Watching season 2 ep 1. After mando has fought them all off, saved the kid and strung that guy up. Just imagining getting him back to the ship… 🥵
A/N: Din Djarin x F!Reader. cockpit sex. rough smut. squirting. vibes.
It goes like this. Din is agitated. He’s revved all the way up - a ship engine humming to go as he swiftly storms back to the Crest. You can barely see him - just the sweep of his cape as sand swirls at his heels. The moon bouncing coin-silver off the top of his Beskar helmet.
You try to keep up - eyes locked on the cradle that zooms through the darkness behind Din. You’re breathing hard - coated in a thin film of sweat. You can fight, but that had been a lot.
Din had it handled though. He always does.
By the time you step into the hull - Din has already put Grogu to bed in his hammock. You can feel his tension - his unwavering adrenaline that is oozing out of every crevice. You wonder what he did before. You wonder how he handled all that energy after a hunt when it was only him.
The shadowed image of him stroking his cock snaps through your head: his brow pressed to his wall - muscles bunching at his back and shoulders and the deep, reverberating spill of his groans. Fuck.
He moves toward you - gloveless fingers on your cheeks before you even realize he’s there. “Are you alright?” he asks. “Did you get hurt?”
“No,” you reply - touching his wrist - squeezing it enough - i’m here - i’m okay
“Good,” His voice drops to something rough - heavy and hungry all at once. “Go to the cockpit.”
It’s not a sweet fuck. Far from it.
But when has your Din ever been sweet? It’s not that he’s mean or cruel or forceful. He’s just all sharp edges. He dines on your pleasure - wants to make you come until you can’t breathe or see full colors. His fingers inside you are swift and diligent. He pushes them as deep as he can - three at a time before he spreads them apart - curls them up so he can rub against that intimate patch in your cunt that makes you spurt like a fountain. He’ll stretch you open like that - shoving to the knuckles with those three thick fingers and then he’ll angle his thumb so he can work your clit. It’s all very strategized and messy because you’re babbling and broken and he’s hushing you, but praising you and it ends with you soaking the floor of his cockpit -
which he loves because he is sort of disgusting when it comes to your body and your fluids and whatever he can get into.
“Din,” you pant as he spears his fingers inside you. “Oh - oh - fuck it’s so much - it’s a lot -”
“You can take it,” he soothes - slowing only enough for you to sit up so you can glance down at what he’s doing to you. “You’ve taken everything I’ve given to you, sweet girl.”
Fuck. You know that if you said stop - he’d do it in a heartbeat. He’d remove his fingers and collect you to him and press his mouth to yours in the dark. He’d lie you down and comfort you and then probably lick your pussy all slow until you quivered with your climax.
But you can handle it. You can handle him. His roughness and his prickly nature and his need to sometimes just fuck the shit out of you. Tomorrow you’ll wake up bruised and sore and unable to walk on two feet and Din will be unreadable beneath his helmet but you know that he’ll be smug as a lothcat - totally playing dumb.
Oh no - I wonder if you pulled a muscle - maybe that fight took it out of you.
You’re such an idiot. You did this!
Don’t know what you’re talking about.
He’s just really good at sex.
You lean back on your elbows as Din works you over - tears you open in his way. Your orgasm hovers near - makes your lower muscles bunch and flex as your toes curl. The stars and the gleaming buttons on the console are the only sources of light - revealing bits of Din’s face - the specter of his white grin - his dark curls and strong nose and fan of girlish lashes.
His fingers punch up against something soft inside you and with it comes a push of liquid and Din’s husky groan. You squeak - body curving in on itself as your grip flies to his shoulders and you vibrate with your climax. It hits you out of nowhere - slams into you and makes your cunt grip him by the knuckles - clenching and unyielding and desperate.
“You cum so easy,” he drawls before he lifts his hand to show you his wrinkled fingertips - glimmering beneath the faint trace of starlight - drenched from being thrust inside you again and again.
“Can’t help it,” you slur before you punch him in the arm because he looks too satisfied with himself.
He reaches for your mouth.
“Suck them,” he grunts and you do as he asks - letting him push those pruney fingertips against your tongue so that you can savor the salt-sweet burst of your own cunt. “Good girl.”
Your skin burns - swelling with exertion and overstimulation and pleasure.
“You gonna fuck me?” you ask - breath still snagging through your lungs - sweat dripping down your hairline. He shuffles backward and you poking him in the gut with your toe. He chuckles - grabbing your ankle and brushing a kiss over the skin.
