning himself to that overwhelming pleasure. He grips tight to the ladder with both of his hands, preventing his body from collapsing on yours, burying his cock deep inside of you as you both slowly come down from your high.

“I’m your slave.” you softly whisper in your post orgasmic haze, smiling.

"Ni gar mircet'ad" he teaches you. He trails his fingers on your mouth and you kiss them sweetly, looking at him in the visor.

“Ni gar mircet'ad, Mando” you repeat in a sweet, tender voice.

“Gar serim, ner mircet’ad. So fucking hot when you speak Mando’a to me.” he lightly wraps his hand your throat once again.

"You too." you reply.

"Oh, you like it when I speak Mando'a to you?" he lets his hand trail all over your body, making you sigh when it stops between your legs and starts rubbing your clit.

"Yes. So hot. You're so hot." you go on praising him in between moans as he picks up the rhythm of his fingers.

"'lek, ner aikiyc mircet'ad, k'olar tug'yc par ni bat ni cere. Come for me again on my fingers." the sound of his dark voice, sweetly whispering those words while touching your clit drives you wild and you can't help obeying his order, coming again after a few rubs of your clit, so unbelievably aroused by that. His visor is locked on you, on your eyes that uncontrollably cross and roll because of the pleasure, on your mouth letting out filthy sounds of pleasure, all while he keeps speaking his native language throughout your orgasm, encouraging you.

"'lek. 'lek. Jate, ner mircet'ad. Bid mesh'la. K'olar par ni."

After that second orgasm you feel completely debilitated and just collapse, exhausted but so, so satisfied.

When he slips out of you, he enjoys seeing your exposed cunt slowly leaking his cum out, wrecked and still spasming in aftershock. He uses his cock to gather all the seed that escaped from you and push it back inside of your hole. When he’s done, he looks at you in the face, his cock is still hard.

“Will you clean it for me, mircet'ad?” asks gently as you have already opened your mouth wide open for him.

“Good girl.” says as he slides his cock in your mouth. You taste both of your orgasms in your mouth and hum, sucking it avidly and licking it clean.

“Damn you’re perfect” says as he tucks his softening cock back into his pants.

"So hot when you come for me. Taking my cock like a hungry whore. I will keep you here on my ship. You'll be my slave. No one except for me will ever lay one finger on you. You belong to me now. You're my property.” he tells you as he frees you from the handcuffs and ropes. You swear you are so tired you could fall asleep right there, right now, but he picks you up in his arms and lays you down in a cot - his cot, you will learn later.

Translations:

I have used mandocreator.com as reference.

- Bid pel bal piryc par ni = So soft and wet for me

- Gar serim = Yes, that's right

- 'lek, ner aikiyc mircet'ad, k'olar tug'yc par ni bat ni cere = Yeah, my desperate slave, come for me again on my fingers

- 'lek. 'lek. Jate, ner mircet'ad. Bid mesh'la. K'olar par ni. = Yeah, yeah. Good, my slave. So beautiful. Come for me.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin smut #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din x reader #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian smut #mandalorian x female reader #decembermidnight #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x female character #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando #mandalorian #din x you #star wars smut #pedro pascal smut #smut #smut oneshot #female reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #din x female reader

[skellymom]

"Bring Me To My Knees" PART 1

Crosshair/Hunter x Reader Non Gendered SMUT++

Dividers by the talented: @saradika and @4ngelic-wh1spers

Background: Reader and Crosshair are separated from the group during the rescue of Omega and Tech from Mt Tantiss. Two broken people trying to get by in the galaxy. Then two broken people finally dealing with what happened to their group.

Word Count: 2.3K

Warning: Star Wars Canon violence, angst, sadness, crying, guilt, stuff blowing up, swearing, kissing, intercourse, heavy petting, hair pulling kink, smutty/lemony content, lovers triangle with Hunter and Crosshair.

FOR CLARITY, THERE IS A HUNTER FLASHBACK SMUT SCENE IN THIS CHAPTER. THE CROSSHAIR SMUT SCENE IS IN CHAPTER 2. Broke this up in 2 chapters because I just couldn't stop writing...and 4K might be too much for one sitting.

*YES! I know Mesh'la is Mando'a speak for beautiful. However, I personally think it sounds pretty sexy when someone uses it while going to Pound Town. I like it better than baby, honey, girl, boy, lover, whatever. My personal kink. If you aren't caught up, there's a whole Tumblr discussion about if the Clones would even use this language. PLEASE just let me have this one word. Thanks.

I purposely wrote the reader in this fic to be of no specific gender. Tried to carefully craft the sexual scenes to accommodate either gender/non gendered/trans/genderfluid/non-binary. Everyone has hills, valleys, sexual organs, nipples, and erogenous zones. I wrote them into the story, but it's up to you dear reader to put your imagination to work. Hope I have done a good enough job that you can enjoy yourself with Hunter and Crosshair without breaking immersion!

Explosions and blaster fire filled the air as you, Phee Genoa, and The Batch escaped Mt Tantiss.  Wrecker led the charge, firing away and punching imps.  Phee behind him with a group of prisoners she freed from the facility.  Hunter, his arm around Tech who was barely able to walk, blaster out firing.  You and Omega supported Crosshair bringing up the rear of the group. 

The Empire attempted to lock down the facility, engaging all doors on every level.  Hunter got Tech past them as they started to close.  

He turned with Tech in tow to shout, “Y/N, Omega, bring Crosshair!  Hurry!!!” 

You and Omega would never make it with the slow progress Cross was making.  Grabbing Omega and with a healthy heft, you slid her across the highly polished flooring.  She barely exited past the threshold just as the doors closed.   

The last thing you and Crosshair saw was Omega loudly protesting while Hunter grabbed the back of her tunic to yank her out of the way.  And the look of total panic on Hunter’s face. 

“Leave me.”  Crosshair weakly slumped against the steel hallway wall. 

“SHUT UP!  Too late for that!!!”  You grabbed Cross’ arm and attempted to pull him up. 

He refused to move.  You were warned he might be difficult. 

“GET UP NOW YOU FUCKING MOP!!!”  Viciously kicking his upper thigh in heated frustration. 

That got his attention.  Crosshair’s head flicked up.  Anger in his eyes. 

You grabbed the front of his tunic with both hands, hefting him up, spitting with rage “I’M NOT DYING HERE!  GET UP YOU UNGRATEFUL ASSHOLE!!!” 

He managed to stand with his arm around your shoulders.  Pulling your blaster.  “How do we get out of here?” 

“How should I know?  Been locked up all this time.” 

“KRIFF!  Knew I threw the wrong person under the door!!!” 

“Didn’t ask YOU to save me.” 

You gritted your teeth and shot the control panel to the door the rest of The Batch disappeared through.  The doors managed to only open a few feet.  You literally stuffed Crosshair into the gap.  His protests were muted by the sound of screams and explosions.  He got stuck halfway through, then you put a foot in his ass and pushed.  He popped through falling into a crouch on the floor.  

“You’re INSANE!” 

“YES!  KEEP MOVING!!!” 

Running up to Cross, you grabbed the back of his tunic and pulled him to his feet.  Both of you ran across the hangar bay.  The Marauder and Phee’s ship were gone.  You weren’t upset, they HAD to leave in a hurry.  It was total chaos.  

You both made a beeline for the first empty Imperial ship available.  Entering, you slid into the pilot’s seat and put up the gangplank.  Then commenced firing on every non-friendly that approached.  Some of the other Imperial ships got caught in the crossfire, exploding dramatically.  Crosshair buckled himself into the co-pilot's chair. 

As your ship left the hangar, two fighters followed in hot pursuit.  You kept the craft low and entered the thick forest, shooting down trees in your path.  Crosshair held onto his seat white knuckled. 

“You’re going to get us killed!” 

“Got any better ideas, Fly Boy?  We’re sitting ducks out in the open.” 

He shut up and held on. 

One ship pulled away from pursuit.    

The other followed.  You kept firing, making a path to evade your pursuer.   

He didn’t last long. One tree you felled, dragged another with it as you passed.  It caught its wing, flinging the ship to the forest floor, exploding brightly behind you. 

Pulling the craft up out of the forest, you ascended... 

...where the other Imperial fighter sat waiting! 

Close enough to see its pilot in the cockpit, waiting to open fire. 

The end of the line. Crosshair inhaled sharply.   

The ship exploded suddenly.  And your craft flew through the fiery remains. 

“Didn’t think I’d leave you?” Hunter’s voice came over the comm. 

You nearly burst into tears of joy.  “Oh, THANK STARS!” 

“Let’s get out of here!  Echo’s sending jump coordinates...” You immediately heard blaster fire over their comm. The transmission broke up. 

“HUNTER???”   

Static.  “...ing to...GO!  Can you hea...” More static.  Comm went dead.  Nothing. 

“HUNTER!  HUNTER...COME IN!!!  CAN YOU HEAR ME???” 

Crosshair shot you a horrified glance. 

The little bit you could discern, your Sergeant’s orders were to leave the planet immediately.  What if they needed help?  You couldn’t leave HIM...them behind! 

You brought the ship around and could see a craft trailing fire and smoke behind it.  Looked to be the Havoc Marauder making its way off world.  Several Imperial fighters were gaining on it.  Kicking your ship into gear and taking off in their direction.  You picked off two and allowed the Marauder to make the jump to hyperspace. 

The last ship circled round. 

Panicking, locking up, “Where did they go?  I don’t have coordinates!” 

Crosshair’s terse voice came from the co-pilot's seat, “Pick ANY!  We don’t have time!!!” 

“But...we...” 

“DO IT or we die!”  Dark eyes bore into your skull.  “I’LL DO IT!!!  You make the jump!”  He furiously typed something into the craft’s dash. 

“Jump...NOW!!!” 

The Imperial fighter on your tail, firing. 

You sat frozen.  Your hand a lead weight on the jump lever. 

“DAMMIT!”  Crosshair slammed his hand on top of yours, shoving the lever over.  The black star-studded sky elongated; bright blue light burst through the windscreen. 

You sat staring through the windscreen of the ship, blue blurs whizzing past. 

“Y/N?” 

A hand suddenly on your shoulder. 

“WHAT!”  You jumped and snapped upright. 

“You...went away for a while...” 

Staring at Crosshair’s unreadable expression. 

“We’ll find them.  Take some time, though.” 

Nodding, you relaxed back in the seat.  “Yeah, gonna take some doing.” 

Handing the soup bowl to Crosshair, he sulked...and refused to eat...again. 

“You NEED to eat.” 

He sneered. 

“Don’t make me regret getting you out of that facility.” 

Cross sighed heavily and took the bowl.  He STILL wasn't eating, just staring into it.  This man was driving you insane...if you didn’t kill him first. 

“It’s actually pretty good for a ration packet.  Provided you eat it while still warm.” 

“Why are you bothering?” 

ON YOUR LAST NERVE. 

“Why did YOU bother pushing us into hyperspace...if you want to suffer and die so badly?” 

Silence. 

Suddenly you had the urge to slap the damned bowl out of his hand.  “REALLY???  Let your skinny ass STARVE!  Ungrateful son-of-a...kriffing...GAH!  FUCK!!!” 

Your sudden anger sparked something. 

Crosshair slowly smirked. 

“Knock it off and DRINK YOUR FUCKING SOUP!”  Getting up, stalking off, mumbling angrily to yourself...hoping the tiny food galley didn’t have any knives. 

Checking up later, you found the bowl empty.  Cross slumped in the chair; eyes closed. 

To anyone else, it would look like he was napping.  You knew better. 

You picked up the bowl to take it back to the galley. 

“My compliments to the chef.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“I meant it.” 

“Whatever.” 

Cross opened his eyes, aiming for an argument.  “It’s a compliment.  Take it or leave it.” 

“I don’t trust you.” 

An unexpectedly hurt expression flickered across his face.  “This isn’t about the soup, is it?” 

“No genius.  I was warned you’re a constant shit stirrer.” 

“Well, Hunter was never my biggest fan.” 

“It wasn’t Hunter.” 

This seemed to surprise Crosshair. 

“Echo...he’s a bit of a shit stirrer himself.  Takes one to know one.” 

Cross raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh...and Wrecker thinks you take yourself too seriously.  I think his actual words were...he needs to unclench his butt cheeks.” 

Raised the other eyebrow. 

“But Wrecker was incorrect.” 

“Oh?” 

“As far as I can tell, you DON’T have an ass.” 

Crosshair leaned forward, slight smirk around the edges of his mouth. 

“Been looking...have you?” 

“I think most people would say you’re just a torso with legs...Toothpick.” 

He genuinely smiled at the new nickname. 

“More soup?” 

“Yes more, Soup.” 

Nights were difficult and Crosshair struggled to sleep through. Awakening to hear him working through a nightmare. Sometimes he would mutter, groan, and thrash about, eventually snoring again. This happened several times a night. Other times he would awaken, panting and sweating, trying to remember he was no longer imprisoned on Mt Tantiss. 

At first, he turned down your attempts to soothe him. That didn’t last long. It became a habit of you sitting next to his bunk on the metal floor, talking him through it. Eventually, you just crawled into bed and laid there next to him. It was certainly more comfortable than that damned hard floor. 

Crosshair’s breathing settled into a regular rhythm. Stars, it was warm and cozy in this bunk. The idea of walking across that cold decking to your own bunk just seemed depressing. Five more minutes and you’d get up.  

That didn’t happen. Two minutes in and you passed out cold. 

(You like a song to go with the scene? Please check out this song. It "literally" FUCKS!!!)

"Mmhmmm...” 

The deep bass of Hunter’s groan making you wetter as his hard cock slid in and out of you.

“Ohh...fuu...mmm...” Words were difficult when he kissed your neck like this. Whispering sweet things in your ear while gently fucking your brains out. 

Laying on your sides, facing each other. One leg thrown over his hips, both of your hands deep in his curls. Grasping them with ferocity. The pain brought him pleasure... 

Hunter slid his hand down your back to firmly grip your buttocks and picked up the rhythm of his thrusts. 

“Kriff...can’t wait to do this...with you...in our home...all...the...fucking...time...” The last four words he spoke with each luscious stroke of his member. 

“Huuunter...” Your eyes rolled back into your head. 

“Got...a nice...little planet...just...for us...” 

Heat and intensity rising in you. 

“You...want...that...too...?” 

...sliding in... 

You gasp...” Yes...” 

“Yeah?��� Cajoling you with that sexy fucking voice. 

...sliding out... 

“YES...” 

...sliding in... 

“Tell me, Mesh’la.” He’s shuddering. 

Your back arches “YES!!!” 

Hunter reaches out and caresses your face... 

...and you awake with a start. Crosshair had an expression like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Pulling back his hand suddenly. 

“Wu-what???” He stammered. 

Trying to shake off your sleepy arousal...slurring. “Did...YOU jus’ touch...Mah face?” 

“WHY are YOU still in my bunk?” 

The dream-feeling melting away...your brain having to process the waking world... 

“...because...your nightmares... I’m the dumbass...who makes sure you sleep.” 

Silence. Crosshair studying your face. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Well, I’m NOT having one NOW.” 

“Ships cold during the night. Ain’t going nowhere.” You rolled over, giving him your back. Maybe...you could pick that dream back up? 

“Fine. You can stay if YOU stop moaning Hunter’s name when you spoon ME!” 

You rolled back over shocked. 

“Yes, you did.” 

“What else did I say...or do?” 

Crosshair grinned like he knew too much and rolled over without answering. 

Weeks passed as you and Crosshair bickered your way slowly through the galaxy.  The Empire tamped down tightly on most of the planets in the system.  The Outer Rim while wildly dangerous, seemed mostly untouched and safest. 

You both did side jobs to keep yourselves fed while trying comm channels and leaving messages with close contacts about the rest of The Batch’s whereabouts.   

Everything seemed to lead to a dead end.  Like they just disappeared. 

In your heart of hearts, you knew Hunter would NEVER stop looking for you both...even if Cross had his doubts. 

The open-air market on some back water Outer Rim moon provided a distraction. The textile stand caught your eye. Beautiful scarves...you picked up a jet black one with fine silver metallic strands running through it. 

"Good choice. It compliments your hair." The elderly shop keep stepped from behind a long quilt hanging behind the counter. 

"Marv! Are you flirting again?" An older woman approached clearly teasing her husband. 

"Now why would I do that when I have you, my sweet Meiloorun? Besides, here's their partner now." 

Cross sauntered up to the counter, amused at the comment. 

"Hello honey" He teased. 

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his "greeting." "Toothpick, what do you think of this scarf?" 

"Hmm, not really my style." Cross reached down to pull another scarf from under the pile. "Now this one..." 

It was rusty red with fine intermittent broken off-white stripes dispersed through it. Crosshair draped it around his neck. "What do you think?" 

The blood drained from your face. 

"No..." You dropped the scarf and hurried away from the stand. 

Cross caught up to you a few moments later...still wearing that damned scarf.  

“Soup!” 

You kept walking, angry...and hurt. 

"Care to explain?" 

Stopping and grabbing the fabric in your fist. "That's HIS scarf...NOT YOURS!  

Cross softened. Not a trace of snark on his face. "You WERE in love with Hunter." 

"We are STILL in a relationship, Crosshair! Just because Hunter and I are apart doesn't mean that ended." 

Crosshair stared into your eyes with such an intensity...it was difficult to keep eye contact. 

"So...I complicate those feelings." It wasn't a question. He didn't need to ask. 

You noticed his eyes changed from brown to grey in this perfect light. The light of the sun starting to set on this backwater moon. Almost the same color as his brother's eyes. 

You sighed deeply, letting go of the scarf. Your hand dropping to rest, open palmed on Crosshair's chest. 

He stepped closer, placing his warm hand over yours. 

“We’ll find them.” 

“How? We’ve been looking...” 

He squeezed your hand. “Marv and Mel...they’re a front for The Rebellion. Gathering intel and recruiting volunteers to fight the Empire.” 

You looked up at Crosshair with renewed hope. 

“They know where we can find Rex. He’ll be able to help us.” 

You nodded. So many thoughts going through your head. 

Cross took the scarf off and slid it over your head, to rest around your shoulders.  

“C’mon Soup, there’s a place around here with those Space Cakes you like. My treat.” 

He led the way hugging you closely. 

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

To read Part 2:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/744276448825769984/bring-me-to-my-knees-part-2?source=share

#the bad batch #star wars #tbb #bad batch #clone force 99 #tbb hunter #the bad batch hunter #tbb crosshair #the bad batch crosshair #reader x tbb crosshair #reader x the bad batch crosshair #reader x tbb hunter #reader x the bad batch hunter #tbb fan fic #tbb fan fiction #skellymom #tbb hunter fan fic #the bad batch hunter fan fiction #tbb crosshair fan fic #the bad batch crosshair fan fic #the bad batch crosshair fan fiction #tbb hunter smut #the bad batch hunter smut #tbb crosshair smut #the bad batch crosshair smut #bring me to my knees #tbb lemony content #the bad batch lemony content #tbb crosshair x non gendered reader #the bad batch crosshair x non gendered reader

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Midnight Masquerade - Rex and Cody

Chapter Summary: The bottle lands perfectly between Rex and Cody. You've never been one to back down from a challenge.

Chapter Warnings: 18+ content; angel!Rex x f!reader x devil!Cody; kinks: threesome + dirty talk; praise kink, degradation kink, spanking (one instance), oral (both m and f receiving), bratting and brat training, spitroast, poorly translated Mando'a, 'monster' interpreted rather loosely for this one, absolutely no cl0nc3st, if I missed any please let me know!

A/N: Not fully happy with the monster part of this, but in terms of smut, come get y'all juice! some inspo taken from the lovely @sev-on-kamino for the part where Cody asks a leading question. Mando'a roughly translates to "plaything" (geroya for 'play' and 'kebis' for 'thing')

Word Count: 4.0k (do not perceive me)

Read the intro here! | Suggested listening

...Rex.

No, Cody. 

No. Hang on. You lean down and align your vision with the direct line of sight of the bottle’s mouth, and realize with a jolt that it’s perfectly between the two men. Blinking, you straighten up. The entire table gives you an expectant look, but none more so than the two men the bottle seems stuck between. Nerves and arousal pulse through you, drying your mouth. Kark, would they...?

Into the momentary silence, Cody speaks, one eyebrow raised. His wings, dominating the space with jet black feathers, rustle in impatience. “Clearly, it’s pointing at me.” 

Next to him, Rex’s face, bathed in the light of his halo, scrunches in a frown. “Are you sure about that, vod?” He gestures to the bottle. “Look, it’s pointing at my arm.” 

“Yeah, and mine is right next to yours, di’kut.” 

They devolve into petty bickering, jostling each other as they try to prove which one of them the bottle actually points to. Worrying your bottom lip, you spare a glance around the table. The others have moved on from the moment, having not been chosen, and have resumed their own conversations. 

With a sigh, you stand, chair screeching on the stone floor. Both Rex and Cody snap their attention to you, frozen in mid-wrestle, Rex’s head nearly pinned beneath Cody’s arm. 

Hands on your hips, you tilt your head. “Boys,” you tut. “There’s no need to fight. If you can’t decide, I will.” 

Cody reluctantly lets go of his brother, a scowl threatening to mar his features. 

“What’s your choice, mesh’la?” Rex asks. The look on his face is serene, angelic—there’s no other word for it. Whatever decision you make, he’ll be okay with.

“Yes,” you say. At their blank stares, you chuckle. “Both. And. What do you say?” 

Cody and Rex exchange a single glance before both men scramble out of their chairs. Well—Cody scrambles, knocking empty shot glasses askew and sending them hurtling off the table to shatter on the flagstones beneath. He ignores the grumbles of protest from the rest of the troopers, skidding to a halt in front of you with a smirk damn near as devilish as the ram’s horns curling out of his head. 

