#mando x ofc

[furious-rogue-stuff]

♛😔💤 lets spice it up a bit from my usual love for Javi and Javi only 🧐

Well, dear anon, I have finally gotten around to this intriguing gem of a prompt from my previous 300 drabble prompt challenge - just in time for hitting 400 followers 😅 Anyway~

Special thanks to @just-here-for-the-moment​ for reading through this and assuring me it wasn't ridiculous drivel! Your encouragement is my ambrosia, my friend. 

Pairing: Din Djarin x OFC | Mando x Stunner

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 11,000+

🚨Author chooses not to include warnings

Reality

You knew something had stuck with him post-job. Which was odd, since it wasn’t the usual fiasco you’d become accustomed to when it came to this bounty-hunting-by-proxy gig you’d fallen into with him.

No, this job had gone pretty smooth, and you’d even managed to net a decent bounty. So much so that you now had plenty of supplies and plenty of credits for the reserves to take a spell between accepting the next job. You were savvy with stretching out the coffers, and had gotten a great deal for supplies in the market. But while you should feel pleased, you can’t help be curious as you stare musingly out at the hyperlane you’d just made the jump to meld beyond the transparisteel before you.

Whatever it had been, it’d hit him hard. Leaving him withdrawn and taciturn. 

Okay – you couldn’t know for sure because you’d never seen his face, so you were strictly going by the other tells: his posture, the way his pauldron-clad shoulders had slumped minutely, and how even more reticent he’d become. 

But even though you’d only spent a short time with Mando, you had a heightened sense about these things. Still, you hadn’t pried, and returned to your ship with the supplies, and him in tow. A while later, though, you’d come down from the cockpit expecting to find him on that damnable crate he seemed to favor sitting on to polish his weapons and clean his blaster. Instead, his back was to you, and you could make out that he was staring down at something. So, you shifted enough around to feign like you were heading for the kitchenette to pour yourself a fresh cup of caf when really you were glancing at him from the corner of your eye. 

The shiny circular piece of metal looked like the top of a control’s joystick. He was rolling it pensively, strong digits tracing it around while perpetually encased in his well-worn orange-fingered gloves before he dropped it into the black-leather-clad palm of his right hand and tucked it out of sight in his belt when he finally sensed your gaze on him.

He was enigmatic, the Mandalorian. 

You’d found yourself thinking about what could’ve brought him to be on his own, so far out in the Outer Rim, with no ship. But you’d learned long ago to keep your curiosities to yourself. Best to not stir up the resentments or specters that men shackled themselves to, but something about this man had always tugged at your heartstring. Yes, the last solitary heartstring you got, and that you’d decided long ago you couldn’t spare for anyone else. Still, you found yourself feeling drawn to him in this moment, and couldn’t help let that intrepid, wily part of you seek to coax him out of his brooding silence.

Taking a sip of your caf, you loped around him and kicked one of the other supply crates to slide across the polished floor of your somewhat cargo-cluttered hull to park across from him so you could plop down onto it with a sigh and recline forward – propping your elbows onto your knees as you stare directly into his glossy black T-visor to where you think his eyes are.

His posture straightened, and his hands fidgeted to find perch onto his thighs, trying to seem unbothered, but you know better. He’s clearly wary to socialize much with you, no matter how many times you’ve given him signs that you would welcome it. But you’d quickly realized he was guarded, and seemed to be building up his walls all over again. From what? You didn’t know, but you also assumed it wasn’t all due to the strict Mandalorian Creed you’d heard so much about through the galactic grapevine of years loitering in cantinas and spaceports. 

For him? He just wasn’t sure about you.

It’d been a few weeks since he’d gotten dropped off by his ragtag compatriots onto that frigid mining hub on some moon between Bespin and Hoth. He’d declined all offers of joining up with them, and had set off to lose himself for a while. Eventually, when credits were running low, he’d strode into that seedy cantina at the end of the port and asked the barkeep for leads on jobs. All eyes were on him and his chrome-shine beskar, but he was used to it, and when the Weequay pointed him to the back booth around the corner of the bar, Din had made his way around the surreptitious patrons while keeping his gaze sharp and his gait imposing. Most would shift or avert their gazes when the sweep of his black T-visor scanned their direction, and if his height, imposing posture, and deliberate stride weren’t intimidating enough, the spear fixed at the back of his left shoulder and his right hand being not so far from the blaster strapped in the holster at his hip seemed to do the trick.