He’s in the space between. His feral blood has fled him - he’s gotten your pleasure, which is what he had wanted. You don’t really understand him sometimes. His favorite thing is to make you come. It’s not about him and yet it is. You wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that he had once led such a singular life. Just him and his ship and the quiet sea of galaxy in front of him. Finally having someone to touch and taste for himself perhaps is new for him - sweet and exhilarating in its way.
Still - you want him inside you. You want him to find his own.
“C’mon - please,” you repeat. “I want you fuck me, Din.”
“I kind of just did.”
“No - with your cock.”
“I’d say making you squirt all over me with just my fingers is fucking.”
“Now you’re being mean.”
“I don’t know,” He starts to crawl forward - bearing his weight above you - shifting between your splayed open thighs. He drops his head and nips your throat - humming with something. You can see his cock swinging between his legs - wet and warm against your folds as he nudges it against you. “You seem pretty tired.”
“Not even close,” you snap back - even though you are. You’re exhausted from the fight and running across the desert and then having Din wreck you, but you still wanted it.
He laughs again - rumbling from the middle of his chest. He noses at your cheek as he squeezes your hips. “How could I refuse you?”
“Don’t think you can,” you sigh as he guides his cock into you. You swell around the head - split apart - suck him deep because he’d gotten you ready. He makes you fit him.
“You’re right,” he murmurs as he begins to saw his hips - dragging the thick of him through the tight channel of your sex - slow and inexorable and pressed with intimacy. “I couldn’t...” He kisses your mouth - tongue sweeping over yours. “...not even if I tried,” he finishes.
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“It’s what a real Mand’alore would do,” Din said in a seething voice before turning back to Fennec. He could hear the sounds of AT-ATs in the distance and knew he would fight to his last breath for this planet and his people.
“I’m right beside you, Din,” Fennec reassured beside him.
“I know.” Without warning he leaned in and kissed her deeply, not caring that Bo-Katan and Stours were there. He was tired of pretending. He was tired of keeping it a secret. “Until my dying breath and beyond, I was always yours, Ge’tal,” he murmured to her. She closed her eyes for a moment as the tears welled up and nodded before pulling from his embrace and putting her helmet on. He put his on and ignited the dark saber. (From The Space Between Us, Ch. 6)
Words cannot describe how utterly blown away I am with this! Stunning. Gorgeous. Dramatic. @thepoisonofgod you have absolutely blown me away!!!
@mando-abs @lellowberry @blackdogdesignuk @kotemorons @moodsare @oohnomando @mandogab
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A lot of stuff drowns in my twitter so maybe I’ll just post stuff I still like
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So my followers response to me offering to show my Star Wars OC’s was an overwhelming yes so here’s a WIP!
This is Mi’ra Fang, sole surviving member of Clan Fang, as she spends her post Order 66 life hidden away on her home planet of Werda raising her adopted Twi’lek sister, Loomi.
An escaped slave, fallen padawan, ex bounty hunter, and a proud Mandalorian.
If anyone’s a little curious about her pls ask I’ll take any excuse to talk about her 👉🏻👈🏻 I’m gonna fully render this at some point!
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The world welcomed him 43 years ago.
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Okay! Here we go!
Dathomirian females are born brightly colored, however as they wish to distinguish themselves vastly from their “lesser” male counterparts they magick themselves to appear as they do. This also accounts to the horns…it is unknown how this is done as it’s a more permanent fixture….
Mandalorians used to have more embroidery, often Clan signets decorating clothing, the youngest ones often with a small cape with the signet on a front pocket or the back. Often learning from a young age both to mend clothing but also as a way to decorate and add a bit of themselves to the cloth. Many clans had particular patterns or habits. Sayings. Symbols. Codes. It’s gone away with the oncoming civil wars…and more so with the favor of more simplistic and uniform attire.
Zabrak infants sound very much like kittens, often alerting their caretakers with loud cries. It is very important to socialize them and provide some purring to soothe them. This starts early on and we’ll into their childhoods, lack of socialization may result in maladaptive behaviors as well as some inability to self soothe.
Chiss are cool to the touch, it’s like having the nice side of a pillow when you sleep, on the other hand Zabraks run quite warm. According to important observations and trials, “it’s like having a nap on a sunny day” the counterpart will reply, “ it’s like a gentle chill and pleasantness you need after too many things”
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„A long, long time ago there was a Krayt Dragon which lived in the Great Dune Sea.“ Cozy nights and Tusken Tales.
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Leaving chaos in her wake
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School book fair season is here and my daughter brought home this flyer with a bunch of ￼Mandalorian books!! Of course my daughter refuses to let me buy them as she is sick of Pedro and Grogu and embarrassed for some reason over getting them delivered to her classroom. But I kinda want them...