For his part, Rex stands, exuding calmness even from across the table, and spreads his wings. The white, pearlescent feathers seem to glow dully from within for a moment—and then he beats them once, gliding over the table in one smooth movement.

Your mouth falls agape as Rex settles onto his feet beside you. “Woah.” 

He gives you a small smile, one that steals your breath. The look he gives you makes you feel like there’s some long-standing inside joke that only you and he share; butterflies flutter in your veins.

“Are you gonna just stand there eye-fucking her, or are you gonna actually fuck her, vod?” Cody’s voice jolts you out of the golden depths of Rex’s gaze. 

Meeting Cody’s eyes, you shiver despite yourself. His eyes are dark, boring into your very soul. Goosebumps erupt over your skin at the sensation of your deepest desires being dredged up from the vaults of your mind. Core clenching with need, you whimper almost silently. 

“What was that about eye-fucking, Codes?” Rex teases. 

Cody rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. C’mon. Let’s get somewhere private before I change my mind and fuck you right here.” 

Chest tightening with blazing desire, you have no choice but to allow yourself to be ushered forward by them both. You can only imagine the sight you present to the rest of the partygoers, a literal angel and devil at your shoulders. Rex to your left, Cody on your right, your hands itch to reach out and grab theirs. You can feel their wings, feathers soft and warm, tickling at the backs of your legs as you walk; idly, you wonder what those feathers might feel like beneath your palms. 

It’s Rex who makes the first move. His fingers are strong and cool where he laces them through your own, and the reassuring smile he gives you makes you melt. 

Not one to be outdone, Cody grabs your other hand. His skin is so warm it’s nearly hot, like he’s burning from within with hellfire. Kriff, you’re not one who buys into some of the metaphysical beliefs you’ve heard from various folks on Coruscant, but if there is an afterlife where souls are either punished or blessed for eternity, you’re pretty sure which side this night is about to land you in.

You don’t really care. 

The two men escort you through a series of hallways to a random door, which opens onto a sparsely furnished bedroom. Seems your hosts know exactly what their guests would want from this night of revelry. Aside from the massive bed, hanging from the ceiling is a wrought iron chandelier with lit candles that cast flickering lights on the cobblestone walls, giving the space a rather fantasy-esque feel. Tucked in one corner stands a washbasin with a full water jug. Good. You’re going to need hydration after tonight.

Licking your lips, you glance between the other two out of the corners of your eyes, before dropping their hands. As you step deeper into the room, Rex shuts and bolts the door. The two men remain close by the entrance. They regard you with unabashed curiosity, though you pick up their wildly different intentions: one bright and willing to support, one dark and willing to break. 

You urge your racing heart to settle. “So. Ground rules. Someone says ‘red,’ and this all stops. That clear?” 

Cody gives a single, terse nod while Rex smiles encouragingly. 

“Great.” You shimmy out of your clothing, leaving you in nothing but your shoes in front of both men. Rex’s white toga, belted with gold trim, begins to tent as his cheeks flush, taking in the sight of your nude form. Cody’s hands twitch toward unbuttoning his black shirt, his own bulge growing noticeable. 

Your chest rises and falls with each shallow breath. In the chilled air of the chamber, your nipples stiffen, goosebumps arising once again all over your body. Their gazes are heavy on your skin, lingering in all your dips and curves. 

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she, Cody?” Rex murmurs. His wings shift against his back. “Bet she’s gonna be such a good girl for us.” 

Cody snorts. “Bet she’s gonna be a good slut for us. Isn’t that right, princess?” When your thighs press together without realizing, Cody smirks. “Yeah, she is. Filthy little plaything.” 

Body flushed with warmth, you can’t decide who to focus on as they begin to approach, one step at a time. Rex flanks to your right, while Cody moves to you directly. His hands roughly cup your face and drag you forward to close the distance. Lips crashing into yours, you can’t help the moan that escapes you as Cody grips the back of your neck with one hand. His other hand immediately finds a home at your breast, tweaking your already-sensitive nipple, squeezing the soft flesh. His kiss is dizzying in its demand: his mouth moves against yours with feverish intent, dead set on making your knees wobble. 

And when they do wobble, your legs threatening to buckle, Rex is right there. One of his arms snakes around your waist to hold you upright against his chest, now bare. The fingertips of his other hand trail lightly over your thigh, skating close to your heated core. When Cody plies your mouth open with his tongue—forked tongue, you realize, you groan, arching back into Rex. 

“Such a sweet thing,” Rex murmurs in your ear between soft kisses to your shoulder. “So soft for us. Gonna make you feel so good, mesh’la.” 

Cody lets you break the kiss, your chest heaving with ragged breaths. His eyes glint in the candlelight. Swollen lips pulling back in a roguish grin, his forked tongue flickers out to lick his teeth. 

“G’on, geroy’bis, give Rex some love,” Cody husks. 

Already dizzy and dazed with lust, you find you don’t have it in you to turn in Rex’s embrace. Rather, you simply lean your head back and tilt to find his mouth, already seeking your own. You sigh in contentment as his lips slot against yours. His kiss is soft, gentle, and yet no less debilitating for it. Your head swims with pleasure as Cody continues to tug on your nipples. When his mouth latches onto one of them, you keen into Rex’s mouth—he uses the opportunity to taste you, his tongue sliding against your own.

Your eyes flutter open in surprise when one of Cody’s thick, hot fingers trails over your slit. You whine as his finger traces the lightest circle around your aching clit, but he withdraws his touch before you can properly react. Rex pulls away from your lips to give you a smirk that, if he didn’t have a halo and angel’s wings, could be called sinful. 

“What d’you want, sweetheart, hm?” Rex asks. His grip shifts to tilt your head back toward Cody. “Tell him what you want. Use your words like a good girl.” 

Fidgeting under Cody’s heavy stare, you try to recall some of the confidence you’d had just a few minutes ago, back at the table. “W-Well, Commander? Aren’t you going to touch me like the slut you say I am?” 

The dark smirk that sprawls over his face makes you immediately regret your words. 

“Oh, no, geroy’bis,” he purrs, voice dangerously low as he crowds into your personal space. You try and fail to not cower back into Rex’s embrace. “No, no. Sluts take what they’re given and don’t talk back. Brats, on the other hand...” His eyes rake your trembling form. “Brats get their mouths stuffed until they learn their manners.” 

You stiffen in Rex’s arms, breath freezing halfway in your lungs as desire blazes through you. When you don’t move, gaze locked on Cody’s self-assured smirk, Rex shifts behind you.

“Cody,” Rex warns. “Cyare, color?” 

“Green,” you gasp out. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, as Cody chucks under your chin with a smug, “That’s what I thought.” 

“On your knees,” Cody commands, voice hard as the stone your knees crack against as your body betrays you. You’d intended to take your time, continue pushing the devil’s buttons, but the moment Rex released you, your legs collapsed. 

Body burning with embarrassment and lust alike, you peer up through your eyelashes as Cody makes quick work of the zipper of his pants to free his cock. Flushed and weeping, the head of his dick bobs in front of your face, making you go cross-eyed as you try to appraise its full size. Maker, he’s big, thick and long. Your mouth waters. Cody steps closer; his hard length taps against the side of your face, smearing precum along your cheek. 

Behind you, you’re aware of Rex watching with equal parts amusement and concern. And all around you, feathers, warm and insulating, envelope the three of you. Black over white, white over black, they both stretch their wings in a protective circle to embrace you. Stars, you want to reach out and touch, to feel the down beneath the flight primaries—but then Cody grips your jaw just hard enough to force your mouth open, and you accept his flushed tip in your mouth. 

Your lips stretch to accommodate him as best as you can. There’s just so much of him. Lapping at the vein on the underside, you hollow your cheeks as he slowly pushes further into your hot, wet mouth. His teeth grind as his eyes drill into yours, dark and slitted. His cock is heavy on your tongue. Whining around him, you shift on your knees to alleviate the growing discomfort there. 

“Rex,” Cody says, voice strained. “Play with her cunt. Wanna watch her eyes cross while I fuck her face.” 

A gush of slick drools from your folds, coating the insides of your thighs. Rex repositions himself, at first you think to reach around from behind you, but then one hand gently nudges your knees apart as his grip lifts your ass just enough for him to shimmy beneath. You inhale sharply through your nose at his hot breath on your folds. 

As Rex wraps his arms around your thighs and tugs you down, Cody thrusts into your mouth shallowly. You jerk and groan, mind and body short-circuiting between the two very different stimuli. Rex’s tongue is cool and languid where it swirls over your pussy; Cody’s length is hard and domineering as he ruts into your mouth. All you want to do is kneel there and take it; but you want more than that. Hollowing your cheeks, you suck with every pull back even as you grind your hips down against Rex’s mouth. Moans claw out of your chest and vibrate around Cody’s length, making him grit his teeth. 

“Kriff, geroy’bis,” he huffs out. “Got such a dirty fuckin’ mouth. Suckin’ my cock like a karkin’ pro.” 

You hum in satisfaction. Beneath you, Rex nudges your clit with his nose as he fucks your hole with his tongue. Pleasure ripples through you, centered at your heated core and pulsing outward. 

Out of curiosity, you reach down with one hand and tentatively wrap your fingers around Rex’s halo. All at once, your body jerks taut with a cry. Blinding radiance floods your body—and just for a moment, you can feel Rex as if he is you. You taste yourself on your tongue, feel the way your folds part under Rex’s ministrations, feel the aching length of arousal at the apex of his thighs. Rex groans; you feel it rumble in your chest like the sound comes from you.

Yanking your hand back, you peer with wide, teary eyes up at Cody, who clearly doesn’t understand what just happened. 

Rex lifts your hips. “K-Kriff. Are you okay?” 

You motion vaguely a thumbs-up so he can see. 

He hesitates, before delving back into your folds. Despite the sensation of being linked is gone, the knowledge of how much this is affecting Rex throws you right back into your pleasure, the cord in your belly winding tighter with every wag of his tongue. 

“If I pull out, you gonna be good and ask nicely for what you want?” Cody asks. He doesn’t relent in his pace. His cock drives incrementally deeper into your mouth with each thrust. Tears dew at the corners of your eyes as you try not to gag, squeezing your fists tight. You can’t answer, can’t even nod.

Cody hums. “That’s too bad.” He holds the back of your neck with a firm grasp. “Guess you still haven’t learned manners.” 

Eyes widening, you wail brokenly around Cody as he begins to fuck your face in earnest. His fat cock pushes to the back of your throat with every stutter of his hips forward. To match the intensity, Rex begins rocking your hips back and forth across his face. His lips latch around your clit and he sucks. Your toes curl. Vision going blurry, you squirm, trapped between them.

Cody releases you and takes a shaky step backward. You cough and sputter, tears leaking down your face, yet you can’t help the way your core lurches at the sight of Cody so affected. What little of his skin you can see beneath his clothes is shiny with a layer of sweat, his cheeks flushed, hair disheveled where his fingers ran through it. 

While you try to regain your breath, you can feel your orgasm approaching, a molten thread pulling taut in your belly. Dropping your gaze to Rex, you keen at the sight of his face slick with your juices, shining in the warm light of his halo. 

“Gonna- gonna—” You gasp. 

Rex digs his fingers into the meat of your thighs as you ride out your high, twitching against his mouth as he continues to lick and suck you through it. Once you begin to come down, panting harshly, Rex gently lifts you off his face. You become aware of a new sensation. Along your arms, something cool and ticklish brushes against your skin. 

Peeking your eyes open, you gasp in wonder at the long, luminescent feathers dragging slowly up your biceps. Rex flexes his wings to caress you. A shiver cascades down your spine.

“Did so good for us, mesh’la,” Rex croons. “So pretty when you cum like that. So pretty when your mouth is stuffed full of cock.” 

Without thinking, you reach out to touch one of Rex’s wings. The feathers are soft, and he holds still to let you stroke the long primary feathers, fondle the shorter coverts. He shudders beneath you. 

“Feel good?” you murmur. 

He hums in response, eyes sliding shut. When you burrow your fingers beneath the stiffer feathers, seeking the down beneath, Rex groans low in his throat. Your nails gently scrape over the warm, membranous skin of his wings, cushioned by downy under-feathers. Under your fingers, you can feel the blood pumping through his veins, fast and hard, just as affected as you are. You watch in fascination as Rex’s expression contorts into one of serene bliss as you stroke your thumb over his skin.

“Mesh’la,” he croons. 

You glance up at Cody shyly. “Can I- Can I touch yours, too?” 

“Greedy,” he accuses, but there’s no real heat behind his words. “Let’s move you to the bed, and then yes, you can touch.”

On unsteady legs, you hobble to the bed, Rex and Cody in tow just as soon as they strip completely. Cody positions you in the center of the bed and, one leg folded beneath him, slots himself at your side. Rex mirrors his pose on the other side, face still sticky with your slick. Once more, their wings spread with a gentle rustle to envelop you. At a nod from Rex, you reach with both hands and bury your fingers into white and black feathers. 

Cody’s forehead drops against your shoulder with a low moan. Rex captures your lips in a sweet kiss, setting your head spinning again. The taste of yourself makes you whimper. His lips curve against yours as you let your hands wander. Brushing over their wings, you smooth your palms over Rex’s and Cody’s thighs, feeling the powerful muscles there flex in response. Drawing farther up, you grope blindly for their lengths. 

All three of you sigh simultaneously as your fingers wrap around them. Rex is shorter than Cody, but thicker too. You moan in anticipation. 

“Filthy fuckin’ thing,” Cody mumbles against your shoulder. His heated body makes sweat begin to dew on your skin. “Couldn’t just pick one or the other, could you? Had to have two cocks. We’re gonna ruin you, princess. Split you open so good you’ll never want another dick.” 

Rex nudges you to turn and face Cody. As the devil’s lips smother yours, Rex trails a featherlight hand down your spine, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder and neck. 

“You’re so good for us, mesh’la,” Rex praises quietly. “Made to take us.” 

You whine in agreement, nodding within Cody’s grip. 

“Gonna fuck you now, geroy’bis,” Cody says as he pulls away. His eyes never leave yours, hot and dark, as he continues, “You should feel her mouth, vod. Feel how sinful those lips are when they’re wrapped around you.” 

Whimpering, you flutter your eyelashes at the implication of Cody’s words. 

He grins at you, wolfish and lustful. “That’s right. Hands and knees, filthy girl.” 

Crouched on your elbows, your ass presented to Cody, you bite your lip as Rex’s cock fills your vision. Cody’s steadying grasp on your hip keeps you grounded. His fingers gather some of your slick to spread over his length, and then the blunt head of him presses into you. 

You flick your tongue against the underside of Rex’s tip, moaning at the way your cunt stretches to fit Cody. The deeper Cody pushes, the farther into your mouth you draw Rex, until finally, they’re both seated fully within your holes, one dripping slick and one drooling spit. Cody’s hands splay over your ass for a moment before—

Smack!

You jolt with a surprised, muffled yelp at the stinging ass smack. 

“Doing so good for us,” Rex coos. His breathing is strained, coming in harsh gasps, but he gives you a smile when you glance up to see his expression. “Cody, on three?” 

Cody grunts out an affirmative. “One, two—” 

“Three.” 

They set a devastating rhythm. As Cody withdraws from your tight heat, Rex pushes just a bit more down your throat—then drags your head back as Cody pushes his hips flush against your ass. You’re manhandled between the two of them; Rex’s hands on your head keep you stable while Cody pounds against the spot in your cunt that makes you see stars. Whining, drooling, you relax your throat to take Rex as deep as you can as Cody takes what he wants from you.

The air is full of the sounds of both of them fucking you. The wet squelch of your pussy echoes in direct counterpart to the way you gag on Rex’s length; and orchestrating it all are both men’s voices, muttering filth and praise and worship. At some point, you lose track of who says what, their voices blending into the buzzing in your ears as your orgasm begins to build again. 

“That’s it, little one, take those fuckin’ cocks.” 

“Such—a—good—whore—for—us—ngh!” 

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart, letting us use you like this.” 

“Yeah, you gettin’ close? Feel that tight pussy chokin’ me. Cum for us. You can do it.” 

That last is in response to the way that you wail, the sound tearing from your chest as Cody reaches around and presses his fingers to your clit. Body locking up, you pull from Rex’s length with a messy pop as your orgasm crashes into you. Cody fucks you through it, hard and fast, unrelenting. Even when you begin to shake, overstimulated, he slides his cock into you until, with a growl, he buries himself to the hilt and moans. 

You nearly cum again at the feeling of his cock pulsing in you, spilling his hot seed into your sopping cunt. “C-Cody.” 

He slips his softening length from you, but then Rex is immediately there to fill the gap. Using both of your spends as extra lube, Rex’s length splits you apart at the seams. Dimly you’re aware of Cody collapsing on the bed next to you, his gaze warm and caring, horns retracting into his skull. But then Rex tilts your hips just a little, and you can’t even scream, the breath knocked from you as he grinds into you.

Where Cody was rough and insistent, Rex is gentle yet firm. Even as your body jolts in blinding pleasure, he holds you completely still so he can hit that devastating spot in you with deadly precision. You’re swept away by your third orgasm; it hits you so suddenly that you don’t have time to cry out, instead small squeaks falling from your lips. 

Like Cody, Rex stills deep in you and spurts his cum into your stretched, wrecked hole. He nearly collapses on top of you, barely catching himself on his hands. The three of you pant and lay there, trying to recover from the mind-melding experience you just shared. With trembling fingers you reach to trace the scar around Cody’s eye. He hums, leaning into your touch. 

A giggle escapes you, tired and fucked-out. “Holy shit.” 

“You can say that again,” Rex mutters, pulling out at last. 

You whimper at the loss and at the sensation of both of their spends welling out of your spent cunt. Rex pushes some of it back in with his thumb. Moaning, you plant your face in the cushioned bed. 

“Just relax, cyare,” Cody says with a contented sigh. “We’ll take care of you.” 

“You already did,” you mumble thickly, gesturing to your lower half. 

Two rumbling chuckles echo in the room. Rex says, “You know what he meant.” 

Turning your head to meet Cody’s eyes once again, you simply smile. “I know.”

Ye Olde Ragu Liste: @the-hexfiles @thorsterstrudle @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @dreamie411 @bobaprint @imarvelatthestars @originalcollectionartistry @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl if your name has a strikethrough, I can't tag you so check your settings! (if you'd like to be added or removed, click here!)

#captain rex x reader x commander cody #rex x reader x cody #captain rex x reader #commander cody x reader #mdfm hallowkink 23 #x reader #the clone wars x reader #the clone wars #rhiwrites #midnight masquerade

[aces-to-apples]

I think i like the idea of clones using mando'a/mandalorian cultural stuff because in my brain it always has an element (large or small) of spite to it. Like no we are not mandalorian yes our abusive progenitor was mandalorian no he did not want us to be mandalorian yes we will take what parts of this denied heritage we can use and discard the rest. It's another piece of rebellion, to my mind, like the paint on their armor and their insistence on names over numbers. They have to cobble together their own culture piecemeal because they aren't given (or allowed) one to begin with, and they'll start by cannibalizing the one that they were never supposed to touch in the first place. They'll take words and values and concepts, rituals and beliefs, and transform them into something that can be theirs, even (and sometimes especially) if it makes a bunch of shitty abusive bigots spin in their fucking graves. Like love and light to everyone who doesn't like/doesn't give a shit about mandalorian-inspired clone culture but we don't exactly have a lot to work with here and lbr mando'a and mandalorian armor kinda pops off.

#by apples #star wars #the clone wars #clone troopers #also there's definitely an element of spite with MY use of mando'a because of my Fandom Nemesis #that shithead who basically said 'stop using mando culture for clones and just have the jedi be their White Saviors' #so tbqfh i pretty much double- triple- and quadruple-downed on the use of mando'a by clones. choke 😘 #sw meta

[daimyosprincess]

PART III: DEDICATION

—PARING: Professor!Boba Fett x F!Librarian!Reader

—SERIES RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—SUMMARY: Professor Fett makes good on his promise to give you everything you deserve.

—WORD COUNT: 8.6k

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, professor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is mid-twenties and Boba is late forties), reader described as having enough hair to grab, Dom/sub power dynamics (Dom!Boba and sub!reader), BDSM elements, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl) (also I’ve decided this AU includes safe, effective birth control since we’re fantasizing anyways), use of restraints (reader's hands are bound), dirty talk, lots of pet names, lots of praise, some more self-discovery

As always, let me know if I missed anything that needs to be tagged! Mando'a translations at the end.

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is 8.6k words of pure smut to make up for Part II's cliffhanger 😈 We’re seeing a softer side of both Boba and the reader in Parts II and III as they establish and build their trust in one another. But fret not, their regularly scheduled banter will be back in Part IV! A big thank you to @rexxdjarin and @agirlnamejacq for betaing, and thank you my beautiful readers for your all support and feedback 💖

Read on AO3 — Series Masterlist — Taglist

<Part II — Part IV>

“Are you ready, pretty girl? Can I make you feel good now, give you your reward?”

“Please, Boba, please. I want you, I want you more than anything.”

“You have me, princess, I’m all yours.”

Maybe heaven is a place on earth or maybe it’s a place spun in the stars, but either way, it’s got to be wherever he is. Wherever the warm passion of his lips kissing all of you that came into his reach as he slipped your dress from your shoulders. Wherever his large, battle-worn hands traced over your body from head to toe in reverential worship as he laid you out on his bed. Wherever the solid breadth of his shoulders stood between your thighs as he parted them with promises of anything and everything the universe has to offer. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful… so soft and perfect. I want you to keep your arms up, sweetheart. Can you do that for me? Keep your hands up over your head?”

“I can’t touch you? I want to touch you.”

“All in good time, little one. Now be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

“Yes, s-sir.”