When a cheer went up in the opposite shadowy corner of the bar he was headed in, he couldn’t help glance over to see what had been the cause of it. That’s when he saw you boisterously grinning at the Trandoshian across from you as he hissed sourly at his losing hand of Sabacc while you fanned your palms across the center of the table to collect your winnings. 

“You cheated!” the reptilian behemoth had sniped, snarling to show you his row of razor-sharp teeth while he stood from his seat and glared balefully at you.

Unbothered by the accusation, you swept the bunch of credits into a leather pouch and stowed it inside your cropped two-toned leather jacket and leaned back in your chair to eye him snidely while the crowd around the table began to scuttle away to be at a much safer range. “Because I won?” you’d countered smoothly and picked up your cup to sip from it.

“Because there’s no way you had that hand! Three winning hands in a row, at that,” the angry Trandoshian hissed and slammed his clawed hands down raucously on the table before his buddies tried to calm him. “No, this little harpy is a cheat!”

“What did you call me?”

The clatter of voices died down at the cold, steely growl of your voice as you narrowed your eyes at the foe and slammed your cup down to slowly stand and challengingly square up at him from across the table to deride crossly, “Who’re you calling a harpy, you overgrown hatchling!”

“Hey! No fighting in here,” the Weequay barkeep shouted from behind the counter and gestured with exasperation as he warned, “You take it outside, or you’ll answer to Quent!”

“You wanna take this outside then, lizard lips?” you sneered tauntingly at the Trandoshian, and he hissed at you, nostrils flaring irately before his buddies yanked at his grubby flight-suit and beseeched him to back off. 

The entire time the impending brawl escalated, Din had watched from his vantage point, oddly intrigued by your moxie. After all, you looked petite enough for him to toss around easily, so a seven-foot Trandoshian could’ve easily made mincemeat out of you – albeit ripped your limbs from you with the ease of plucking the tail from a krill.

He spotted a slim blaster in a holster fastened to your left hip, and from the set of your shoulders he could tell you had a hidden knife strapped just beyond your jacket, and what he guessed to be a modified stunner tucked into the shaft of your shin-high boot. All the trappings of a scrappy and self-sufficient individual making their way through the galaxy, so he’d began to turn away to resume his approach to the back booth where he assumed a shadily-affiliated guild surveyor was waiting for someone like him with several pucks needing clearing when he heard another commotion kick up.

“—Let go, dammit!”

“He warned you, little scamp. No fighting, and no hustling in his establishments—”

“What’re you, slow on the uptake?! We’re not fighting—”

“But you’re hustling after he let you off with a warning.”

Din turns back to see a pale yellow-skinned Twi’lek gripping one of your forearms behind your back while he squeezes your other arm to shake out your jacket’s sleeve, as if trying to dislodge a hidden stash of cards, but nothing comes loose.

You’re fighting him – struggling to shake his hold on you loose while the crowd around the table is hastily shoved aside by goons dressed similarly as the Twi’lek. Security for whoever runs the syndicate around here.

“I want my creditsss!” The Trandoshian is snarling at one of the other men while the Twi’lek wrings your arm to be pinned backwards with the other.

“Get off me, you kriffin’ lunkhead—”

“You’re all out of chances now, little girl—”

“Let her go.”

Everyone pauses to finally notice the broad, tall, shiny-armored Mandalorian appear as if from the shadows to imposingly glare them down from his dark T-visor. You whip to face him and see him for the first time, and the way your eyes appraise him is something Din can’t quite describe, nor does he get a chance to when he directs his covert stare at the man holding you captive.

“Mind your business and step aside!” The Twi’lek shouts, signaling with the tip of his likku-swaying head for his partners to square up against the Mandalorian in their way.

“I’m making it my business,” the Mandalorian ground out smoothly, modulated voice unwavering and deep with promise of violence if they tried him. “Let her go.”