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Chapter 1 “Kal'Tava”
Title: The Rifle
Pairings: Mandalorian x F!Reader
Rating: E (for language, sexual situations, No YOUNGLINGS lurking where they shouldn’t)
Setting: Before Season 1 (briefly), before Season 2, leading into Season 2 eventually, slower burn.
You always believed that trouble had a knack for finding you… You just never realized what trouble really meant until you met him.
“Why did you help me?”
“…You looked like you needed your rifle,”
Warnings: Age gap (LATER) Older man/younger woman, explicit sexual scenes and sexual situations leading up to it after chapter 8
Word Count: 1446
A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first story I actually have a plan for! I fell down a deep dark Mandalorian hole and I plan on making a living here. So sit back, relax, and enjoy! If you have any pointers or tips feel free to send them my way, but please, be kind! Banner inspired by @valkblue
This story takes place 10 years before Mando and Baby Yoda leave Nevarro as a clan of 2. I did some quick math and estimated that Din was born around 3251 LY / 26BBY which is a few years before the clone wars and therefore he is around 35 years old when The Child is found in 3286 / 9ABY. All that said, Mando is in his mid 20’s to your teens and any and all romance will be much much later. P.S. Yena is a play on y/n, thought it’d be a clever way to handle that!
Chapter Summary: You never get a second chance to make a first impression
“Did you see the Mandalorian in town?”
Your father couldn’t help but notice you perking up after overhearing your sister’s conversation. He swung around to your work station and gave you a nudge to get you back to work, which you returned in kind at being caught. Sure, Odell and Ravi could stand around and talk while putting merchandise away, but as soon as you so much as tilt your head, you get stuck with the reprimand. You did allow yourself a small bit of pride at being the best out of your siblings with fixing blasters and the occasional landspeeder, but at the cost of being able to walk into the market and gossip with friends, it didn’t seem like all that great of an accomplishment at the moment.
“A Mandalorian? Those are the bounty hunters right? With all the weapons and armor?” You piped up from your little corner as you fiddled with the blaster in your hands, only to have it yanked from your hands as your father towered over you.
“No no no, I know you. You keep your head down and stay out of trouble, Yena. I mean it,” Your eyes crossed as he waved a meaty finger in your face.
“But I—“ Your voice pitched in defense.
”Calm down, Cadri. It’s hard not being curious about new people here, she doesn’t mean anything by it,” Your mother, ever the voice of reason, seemed to understand you teenage curiosity more than the rest of your family.
Your father, however, was strict man, quiet, and kept to himself; all qualities that he “claimed” helped him live through some of the galaxy’s more tumultuous years… Honestly, you thought it had more to do with the fact that you all lived in the shadiest part of the outer rim. Nonetheless, your father strove to instill these qualities into his many children, mostly through manual labor and a lack of free time. Hard to get into trouble when you hardly left the weapons mechanic shop, but you always swore that you never went looking for trouble. Truly, it just always seemed to find you. You always thought it had more to do with being one of the younglings and getting left behind to fend for yourself out of your three sisters and two brothers.
“Oh come on, Baba. I don’t get into trouble!” You exclaimed heatedly.
“Ha! If you lied half as well as you fixed blasters then maybe that would have been more believable,” You heard your sister’s snarky comment from the corner of the store.
“Nobody asked for your opinion, Odell—“ You snapped.
“It’s not an opinion it’s a fact,”
“I’ll show you a fact, when I come over there and kick your a—!” You had already started to get up to lunge towards her when your father tried to intervene.
“… Do you carry ammo for Amban rifles?”
Five pairs of eyes turned towards the lone figure that had just stepped through the doorway. Your eyes immediately focused on the T-shaped visor set in smooth silver beskar. Even out here, you and your siblings were all trained to know quality steel when you saw it, what with your family being in weapon and ship repairs. This was your first time seeing real Mandalorian beskar in person though, much less on a real Mandalorian. You knew there had been a Mandalorian in town a few years back but you’d never actually seen him since he worked for gangsters. Your family must have though if the wide eyed looks of your family members were anything to go by, he definitely did cut an intimidating figure.
“… Yes. We don’t have much in stock but we do carry the rounds,” Your father finally broke the tense silence, startling your sister and mother into action as they shuffled over to the stock room.
“I’ll take what you have. How much?” The Mandalorian swung his rifle around to place in front of your father, but something in the movement caught your eye.