Spread over his luxurious sheets that smelled of him with your legs open and arms above your head, bare except for the soaked lace covering your center, you’re sure wherever heaven is, Boba Fett is there. Because heaven is only heaven if there’s hell to heat it. After kissing his way down your body inch by tender inch, he’s settled between your trembling thighs, his expression devout as sin as his gaze scrapes up your nearly naked body to find your hungry eyes. His tongue slips out from between his kiss-swollen lips and your stomach constricts almost painfully in anticipation, only for him to run it over his lips and retract it. 

A small whine sounds in the back of your throat and he grins, planting wet kisses everywhere but your center. You’re swimming in rapids of your desire, unable to gain a footing in the torrid wash of it. 

Boba chuckles deep and warm and you can almost feel the vibrations in your cunt. “Use your words, little one, tell me what you want… let me hear it and I promise I'll lick up that pussy so good.” His syrupy words are so hot and surgery they’re going to make you melt right through the mattress straight to flames below. 

You huff, throwing your head back and bunching the sheets between your fingers. “I thought this was supposed to be my reward.” You want it, you want him, and you know he’s got to be painfully hard by the way he’s grinding into the mattress. You’re wound up and impatient with want, chafing at the constraints he’s set. Why won’t he just do it already? 

Boba sinks his fingers deeper into your thighs, massaging the tension held there. “It is, princess, but you’re still fighting it. Let go.”

You huff again, unable to pinpoint what you’re doing wrong. “I am,” you insist, desperate distress running through your words, “I’m keeping my arms up and being polite and-”

“Shhh shhh,” he soothes, “I know, and you’re being so good for me.” He peppers little kisses across your thigh that make you tingle and sparkle. “But that’s not what I mean. You have to get out of that pretty head of yours.”

You groan in frustration—you don’t know what that means or how to do it. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you look down at the man of your wildest fantasies inches away from where you want him most; it takes every atom in your body to resist putting his mouth right where you want it so you can just forget about everything instead. Rule number two, respect myself… that means asking questions when I’m confused. 

“Can you tell me how to… you know… do that?” you ask haltingly, biting down on your lip to stem the tide of uncomfortable insecurity rising up within you. You’re not used to feeling unsure and you don’t want to disappoint him by not being able to do something as simple as “letting go.”

The smile that beams from his face dissipates your fog of doubt. “That’s my smart girl, following the rules so well,” he praises in his deep timbre, and you glow in the shine of his praise. As if he can read your mind, he adds gently, “Never feel ashamed to ask questions, princess, there’s no shame here. I like that you trust me to show you all these new things, and asking questions lets me know you’re minding the rules and listening to your body.”

Your shoulders hunch, your gaze dropping to your chest. “But don’t they kind of… ruin the moment?”

“Little one, the moment’s not worth it if you aren't enjoying yourself,” he answers gently.

Your head jerks up, your eyes scrabbling to find his. He’s so patient and safe it makes your heart feel impossibly full, so full it might even burst into stardust. You don’t catch your hands before they’re reaching for him, pulling his face to come to yours. Chuckling, he obliges you, shifting himself up the mattress so his lips can meet yours. Mid-kiss you realize your mistake and drop your hands back behind you, ducking your head. “Sorry,” you mumble against his lips, “Forgot my hands.” 

He smiles, placing a last kiss on your lips before pulling back to look at you. His dark eyes flick over you briefly, then a satisfied look comes across his face as if he’s come to a decision that pleases him. “I think I know something that might help.” He pushes up from the bed and pads across the room to his closet, stepping in and rustling around for a bit. A minute later, he emerges with something folded in his hands.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he beckons you over and you curl into his lap, once again content with his heat against your skin, even if it’s through his clothes. Boba opens his palms, revealing a length of buttery smooth, black silky fabric about two inches wide. You run the tips of your fingers over the luxe material, noting the way it feels like cool water under your touch, and he lets it pool in your hands for your further examination.

Snaking an arm around your waist, Boba pulls you tight against him, his other hand coming to rest just above your knee. “We can talk normally right now, princess, since we’re taking a break.” You hum an affirmative and he continues, “I think you’re having trouble because you’re fighting the physical feeling of letting go even if mentally you’ve decided that’s what you want. That can feel a little scary, yeah?” You bob your head in agreement where it rests on his shoulder. “And I'm thinking you always had to make sure your pleasure was also taken care of before. Does that sound right?”

You nod. While you had enjoyed the sex you’d had in the past—you only gave if you got—there was always the lingering possibility that you would be left unsatisfied if you didn’t maintain enough control to chase your own release.

A knowing grumble sounds in his throat. “I thought so. Doesn’t help you’re a stubborn little thing who likes to raise hell every step of the way, either,” he pokes, giving you a playful squeeze.

You giggle, twisting to press kisses on his jaw. “You like it.”

You can feel him smile at your assertion, a sound of agreement rumbling in his chest. “I want to take my time with you, little one, and I want you to be able to enjoy it as much as I do. Usually I would wait to introduce something like this until a little later since this is all new to you, but I think this,” he pauses, tapping a finger on the black satin, “will help.” 

“To get you out of your head, you need something to fight against and ground you, something that makes you realize you're safe but that there’s no escaping… that the only option is to let whatever is going to happen, happen. That’s what letting go is. I’ll decide what you feel, when you feel it, how… all you have to do is let it happen because I’m going to take care of you and I’m going to make sure you feel amazing. How’s that sound, pretty girl?” 

The image he paints in your mind has you squirming in his lap. It sounds fantastic, if only your brain could get the memo and relax so Boba could whisk you off to pleasures unknown. You tell him so, asking about the black fabric in your hands. A molten heat creeps down your spine at the thought of that silky smooth material circling around your limbs, holding you fast to his will; if you’re honest with yourself, you’re surprised by how turned on the thought of being bound by the professor makes you. 

A few minutes later, Boba is doing just as he described: looping the binding around your wrists with expert knots to the hidden clip on the headboard, carefully explaining how the way he’s tying you makes sure the knots can’t get too tight around your arms and hurt you. You’re giddy with excitement and it makes you want to wiggle and tease him while he works; he’s so close and you can see how hard he is through his pants. Your desire for him to know you’re listening and that you appreciate the care he’s taking with your comfort keeps you in check, however.

The more you think about his plan while he works—to tie your hands up over your head and have you keep your eyes closed while he takes what he wants from you with his tongue—the wetter and more impatient you get. You won’t be able to stop him from devouring you all tied up, you wouldn’t be able to wriggle free from his strong grip or even anticipate his next move with your eyes screwed shut because he’d stop if you opened your eyes. You’re going to be prey at the mercy of a predator who has every intention of eating you alive… and you have every intention of letting him do it.

“Are you ready, little one?” Boba asks from the end of the bed where he’s admiring his handiwork, his gaze lingering on the black bindings, your eyes, your tits. You pout when you realize he isn't exposing any more of himself, keeping his body hidden from you. Noting your displeasure, he cocks his head at you. “What’s that look for?”

“I want your clothes off,” you whine, hoping the pitiful pitch of your voice will convince him to strip down. You’ve been dreaming of what he looks underneath all those expensive clothes, how the roll of his impossibly broad shoulders would flex every muscle down his back in salacious exertion, or how his thick thighs would tense and shiver when you scrape your nails up them while you took him down your throat. 

He huffs in amusement, shaking his head. “I make those decisions, sweetheart.”

“Can I at least have your shirt off so I can feel that it’s you?” 

That catches him by surprise, his confident swagger slacking for a heartbeat before returning. “Will that make it easier for you or are you just being impatient?” he asks, his tone deliberate. “Remember to tell me the truth, that’s a rule.”

“Easier for me,” you answer honestly, “You make me feel safe and I want to be reminded that it’s you.” His eyes soften to something you’ve never seen on him before, something hidden in the abyss of him that’s seeing the light for the first time. It’s only a flicker of a thing, then it’s gone, but it makes your heart twinge. Maybe he needs me to care for him too, maybe this is how I do it. 

He swallows and nods. “Alright then, princess.” He makes quick work of the shell buttons and folds the shirt over the back of the chair next to his dresser. What’s revealed to you makes your insides clench and the room feel hot: bronze skin painted with silver scars and geometric tattoos that cover the thick muscles of his chest and broad shoulders, his slightly softer belly and wraps over the trunk of his torso. 

Your eyes drink him in, your mouth watering at the sight of this beautiful man. Quenching yourself on the vision of him, your gaze roves over every centimeter of skin he’s allowed you, from the crown of his head to the dusting of dark hair trailing tantalizingly down into his gray pants. Your hips roll forward just a bit, seeking friction, and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Fuck he’s hot… I want to trace every tattoo on his body with my tongue until I have them committed to memory.

He flashes you a grin that’s all teeth, the easy confidence he feels in his own skin radiating off him like an ocean gale. “Like what you see, pretty girl?”

You bob your head up and down fervently, eager to demonstrate your awe for every piece of him he lets you have. “Yes, sir,” you add quickly, remembering your manners—you would be just as good to him as he is to you. 

Keeping the depths of his eyes locked on your face, he comes around the bed with the grace of a panther circling its next meal, and stops at your side. He tugs the restraint holding your hands up a final time, grunting his approval at its strength. “If you’re ready, close your eyes and tell me out loud, princess.”

You sigh in contentment: you’re finally getting what you want. You want to be good for him, you’d put up your fight and now you were ready for your reward. Your eyes slide shut and you tug just barely at your silky restraint; feeling the tightness of your bonds makes your thighs press together in anticipation. “I’m ready, sir.”

The bed dips as Boba moves to settle back in front of you and your thighs fall open in an offering of submission, eliciting a low groan from the professor. “This what you needed, princess?” he drawls, dragging kisses up the insides of your calves as his hands massage up your legs. “Someone to make you just lie there and take it?” He nips at the softer skin above your knee and a moan slips from your lips before you can stifle it, the raw dominance and masculinity of him dredging up something pliant and latent from the depths of your desire. 

A warm, hazy feeling begins to bloom in your belly, the heavy ambrosia of it spreading outwards into your limbs and weighing you into the downy mattress. As the sensation licks up your ribs and into your chest, Boba moves farther up your legs, planting flushed kisses up your thighs while his hands continue to rub away the tension lingering in your body. The golden wave fills your lungs and throat, but it doesn’t feel like drowning; rather, it’s like you’ve learned to breathe underwater in the sunny shallows of a peaceful reef, protected and safe. Exhaling the last hooked resistance from your chest, you allow yourself to slip under the dappled surface.

“That’s it, there you go, I’ve got you,” Boba praises softly into your skin when all your muscles go slack and loose under him. He begins surveying a map of your pleasure, dragging his lips over your heated skin to find your most tender points, testing and teasing your increasing sensitivity to his touch. He continues to avoid where you want him most, however.

Sucking in a deep breath, you squeeze your closed eyes tighter. “P-please,” you stutter, your appeal dripping from your lips with a whimper, “please.”

A rumble of gratitude sounds from the man below, his hands stroking your thighs reassuringly. “That’s my good girl, using her manners,” he coos, his warm breath fanning over the slick skin inches from his face. Nuzzling into the crease of your hip, he sucks his mark into the sensitive flesh before sanctifying his work with a graze of his lips as you whimper from his ministrations. “You’ve done so good for me, been so patient. Now open those beautiful eyes, princess,” he coaxes, pressing your hips flat with his open palms, “I want you to see how pretty your soaked pussy looks with my tongue in it.”

His words go straight to your clit and a moan filters through your chest—you can actually feel the fresh arousal coating your folds. Prying your eyes open, you blink his broad form into focus below you. Visually confirming he has your attention, Boba leans into your center just as promised and licks the most delicious, wet stripe up your sopping panties, his tongue flicking over your clit at the very end. Boba groans and mumbles curses into the tender skin of your thigh. “Fuck, you taste better than I ever could have imagined, sweetheart. Sweetest thing I’ve ever had.”

“You… you thought about me?” you gasp around your pleasure, your nerves sparking as his rough fingertips come up to trace your nipples. The thought of him aching for you the same way you had for him makes your pulse throb in your core. His tweaks your nipples and you let out a rather undignified squeak that earns you a chuckle from the man below you. 

Looping his thumbs under the waistband of your lingerie, Boba pulls the fabric taunt, stretching it thin and guiding it slowly over your desperate clit to generate a tormenting amount of friction. “Every single day since you first opened that mouth of yours, pretty girl. Couldn’t get you out of my karking head. Wanted to taste you, smell you, feel you—it was torture.”

You moan, bucking your hips against the garment and pulling against your restraints to seek out more of him.

Seeing your enthusiastic reaction to his admission, Boba continues, his deep voice vibrating all the way down to your bones. “Didn’t help when you started laying in my office every day in all those little sundresses. Wanted to throw your legs over my shoulders and make you come all over my face every single time. But that's what you wanted, isn’t it? That’s why you wore them, hoping I’d ask for a taste, dirty girl.”

Fuck. You’re gushing like a goddamn waterfall and Boba hasn’t even really touched you yet. It’s so much and not enough, and you know his tongue in your pussy would be the answer to all your problems. “Please,” you try again, high and desperate, “I want your tongue.”

“Oh, I know you do, sweetheart,” he smolders, mocking and sympathy twisting together, “lift your hips.” You immediately obey and he slides your panties off, tossing them over his shoulder. He wastes no time settling back between your legs, wrapping his muscled arms around your thighs to hold them open. A jagged curse hisses from his lips when your glistening folds are finally fully revealed. “Prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen,” he breathes out, almost to himself, “been dreaming about this pussy and now it’s all karking mine.” 

Before his words even finish forming, he’s on you, groaning like a man starved as he licks into you with a branding tongue that has your eyes rolling back. It’s hot and wet and urgent, and primal need cries out from the innate, subconscious part of yourself: you want to please him to the core of your being. When the heavenly heat of his mouth breaks from your core, you choke on a sob of disappointment, tilting your face down at him. He looks almost as wrecked as you feel, and you clench around nothing at the prospect of you holding as much power over him as he does you.

“Look at me, princess,” he pants raggedly, his words charred over with desire, “I want you to look at me while I'm eating out your sweet little pussy.”

“Yes, sir!” You’re way past pride at this point; you’d hop on foot while turning in circles if it meant he’d put his tongue back on you.

He smirks and dives back in, licking up all the slick from your folds before kissing his way up to your clit. He groans as you shiver at the contact on your most sensitive part, his tongue coming back out to flutter over it… and then he sucks. Bright stars explode at the edges of your vision, and your back arches off the bed. The sound bursts forth from your lungs is one of pure, unbridled pleasure: nothing compares to this, nothing, not when it’s him, finally him. You’ve never felt this fucking good before and you never want to feel anything else again. Now that he’s got you on the tip of his tongue, you want to feel him everywhere. Kissing your lips, sucking on your breasts, throbbing inside you, everywhere.

You cry out in half-broken curses when he sucks your clit into his mouth again and shakes his head back and forth, the combination of sensations flooding your nerves with crackling snaps of pleasure. Your knees try to close around his head but the iron grip on your thighs doesn’t let you move an inch; you really are just going to have to lie there and take it. You yank against the ties holding your hands and a moan scrapes up your throat at the realization that you really won’t be able to get free, that his man is going to lick and slurp up your pussy and there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s a freedom unlike any you’ve ever known—and you’re going to revel in the glory of it.  

Boba must be able to feel your revelation somehow because he detaches from your pussy with a wet pop that smacks against your nerves. “That’s it, that’s my girl,” he coos, rubbing his palms up and down your thighs, “It’s so much better this way isn’t it? So much better when you let go and let me give you what you need. Now, I’m going to let go of this leg and you’re going to keep it open for me. I need to get you ready, little princess, stretch you out on my fingers so you’re nice and ready for my cock. Let me hear that you understand.”   

Fuck, if his dick’s like the rest of him I’m going to need it. You manage to voice your understanding with a shudder at the thought of just how full he could fill you.

Bringing his right hand up to your face, he traces the rough pad of his trigger finger across the seam of your lips. “Open,” he commands simply, “Get these nice and wet for me.” You obey and he slides his middle two fingers into your waiting mouth with a groan; you delight in the task, sucking and licking at the thick fingers crowding your mouth, much to Boba’s relish. “So eager, I like that, princess. That why you run that brat mouth all the time? You want me to stick something in it?”

You just grin around his fingers in response, then sink your mouth all the way down to their base as you blink big blowjob eyes down at him. Boba hisses, his hips jerking into the bed beneath him but he recovers quickly, popping his appendages from your lips. “Watch it, don’t get in trouble.”

“I told you, sir, I like trouble,” you giggle, biting your lip as you smirk down at him. Holding your gaze, he sticks out his tongue and rests the flat of it against your swollen clit, and the rest of your thoughts fizzle out into sparkling dots of pleasure with a gasp.

“Mmm, yeah, that’s what I thought,” he hums against you, tracing his slicked middle finger along your entrance, “If you want to talk so much, sweetheart, why don’t you tell me why I should let you fuck my fingers.” He notches his digit at your dripping opening, setting you aflame with fresh desire. “Go ahead then, let me hear it.”

Now that your earlier unease has subsided, you can't help but seize the opportunity to snark back at him. “Because if you don’t, you can’t put your dick in me,” you answer smugly, shimmying your hips in front of his face. 

Boba’s eyes darken with a dangerous tint, his brow arching at your bold response. “Better try again or you’ll get nothing, brat.”

His patience is stretched as thin as yours now and you want nothing more than to make him snap first. You snort, cocking your head to the side. “Oh, I think you want this pussy too bad to give me nothing, sir.”

Retracting from your core, Boba lifts himself off of you to sit up on his haunches. “Well,” he sighs dramatically, puffing out his cheeks and wiping the slick off his chin with the back of his hand, “since you don’t want to listen, you won’t get your reward. It’s a real shame too, princess, you were being so good earlier. Guess I’ll have to send you home with nothing but a sore ass to show for it.” 

He shifts like he's about to get off the bed and you snap against your restraints in sudden panic: shitshitshit. If you don’t have him guts-deep tonight you’re not going to survive. “Wait, no, please! I’ll be good, I swear, I didn’t mean it before, please! Let me try again!” you plead, instant regret sending pangs of dread up your spine. 

Tutting, he shakes his head. “I already let you try a second time and you only acted worse. What’s there to make me think a third time will be any better, hmm?” 

The way his dark eyes are glittering with everything but mercy only turns you on more, dread coiling alongside the desire in your belly. “Third time’s the charm?” you squeak out, flashing him your most sincere smile and batting your lashes. You can do this, you tell yourself, you can flirt your way out of just about anything… right?

Boba barks out a sharp laugh, tossing his head back in amusement. “Alright then, little brat, let’s hear it.” He folds his thick arms over his chest expectantly, and you have force your brain to actually think instead of admiring the way his biceps looked pressed firm or the way his tattoos gleam in the low light.

Pressing your lips together, swallow against the rising tide of heat flooding up from your core. Rather than risk playing your cards wrong, you offer him the unadulterated truth. “I just want you so kriffing bad it makes me forget myself, I’m sorry,” you simper, blinking up at him, “Please fuck me open with your fingers, my pussy needs you, I need you, please don’t leave me like this. I’ll be so so good and take everything you give me. I want to be good for you, I… I just can’t help it sometimes.” Your eyes drop and your teeth worry at your lip; you wish you could reach out and touch him, to trace your intentions into his skin and over his scars with tender care.

“Aw, little princess, you can be so sweet when you want to, can’t you?”

You peek up at him through your lashes. He’s smiling, smug and satisfied, but his brown eyes betray the genuine warmth to his sentiment. You nod quickly, sticking out your bottom lip. Boba dips down, kissing you and nipping at it, while his fingers ghost down your ribs to slip over your stomach. Your breath hitches as he drags them through the mess of slick between your thighs, coating his fingers in your arousal, and you arch up into him as far as you can with the silky bindings around your wrists. 

Dragging his fingers lazily over your clit with slow friction, Boba licks his way back down your body to retake his place between your thighs where he tosses one of your legs over his strong shoulder in a move that has you clenching around nothing. You’re already trembling from the tight tension winding up in your lower half and the dark look in his eye as he presses his thumb against your apex and begins to rub at a delicious pace. The sensuous waves of your long awaited pleasure roll up your body, flooding your nerves with rosy heat and pulling a high whine from your throat. 

Boba grunts approvingly, throwing a heavy arm over your hips to keep you from bucking out of his grasp. “Feel good, sweetheart? Yeah, I know it does. Look at you, making a mess of my sheets. I bet I could make you come just like this, just by rubbing that cute little clit of yours for a little longer. Mmm, maybe some other time, because now I gotta get that tight cunt ready for me.”

“Please,” you gasp, your brain already muddled with hazy pleasure, “please, I want to feel you… feel all of you.” The better you feel, the greater your ache for him grows; you need him inside you, you need your body to give him the revelry you knew it could bring him. You thirst, crave, hunger to be the source of his joy and gratification, to be the reason he lets go and comes apart, to be his blinding peace in a dark universe.

“Mmm such good manners. Don’t worry, I’m going to take care of you, little one, gonna give you just what you need.” His thumb is replaced by his warm tongue flicking over that bundle of nerves with maddening precision, its rough texture making the bubbling heat in your core spike. The babble of pleasure that streams from your lips chokes off when two of his thick fingers slide effortlessly into you with a lewd squelch. “Oh, princess,” he groans into you, his hips thrusting into the mattress, “you’re-fuck-you’re perfect here, too.”

He’s struck a seam of desire so deep in your stratum you almost crack open from the feeling of his calloused fingers and voice alone. “Fuuuuck, please, please, I want your cock inside of me,” you beg, shameless and searing, your hips rolling down to take more of him. Boba doesn’t respond, he just begins pumping his fingers, curling and scissoring them inside you while he laps at your clit with moans of delight. Pent up and overwhelmingly turned on, you’re not far from your release when he brushes against that spot tucked away in your core.