You’d stared at him, confused by him interceding on your behalf at all, but grateful for the distraction, because you were able to swing your head back and reverse-headbutt your captor so the blunt curve of your skull smashed into his nose with a sick crack before the man screamed and let you go to cup his injured face. The melee that ensued was a full-on bar brawl with you scampering about from the bigger, clumsier foes by diving under tables while the Mandalorian pummeled and thrashed Quent’s men in hand-to-hand. He threw jabs that connected with precision, and uppercut body blows that had men folding in on themselves. You were impressed that he’d yet to reach for his blaster, or use the long javelin-looking spear, but then you noticed the goons getting organized in going at him all together. Even then he was holding his own, but it was one on five, though, so you gritted your teeth and reached for the stunner hidden in your boot, pulling out the modified rod and switching it on to bash a couple of kneecaps with baton-like swings that had men wailing as they hit the ground. You tased them in the torso before agilely sprinting over them to try and head for the exit into the chilly evening while the Mandalorian seamlessly picked up one of the tables and swung it to batter into the flank of men before following your lead.

“Hey!” You’d shouted when you felt him run up and lasso an arm around your waist to redirect your retreat down another alley. “What’re you—?!”

“Not that way. More men are coming,” he groused through his helm’s steely vocoder.

You’d nodded and with even more moxie than he’d expected, grabbed him by the front of his bandolier and hauled him along to follow your path down a few more tight alleys and alcoves while you whispered to him about getting to your ship.

That’s how he’d ended up here, in this unlikely and not-really-fleshed-out-partnership with you – for the time being. 

But right now? While he’s sat across from you and trying lamely to decipher your motives, Din can’t help wonder why you’re looking at him so – with your exacting, albeit brazen stare and the musing smile on your soft, curvy lips. 

“…What?” he finally asks, vocoder smoothening out his cagey tone. 

“I’m just curious, which I know is bad, and I tend to smother all my curiosities about people, but right now? I don’t care to, and want to know: What’s up with you, Mando,” you chime in that repartee inclined way of yours. When he just hums noncommittally in response, you set your caf down between your booted feet and cross your arms. “Credit for your thoughts, then?”

He grunts at that before crossing his own arms across his plated chest. “Curiosity is bad?” he queries laconically.

You crack a smile. He tends to evade and obfuscate as a default whenever you both have had conversation lasting longer than a giving of coordinates or detailing of a plan for him to come and go after a bounty. “It tends to kill the Lothcat, chrome-dome—”

He grumbles before deadpanning, “It’s not chrome—”

“It’s a figure of speech, Mando!” you tease, shaking your head before drawling, “Now quit being evasive! What’s up? Was it something about the job? I thought it went well, so I don’t get your sulky mood—”

“I’m not sulking,” he contradicts and tilts his helm beratingly at you. “The job was fine. There’s nothing wrong—”

“Listen, I know we don’t know each other all that much, but I’m going out on a limb here. I owe you for tag-team helping me out of that jam with Quent’s men, and being your chauffeur has been fun—”

“I cut you in on the credits I get from the bounties,” Mando interjects a bit standoffishly, but you huff and wave him off, so he sighs, “Fine. Continue.”

With a wry tip of your head forward, you continue. “I appreciate that, don’t get me wrong, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t getting soft on you now,” you remark without umbrage or bashfulness, enjoying how his shoulders tense and his helmet cocks to the side curiously at you. “Look. It’s been a while since I worked with a partner. So, blame it on that if you want, but right now? I want to make sure that…well, that you’re alright. That’s all,” you find yourself remarking a bit more musingly than you’d intended, so you clear your throat and lean forward to add, “We both have to put in for this thing to work. I’ve trusted you on my ship, with my time, dealt with your judgment—”

“When have I done that?” he inquires in that raspy way his modulator manages to smoothen into a molten tone. “Judge you?”

“Really? That first night! We got onto my ship and hauled ass off-planet, and you talked crap about my ship—” 

Din hums, musing, “Well, it was in impound…”

“And? When we busted it out and took the jump to lightspeed you literally shouldered me out of the way and took over flying my ship—”

“We came out into an asteroid field!”