“Your rifle… it has a short in the barrel,” You vaguely heard your father’s harsh whisper of your name as you tentatively reached for the rifle, “The trigger is loose, and butt of the rifle is worn down as well… probably from the recoil when you fire,”
You looked up and met the empty glare of the T-visor, your breath caught as you realized that you had essentially taken his gun out of his hands and given him unsolicited criticism on the maintenance of said gun to his face— or rather helmet. You knew you were right in your assessment, you’d been working on guns your entire life, but being met with silence made your stomach drop. You resisted the urge to blurt out that you didn’t really know anything, that you were just a stupid 17 year old trying to impress a bounty hunter, when he finally spared you from the embarrassment. After what felt like ages, but was surely only seconds, the Mandalorian inclined his head mildly in your father’s direction.
“How much for the repairs?” If anyone saw your knees buckle, you were glad that they hadn’t mentioned it.
“The repairs and the ammo for 60 wupiupi, no less,”
“Fine. How long for the repairs to be done” At this the Mandalorian turned your way and you nearly choked, was he expecting you to do it?
“Uh-hrm… a-a couple of hours? 3 tops—“
“You’ve got one and a half. I’ll pay half now and half when it’s finished,” he neatly dropped a pouch into your father’s unexpecting hands and walked out. The silence left in his wake was deafening, until…
“ Yena , what have you gotten yourself into? You foolish girl!”
To say that your parents were mortified, terrified, and petrified by the spectacular heights of your audacity and stupidity would have been an understatement. Your father cursed every piece of faulty machinery in the shop as he helped you strip the rifle, and despite your mother’s many exclamations of being at a loss for words, she still proceeded to nearly shriek at you for the next 20 minutes as you scrambled to get your workstation together. All in all, you were nearly to the point of tears and you only had an hour left to fix the damned thing.
“I take back every time I said I didn’t get myself into trouble, you were right, you were all right,” Your mother’s hysterics must have rubbed off on you because you were nearly inconsolable as you tore your station apart for a driver small enough to tighten the trigger to the firing mechanism.
In a moment of clarity, your father finally kicked your mother and sisters out so you could focus, not that it helped much at this point as you glanced at the clock every 5 minutes. After the 5th time you burned yourself with your welder you finally stopped watching the clock and finished up. The short itself was an exposed wire that was messing with the transfer of the Tibanna gas and creating more force than necessary during firing, which resulted in the excessive recoil and a loose trigger. Your father’s store didn’t carry the type of gunstock necessary to replace the worn butt of the Mandalorian’s rifle, so all you could do was clean, reassemble, and call it done. You wiped your brow and looked up at the clock and realized you had actually made it with 3 minutes to spare, sobs of relief nearly melting you out of your chair as you held the rifle reverently to your chest.
“Get down!” You felt the shock of the explosion before you saw the smoke and ran out into the street with the rifle still pressed to your chest.
“What’s going on?!” You managed your pull one of your neighbors towards you from the people running away from the blast.
“That Mandalorian, the-the crew he was with turned on him! It’s a disaster, he’s holed up in a house, they have him pinned cuz he got hurt saving Ravi!” You felt your blood run cold.
The Mandalorian had saved your sister…
The Mandalorian had saved your sister and he had gotten hurt doing it, and now he was trapped in a house getting shot at by his own crewmates.
Your feet began to move before you had even finished thinking of a plan, rushing into the store and grabbing a box of the ammo the Mandalorian had requested. You strapped the gun to your back and rushed out the back door. It was starting to look like trouble was going to be a friend of yours now.
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Din : I’ve only had Grogu for, like, a day, but if anything happened to him, I’ll kill everyone in this room, and then myself.
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i posted a boba fett trans pride/ally drawing on my instagram yesterday and got so much goddam backlash from angry fanboys who tried telling me that boba fett doesn't support trans/nb people or they/them pronouns. obviously they don't know SHIT about boba fett so i drew this petty ass comic as a response. goodnight bitches.
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Grogu eating luchables just gives me life idk
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Laundry day 👕🧺
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i’ve been so busy lately, all i have to offer are more variants from Patreon 🥺
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The Mandalorian is literally a story about a supporting character.
Here are main characters, Bo-Katan and Ahsoka, hunting down big bads like Gideon and Thrawn, and Din is like “that’s nice, I’m just trying to find a really good preschool for my child” AND THAT IS HILARIOUS I AM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH WANTING TO KNOW THE MAIN FUCKING STORYLINE AND DIN IS REFUSING TO ENGAGE. HE IS LEGIT LIKE “not fucking today, not my fucking division” AND DRIVES OFF IN HIS SHITTY HONDA CIVIC WITH HIS GREMLIN CHILD THAT HAS ANGER ISSUES.
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I just had to use this meme template...
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boba: i lost grogu
din: HOW COULD YOU LOSE GROGU?!
boba: in my defense he is really small
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shows up to the mando party several months late holding grogu 🖖 (insp x @theriga6-6)
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