Eruptions of light score the backs of your eyes and pure energy arches your spine. “Fuck, yes! Right there, right fucking there,” you cry out, grinding your shaking hips down onto him. Your muscles burn with exertion as you fight against the satin material snaked around your arms, the feeling fueling the explosion of pleasure building inside you at a frightening pace. This man is going to be your marvelous undoing.

“Right here?” he grunts against you, the wrecked bass of his voice vibrating though your burning core, “This gonna make you come, princess? This gonna make you soak my fingers and slick up my face?” He’s hooked himself against that devastating spot inside your cunt and it’s driving nearly insane as you try and wring your next words out.

The words are choked and strained as all your muscles twist dizzyingly tight around the intensity of your impending release. “Yes, fuck yes, yes!” Your head is thrown back between your shoulders and you’re shamelessly riding his tongue, taking every ounce of pleasure he gives you. Streaks of stars singe the backs of your eyelids as you shoot higher and higher into the atmosphere of your ecstasy—much closer and you’ll be consumed by the heat of his white-hot sun. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-”

“Fuck, come for me, ner cyare, come for me and let me hear how beautiful you fucking sound when coming on my tongue,” he moans in a dripping, heady voice. He draws your clit back between his lips and flicks his tongue over it through the heavenly suction.

Everything shatters and you scream as the now unbearable heat of your orgasm pours down your throat, shorting out your nerves, and liquefying your consciousness into a pool of Boba Fett’s making. You’re beautifully ruined and you’re finally his, divine and free. 

He rides you through your high, coaxing every last particle of pleasure from your molten heat, curses and praises swirling together in his arousal-roughened timbre. In the gossamer aftermath of your climax, you hazily watch him suck your shining release from his fingers like it's a rare nectar to be savored. The hum of his words might be telling you so but they’re so far away from your understanding, you’ll never know, especially when he begins hurriedly stripping off the remainder of his clothes. 

His gray slacks reveal muscular thighs and powerful hips, and you long to drag your tongue down the “V” line of his abdomen and nip at his hip bones. When his hand strokes over the hard bulge hidden by his underwear, you moan and weakly pull against your ties—you want to be doing that for him.

“Something the matter, princess?” he asks, his voice just barely wavering with his restraint as he continues to lazily palm himself to the sight of your open thighs coated in your glistening orgasm.

“Let me-let me taste you, sir, please,” you plead, your voice wrought with desire, “Let me show just how grateful and sweet I can be.” Your mouth waters and you crave the weight of him on your tongue, the pressure on your throat, his taste lingering on your lips.  

“As much as I want to let you choke on my cock, pretty girl, the first thing I want to feel is that tight pussy swallowing me. Can’t wait anymore,” he rasps, a hint of unfamiliar desperation darkening his words. “You wanna be untied or you want to stay up, sweetheart? Talk to me.”

He’s standing next to the bed looking like sin itself and you don’t hesitate to give him your answer. “Untied, wanna touch you, wanna hold you, please Boba.”

The sweet strain of your voice saying his name has him sucking in a sharp breath as he bends over your bound body. “Whatever you want, princess, I’ll give you whatever you want,” he promises with a moan into the sweat-slicked skin of your throat as his fingers deftly untie the silk binding your wrists without the need for his eyes. 

As soon as you're free, you jump to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him close but he catches your elbows above your head. You whine, struggling weakly in his firm grasp to feel the sweet relief of his skin on yours. You need him on you more than you need to breathe.

“Easy, little one, you’re going to hurt yourself like that. Be easy, I’m not going anywhere,” his stormful voice soothes. He sets his mouth over yours, kissing you deep as the ocean and just as powerful, his strong hands rubbing the stiffness from your joints gently. You sigh at his touch, dissolving like sparkling sea foam on his sheltered shores. “That’s it, there you go. I’m so sorry, babygirl, I should’ve told you that you have be slow coming out of restraints. You okay?”

“‘m okay, ‘s alright,” you slur, still dazed and happy from the balm of his touch. His resulting frown is like a cloud blocking the sun of him from shining down on you, and you blink his face into focus to see what’s depriving you.

“No, it’s not, it’s my job to take care of you, make sure you're only hurt in the ways you want to be.” He eases your arms down to lay across your chest and places a light kiss on the tip of your nose. “The rules apply to me, too, little one.”

If he’s not careful, he really is going to make my heart burst. Wiggling your eyebrows up at him from where you’re sprawled on his bed, you give him a sly grin. “You want me to punish you for breaking the rules?”

He snorts, a smirk cracking through the downturn of his mouth. “Do you want to?”

You scrunch up your lips and roll your eyes up in exaggerated consideration before proclaiming, “For you penance, professor, you must bring me some water and then fuck me silly.”

The most divine laugh spills from his lips, wide and resonant. “As you wish, princess.” He disappears towards the bathroom and you push yourself up the mattress to prop yourself up on his plush pillows. He returns a minute later with a glass of cool water and some ibuprofen. “Go ahead and take these so you’re not as sore later,” he offers, wrapping your waiting fingers around the cup. 

You offer him a grateful smile and tip back the pills with the water in a few greedy gulps. Thirst slaked and immediate needs met, your eyes wander back over to the man next to you, scouring every inch of him in open hunger. The topography of his scars and the patterns of his tattoos tell a story that is so uniquely him, and you’re dying to learn every word of it, commit it to memory with your hands and mouth. The notion that you even get to be a mere sentence in his tale is as baffling as it is exhilarating. 

“Boba…” His name falls from your lips that still taste of him, of relentless strength and innate power. You want him, all of him. You want to hear his groans and feel the drag of him in your most sensitive spots, you want to be his pleasure and his solace.

He’s on you in an instant, finally allowing the fates to bring you together fully and completely. He takes and you let him, you arch into his touch and pant his name, tasting and kissing him like he’s something to be worshiped, like that thing isn’t already you. It’s hopeless exuberance and fervent longing, it’s things hoped for and the universe’s rare grace. It’s everything, it’s history, it’s life’s meaning. It’s him.

You want him like a fire needs fuel or the ocean needs the moon, terribly and crucially. He’s the immovable object that grounds your unstoppable force. You crave the balance he brings to your scales, you need him. He’s hot and heavy over you, melding himself into you with rolling hips and possessive hands, molding you to the shape of him. “Boba.” You utter his name like the prayer it is. “Please.”

“I know, sweet girl, I know.” He cups your jaw in the hollow of his hand, running his other down your thigh to hook it over his hip. “I’m going to give it all to you, princess, I’m going to give you everything.” He lines himself up with your dripping, yearning heat and finally sinks into the space he was always meant to fill.

A curse is just a blessing sent to the devil, and the way Boba makes you feel like the very essence of divine femininity has you singing hell’s praises. The way the thickness of him stretches you out has to be a sin for the way it makes you feel so unbelievably full and warm and his. The first thrust of his hips has your eyes rolling back and your nails scratching down his back in pure ecstasy.

“Kark, princess, shit. Knew you would feel amazing,” Boba grits out through bared teeth, his fingers pressing their mark into your skin, “Osik, so tight and wet, so perfect just for me. Shoulda bent you over your desk that very first day, I know you would’ve let me, my dirty little girl. Should’ve never left without filling up that sweet cunt.” Boba apparently can’t shut up now that he’s got you and it’s going straight to your throbbing clit. His hips snap against your own and you both moan into each other’s open mouth when he’s fully seated in your velvet heat. 

“Please, more,” you plead, “please give me more, sir. I’m all yours.” You want to feel him for weeks.

Shuddering, Boba grinds himself impossibly deeper into you. “Keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, and I’ll-fuck-I’ll give you anything you fucking want.”

A tremor of blistering heat rakes over you, and you surge forward and take his lips, biting down on the plush of his lower lip. “Do it, give it to me, give me everything, I want you, please, sir.”

Boba groans and sets a driving, urgent pace that you just know neither of you are going to last with. “I’ve waited so long for this, dreamed about making you come apart on my cock. Kark, I want to take my time with you, princess, but the way your tight little pussy is squeezing me I don’t think I’m going to last long. You feel so good, taste like heaven, and sound so sweet, y-you’re perfect. You’re worth every goddamn minute I spent waiting to find you,” he pants, his breath haphazard as his thrusts snap harder and deeper as if he could drill his words into your cunt, “shit-I’m going to fuck you just like you deserve, princess, fuck you so good you can never forget how much you mean to me, my sweet, precious girl.”

You can see the nebula of your release in the deep space of his eyes, each drag of his cock against your pulsing walls ratcheting you further into the desire-dark galaxy of him. His hand brushes over the swell of your belly to find your clit and he rubs sloppy circles that have you making sounds you’ve never made before. "Oh princess, sweetheart, pretty baby… fuck, do you know how good you feel? Even better than all the heavens… you're so fucking perfect and your sweet little cunt is strangling me. I'm gonna fuck you so good, gonna fuck you so you feel me for kriffing days, fuck, gonna…"

You throw an arm around his neck and crash his lips into yours. His sweat drips from his collarbone to trickle down the valley of your breasts, the feather light sensation so erotic that you almost come again from that alone. "Shit, Boba, you’re so fucking good-so fucking good to me, best I’ve ever had, all I ever want. Please, please don’t stop, I want all of you inside of me, make me yours, fuck, I love you, d-don’t stop!”

“Osik, ner cyare, it’s all yours, you’re all mine, only, all…” Boba breaks off with a snarl, lacing his fingers in yours with one hand and slamming it above you while his other slides under your neck to yank your head back by your hair. You contort in primal pleasure and the new angle has him pounding against that universe-shattering spot. “Come on, come on, one more time for me sweetheart, I know you have it in you, let me feel that perfect pussy come on my cock o-one more time and I swear I’ll fill you up so full,” he growls into your exposed throat before latching onto your pulse point and sinking in his teeth to mark you as his alone. 

You cry out into the white light exploding around you, a million stars imploding into a sparkling dust that filters through your lungs and into your blood. Cataclysmic heat fills your insides a moment later and you’re suddenly whole for the first time in your entire existence, the laws of your universe finally coming together into one unified equation. You were, you are, you became, you will, all at once and all forever.  

You’re softly curled on top of Boba with one arm behind his neck and the other folded across his broad chest, your fingers stroking patterns on his shoulder with your leg slung over his thigh. It’s utter bliss, you never want to move again. Just lie on his perfect, warm chest and be in faultless paradise forever, be painted into one of those masterpieces that hang in a museum—sublime and beautiful for all time, admired and envied by those who have to carry on living. If only.

You hear your name rumbling in the ribs underneath you and you hum an acknowledgement.

“You with me, babygirl?” His gorgeous voice sounds like it’s far away even though it’s impossibly close. You don’t know what that means so shake your head and bury your face deeper into him. You’re safe here so that’s where you’ll stay, locked in golden amber, thick and precious.

Eventually, however, the time passes and you become flesh and blood again, alive and mortal. You find it’s not so bad though, not when Boba is there waiting for you. You turn your face to press your lips into the marred skin of his sternum, planting kisses over each divot and mark there before shifting so you can blink up at him happily. “Hey,” you mumble lazily, a smile unfurling on your lips. Surely, it doesn’t get better than this.

“Hey,” he murmurs with a smile like the golden sun, the corners of his eyes turning up. “How’re you, my pretty girl?”

There’s a dull, pleasant ache between your thighs. “Mmm… good, ‘s happy,” you sigh contentedly, pressing deeper into his warmth. “You?”

Boba shifts up the bed so he’s propped up on the pillows, adjusting you back over him with his hand splayed across your lower back. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Never been better, princess.”  

Peeking up, you trace a finger tip over the deep crease between his eyebrows. “What’s worrying you then?”

He takes your hand in his own and lowers it to give a light kiss. “Nothing, little one.”

You prop up on your elbow and fix him with a stern look. “I thought we only gave and took honesty when we’re like this.”

He lets out a groan, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?” He falls silent and you can tell he’s thinking, so you leave him be, patiently resting your head on his shoulder to wait. After a quiet couple of minutes, he adjusts his position slightly and you tell he’s ready. Taking your hand in his, Boba brushes his thumb over the thin skin of the inside of your wrist and begins in a tone less confident than his usual. “I… I’ve never been much good at this part of things, the talking. Always been easier to just do rather than to figure out the words to say.”

You make a warm sound of encouragement and settle deeper into him to assure him that you’re not going anywhere, that you’re listening. With your ear pressed against him, you can hear the heavy beat of his heart and deep breath he takes in before continuing. “Did you mean what you said?”

You frown, not catching his meaning. “When I said what?”

“It’s fine if you didn't… if it was just in the heat of the moment.”

You sit up so you can look him in the eye, anxiety prickling in your stomach. “Said what, Boba?” Cold dread slides down the nape of your neck. Please don’t let this be ruined, please don’t take him away from me.

He goes silent, his eyes searching for something in your own. “Never mind, it’s not important,” he finally mutters. “Forget I said anything.”

Sitting all the way up, you cross your arms over your breasts. “Absolutely kriffing not. You better tell me or I’ll never let you see me naked ever again,” you threaten, setting your jaw.

“Come on, princess,” he tries, ducking his head for a kiss; you turn your chin up so his lips can’t reach yours. A heavy sigh rattles from his chest and his brown eyes look up to the ceiling as if the answer to his problem would be scrawled across it. Finding nothing, he drops his gaze, not meeting your eyes. “Did you mean it when you said that you… love me?” 

Frayed electricity floods your brain, your blood running horribly cold. Had you said that? When? Is he upset? Have you ruined everything? The memory of babbled words swells up in a sudden, terrifying wave: “I want you to make me all yours, fuck, I love you, don’t stop!”

You can never keep your big mouth shut can you? you scold yourself, Now you’ve gone and told his perfect man that you love him after one month of knowing him. Kark you’re stupid. There’s no use in denying that you said it, he clearly knows you did. Least he’s gentleman enough to not toss you out of his house immediately, allowing you to get your wits back about you after getting the best dick of your entire life. And, you guess, the last time in your entire life.

The earlier stubborn set to your shoulders droops to a sullen slope. You clear your throat, your eyes trying to find anywhere to look but at him. “I, um, I…” you trail off. Now you’re the one who has to be honest—you don’t think you could lie to him, not like this. “I did mean it… I do mean it. I shouldn’t have said it, though, I know it’s weird and I understand if you want me to leave and we go our separate ways after this.” You finally settle on a point on the other side of the room to stare at while you wait for his inevitable rejection. When it begins to bounce around in your vision, you notice that Boba is shaking underneath you. Your eyes fly to his face.

“Oh, little princess, what am I going to do with you?” he laughs, the sound not sharp or mean as you expected, but sunny and joyful, his expression elated. Cupping your face in his large hands, he brings his lips to yours, and you can feel his smile.

Is he… does he? 

Pulling you back just enough to see your face, Boba brushes his thumbs across your cheekbones affectionately, his brown eyes the softest they’ve ever been. “You really are something else. Where have you been all my life?”

“Wondering when the hell you’re going to tell me what’s going on,” you huff, staving off the fretful waver in your voice. Your heart is pounding so hard in your ribs you think they might bruise, and you can scarcely breathe with the hope that your feelings are reciprocated. 

He says your name in that thalassic voice of his, chucking up your chin with two fingers. “Say it again first so I know I’m not dreaming.”

Fortune favors the bold, and so does he. Looking him dead in the eye, you let go one more time for him. “I love you, Boba Fett, I really do. Four karking weeks in or not.”

He lays his warm palm on the back of your neck, guiding you forward so he can rest his forehead against yours. “I’m glad you said it, cyar’ika, because I… I love you, too.”

If he wanted to say anything else, it’s lost to the ages because you’re kissing him and you don’t intend to stop any time soon.

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS

(ner) cyare - (my) beloved, love

cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling, (a diminutive of cyare)

osik - Mando'a curse akin to "shit"

<Part II — Part IV>

#i nearly did myself in writing this 🥴 #i am consumed by the thought of boba slipping into mando'a when things get hot and heavy #zwei writes #fanfic #ex libris fic #boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x fem!reader #boba fett x you #boba fett fanfic #boba fett smut #boba fett fanfiction #professor!boba fett #star wars fanfiction #professor boba fett

[beskarandblasters]

Wherever You Stray, I Follow

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Inspired by Willow by Taylor Swift

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Summary: You’re the daughter of a senator on Coruscant and you’ve been set up in an arranged marriage to another senator’s son for both your father and his father’s political gain. Your father hires Din Djarin to transport you to Naboo where you’re supposed to meet your fiancé’s family and prepare for the wedding. On the trip to Naboo you form a relationship together in secret but after you arrive on Naboo he’s hired to be your bodyguard up until the wedding. But will you actually go though with the wedding? That’s for you and Din to decide.

Word count: 10k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent, no Grogu, Din still has the Razor Crest, arranged marriage, your family sucks, your fiancé is a dick, infidelity, fingering, vaginal sex, cockwarming, creampie, semi public sex? (idk they do it on a balcony), canon typical violence, helmetless Din, use of Mando'a words/phrases (translations included immediately after), also a "made up" Mando'a phrase (alor'ika = princess, I took alor which is ruler and added the suffix, ika), pretty sure the travel times used are not accurate but fuck it we ball LMAO, no use of y/n

“I'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night

Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife

And if it was an open-shut case

I never would've known from that look on your face

Lost in your current like a priceless wine”

You gaze down at the sea of speeders beneath you as you stand on your balcony on Coruscant. The industrialized planet is a far cry from your home, Savareen. You never thought in your wildest dreams you would miss the deserts and the oceans of your home planet but now that you moved to Coruscant you’re missing it now more than ever. Your father decided he wanted a career in politics so he moved your family to Coruscant. You definitely could live on your own back home but your father wanted everyone together for his “political image” or whatever. 

You hear your father calling your name behind you so you look over your shoulder to find him and an unknown man standing across the room. 

“I want to introduce you to Senator Lokato,” he says. 

You turn to walk over to them, and notice that Senator Lokato is wearing the typical senator “uniform”; dark colored robes that go all the way down to the floor. Senator Lokato’s are a dark gray and your father’s are navy blue. It’s weird seeing your father trying to fit in with these types of people. 

“Hello. Nice to meet you,” you say awkwardly, not really understanding what your business was with him.

“I know you’ve been struggling to make friends and meet others your age here so we thought you’d like to meet his son.”

“...Okay,” you say hesitantly, following them down the hallway and into your parent’s living room. 

There’s a man sitting on the couch who you can only assume is Senator Lokato’s son. He’s about your age, maybe a few years older. He rises when he sees you and walks to meet you in the middle of the room. 

“I’m Valsi. Pleased to meet a lovely lady like yourself,” he says, giving you a suggestive smirk. 

Maybe you would be flattered by his forward nature if he weren’t so… plain looking. He’s a little taller than you, a tad muscular and just so… plain. He’s got the kind of eyes that are just soulless and he bares a striking resemblance to his father. 

“Nice to meet you, too,” you offer politely. 

“Well, we’ll let you two get to know each other,” Senator Lokato says, clapping his hands together.

“Yes, have fun you two!” your father says a bit too cheerily before leaving with Lokato.

“Please, sit,” Valsi says… in your own home. 

You sit on the couch, keeping your body language tight and uninviting. The more you see of this guy the more you realize you’re not gonna want anything to do with him.

“I’m not sure what your father has told you but I have family on Naboo. We could raise the children there, of course. We can bring them to visit Savareen, too. But… a more civilized place like Naboo is better. And Coruscant is too busy for small children. Maybe we could relocate here when they’re older? But-”

“Excuse me?” you ask. You were zoning out at the sound of his monotone voice until he started mentioning children. 

“Well of course we’re going to have children?” he says, in a tone that makes it sound like you’re the stupid one.

“Of course we’re going to have children? We don’t know each other. I literally just met you today,” you snap back. 

“Oh, I see. Your father didn’t tell you. We’re getting married.”

“You’re funny if you think I’m getting married to you,” you laugh.

“You can laugh all you want but our fathers already made a deal. We get married in a month,” he says, folding his arms.

The realization is settling in. Your father was trying to get you to “make friends” alright. He’s trying to sell you off to some man for his own political game. You should’ve seen this coming. Ever since your father has become a member of the Senate he’s been obsessed with perfecting his image and gaining more public approval.

“You might be okay being a puppet for your father but I’m certainly not,” you snap, getting up and storming over to the door. 

As you enter the hallway you see your father and Lokato who were clearly listening in on your interaction. You scoff at them both and stomp off your bedroom.

“She’ll come around,” you hear your father say softly before closing the sliding door behind you. 

You fall into your bed and start crying; the weight of everything hitting you all at once. Between being forced to leave your home planet, moving to a strange new place and now all of a sudden being shoved into an arranged marriage you’re feeling completely hopeless. 

Eventually you drift off to sleep, your own tears aiding you in the process. Your dreams are filled with your home planet and of travels all on your own, with no one forcing you to go anywhere or do anything. It almost feels too real because when you wake up you forget the horrors of reality for a moment. 

You get changed into a silky pale blue dress before returning to the living room. That was another thing about your father’s new found political life; your wardrobe was completely different. Gone were the days of flowy pants, boots and earth tones. Now your wardrobe consists of extravagant gowns, robes and jewelry. It’s all very beautiful and maybe just maybe you could enjoy your new look if it wasn’t being forced upon you. 

You find your father sitting on the couch, reading something on his holo-pad. When he notices your presence he looks up and shoots you a faux sympathetic glance. You sit on the opposite end of the couch silently, not even knowing what to say to the man who’s trying to strip you of your bodily autonomy. 

“I’m sorry, my dear. I just think this is what’s best for us. The Lokatos are very well off. You’ll be set for life,” he says, setting the holo-pad down on the table in front of him.

“You’re forcing me to marry someone I don’t know… let alone even love! I really don’t care how rich they are,” you say, folding your arms. 

“It’s for the best. Especially if you want to maintain this new lifestyle that you’ve become accustomed to.”

“You mean the one that you forced upon us? If I were up to me I would be home right now,” you fight back.

He sighs, not looking to listen to any more of your protests. 

“Look, Valsi left today to go visit his family on Naboo. After he gets some business sorted there you’re going to meet him. You’ll be leaving tomorrow. I’ve hired someone to take you there, some Mandalorian. You leave tomorrow.”

You scoff and get up, retreating to your room where you go to bed again, wallowing in your own sadness until you decide to pack for the next day. Your parents call you for dinner but you decline, not wanting to see them but also too upset to eat. You go to bed that night and have a dream that this Mandalorian takes you anywhere else but Naboo. It’s a shame really. You’ve heard how beautiful Naboo is and under any other circumstances you’d be jumping at the chance to go. But when you’re going under the pretense of meeting your arranged husband and his family, you can think of a million other places you’d rather be. 

You wake up the next morning and get ready for your journey, the nerves brewing in your stomach. You meet your father in the living room again without saying a word to him. He sends for a servant to collect your bag before leading you to the docking bay. You don’t say a word to him the whole way there. He makes attempts at small talk, telling you how much you’re going to love Naboo and how you’re going to have such a good time. But you can’t be bothered to entertain him. 

You reach the docking bay and in front of you is a large ship; a Razor Crest your father tells you. The exit ramp opens and that’s when you see him walking towards you; a Mandalorian in full beskar, silver and shiny. He has a sort of confidence about him when he walks that commands the attention of anyone nearby. 

“Mando!” your father says happily as he stops in front of the both of you, “Thanks for agreeing to do this.”

“Half the credits, the other half after the job is done, right?” he says, making no time for pleasantries. His modulated voice scratches an itch in your brain you didn’t know was there. 

“O-of course,” your father stutters, pulling out a small bag from his robes. 

The Mandalorian takes it and nods with a slight tip of his helmet. 

“Let’s go,” he says curtly, turning and walking back towards the Razor Crest. 

He seems… unpleasant. And you’re going to have to spend several days with him alone holed up in this ship. Great. 

Your father goes for a hug but you rebuff him, walking to the ship without looking back. The servant follows with your bags and drops them off before leaving. The Mandalorian closes the exit ramp and retreats to the cockpit without saying a word. You follow him and sit in the passenger seat. You watch him prepare the ship for takeoff while he doesn’t say a single word to you. So offer some conversation.

“So… Do you always do stuff like this?” you ask.

“Stuff like what?” he replies, not looking at you.

“Transporting people around.”

“No. I’m a bounty hunter.”

“Really? How’d you get roped into this?”

“Credits,” he says plainly.

“Hope that it was worth it…” you grumble under your breath.

He turns his seat around and the T-shaped visor practically burns a hole into you. You can’t see his face but you can feel his stone cold gaze and it sends shivers through you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You’re taken aback. Is he actually offended by your snide little comment?

“You’re bringing me to Naboo to meet my soon-to-be husband. The whole thing is a forced, arranged marriage. Did you know that?” you say defensively, folding your arms across your chest.

“No, I don’t ask questions like that. All I need to know is that I’m bringing a princess to Naboo and how much I’ll be paid.”

“I’m not a princess,” you scoff.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he says, turning to face the control panel again.

You let out an exasperated sigh and he finishes preparing the ship for takeoff. He straps himself in and asks if you’re strapped in, too. 

“You buckled up, princess?” 

“Yup.”

He takes off and you look at Coruscant below as you leave, pretending you’re going anywhere you want and not with some grumpy Mandalorian. 

Once you’ve left the atmosphere you ask, “So how long is it going to be until we get to Naboo?”

“About seven standard days,” he says nonchalantly.

Great. Seven days of being holed up in this cramped ship with him. 

He makes the jump to lightspeed and you’re enveloped in a cool blue glow.

“You can unbuckle now. I’ve set an auto pilot course for Naboo. We shouldn’t need to stop for fuel if all goes well.”

Pretty much as soon as he said the word “unbuckle” you were leaving the cockpit to go stretch your legs. You only half listened to the rest of what he’s saying. To be honest, you don’t really care for him. 

You pace up and down the storage area of the Crest for what feels like forever, wondering what kinds of weapons and gadgets he has stowed away in there. You sit on some crates and mess around on your holo-pad for a while. It’s really fucking boring and Mando isn’t one for small talk. 

He keeps to himself mostly, periodically checking in on you as you keep yourself entertained. He doesn’t really have an opinion on you just yet. He assumes you think he doesn’t like you but that’s just how he is with everyone; a little standoffish. He watches you as you pace the storage area and tries to ignore the way your hips sway when you walk; or the way your brows furrow when you read something on your holo-pad. You’re just so… cute to him, in your pretty dress that hugs your figure perfectly. In all honesty, he feels bad for you, too. Once he learned you were set to be in an arranged marriage his apathy towards you started shifting into something else. 

Eventually it’s the end of the first day cycle and he realizes you should probably get to bed soon. He sits beside you on a crate you’re reading your holo-pad on and says gently, “You need to sleep.”

He half expected a snarky response or some form of protest from you but you just yawn and let out a soft, “Okay.”

He leads you to the cot across the room in a little cubby. 

“It’s a little small but it should be alright for you,” he says.

“What about you? Where are you going to sleep?” you ask. 

His chest gets tight over your concern for him. 

“Don’t worry about me.”

“But where are you going to sleep?” you ask, not letting it go.

“...The floor? Or maybe in one of the seats in the cockpit,” he says reluctantly. 

“That’s ridiculous. Just sleep in here with me.”

His mind is spinning at the thought of sleeping on the cot with you. But he also wants to respect your personal space. You’re engaged to someone else whether it’s arranged or not.

As if you could read his mind you say, “We’re both adults here. I wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t comfortable with it.”

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. 

You excuse yourself to the refresher to change into your pajamas; a soft oversized shirt and a pair of sleep shorts. He removes his armor and weapons in the meantime, leaving only his flight suit and his helmet on. You crawl into the cot with him and it’s a tight squeeze. You figure out the most comfortable position is him spooning you, his large arm draped over your side. You get a glimpse of his gloveless hand and make a mental note of his skin tone; the only indication you have of what he looks like underneath all the beskar. It’s large and calloused, most likely from years of working with his hands. 

“So… Do you ever take the helmet off?” you ask. 

“Only when I’m alone.”

“So if I wasn’t here right now, you could take it off,” you say, feeling guilty. 

He doesn’t say anything. If he answers with a yes you’re just going to feel bad. And it isn’t your fault. He chose to follow the creed. 

“I should sleep somewhere else. Just so you can take that thing off and have a chance to really breathe,” you say, starting to get up.

His arm around you tightens. He doesn’t want you to leave. It’s nice having someone else to lay with; to sleep with, regardless of the fact you’re engaged to someone else. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” he says softly, “I’m used to it.”

“...Are you sure?”

“Yes, mesh’la. Go to sleep.”

Mesh’la? What does that mean? You feel sleep overtaking you so you decide to ask in the morning. You drift off to sleep with the sounds of his modulated breathing soothing you.

He wakes up before you and admires how peaceful you look, eyes closed and lashes fanned out against your face. He could stay there for a while, taking in all of your beauty but he needs to get up and check on the autopilot. He gets out of the cot; careful to not disturb you. He replaces his armor and his weapons before retreating to the cockpit. He checks to make sure the Crest is still on course and tries to ignore the excitement brewing in his stomach.

You wake up in the morning and he’s gone. You’re shocked for a moment but then you remember he’s probably just in the cockpit. You get up and stretch before going to meet him in the cockpit. The blue light whizzing by around you makes it feel like it’s not morning; like no time has passed. You sit in one of the passenger seats, not saying a word to him. 

“How did you sleep?” he asks softly. 

“Good… How did you sleep?”

“Good,” he says awkwardly. 

“Okay well… I think I’m gonna use the refresher?” you say, more so in an asking tone. 

“Go right ahead,” he says, turning his seat to face you. 

You catch a glimpse of your reflection in his helmet and notice your bedhead. Feeling embarrassed you retreat to the refresher and spend a while in there, letting the warm water soothe you. You change into a new dress when you’re done, this one lower cut than the one from yesterday. You step out of the refresher and back into the storage area, almost bumping right into him. 

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize. 

But he doesn’t say a word, admiring your beauty once again; fresh faced with wet hair… and of course the hint of cleavage peeking out from your dress. 

Why isn’t he saying anything? you wonder, Did I do something to upset him?

“Y-you should eat,” he says, tripping on his words ever so slightly.

“Okay…You should, too.”

“Okay,” he says, turning to grab some rations for both of you.

“We just have to eat separately,” he says.

“Of course! Where do you want me?”

Against me, under me, he thinks to himself.

“You stay out here. I’ll go on the cot and shut the door,” he says.

You nod and he hands you your ration before going into the cubby and closing the door. You sit on the floor and lean back against it, wanting to feel close to him for some strange reason… And then you realize your own apathy towards him is melting away and changing into something else, too. But you can’t put your finger on what.

He sits on his cot and removes his helmet. You can hear the hiss of the modulator through the door and your mind races with ideas of what he looks like. 

“I’m against the door… I just wanted it to feel like we were eating together.”

His heart flutters. “That’s okay, mesh’la,” he says, using the nickname subconsciously. 

“No more princess, huh?” you tease, but also listen carefully to his helmetless, unmodulated voice. 

He almost chokes on his food at your boldness. “Well uh, you said you weren’t a princess…”

“That’s right. I’m not. But what does mesh’la mean?”

He has two options. He could tell you the truth… or he could lie. What are the chances of you meeting another Mandalorian anyway? But he doesn’t want to lie to you of all people. You deserve someone who’s honest and good to you.

“It’s… Mando’a for beautiful,” he says, wincing at your response. At least, you can’t see how flustered he’s getting. 

“Oh… thank you, Mando,” you respond. That’s the first time you’ve used any sort of nickname to address him. And he takes note of that.

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” he asks.

“No! Not at all. You’re very sweet.”

He relaxes a bit and you two talk while you eat, getting to know each other a bit more. You could sit and listen to his unmodulated voice tell you stories for hours. But eventually you’re both done eating and you hear him get up. You stand up, too and hear the hiss of the modulator once again. He opens the door and you both stare at each other for a moment, both surprised at your connection and concern for one another. He goes back up to the cockpit and sits in the pilot seat. You grab your holo-pad and follow him, sitting in one of the passenger seats in silence. Except this time, it’s a comfortable silence. And that was the start of Mando’s mysterious, protective nature breaking down the walls you put up around you. 

You fall into a routine during the rest of your traveling days. You sit in the cockpit together in comfortable silence. You sleep pressed up against each other. Your touch and gaze begin to linger. You grow more and more comfortable with each other; so comfortable that you almost forget you’re on your way to meet your fiancé and his family. 

But at night when you’re sleeping in Mando’s arms you don’t have a care in the world. You’ve grown so accustomed to sleeping with him that you know you’ll miss this when it’s over. It’s the same position every night, your back flush against his chest and his arm around your waist. And also… his hard length pressed against your butt and lower back. He wasn’t hard the first night most likely because he was so nervous. But as you both grew more comfortable you noticed the hardness more and more. You’ve never said anything about it. You didn’t want to embarrass him. 

But now it's your last night together. You’ll arrive on Naboo in the morning and your time together will be over. And you’ve come to the conclusion that you want Mando. Even if you won’t have him again after tonight. So when his cock goes hard against your back you push your butt into him, taking him by surprise. 

“...What are you doing, mesh’la?”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” you ask suggestively. 

“But you’re engaged, mesh’la,” he says quietly, defeated even.

“But I don’t want him, Mando. I don’t even know him. I was forced into this blindly. And if I have to go be with him tomorrow… I want one last good time; one last good night with you.” 

“Okay, mesh’la. Anything for you.”

And with his approval you’re pushing your butt back into him as his bare hand grabs your hip. He pulls into you, cock pressing hard against you as you ache for more touch. You rest your back on the cot and he takes the opportunity to hover over you. His hand trails up your thigh and hooks onto the waistband on your shorts. He pulls them off in one swift motion before spreading your thighs apart. His large fingers tease your entrance which was getting wetter by the second. He swept his fingers up your core, marveling how ready you were for him. He brings his thumb to your clit before moving the helmet against your face so could whisper in your ear. 

“I bet you wanted this every night, didn’t you mesh’la?”

You whimper in response, the featherlight touch of his fingers driving you insane. 

“Please. I need more.”

“What’s that?” he teases, “Are you begging for me, cyar’ika?”

You’re too horny and frustrated to retain any sort of pride now so you nod, begging even more.

“Yes. Yes, I am. Please, Mando, I need more.”

He plunges his index finger into you without warning, working your walls as your moans fill the small space.

“Look at you, cyar’ika. Already a mess just from one finger,” he purrs.

“What does that one mean? you ask. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers against your ear just as he slips in another finger eliciting a loud moan from you. 

He curls them upwards and brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing small, fast circles around it as waves of pleasure shoot through your body. You feel your muscles tense up in anticipation of relief and you know you’re close to finishing. 

“I’m close, Mando,” you whine. 

“Din,” he says. 

“Hmm?” you ask, too far gone to form a complete question. 

“My name is Din, Din Djarin. Call me by my name when you cum, cyar’ika.”

All you can do is whimper in response. But that isn’t good enough for him. He stops swirling his thumb around your clit and slows his fingers inside of you. 

“What was that, cyar’ika?” he teases, moving his fingers painstakingly slow. 

“Y-yes, Din,” you say in between labored breaths. 

“Good girl,” he praises before picking up the pace again. 

Your hands grip the edges of the cot for purchase as you roll your hips against him, desperate for his complete touch. He rests on the back of his heels and brings his hand to your abdomen, right above where his fingers are inside you and where your g-spot is. He pushes his fingers against it inside you and presses down on your abdomen ever so gently, pleasuring your g-spot internally and externally. Between the three different spots of stimulation you’re at the brink of orgasm again. And this time he lets you have it, making a mess beneath you on the cot and soaking his hand down to his wrist.

“Din, I’m coming,” you moan, arching your back up against him. 

“That’s right, cyar’ika. Cum on my fingers. Just like that,” he says, bringing his helmet by your ear once more. 

Your cunt convulses around his fingers in rhythmic waves before eventually stopping. He watches you writhe in pleasure and feels a sense of pride knowing he got you to cum hard like that. He waits until you’re finished before pulling them out of you; you whine at the sudden absence. 

“Don’t worry, mesh’la. I’m gonna take care of you,” he says before leaning back and pulling his cock out of his flight suit. 

He slicks his cock with your release and you spread your legs wider to accommodate how broad he is. He grabs your hand as he pushes into you. You gasp at his length, filling you completely. He buries his cock into you down to the hilt and showers you with praise. 

“You take my cock so good, cyar’ika,” he says as he stretches your walls.

His other hand moves to your tit, thumbing around your nipple and worrying into a stiff peak. It pulls a deep moan from prompting him to explore your body and learn just what makes you melt. His eyes are locked with yours, even though you can’t see his. He tears away his gaze for a moment to look down at your cunt and the way it grips his cock moving in and out of you. He curses at the sight, mesmerized by it before fucking you relentlessly. You feel your core tense up again before washing you over with the biggest wave of relief. You know he’s at the edge, too. He goes to pull out but you don’t want him to, not ready for the fullness you’re feeling to go away. 

“I have an implant,” you say quickly.

And with that he drives his hips into you one last time before releasing his load into you, coating your insides. He cums with a loud groan, spilling out of the helmet. He lays down, keeping you inside him and pulls you against his chest. 

“You’re amazing, cyar’ika,” he purrs, hand trailing up and down your figure. 

You sigh happily in response. He goes to pull out but you stop him, telling him you want to fall asleep like this. He relaxes and settles against you, wrapping your arm around your waist. 

“Thank you for that, Din,” you whisper. 

“Anything for you, cyar’ika.” he whispers back as sleep overtakes you both. 

You wake up to the sensation of his cock hardening inside you. You let out an involuntary moan and move your ass against him. He grinds back into you before waking up fully, hand gripping your waist tightly. You move back and forth with each other in a perfect rhythm, your ass colliding with his groin, plunging his cock into you as deep as it can go. He reaches forward and parts your legs slightly so he can rub your clit. You moan and lean back against his strong chest while he fucks you; the dual sensation taking you to the edge quickly. You cum simultaneously, pulling every last drop out of him as your cunt flutters around his cock. You’re feeling fuller than ever, between his length and having taken two of his loads. You’re going to miss this feeling so much. You’ve only had sex twice now and you’re already missing the feeling of him inside you. 

“You’re so dirty, cyar’ika,” he muses, hands roaming your body again, “Going to another man, full of my cum.”

“And wishing it was you,” you whine. 

“I know,” he whispers, “At least I got to experience this with you.”

“Yeah…” you trail off, the realization of today settling in. 

“I guess I should go get ready,” you sigh. 

He doesn’t say anything but you can feel him exhale behind you. You lift yourself up out of the cot and strip your pajamas. He sits up on the cot and admires your naked form in front of him, fearing it’s the last time he’ll ever see it. He wishes he could just rip off the helmet and take an unobstructed mental image but he knows he can’t. You go get dressed for the day, feeling so angry and defeated about your situation that you don’t bother to shower and wash him off of you. If you’re going to walk into an arranged marriage you’re going to do it encapsulated in the scent of your lover and filled with his cum. 

Din reattaches his armor and his weapons before retreating to the cockpit. You gather your things and meet him there, sitting in the passenger seat silently. The gloom of the situation permeated the space and both of you were feeling it. This time the silence is sad and lonely instead of comfortable like it had been for the past several days. 

Naboo comes into view and you gasp at the lush planet. Why does this beautiful place have to hold such terrible implications? Din watches the way your face lights up as you admire the scenery. He received coordinates where to land prior to leaving and heads there. One the Crest is stationary and he gets up to help you with his bags, pulling you into one final hug before lowering the exit ramp. 

“Take care, ner alor’ika.”

“Hmm, what does that one mean?” you ask against his chest plate. 

“My princess,” he says softly, moving his hand to the small of your back. 

He pulls away and lowers the exit ramp. You see the unfortunately familiar face of Valsi and an older lady who can only assume is his mother. You walk down the exit ramp with Din as he carries your bags.

Valsi’s mom greets you with a cheery hello. She starts rambling on about how excited is to show you around. Din sets your bags down on the ground and Valsi calls for a servant to collect them before taking your arm. They lead you away and you look over your shoulder to get one final glimpse at him before he turns and walks to the crest, the exit ramp closing behind him. A pit forms in your stomach as you hear his engines power up. 

Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind 

Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in

As if you were a mythical thing

Like you were a trophy or a champion ring

And there was one prize I'd cheat to win

Valsi’s grip on your arm is tight and constricting as his mother shows you around. It really is a beautiful place; high vaulted ceilings decorated with elaborate paintings supported by strong columns. But you can’t admire the place without Valsi making a snide comment. 

“You won’t find places like this on Savareen,” he says, a dark smirk painting his face. 

“Valsi! Don’t be rude!” his mother scolds. At least she’s more polite than him. 

“Well, it’s true…” he says under his breath. 

His mother shakes her head and rolls her eyes before leading you outside. The garden is vibrant, green and full of life. Species of flowers you’ve never seen before lined up in neat rows with various sculptures arranged amongst them. Across the way there’s a shining, bright blue lake and in the distance mountains loom above casting their mystified reflection on the water’s surface. Minus the mountains, the lake reminds you of the oceans on Savareen and your heart aches. 

His mother goes to say something but she’s cut off by a blinding silver reflection walking across the garden. Your stomach lurches at the sight; Din Djarin walking towards you in a field of flowers. A giddy smile breaks out onto your face and you don’t care about Valsi or his mother’s reaction.

“You came back,” you say as he reaches you, trying to mask your excitement. 

“I’ve been hired by your father to look after you whenever Valsi is busy… up until the wedding,” he says.

“That’s ridiculous. We have plenty of guards here that can look after her,” Valsi retorts, narrowing his eyes. 

“Her father’s orders,” Din shrugs.

“Ugh, whatever.”

A servant comes out to the garden and motions for Valsi to come over to him.

“I have meetings I need to attend. See you for dinner tonight,” he says, squeezing your hand.

You pull back in disgust and he leaves to follow the servant inside.

“Feel free to explore on your own,” his mother says, “When you’re ready to be shown to your room, ask a servant and one of them will show you.”

“Thank you,” you smile. His mother really does seem like a nice woman. It’s a shame her son turned out the way he did. 

It’s just you and Din alone in the garden, standing in front of each other. You start walking towards the water and he follows you, admiring how the sun hits your face and how your hair catches the wind. You’re relieved to be with him again even if it’s only for a short time. You stop at the railing and rest your hands on it, leaning forward and looking at the rolling waves of the lake. The breeze blows your hair back and fills you senses with the scent of the flora around you. You look over at Din and wonder what it’s like for him under there. Does he ever miss the feeling of the sun on his face or the wind in his hair? Does he even have hair? You have no idea what he looks like. Can he smell things underneath the helmet?

“What are you thinking about, mesh’la?”

“What you look like… and if you can smell things through the helmet.”

His gloved hand on the railing slides towards yours, resting it on top. “Of course, I can smell, cyar’ika. I would fall asleep with you pressed up against me, smelling your sweet scent every night.”

Maker, you want him so bad right now. You inch closer towards him, barely keeping any space between you two.

“Cyar’ika…” he says nervously, “What if someone sees?”

“I don’t care,” you groan, resting your head against his chest plate, facing the water. You could stay like this forever, in his arms and surrounded by nature. 

But eventually you start to think that people might worry if you’re gone for a long time with him so you retreat back inside. You ask a servant to show you to your room. He leads you down a long hallway and stops at one of the doors. The room is beautiful, just like the rest of the mansion. You have a balcony that looks right out to the lake. Your bags are beside your bed and you turn to ask the servant about Din. 

“What about him?”

“Uh, Master Valsi never told me of any arrangements for him.”

“Well he is my bodyguard. I would like him to have a room not too far from me.”

“Very well, miss. I’ll get started on that. Dinner is in about an hour.”

“Thank you,” you smile. He closes the door behind him, leaving you and Din alone. He closes the gap between you and snakes his arm around to the small of your back. 

“Do you know how badly I want to take you right here, cyar’ika?” he whispers.

“I mean… we have an hour,” you say suggestively.

That’s all the clearance he needs. He pushes you down on the bed gently and pulls up the skirt of your dress to reveal no underwear.

“No underwear, cyar’ika? Iba’ etyc alor’ika.” What a dirty little princess. 

You moan at his words and spread your legs open for him, aching for his touch. He wastes no time bringing his fingers to your entrance and stroking it lightly, in awe of how wet you are already.

“How bad do you want it, cyar’ika?”

“So bad, Din. Please I can’t wait any longer,” you whine. 

He chuckles at your neediness and slides a finger in, curling it upwards against your walls. Barely giving you time to adjust, he pushes another in, anxious to get you cumming around his fingers. He brings his thumb to your clit and in no time he pulls an orgasm from you. You arch your hips up against him as your cunt convulses around him. He pulls his fingers from you after you’ve ridden out your high and releases his cock that was pitching a tent in his flight suit. He slicks his length with your juices and pushes into your cunt immediately, desperate for the warm, familiar feeling again. This is the first time you’ve had him during the day. And the light from the window and balcony across the room bathes him in the warm sunny glow. You’re mesmerized by the sight of him above you, inside you and in his full armor. It’s new for him, too. Not only are you also bathed in the afternoon light but you’re also in a bigger bed this time. And it allows you to sprawl out so beautifully underneath him. He leans down, effectively folding you in half and drives his hips into you harder. With this new angle you’re at the brink of orgasm and after one last forceful thrust you’re coming undone around him. Your muscles contract and release in a symphony, cunt fluttering around his cock pulling his own orgasm from him. Thick ropes of cum paint your walls as he slows his pace before pulling out of you carefully. He lays down on the bed and pulls you into him, the cold beskar a nice contrast to your warm, sweaty face. After a while of catching your breath he says, “You should probably go get ready for dinner, cyar’ika.”

“I know,” you sigh.

He rises and puts his cock away, grabbing your hand and helping you up from the plush bed. You undress and get ready to step in the refresher, making it even harder for you to leave him.

“I’m going to go retrieve some stuff from the Crest, cyar’ika,” he sighs.

“Okay,” you say softly, “See you after dinner.”

He leaves and closes the door behind him. You get in the refresher and clean yourself up, already missing him. You change into one of the dresses you packed, off the shoulder and a silky blue color before a servant comes to pick you up for dinner. He leads you to a large dining room, again with large vaulted ceilings. The table is so big and you’re sitting so far apart it’s barely like eating together. You’re sitting across from Valsi and his mother is at one end of the table.

“You’ll have to forgive Valsi’s father. He got caught up with some business on Coruscant but he’ll be here soon,” she says.

You nod and eat together in silence before asking, “What about-”

But Valsi cuts you off, “The Mandalorian? The servants will bring him his own food to his room.”

You think about Din eating alone in his room and feel sad for him, wanting nothing more than to sit against the door and talk with him while you share a meal together. Valsi raises his eyebrow at your concern for him but drops it, going back to eating his food in silence. Eventually the three of you are finished and you excuse yourself to your room.

“Thank you so much for the tour and thank you for having me in your home,” you say to his mom, looking past Valsi.

“Of course, dear. Have a good night.”

And with that you rise from your chair and walk back to your room, anxious to see Din again. You spot a servant in the entryway of the house and ask, “Where is the Mandalorian’s room?” careful not to use his name.

“The same hallway as you, miss. But all the way at the end.”

You tell him thanks and start walking a little faster, climbing up the staircase and heading towards the hallway. You reach the end and knock on his door, but you get no response. You wait a little before knocking again… but nothing. Maybe he’s already asleep? Maybe he’s still in the Crest? You wait for a sign of his presence before retreating to your room, feeling a little defeated. You get ready for bed and change into your pajamas, slipping into the soft bed and wishing Din was here with you. 

You drift off to sleep but don’t stay asleep for long because you feel someone on the other side of the room. You hear the clink of metal and the sheets rustle as the person sneaks into bed with you. You turn over to see Din getting into bed with you silently. 

“Din! What if someone comes in?”

“I won’t stay the whole night… I just couldn’t sleep without you.”

You feel a sense of relief, for you too have grown used to the feeling of him against you every night.

“Okay,” you say softly, settling yourself in the crook of his neck, “Goodnight, Din.”

“Goodnight, cyar’ika.”

“The more that you say

The less I know

Wherever you stray

I follow

I'm begging for you to take my hand

Wreck my plans

That's my man”

You wake up early in the morning with Din still at your side. He’s still sleeping so you pull yourself away (even though it’s hard) to watch the sunrise over the mountains and the lake. The sun peeks over the mountaintops cloaking everything in a warm, amber glow. You lean over the railing of the balcony, resting your elbows on it and placing your head in your hands, admiring the stillness of it all. No one telling you where to go, no Valsi dragging you by the arm, no father that doesn’t listen to you. Just you and your lover on a peaceful morning after just spending the night together. You hear Din get up and walk behind you, hooking his hands on your hips. It’s early enough that you don’t care about anyone seeing you together. You’re probably the only ones awake. He slides your sleep shorts down and you stand on your tiptoes for him. You feel the leather of his gloves trail up and your entrance before he pulls away to take them off. You hear the them hit the floor and he replaces his hand, bare this time. His fingers tease your core, playing with you until you whine for him, getting sick of the teasing. You stand on your tiptoes even higher, arching your ass against his groin. 

“Right here, cyar’ika? What if someone sees?”

“No one will… and if someone does, oh well,” you sigh. 

“That’s my girl,” he chuckles before plunging a finger into you. 

You moan at the sensation and arch your back more, desperate for more of his touch. He slips another finger in and works your walls, preparing you for his cock. Before you could cum he pulls them out of you, whining at the empty feeling. But before you could complain anymore you feel his cock push into you slowly. You sigh at the feeling of being full once again. He grips your hips and pulls you into him, hitting your g-spot with every thrust. Your soft and hushed moans surround you as you do your best to keep quiet. With one last slam of his hips you’re coming around him, gripping his cock like a vice. He erupts his load into you, filling you with the familiar feeling of his cum soaking your cunt once again. He pulls out of you and brings you up into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. The cold feeling of his chest plate presses against your back, slick with sweat from this morning’s activities. You stay there for a moment, holding each other and watching the rest of the sunrise. 

“Ni ka'tayli gar darasuum,” he says softly.

“Hmm?” you ask, still feeling blissed out.

“I love you, alor’ika. And I know that’s unfair to you because you’re engaged to someone else but… I can’t help how I feel.”

You turn and face him, gazing up into his visor and shocked that you just got a confession of love from him. But deep down… you feel the same way. And it hurts so bad because you know in a month you’ll be married to someone else.

“I love you, too, Din,” you say. 

He pulls you into him and strokes your back gently. You close your eyes and relax but you’re interrupted when you hear a knock on the door.

“Breakfast is in thirty minutes, miss,” you hear a servant say.

“Kriff, they’re probably going to your room next,” you say, pulling away and looking up at Din. 

“It’s okay, cyar’ika. I can just say I was sleeping before when they bring my food.”

You sigh and nod before going to get ready, changing into another dress. Din hugs you from behind one last time before returning to his room. You leave and walk to the dining room for breakfast to find Valsi and his mom sitting, talking about wedding preparations.

“Well, Valsi,” his mom sighs, “You’re already giving barely enough time to plan this wedding and now you want to move it up?” 

“Mhm. As soon as possible. Next week.”

She sighs again, “Fine, let me go alert the help of my son’s rash behavior.”

She gets up and leaves. You look at Valsi with a confused expression on your face.

“We’re moving up the wedding?”

“Mhm,” he says, rising from his chair and walking over to you. He looks down at you with a truly sinister look in his eye. 

“One of the servants alerted me of your little activity with the Mandalorian this morning. Can’t say I’m surprised. You two can’t keep your hands off each other.”

Your mouth falls open and a pit forms in your stomach. 

He continues speaking and grabs your chin, “So you can mess around with your little Mandalorian play thing for now. But once we’re married, you’re mine. Do I make myself clear?”

“Mhm.”

“Good. Don’t really want this getting out to the public, do you? Think of your father’s reputation once everyone finds out you’re cheating on another senator’s son with a Mandalorian of all people.”

He releases his grip on your chin. “Alright, go run to him and tell him the news. But later today you’re looking for a wedding dress,” he sighs, returning to his chair. 

You push out your chair and leave the dining room at once, tears forming in your eyes. You don’t stop until you reach Din’s room, knocking on the door and calling for him. You hear the hiss of the modulator through the door; he must’ve been eating. He opens the door and you collapse into him, letting the tears flow.

“What happened, cyar’ika?” he says, rubbing your back.

“Someone found out about us and told Valsi… he moved up the wedding to next week,” you sob. 

You feel him tense up against you. “I’m sorry, cyar’ika. I wish there was something I could do.”

“Take me away from here,” you say softly.

“I… can’t. I’m sorry, cyar’ika. They’re members of the Senate. They’ll have everyone in the galaxy after us.”

You sob even harder, feeling completely hopeless. Not even Din can save you from this. You pull away, just wanting to wallow in your sadness alone.

“I think… I need to be alone.”

“Cyar’ika-”

But you don’t listen. You turn on your heel and walk back to your room, collapsing into bed and letting your tears overtake you. You drift off to sleep but your nap is interrupted by a servant waking you up, telling you it’s time to go pick out your dress. 

You leave with the servant and Din, who says nothing to you. They take you into the city and drop you off at a dress shop with enough credits. They wait for you out front while you make your selections. You couldn’t care less about your wedding dress and what it looks like since the marriage is a sham anyway. You pick the first one you see, pay and leave. You meet Din and the servant outside, ready to be done with being in public so you can go back to your room and wallow in sadness. You return back to the mansion and make a beeline for your room, tossing your dress on the dresser before falling into bed. You cry yourself to sleep and miss dinner, waking up the next morning with puffy eyes and an upset stomach.

The next several days feel monotonous, an endless cycle of pretending to care about wedding preparations and crying in your room. Valsi’s father and your family arrive on Naboo a few days before the wedding. Surprisingly, your parents invite the few friends you had on Savareen before you moved away; the best thing to happen to you in days. You’re happy to see them again but you wish it was under different circumstances. Din still hangs around, checking in on you in your room occasionally but you still hold some animosity for him for not being willing to get you out of here. 

“Wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark

Show me the places where the others gave you scars

Now this is an open-shut case

Guess I should've known from the look on your face

Every bait and switch was a work of art”

It’s the night before the wedding and you hear a soft knock on your door. You open to see Din and despite your disdain for him you let him in. He sits on the bed gingerly, seeming nervous. You fold your arms, getting ready to speak first. But surprisingly he does.

“I just wanted to see you one last time.”

You sigh. In all honesty you wanted this, too. 

“Me, too,” you admit, sitting down next to him and looking down at your hands. 

He reaches over and palms your thigh. You pull off your dress before laying down on the bed and opening your legs for him. The dim glow on the lamps reflects off his beskar as he moves to your underwear, hooking the fabric with his fingers and pulling it off. He brings his finger to your cunt, teasing you lightly, taking his time with you on your final night together. You whine at his delicate touch, aching for more. He pulls off his gloves and feels just how wet you are for him, wanting to hear you beg for him again. 

“Please, Din. I need you,” you moan. 

On command he slides his finger in, pumping it and out of you slowly. “Anything for you, cyar’ika.”

It’s been days since you last had him and you missed him so much. You writhe under his touch; just from one finger. He marvels at your body, the plush skin of your thighs and how you arch your back in pleasure. Aching for more he pushes another finger in and brings his thumb to your clit. He rubs small, quick circles around it and curls his fingers, pulling an orgasm from you in no time. You soak his hand down to his wrist as your cunt grips his fingers. He waits until you’re done riding out your high before removing them from you and pulling his cock out of his flight suit. He lubricates his length with your release and aligns himself with your entrance, taking your hand one last time as he enters you slowly. You gasp at the sensation of him filling you up completely, burying his cock into you balls deep and grazing your cervix. His hands move to your waist pulling you into him as he thrusts into you. Your moans fill the bedroom and you couldn’t care less about anyone hearing you right now. He looks down at you in complete adoration as you take him. Din feels his cock tense up and his balls tighten. He’s at the brink of orgasm but he wants you to cum with him. He slams his hips into you harder and faster, sending you over the edge. Your cunt flutters around, pulling every last drop of cum from him as he fucks you through your release. He slows and pulls out of you, laying on the bed next to you. You place yourself in the crook of his neck one last time, inhaling his scent and trying to memorize every last detail about him before you never see him again. 

“Yooba solus mesh’la,” he whispers. (You are beautiful)

You sigh against him, never wanting this moment to end. But it’s getting late and you have to wake up early tomorrow. Reluctantly, you pull away from him and he gets up. You lead him to the door and give him one final hug. 

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, alor’ika,” he whispers against your hair.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back. 

After one final look at each other he leaves, returning to back his room. You put on your pajamas and crawl into bed, silently crying before you fall asleep. 

You wake up the next morning with puffy eyes and an ache in your heart. Din’s surely gone by now. What reason would he have to stick around for the wedding?

Servants knock on the door and tell you they’re here to help you get ready. You get up to let them in and they begin to work on your hair and makeup. You put on your dress and look in the mirror. You look beautiful but you don’t feel beautiful; getting ready to marry a man you don’t love while you’re full with the seed of another. 

The servants escort you down the stairs and you see your parents. They tell you how beautiful you look and how happy they are for you. You give them a faux smile, trying to fake any ounce of happiness you can muster.

Soon, it’s time for the ceremony and you look out into the garden from the house at all the guests. It has to be a large wedding of course, filled with some of the most important people in the New Republic. You see Valsi at the end of the aisle, looking annoyed like he’s just waiting for this to be over. You walk down the aisle with your father and start to feel sick to your stomach at all of the eyes on you. He hands you off to Valsi who takes your hand, a little too tight. The officiant begins reading the wedding passage and your ears start ringing. You don’t even listen to what he and Valsi are saying, missing your cues to speak several times. You can sense Valsi getting annoyed with you, his brow furrowing at you as you trip up on your vows again. Before you can finish you hear a loud, “Stop!”

You rip your gaze from Valsi to see Din standing in the aisle. He doesn’t even have to continue calling for you. You immediately run towards him and into his arms, ignoring the protests of Valsi and your family and the gasps from the guests. You hear Valsi call for the guards and Din draws his blaster. He places one hand on the small of your back and begins firing once the guards do. 

“Run, cyar’ika! To the docking yard!”

You turn and bolt. You hear Valsi shout, “Don’t let her get away!”

Din follows you, shooting his blaster at anyone chasing after you. Between the adrenaline rush of escaping and being fired at you push yourself harder, desperate to get away. You reach the docking yard and run straight to the Razor Crest. Din opens the exit ramp and ushers you inside, firing his blaster a few more times at the guards before following you inside. He closes the ramp behind him and rushes up the ladder and into the pilot seat, preparing the Crest for takeoff hastily. Not before long you’re taking off, staring at the beautiful planet beneath you but feeling so grateful to be leaving. Once you left the atmosphere Din jumps to lightspeed. He turns to you and grabs your hands. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt, cyar’ika?”

You shake your head no, still panting from the chase and replaying it in your head. 

“How are we going to do this, Din? They’re going to send everyone after us.”

“Don’t worry. I have a plan. We’re going to Nevarro where I have some people who’ve agreed to hide us. But there’s one thing… you have to become my riduur.”

“Your what?”

“My wife; my spouse.”

Without hesitation you tell him yes and he sighs in relief, worried that you didn’t want to escape one marriage by entering a new one. He lets go of your hands and brings them to the edge of his helmet. You immediately throw your hands over your eyes and ask, “What are you doing?!”

“Don’t you want to see the face of the man you’re marrying, cyar’ika?”

“...I can do that?”

“Yes, cyar’ika,” he chuckles but his heart swells at the idea of you agreeing to marry him without seeing his face; at your devotion to him. 

He pulls off the helmet and you hear the hiss of the modulator. You slowly remove your hands from your face and see Din, staring back at you. Brown, curly hair, a little matted from the helmet, a strong, prominent nose, two frown lines perched between his eyebrows, slightly patchy facial hair, and warm brown eyes scanning your face for any sign of approval. He’s beautiful; more beautiful than you ever could’ve imagined.

You crash your lips against his and entangle your hands in his hair, reveling in the feeling of his bare face pressed against yours. You break the kiss and rest your forehead against his. 

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to thank me, cyar’ika. I’d do anything for you… I love you.”

“I love you, too, Din,” you say, kissing him again. 

He rests his hand on the back of your neck, continuing the kiss until he pulls away to check the coordinates on the control panel. You can’t tear your eyes away from him, watching him in the blue glow from hyperspace. He turns his face towards you again and smiles, the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. That’s your man. 

End note: Wow ok so that's the longest fic I've ever written!!! I would love to hear your thoughts!!! I was pretty nervous about posting something with this large of a scale contained in one fic so I would love to hear what you think 🥺🖤

Tag list and anyone else I thought might be interested!: @wannab-urs @atinylittlepain @bearsbeetsbeskar @jksprincess10 @dinsdjrn @dindjarinslegs @pr0ximamidnight @ghoultalks @beee-haw @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @heareball @littlemisspascal @marisemonteiroo @split-spectrum @hnt-escape @polishedtaylor @toxicanonymity @scmdsblog @babeincolor @undrthelights @tuquoquebrute @pedritosdarling @tieronecrush @pedrostories @tinygarbage @pedropascll @theelishad @kirsteng42 @pedritolover @randomnessfangirl @cannolighost @saradika @readingfan

#din djarin #din djarin smut #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #mandalorian #the mandalorian #mandalorian x you #mandalorian smut #mandalorian x f!reader #star wars fanfic #din djarin imagine #din djarin fanfic #din djarin x afab!reader #mandalorian fanfic #star wars #willow taylor swift #mandalorian imagine #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal

[corazondebeskar-reads]

Kinktober 2023 - Day 13 (Din Djarin, Boba Fett, Cobb Vanth)

mhi me'dinui an

Kinktober 2023 - Day 13: Wrist Restraints/Triple Penetration

Din Djarin x f! reader x Boba Fett x Cobb Vanth

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: After the events of The Book of Boba Fett, you get railed by Din Djarin, Boba Fett, and Cobb Vanth.

Warnings: Triple penetration, foursome, orgy, anal (f receiving), p in v unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), reader is pregnant but it's not an aspect of the sexual content, it's just because I'm incapable of writing pwp apparently, poly dynamics, mando'a, making up rules about bacta, din djarin removes the helmet, boba has a big ass bed, mild bondage, din and reader are dar'manda, din reader and boba speak mando'a, Grogu is with fennec or something ok lol

Prompts from this list by @absurdthirst.

title means "we share all," more mando'a translations at the end

also on ao3

“Fett,” Din beckons. He has you lying in his lap, pillow propped under your head. Vanth is already between your legs at the end of the bed, your knees over his shoulders.

Boba settles himself over you, legs spread wide to fit you and Din between them. It puts his cock right in line with your mouth.

Din reaches out and gives Boba a few firm strokes, turning your head toward himself with one hand.

“You still doing okay? Ready for more?” he says.

You nod and whine until he lets go so you can open your mouth, and releases Boba’s cock so the older man can slide it between your lips.

If this was their idea of easing you into it, you’d perhaps underestimated the proposition.

It started nearly two weeks ago when they had returned after the victory at Mos Espa. It wasn’t the first time Din had shared you with Boba. It wasn’t the second or tenth time, either. But that night had been its own kind of first, too.

You weren’t used to being left behind. Being the one waiting, flinching at every door sliding open, not even daring to hope. Taking on the goddamn Pyke syndicate with less men and less ammunition than ever before. A fool’s battle.

They hadn’t asked it of you, but you knew they wanted to. Whispering between themselves, avoiding your gaze.

You had been in a bath, resting your aching hips. Having broken your fifth month, your belly was just starting to peak out of the water, suds clinging to your damp skin. You had brought up the impending standoff, and Din had tried to leave the room, muttering something about needing to check in with Fennec.

“Never took you for a hut’uun,” you had finally snapped.

He had jerked to a stop as if he had taken a missile to the beskar. He turned, slowly, on his heel, and you immediately felt wretched.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did.” He said.

You didn’t need the helmet off to hear the hurt in his voice. “No, that was too harsh. I’m sorry.”

He sat down on the side of the stone basin. “We were going to bring it up after dinner.”

“I should have been included in the discussion from the start.”

“I’m sorry, cyare. Fett is—”

“Boba can apologize to me himself,” you said, shaking your head. “But we all know how this conversation is going to end.”

“We would never—”

“I know.” And you did. Your lovers, born of battle themselves, would never ask you to stand down from a fight when your aliit was on the line. “I’m sorry I won’t be by your side.”

He helped you out of the tub. You didn’t want to admit it, because you would have chosen to stay out of harm’s way anyway, but the pregnancy was affecting your body far more than you had expected. You weren’t sure you could fight, anymore. Not fast enough, anyway.

The night they returned, bloodied but alive, was a wild thing. Just as it had started between the three of you. In the aftermath of a fight, still tightly wound and ready to spring. Fucking and biting and grinding until you were drained.

“Look at our girl, Din,” Boba had taunted while they split you in two. “A shame we can’t fill that pretty mouth, too.”

You had cum at the thought alone.

But you were all so high off adrenaline and your orgasms that it had slipped your mind. When Boba sat down for breakfast a week later and said, “I have an idea for how we can repay the good marshal,” you didn’t suspect a thing.

Vanth had come out of the bacta tank the day before. He needed time to recover and had accepted Boba’s offer to stay in one of the many vacant suites in the palace.

“Six camtonos of credits wasn’t enough?” you asked, sipping at your tea.

“Well, it’s for more than just Vanth.”

He and Din exchanged a look across the table through their helmets.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” you said, dropping your fork with a little more force than necessary and pushing away from the table.

“Alor’ika, wait,” Boba said, but you stomped off to sulk in your room.

You knew you were being silly and childish. It didn’t stop you from ignoring Din when he entered your shared bedroom and lay beside you.

He slipped an arm around your waist, anyway, and noticed your fist clenched the pendant against your chest, leather cord spilling from the side.

The Mythosaur. He should have known.

“You are no less of a Mandalorian than I am,” he said for the thousandth time.

“It’s not the same. I can’t put it back on.”

The last few months had been hard on your body. You had been constantly ill, not able to hold down solid food, and vomiting no matter what treatments you tried. The medic had said it wasn’t unheard of, and told you to come back if it didn’t pass.

It had, eventually. You had been feeling more like yourself for a few weeks now, but—no. Not yourself at all.

Like you’d never be yourself again.

Not when half of your identity was locked in the trunk in the corner of the room.

“How can you be okay with an aruetii raising your baby?”

“Hey, it could be Fett’s,” he said. It usually made you laugh, but this time, you just lay quietly.

“What if it is?” you whispered.

From the beginning, they said they didn’t care whose seed had taken hold in your womb, that you would all care for each other. It was normal for Mandalorian children to grow up in a tight-knit community, anyway. This is the Way.

It was that easy.

But since you had removed your helmet, that tether felt frayed.

“We are both dar’manda,” he reminded you quietly. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes, but we will find our redemption.” He laced his fingers through yours, wound together by the necklace.

(Boba found the whole thing ridiculous. When you were first upset after taking it off, he had been angry. “Certainly, that rule might have worked when you could hide away in your home on Mandalore,” he said, pacing. “It’s an impossible standard now.” But you knew he would never understand.)

“We didn’t mean to make you feel left out. I… had a thought, last night, and he took it upon himself to see if it was feasible.”

You rolled over to face him. “What thought?”

“Well, cyare, I thought maybe we had a solution to get you what you wanted. To let you be as full as possible. There aren’t many people in this galaxy that Fett or I would trust with you.”

“Vanth,” you said with a sharp breath.

Sometimes, you were thankful for the hormones. It made it easier to wipe your tears and move forward when you were very easily distracted by sex.

Like now.

“You want us to have our way with you, little one?” Boba asks as he fucks your face. “See if we can finally wear out our needy whore?”

You moan around his cock, barely any sound escaping for how taut your lips were around him. You tried to reach up to grab his thighs and pull him deeper into your mouth. You’d have done it yourself, but Din’s strong arms were holding you down while he toyed with your nipples.

“Ah, no,” Din stops to pull your arms down. “You said you wanted us to use you. You begged, not more than an hour ago, to ‘do whatever we wanted’ with you. Have you changed your mind?”

You pull off Boba’s cock, crying, “No, please.” You don't get to finish, as Boba pulls you back onto him.

“I don’t know if she can control herself,” he says to Din, shaking his head.

“I don’t think so either.”

“If she’s this desperate already, we may need to tie her down.”

Between the way Vanth was working you over with his fingers and tongue and the humiliation of being talked about like you weren’t even there, you come undone. Vanth groans as you squeeze your legs, trapping him at your cunt.

Boba moans his praise as your throat tightens around his cock. When you settle, he pulls out, a thick strand of saliva following his cock and dragging on your tits.

Din gathers it with his fingers and uses it to wet your nipples, tugging them until you cry out. With Vanth still gently licking at you, it's too much, and you squirm to get away.

“That’s your last strike, alor’ika,” Boba warns. “Would you like us to tie you down so you don’t have to try so hard?”

You nod. Though you were enjoying being held down by Din—his sure grasp always made you feel safe—you also knew he wouldn’t be sitting there all night.

Not that you knew what their plans were. You had easily agreed to their proposal, and they knew all your regular limits. Their offer to Vanth had been blunt and simple as well.

“Our girl here likes to get fucked,” Boba had said after Din had started to ask more delicately. “We want to fulfill her wish of being filled, but we don’t have enough cocks between us.”

Later, Vanth had cornered you alone in a passage. “You okay, with the things they said about you back there?”

It had been mortifying to tell him yes, and you were more than okay with the way they said them, too.

He had looked impressed for a moment and finally allowed himself to look you up and down. “I’d be more than happy to join, but I don’t take what isn’t given freely.”

“I don’t give what I can’t stand to lose,” you said. For good measure, you gave him a kiss on the cheek, patted your hand against it, and slipped away into another hall.

(It was strange to think that the only person in the room you hadn’t kissed was Din. Between Boba’s slow, firm lips and Cobb’s scruff, you thought maybe you could imagine it.)

Din pulls you by the underarms to sit in front of him, stealing you away from Cobb’s eager mouth.

“Hey, I wasn’t finished,” he says, sitting back on his heels.

“Yeah, you were,” Din says. “Mine next.” He pulls your arms behind your back and holds tight while Boba secures your wrists together with the rope. He pushes you forward, bent over, so he can slide out from behind you.

He rolls you onto your side and pulls you down closer to the edge of the bed. You feel Boba’s broad, bare chest against your back. They had spent plenty of time working you open with a frankly overwhelming amount of fingers and mouths, so when he lines his cock up at your asshole and pushes, your body welcomes him in.

This part you know well enough. He makes himself at home inside you and then holds infuriatingly still once there is no more to give. Din kneels on the bed, one of your legs around his waist and the other held open by Boba’s knee.

He takes his time tormenting your already sensitive cunt, sinking into you slowly with a hand on Boba’s leg. Meanwhile, Boba lifts your head and shoulders a little, helpless as you are to help arrange yourself, and holds you there while Vanth arranges himself.

“You’re not going to be able to lift yourself off his cock, cyare, so you tap Fett if you need help,” Din says.

True to his words, when Boba gently let you down, you had nowhere to go but onto Vanth’s cock. He wasn’t quite as thick as Din or as long as Boba, but it was still a decent prick. It bumped the back of your throat, and you gag a little.

“Grab her hair, you’ll have to help her,” Boba tells Vanth, who hesitates. “She likes it,” Boba says.

You try to reassure him, nodding fractionally and moaning a very muffled “uh-huh.”

Vanth grabs a handful of your hair and tests it out, which Din takes as an invitation to start fucking you in earnest.

If you thought you’d been thoroughly fucked before, you were wrong.

Vanth uses your throat like a cocksleeve, gentle but relentless, his taste heady on your tongue. Boba fills you near-constantly, preferring smaller thrusts focused deep rather than pulling back. And Din. Din never failed to take you apart; his honed focus and practiced hands zeroing in on the most sensitive parts of you. He made optimal use of his available equipment in any situation, and fucking was no exception.

He and Boba fall into a familiar rhythm, only slightly thrown off by Vanth, but it's dizzying. There isn’t a second when you aren’t being caressed or used or praised.

It's overwhelming in the best and worst ways. All you can taste, smell, and feel is flesh and musk. The air is humid, heavy with sweat, and the sheets cloistering. The press of their bodies holds you tethered to the world, pulling you down when the pleasure threatened to steal all the thoughts away in the current.

Din’s persistent fingers on your clit bring you tumbling into the haze, vision blanking. Vanth moans, holding you in place as you shake. Din’s fingers scrabble for more, working you past the threshold to rip more intense pleasure from you as you clamp down on his cock.

And Boba holds you tight against his chest, murmuring to you, voice like a beacon in a storm. “So good, alor’ika. Shh, that’s it, just take it, we’ve got you.”

Din takes mercy on you after the second orgasm wanes, and removes his fingers from your clit, bringing them up for Boba to taste. You almost hate being trapped on Vanth’s cock for a second, wishing you could watch him suck your juices from Din’s bare hand.

“Sweet as always,” Boba hums, pressing a kiss to Din’s fingers before letting him go.

Vanth is the first to fall. He gives you a warning, looking to Boba for help to move you.

“You can cum in her mouth,” Boba says. “She wants you to.”

“Is that true, darlin’?” Cobb says, tugging you up a little.

You try to cry “please” around his cock but settle for giving him a thumbs-up behind your back. Your arms are crushed against Boba, so he had to pass the message on.

“Well, if that’s what the lady wants,” Vanth says. He picks up the pace a little, and you focus on him,

He doesn't force it down your throat, content to let you swallow around him, trying not to let any of his thick, salty cum escape. It dribbles out around your lips, but he doesn't seem to mind at all. Fortunately, when he softens enough, he is able to adjust your head to lay in his lap instead of trying to extract himself.

Vanth leans against the headboard, wiping sweat from his eyes. He thanks you sweetly, brushing his hand through your hair. You press a kiss to his thigh and content yourself to be taken apart by your lovers.

Din doesn't last long after, but he refuses to let go unless you cum with him, so he picks back up his attentions to your clit. You thrash in Boba’s arms, and he tightens his grip so he won’t slide out.

“Udesii, alor’ika,” he says, pressing his lips to your neck. “Give it to him.”

When you hit your peak, the blood rushes to your head, everything tightening, and their voices lost to the waves. You come to only a few seconds later, with Din still pulsing inside your cunt and his shaky hand on your cheek.

“Stay with us for just a little longer,” Din says. “Gotta give us one more, okay, cyare? Just one more, and we’ll let you rest.”

He pulls out, watching his cum leak out of you for a moment, before pushing it back in with his thick fingers and resuming rubbing a softer but demanding circle around your clit.

“You don’t have long,” he warns Boba, feeling the way your swollen bud throbs angrily under his thumb.

“Don’t need long,” Boba grunts, giving you a few harder thrusts. “Now,” he commands Din.

“Sorry, cyare,” Din lies a little. He does feel bad knowing how tired you are. But it doesn't stop him from pinching your clit between his thumb and forefinger and tugging gently.

You aren’t aware of Boba’s cock twitching inside you, filling you. You aren’t aware of how Vanth’s fingers tighten in your hair for a moment. Can’t feel Din’s fingers release you, can’t hear yourself scream.

When the world stops flashing vibrant strobes behind the darkness, you become aware first of the cool Tatooine night breeze across your bare arm, tickling across its path. The sheet is draped across you, and there’s no idle stickiness, so they must have cleaned you up. When you force open your sleep-heavy eyes, weariness and a pleasant ache deep in your bones, you see Boba and Vanth in conversation over glasses of deep brown liquor.

The fresher is running. Vanth’s hair is wet and slicked back; they must have insisted he go first.

You sit up, sheet pooling at your waist. Boba, already facing you, looks up at the first sign of movement.

“Did you have a good nap, alor’ika?” he teases. “How do you feel?”

“Fucking fantastic,” you assure, aware of how the worry lingered deep in him.

“Spoiled brat,” he says, shaking his head and taking a drink from his glass.

Vanth comes over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I wasn’t too rough with you, was I?”

“Not at all,” you reach out to hold his hand. “Thank you.”

“Thank me? I should be thanking you. Between the repairs and your company, I’m in debt to you all for the rest of my life.”

“Consider us even,” Din says. He closes the fresher door behind him, dressed in a clean linen tunic and loose pants. His arms and feet are bare, and droplets of water cling to his neck.

“If you say so, partner,” Vanth says. He gives your hand a squeeze and stands up. “I was just waitin’ for you to wake up, honey. Didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

“Thank you, Cobb,” you say with a soft smile.

“D’you mind if I have a kiss for the road?”

You lean up to meet him, his lips pressing firm but chaste against yours. He kisses your forehead before pulling away.

“I’ll walk with you,” Din says.

“Don’t be a stranger, now,” Vanth says to you and Boba, and the pair leave the room.

Your face falls, skin prickling. Boba is up in an instant, sitting beside you and pulling you to him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I just feel… sad.”

“Rough come down, little one?” He rubs a hand in circles on your back. “That was quite intense.”

You climb into his lap, snuggling up against his chest, and he holds you tight while you let the feelings wash over you, breathing through them.

The door slides open to allow Din and his large tray of food back into the room. He brings it over and sets it on the mattress.

“Eat, and we can go to sleep, or have a bath,” Boba says, reaching around you to help himself to the small feast Din had delivered. It looked like overkill, but you knew it would be picked clean. They always had an appetite after fucking, and your stomach was growling, too.

Plus, now that you could eat, you were trying to get as much strength recovered as possible. You’d need it, in the days ahead.

As you pick through fruit, you realize something is missing. “Cyare, you forgot a plate,” you say to Din. “Did you eat in the kitchens?”

Boba looks up, and something prickles up your spine.

Din sits very still on the chair he had pulled up to the end of the bed.

Your chest is tight, every alarm in your body blaring.

When he moves, your brain doesn’t process it right away. Doesn't realize what the motions mean until the helmet is lifting off the top of his head, soft fluffs of hair not quite resettling.

You can’t breathe.

You hadn’t seen him, that night on Gideon’s ship. You had turned away, closed your eyes, even though it meant missing Grogu’s departure.

And apparently, his warm brown eyes and the way they crinkled at the corners. His disheveled hair, the salt and pepper of his mustache and beard, and his lips, turned down at the corners.

You can’t breathe, so you close your eyes.

He moves the tray off the bed and climbs onto it, kneeling in front of you and cupping your face in his hands. “Cyare, please.”

“Wh-why?” It comes out between shaky breaths. You aren’t sure if you are going to hyperventilate or cry. Or both.

“I told you, cyare. We are in this together. And I’m going to put it back on, and I hope someday you can, too. But I want you to know me. What’s the point of having taken it off at all if you don’t know me?”

The answer is cry, apparently. You open your eyes, letting the tears slip free, and look up at him. A shaky sob works its way out, and you reach to pull him close.

“Now you’ll have something handsome to look at,” Boba teases, “and not just an old man or your own reflection.”

“Don’t say that,” you smack a hand against his chest. “You’re very handsome.”

“Yes, very distinguished,” Din teases.

Boba reaches up and flicks him in the nose, breaking into a laugh when Din fails to move away, unused to needing to protect his face.

You laugh, too, and Din turns his pout on you.

“You think that’s funny, cyare?” he says, a playful lilt in his voice.

And in his smile.

It clenches at your chest, and you can’t take it anymore. You sit up and kiss him, the meal and bath long forgotten.

Mando'a (in order of use): hut'uun - coward but incredibly offensive to a Mandalorian cyare - beloved aliit - family alor'ika - princess, essentially aruetii - an outsider, a non-Mandalorian dar'manda - the state of no longer being Mandalorian udesii - quiet

I sat down to write this and SWORE I could just write pwp this time. "You don't need a plot. You don't need feelings. It's an orgy." And here we are.

I couldn't resist the punny title, but also the working title was "from the desert cums a stranger," so this is infinitely better.

#din djarin x reader #boba fett x reader #cobb vanth x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din Djarin x reader x boba fett #kinktober 2023

[kiwisbell]

The Light of the Stars: Chapter 1 [din djarin]

Your celebration for Din’s name day goes horribly wrong. And a group of pirates sees the worst of your Mandalorian.

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

read part one here (not necessary, but encouraged!): told before and told again

series masterlist | my masterlist!

status: complete

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: established relationship, unprotected piv (no following the leader), the helmet stays on, but the gloves come off, in more ways than one, hand kink???, animal handler!reader, grogu being a good kid, extremely protective din, kidnapping, BAMF din, din gets mad, dirty talk, fingering, blood and violence, creampie, rough sex, multiple orgasms, top din, soft din, din fucking the babysitter, extreme amounts of fluff, din is in love, mando'a pet names, porn with feelings, porn with plot (there actually is a plot this time), din is touch-starved, it's din's birthday!! (sort of), din being so in love that it's disgusting

word count: ~ 4.3k

this is installment two of my din djarin series entitled told before and told again, and is divided into three chapters. this series in particular is inspired by joanna newsom's divers album. it's a fantastic listen.

obligatory mando’a to english translation: “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” — “I love you” (literally “I will know you forever.”)

chapter 1: you will not take my heart alive

Looking at you is peering into the far, sunny horizon as a storm rages overhead. 

Together in your little cot—far too small for two people, and yet you manage: mostly by draping half your body over his, not that he’s ever minded—you and Din doze. Well, you doze. He doesn’t sleep much on the best of days, but he likes the intimate quiet of this stifling space. Wasting time does not exist when it comes to you.

Your legs are tangled together, one of his wedged between both of yours as your thigh remains hitched up on his hip. You like to sleep as close to him as possible, but his armour makes it uncomfortable, especially in moments like these when he does not have the precious time to take it off. So you curl up your shared blanket and use it as a pillow, tucking your head under his arm. Now, your cheek rests on his breastplate, your breath pushing past your parted lips in soft snores that fog up the steel. Your lashes rest on your cheeks and your hand on his chest. 

You are a human lullabye. He does not know how he slept before you. Now, he wants to close his eyes and dream by your side, warmed by your body. 

His gloved hand finds your serene face and brushes a stray lock of hair from your eyes. 

There are always storms to weather, but you are the telltale rising of the sun. He will look to you when the lighting crackles across the sky.

He isn’t sure how long he’s been staring at you by the time your lips begin to move in the shape of words, your eyes still peacefully closed. 

“Do you know what day it is?” you ask him.

He does. He would prefer to forget. 

“It's night,” he replies. “Go back to sleep.”

“Evading the question will not avail you, Mandalorian.” He wants to laugh at the frankly impressive way you can twist words even in your state of half-sleep, but does not give you the satisfaction. “What day is it?”

When he does not answer, your eyes peel open and you sit up, his hand falling from your waist. Even through his gloves, he feels the loss of your warm skin as if the sudden cold has seared a hole through the impenetrable leather. Your gaze is sleepy, your irises impossibly thin around cavernous pupils. 

“Come back here,” he says plainly.

Your eyes narrow, your mind incisive as ever. He should know better by now than to try and outsmart you with the promise of physical contact—no matter how much he needs that contact right now. You square your hips as you shuffle so your body, all of it, is facing him. You’re wearing so few clothes that he can make out (even in this dusky darkness) the tight press of your nipples through your shirt. The shape of your waist and hips under the loose cotton pants you sleep in. His fingers flex. They crave the softness of your skin to plunge into. 

“It’s your name day, Din.”

It is not. But you have always been persistent. 

“You mean you’ve never celebrated? Not once?”

He didn’t understand why it shocked you so, but for some reason, seeing you so affronted made him question why, in fact, he’d never celebrated his own birth. “It’s… trivial,” he managed, unsettled by such distress in your face. 

You lay on your back in a patch of grass next to his toolkit. Normally, he would scold you for freeloading, but the sun was out, and you saw it so rarely. So, he let you lounge with your eyes squinting harshly against the indelicate shine, casting your skin in bronze. Your collarbones pushed out gently with each exhale you took, and on every inhale, he would watch with rapt attention as your throat hollowed. There was a faint smattering of perspiration in that hollow, but you acted as if the relentless sun was revitalising you, not burning you. 

“That’s silly,” you told him, your head turning lazily to face him. He was sitting on the ramp at the mouth of the hull, tucked inside the shadow of the Crest, working on repairing the access panel—again. He was beginning to think it was damned. He did not need another incident where you were trapped inside because the ramp refused to lower, or where neither of you could find the kid until you both realised he was outside, playing with dandelions while his guardians panicked. Din supposed his repair job doubled as child-proofing. 

“Why?” he asked. “I don’t remember being born.”

“You’re missing the point.” 

“Am I?”

You hummed. “I would think a warrior like you would want to celebrate living another cycle. Not all of you get that luxury.”

He wanted to point out that living was never a luxury until you. He did not.

“I’m perfectly happy to celebrate yours,” he told you. “That’s good enough for me.”

He caught a slight movement of your head out of the corner of his eye and knew, somehow, that you were rolling your eyes. Fondly. “Then I’ll choose a date for you.”

“No,” he said immediately. 

But you were already getting up and planting yourself on the ramp next to him. “Today,” you said firmly. “It’s a beautiful, sunny day. Today is your name day, Din Djarin.”

Your fingers played upon the harsh edges of his helmet in some sort of dance, tracing each cool line and dip the way he had so often traced the warm flesh of your body. It knocked his world slightly askew to know there was someone who saw his armour as a body in itself—who didn’t crave to see what lay beneath, because to you, they were inseparable. One. 

“Nothing about your life,” you said that day, in a near-whisper, “is trivial.”

Now, he decides being stubborn is the best way to get your body against him once again. “I don't have a name day,” he says. 

You try to suppress a smile. “Well, you'll remember I gave you one. Don’t you remember?” Your fingers tap lightly around his thigh guards, down to his calves and back up toward his hip. You do this often: feeling out the shape of him as if you're attempting to imprint it into your hindbrain. He indulges you, but his patience is thinning. “When you were inside me? Deep and rough and—”

“Come. Back. Here.” He practically growls it, his cock stiffening inside his pants, his teeth grinding for a taste of you he can never have. He opts for a tight grip on your upper thigh, kneading the muscle and soft flesh there as he tries to pull you toward him. 

You let him drag you on top of him, his strong hands keeping you firm atop his hips. There's a firm pressure at your spine, between your shoulder blades, pushing you down toward him so your bodies are flush. You nudge your nose against the cheek of his helmet and grin. 

“Let’s go somewhere,” you say softly. “Somewhere nice. Somewhere we can celebrate.”

A gloved palm catches the line of your jaw, the thumb tracing its path. “My age isn't something to celebrate.”

“You're still spry. I have the limp to prove it.” He huffs, and even the small hint that he's amused spurs you on. “Come on. We don’t have to do anything near a crowd. It can just be the two of us. Even a desert, for stars’ sake.” 

“You want to celebrate with the Tuskens?” He tilts his head in the way you're so familiar with: he's looking at you like you're simultaneously the most captivating and foolish person he's ever met. At the same time, his thumbs caress your body like it's precious. It is. 

You bite your lip. “I want to celebrate with you.” 

You have a funny way of looking at him. It typically accompanies your most outrageous ideas. Your smile casts a brighter light than the rays of sun through a clear windowpane. He dreams of that smile the way he used to dream about terrors. You’ve encompassed them with that look: the smile and the gentle brush of your mouth against his helmet. “Fine,” he says at last. “We’ll land on Nevarro.” When you open your mouth to gloat, he slides his hand around to the nape of your neck. “In the morning. Now, come back here.”

You can only tease your warrior for so long. Your lips make a path from his forehead to the spot just above his visor. He cups your face in his hands, not guiding nor pushing, just holding you here. Here, in the moment, when all he sees is you. 

“When we go…” He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and lowers his voice to the soft, gentle rasp that sticks to the edges of your skull. “You stay by my side.”

“I’m always by your side.” You smile, squeezing his hands. “You can’t get rid of me now, Din Djarin, no matter how hard you try.”

No, he can't. But he's not in the habit of trying to get rid of the things that are best for him. Not anymore. 

He wishes now more than ever he could press his face into the sweet-smelling curve of your throat and kiss all the way down your body. He wants to bury his whole being deep in your soul, unmasked, unburdened. 

For now, he will settle for the proximity: the intoxicating closeness he once only dreamed of and now gets to live. Every night, every morning, he gets to know what it feels like to exist alongside another soul. That will do. 

“Cyar’ika.”

Your hands cover his. “Din.”

Even if his sensor could not detect the elevated rate of your heart thumping against your chest, he would be able to sense the slightest shift in your very blood from systems away. His own heart matches the rhythm, threatening to burst from his chest and bury itself inside yours. 

“I want you,” he says. 

He likes the way he makes you feel. Your heart kicks up even faster as your lips part. “You told me to go back to sleep,” comes your whispered reply. 

His hands leave your face and skate down your sides, making you shiver when he reaches the hem of your shirt. “Is that a no?”

“I will never”—your eyes meet his, or they try to, serious and unwavering—“say no to you.”

And he doesn't deserve that. He does not deserve your faith or your support. But he will take down the straps of your flimsy shirt and he will shift so he can hover above you, and there will not be a fraction of him that is tempted to let you go despite all he doesn’t deserve. 

He slips his fingers into the loops lining the waistband of your utility pants and pulls them down. Behind them follows your shirt, not soon after, his hands grabbing eagerly at the hem. “Arms up.” 

You obey, and he tosses the shirt on top of your pants, which are surely somewhere close. He’ll find them later. Now, he looks down at your body. There are no articles of clothing for you to remove, which never makes you pout or whine in spite of any teasing remarks you may make. No—you trace the shape of the pieces reverently, treating them like skin. Like freckles. 

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him, your chest heaving as he splays his hand just beneath your left breast, protecting your ribcage. 

It is the dead of the night, and you are both exhausted, but Din lets a low laugh slip out. “That’s my line.”

“Well, I won’t be offended if you still want to say it.” Your grin is a blinding thing. 

That. That is why he needs to keep your life in a little cage. That smile and the laugh that goes with it. He can no longer picture a ‘verse that exists without it. How can a galaxy turn without the bright force of a smile like that to inspire it?

“You,” he rasps, “are beautiful.”

Your hands find the buttons of his pants, the thick, hard length behind them twitching under your attention. He does not stop as you seek out his cock and wrap your fingers around the shaft. He does not stop the groan that rumbles up from deep in his chest when you look up at him with your tired, black eyes and stroke him slowly. 

A drop of precum spills onto your navel, and when you dip your hand between them to swipe it onto the pad of your thumb, cleaning it off between your lips, he goes blind. 

His hand is on your hip, grounding himself in flesh. His cock is pushing past the seal of your cunt, wet and warm and eager to accept him. He grunts. Your name. A curse. You take him the way you always do: with a pinched brow and a gasp he aches to swallow. 

He watches himself disappear inside you, the way you greedily suck him in, his own restraint buckling along with his spine. He feels himself compressing, compacting, into this small square of time, sinking onto his side next to you. He can be closer this way, face-to-face, slipping his arm around your waist and pressing on your lower back. You hold onto his shoulders as his hips meet yours, your eyes unfocused in the haze of lust. He moves in a slow, experimental thrust, hissing at the way your cunt grips him so tightly on the withdrawal. “Relax,” he groans. 

“Are you trying to fuck me,” you gasp, “or teach me how to shoot a blaster?”

He huffs, hitching your leg up over his hip and driving deeper. You cry out his name and he feels sadistically pleased, his hand pressing more insistently on your spine. You bow deliciously under his touch, slotting willingly alongside his shape, your naked body safe and warm against the cold bulk of his armour. He tucks you so close that your breasts are smushed against his chest and you have to bury your face into the crook of his neck. The warm cowl provides you the comfort of a blanket as he begins to fuck you. Properly. 

Your gasps are wet and stilted. Din grunts with each thrust, your soft, hot walls stroking his cock. He will never get used to this: your closeness, your strength, the way you will happily clamber on top of him whenever he's frustrated. You aren't afraid of his moods. You always let him grasp your hips, as rough as he needs, and you draw the poison from the wound. You’re a tonic to his weary soul. 

“That’s it.” His voice is a ragged grinding of gears in your ear. The punch of his cock inside you becomes easier with every stroke, your body becoming malleable and relaxed for him. “That’s it,” he coaxes. 

You're so wet that the sound of your joined bodies echoes in the puny compartment. He will bruise your thigh from how hard he holds onto you, and your hips will be sore from his relentless pounding, but you do not care. “Din. Oh, fuck!” you moan, grasping at his cowl, your fingers bunching in the fabric. A low-pitched growl leaves his mouth, travels through the modulator, and makes your cunt gush around his cock. You are the only one who can get this close, the only one who can grip the cowl like you plan to tear it right off, because he knows you won't. 

“You started this,” he says through gritted teeth, the pinching of the steel plates on his thighs sparking delectable pain between your legs. “Could’ve gone back to sleep.”

You laugh through a moan, rocking your hips down against his. The head of his cock reaches so deep that you can feel him in your stomach, and you know that's how he likes it best. “You weren't sleeping, Din.”

“No,” he rasps, “I was watching you.”

“Ever the charmer.” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you feel the coil in your belly wind up tight. You're so fucking full. He's thick and heavy, so warm inside you, and all you can think is how desperately you want his hot cum to drown your cunt. 

His hand slips between your bodies and presses against your belly. You gasp with the white-hot pleasure, your head jerking back to meet his gaze through his visor. He tips his head forward to drop against your forehead. “Feel me?” He thrusts harder, but not faster, your poor, abused cunt taking him so easily in your pliable state. You mewl for him, your vision blurring, the coil tightening. “Feel how deep I am?”

“Din…”

“I asked you a question, cyar’ika.” The pressure deepens, somehow. Heightens. You feel as if you're floating above your bodies, separate altogether, watching yourself crash hopelessly into his body. “Do. You. Feel. Me?”

Every word is punctuated by the drag and thrust of his cock inside you, the movement of his hips growing sloppy. His cock twitches with the need to pump you full, to give you all of him and keep you wrapped up, safe, until morning. “Yes,” you whimper, your voice crackling. “Yes, Din.”

Good, he thinks. He wants to imprint himself on you forever. He already feels a sick sense of satisfaction seeing the divots he makes in your flesh with his fingers, the bruises already forming. The rest of the world would hurt you to make it hurt. He likes knowing he can hurt you and it only feels good. 

“Ah, ah —fuck, Din,” you gasp, your lips perpetually parted once his hand migrates to your clit. Two gloves fingers apply pressure, rough leather circling the bundle of nerves. Your body caves in on itself, your entire brain bursting into flame, your vision white-blind as you come apart. 

Your thigh quivering, still wrapped around his hip, you roll your hips into his hand, your brow furrowing in pleasure. He does not relent. He wants to watch you crumble, and he's getting it. “I… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.” Your nose and lips slide haplessly across the ridge on the right cheek of his helmet, all of you trembling in his assured grasp. You are vaguely aware of the hard, throbbing cock between your legs twitching, pulsing inside you. “Fuck. Fuck, that’s it.”

Din comes hard, his visor tucked under your chin so he can tilt your head upward. He can smell you, the heady scent of sweat and sex and fresh air. You fill his lungs as he fills you, his cock pulsating with each hot spurt of cum. It stuffs you until you're brimming with him, and he still grinds deeper, deeper, so close to you that peeling your bodies apart will make you both colder. Lonelier. 

When you both collapse, your spent bodies ending up in the same position as the beginning of the night, Din looks at his vambrace. It will be morning soon. 

Your ragged breath is fogging up his armour as much as your sweat, and he will take this. The only mark you can leave on his body. He will take anything you give him, even if it is poisonous. He knows it will taste sweet, anyway. 

“Happy name day, Din,” you whisper, your eyes smiling even as you continue to pant, your fingers fondly tapping his cheek. 

Beneath you, both of you can feel the wetness of the cot as his cum drips steadily out of you in globs. He knows he has to clean you up. He just doesn't want to detangle himself from you. Not when you look so happy. 

“Keep it,” you tell him. Always reading his mind, past all the steel that separates you. “I want to feel you today.” 

When you tuck your face back into the curve of his throat and close your eyes, it takes no time at all for your breathing to grow steady. Din stays awake for a little while, idly stroking your hair away from your face. 

When he finally feels sleep claw at him, Din does not dream. The colours dancing languidly on his closed eyelids resemble the hues of your irises. 

~

For all his attempts to train you to shoot a blaster, you cannot fight for bantha shit. 

“Don’t tuck your thumb,” he says, circling you on the grass. 

“You say that like it means something. How ‘bout you come over here and show me how it’s done?” He watches you wiggle your brows and decides he would much rather watch you suffer. 

“It means, don’t tuck your thumb.” He mirrors your closed fist but manages to make it look much more assured. “You’ll break it if you try to hit someone like that.”

“I don't want to hit anyone, Din.”

He cocks his head in that annoying way he does. 

“But someone may want to hit you.” His body is stiff when he turns to square his shoulders, a little closer to you than you remember him being. The Crest should land on Nevarro within the hour, so you decided to occupy your shared free time with a spontaneous sparring session. Not that he ever actually strikes you. It’s more of a… one-sided talking session. With the occasional scolding. 

“Not if you’re with me,” you remind him.

“That’s right.” Still, he circles you, always facing you, assessing your posture. “Kick your legs farther apart.”

You do, planting one foot slightly behind the other. You’ve seen him do it. Clearly, your mirroring attempt is wrong. “Not that far apart.”

“I think you’re doing this on purpose.”

“You need to learn.”

“I know that,” you huff, dropping your hands by your side. “It would help a lot if you actually fought me.”

“There wouldn’t be a fight.”

Cocky bastard. “I’m not asking you to punch me or shoot me. Just… fake it.”

His sigh is audible. “And what if I strike by accident?”

You cannot help but smile fondly. Your warrior, always trying to keep you safe in a galaxy that does not care in the least for your safety. “You’re a fool, Din Djarin, but you know your strength better than that.” You close the distance between your bodies. “If you don’t want me to fight, why am I still here?” 

“You’re still here…” He brushes a finger over your cheek. “… because I don’t trust the world not to hurt you like it already has.”

Your voice lacks its typical conviction. “I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.”

“Well, the kid is. And he loves you. He trusts you.” He shakes his head as if trying to make an intricate blueprint of his next words. “ I trust you. I trust you to take care of him, and I trust you to be my partner.” 

“It’s a shame I can’t trust you not to get yourself half-dead every time we visit a new planet. Wouldn’t have to worry about my heart giving out if I just up and left this hunk of junk.”

You’re taunting him, that delicious mouth of yours a beacon of wickedness. “Can’t rely on the ‘verse to keep you safe the way I can,” he says.

“That”—you tap him gently on the cheek of his helmet, clicking your tongue—“is dangerously cocky, Mandalorian.”

“Yeah?” He catches your wrist and squeezes. “People hurt you. They take what they want from you and toss you back. Or not. It’s not gonna happen.” He places your hand over his heart. “Not with me.”

You recall the long, lonely days before you met him. You recall the sleepless nights when an animal would be sick or injured, and you were the only handler willing to stay awake all night to monitor its condition. Sitting in a hard, rickety chair next to a bassinet or bacta tank, your fingers drumming nonsensical rhythms on your thighs. Dread curling in your stomach when your charge’s condition worsened. Sickening joy when they pulled through. You remember how cold the nighttime would get and how, when you made your home onboard the Crest, you would awake to find your curled-up body covered in more blankets than you fell asleep with. You confronted him about it one day. 

I’m paying you to stay alive, was his cool reply. He never used to bother looking your way as he fiddled with the controls in the cockpit. 

I’m used to the cold, you told him.

For a moment, you were certain he wanted to leave the conversation at that—not that it was much of a conversation. Then, as you turned to descend back down the ladder, he said, So am I.

“My life started when I met you,” you tell him now, and he isn’t fond of the little frown that comes over your face. “It could end right now and I’d be okay.”

“Don’t.” His voice comes out coarse as sand. “It’s not going to end.”

You lean forward and press your forehead against the cool metal of his. “You want me to live forever, Mandalorian?”

His hand finds the back of your neck, fingers digging into your scalp, as he keeps you there, firm. Steady. “Longer than that,” he says. 

Your smile makes your cheeks ache. “I’ll do my best for you.”

His other hand grasps your hip. “That's my girl.”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

It leaves your mouth stumbling, grasping for the right vowel noises and falling clumsily nonetheless. But he chuckles, a soft gasping laugh that makes you shiver. 

“Knew you were listening.”

“Learned it myself,” you whisper. “Your teaching style is ineffectual.”

Above you, in the cockpit, the navigation system begins to beep wildly. Din pulls away from you and wordlessly heads back, but you smile at the way his fingers take the longest to detangle from yours. 

#pedro pascal #kiwisbell's fics #the mandalorian #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #din djarin #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction

[queen--kenobi]

Okay but also re: Thorn having hearing aids

Absolutely pops them out for both comedic effect. Like when he and Thire get into arguments, he'll totally take them out and make a show of it

Also pops them out discretely. This is mostly when a senator is going off on him for no reason. He can read lips so he knows what they're saying. Sometimes it's legit he cannot handle hearing more abusive language, and sometimes it's that he gets massive headaches hearing some of them talk

As mentioned before, he can read lips. It's a very useful skill. He and his brothers will sometimes fuck with shinies by acting like Thorn can use the Force. It's really just Thorn reading their lips as they subtly mouth words

Mando'a sign language? Mando'a sign language. Mostly between him and other heavy gunners, but both Thire and Fox took the effort to learn. Thire because that's his favorite brother, and Fox because a) he'd do something like that for all the Guard and b) sometimes Fox just can't be bothered to talk or talking outloud makes his headache/sensory issues worse

#persephone speaks #commander fox #commander thorn #commander thire

[sergeantgoggles]

Happy Coday! (2/2/24)

I had such a great time writing all of these fics to celebrate one of my favorite clones on a day that will literally come once in forever. I have attached links as to each individual fic as well as the series that all of them are in.

Individual tags and ratings are listed under the cut.

@codyday2224

Cody Day 2/2/24 Series

Mirotic | Cody/Rex | Explicit

Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/CT-7567 | Rex, CC-5052 | Bly/Clone Trooper Keeli, CC-2224 | Cody & CC-1010 | Fox, CC-2224 | Cody & CC-3636 | Wolffe, CC-5052 | Bly & CC-2224 | Cody Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, CT-7567 | Rex, CC-3636 | Wolffe, CC-5052 | Bly, Clone Trooper Keeli (Star Wars), CC-1010 | Fox, CT-6116 | Kix, CT-5597 | Jesse Additional Tags: Implied Jesse/Kix, Implied Wolffe/Cody, Implied Bly/Cody, Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Pre-Clone Wars, Come Swallowing, Fresher Sex, Call Numbers as Names, Clone Troopers Speak Mando'a (Star Wars), Rookies on Kamino, Fuck Buddies to Lovers Summary: Some things are routine for Cody. It's been ingrained in his DNA, etched into his everyday life for years. And then Rex comes along and makes himself part of the routine.

Say You're Here (And It's All Over Now) | Cody/Crosshair | Mature

Relationship: CC-2224 | Cody/CT-9904 | Crosshair Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, CT-9904 | Crosshair Additional Tags: Mentions of Cody/Rex, Mentions of Cody/Ghost Company, Mentions of Cody/Torrent Company, Implied Poly Batch, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of canon deaths, Canon Divergent, post S2e3, implied sex, Kissing, Broken Promises Summary: Cody had always kept his word. That was a trait that he had picked up from his General during the Clone War. But times change, people change, and he is no exception.

(Just Hold Me) Tight To Your Body | Cody/Echo | Explicit

Relationship: CC-2224 | Cody/CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, CT-7567 | Rex, CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano, Additional Tags: Implied Rex/Fives, Implied Obi-Wan/Anakin, Sex On The Negotiator, Kissing, Possessive Behavior, Bottom CC-2224 | Cody, Top CT-1409 | Echo, Body Worship, ARC training, Grinding, Dry Humping, Armor Swapping, Coming Untouched, Come Eating, Light Angst, Fives and Echo are twins, Come Marking Summary: There isn't a lot of time, but Cody is dying to see Echo's body fresh out of ARC Trooper training, and Echo is more than happy to demonstrate.

Be As One (Like Stars Falling Like Raindrops On The Ocean) | Cody/Fives | Teen

Relationship: CC-2224 | Cody/CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives, CT-7567 | Rex, CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo, Obi-Wan Kenobi Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Troopers On Leave, Fluff, Engagement, Kissing, Sweet Talk, Fives Is A Blusher, Clone Troopers Speak Mando'a (Star Wars) Summary: Fives has been waiting a long time to get some time off with Cody. Cody has been waiting a long time to spoil his favorite ARC Trooper. And neither have to wait any longer.

Call Me By His Name | Hunter/Tech + Cody | Explicit

Relationships: Hunter/Tech (Star Wars), CC-2224 | Cody/Hunter/Tech (Star Wars) Characters: Clone Trooper Hunter (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Tech (Star Wars), CC-2224 | Cody, CT-6116 | Kix Additional Tags: Implied Cody/Kix, Sexual Roleplay, Hunter Uses His Enhanced Senses For Evil And Sex, post s7e1, Anal Fingering, Implied Blow Job, Sexual Proposition, Title Kink, Light BDSM, Praise Kink Summary: After Cody was nearly crushed being shot out of the sky on Anaxsis, restlessness sets in. He wanders the barracks, knowing that most troopers will be asleep at this hour, but overhears some very interesting late night activities coming from the Bad Batch berthing.

Time Is Precious (And it's Slipping Away) | Cody/Kix | Explicit

Relationship: CC-2224 | Cody/CT-6116 | Kix Characters: CC-2224 | Cody CT-6116 | Kix Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Mentions of Bodily Trauma, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Death, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Open Relationship Implied, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, After Sex Cuddles, Aftercare, Clone Troopers Speak Mando'a (Star Wars) Summary: Body counts are nothing new in war. Cody is used to spending late nights and early mornings signing paperwork after a rough campaign, but someone has to do all the other work before those datapads land on his desk. Kix can save a lot, but he can't save them all, and it takes a toll on him. Cody can distract him for a little while. The datapads will understand.

(He Senses Something) Call It Desperation | Cody/Hunter | Explicit

Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Hunter (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Clone Trooper Hunter/Clone Trooper Tech, Hunter/Male Clone Trooper OC Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, Clone Trooper Hunter (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Tech (Star Wars). Clone Trooper Wrecker (Star Wars), CT-9904 | Crosshair, Original Clone Trooper Character(s) (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Boil (Star Wars), CT-7567 | Rex, Clone Trooper Hardcase (Star Wars), CT-6116 | Kix, Clone Trooper Waxer (Star Wars) Additional Tags: Implied Cody/Kix, Implied Rex/Hardcase, Implied Hunter/Tech, implied waxer/boil, sniffing, Scenting, Blow Jobs, Abuse of Hunter's Heightened Senses, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Clone Trooper Gossip, Mentions of Decomissioning, mentions of reconditioning, Minor Original Character(s), Hunter is a little shit Summary: Cody's trip to Kamino is hardly for a break, but rumors about a particular Sergeant catch his ear, and now he can't help being a little curious how much weight they hold.

I'm In Love With You (But You Already Know) | Cody/Fives | Explicit

Relationship: CC-2224 | Cody/CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives Additional Tags: Emotional Sex, sex with feelings, Clones crying, Clone Troopers Speak Mando'a (Star Wars), Marriage Vows, Mandalorian Marriage Vows, Honestly The Sex Is Only There If You Squint, But There's Enough To Warrant The E Rating, Morning Cuddles, Kissing, Morning Wood they're both emotional messes, Not Beta Read, we die like clones Summary: Cody and Fives' long weekend is coming to an end, and the weight of never having this again settles on them far too heavily. Part 2 of "Be As One (Like Stars Falling Like Raindrops In The Ocean)"

#cody day 2224 #commander cody #cloneshipping #clonecest #cody/rex #cody/kix #cody/crosshair #huntech #cody/hunter/tech #cody/hunter #cody/fives #cody/echo #fluff #angst #smut #read all individual tags