“So?! Then, when I magnanimously let you have my quarters, you made a judgmental comment about me—”

Din has to wrack his recollections for that one, and then remembers how when you’d ambled through the open hatch of your narrow and austere sleeping berth, he’d watched as you stripped your jacket off to just be in the snug sleeveless top underneath. Aside from the hidden vibroblade strapped to you, being sans jacket revealed the discreet armband fastened to your forearm housing a cache of choice Sabacc cards for sleight of hand. You’d been collecting your satchel of the few belongings you had to give him the space for privacy. Frowning, he remembers that he’d rumbled, “You are a cheat.”

Arms uncrossing grumpily, he yields and assures, “Yeah, fine. I did, and that was uncalled for.”

Smirking triumphantly, you lean cheekily forward into his personal space and purr, “You were right, though.”

A bit taken aback, he shifts his shoulders and dismisses, “A partnership has boundaries too—”

You brazenly scoff and throw your hands up before slapping them down onto the tops of your thighs. “And I respect yours. The Creed? Having to eat all on my lonesomes—never getting to see your face? Kriff – I don’t even know your name, chrome-dome—”

“All right. What are you asking me, then?” he grumbles and crosses his arms again, mannerisms becoming surly.

Sobering, you lean back and perch your hands onto the edges of the crate at your sides. “Just, this once? Tell me what got you so…faraway?” you ask with genuine interest, eyes softening as you tilt your head curiously at him. “And…if there’s anything I can do to help?”

Din is bemused, but then something weary beckons for him to relent, for the sake of his tired will needing a break and to have a moment of respite. 

After all, while the bounty had been easy, and he’d turned the forger over to the bounty collector working out of the sheriff’s office and had collected his credits to then go to the port and gather supplies with you, he’d been left reeling with longing and guilt. Because, on the way down the crowded thoroughfare, he’d frozen in his spot at sighting a man in a black cloak with a bundled child in his arms. His heart had wrung, hopeful, but then the man had turned, revealing him to be a brown-haired Mirialan father holding his green son – a toddler with big brown eyes that cuddled into the man’s shoulder. His heart had sunk, and only when you’d backtracked to his side and nudged his pauldron-covered shoulder – the one with the Mudhorn signet emblazoned in beskar on it, did he snap out of his melancholic daze and avoided your gaze as he strode ahead.

Looking into your warm, gentle gaze now? He found himself aching to unburden himself, but was reluctant. 

You could see it from how his shoulders shifted, and how his helm dipped a fraction. So, with a sigh, you give up. Collecting your cup of caf, you stand and begin to round the crate to skirt by him as you remark, “Forget it, then. I didn’t mean to pry—”

“I lost someone.”

You pause, stilling even your breathing in hopes to not miss another soft, modulated murmur.

“Today, I saw someone that reminded me…I just, for a moment, I thought it was him, but it wasn’t, and it’s had me thinking about…” Mando is parceling out in a hushed tone, and you turn, feeling a pang in your chest for him. “I just can’t stop wishing that I could see him again. To get to make sure he’s safe, but I don’t—it wouldn’t be right, so I just need to stop hoping—”

You place the cup down on the kitchenette and whirl to be at his side, dropping onto one knee so you can rest a hand on his thigh-guard and the other on his pauldron. Din’s so disarmed that he doesn’t even flinch from how close you are to him now. Instead he just stares wide-eyed at you from behind his helm while you gaze up at the black visor.

“I’m sorry I badgered you, but…I’m glad you told me,” you murmur in a soft lilting timbre that reminds him not for the first time how lovely and sultry your voice could be when you’re not being goading or teeming with bravado. “And I don’t think you should stop hoping. I – I won’t ask you to tell me more, so don’t worry, but I do think you shouldn’t begrudge yourself for wishing for anything. It’s the one thing we have that no one can take away from us…” is your sage remark, and when you don’t feel it conveys enough, you find yourself moving your hand from his pauldron to the side of his helm, where you think his cheek would be if he was bare-faced to you. “Just—just don’t be so tough all the time, chrome-dome,” you say with affection, smile softening as your eyes crinkle and your dark lashes fan coquettishly at him.

You expect him to hum in displeasure, or to scoff dismissively, like he has the few times you’ve lightly ribbed him prior. But instead, he reaches his hand up, and pets a lock of hair away from your face before his gloved palm cups your cheek. It makes your breath catch and your pupils dilate under the keen sight provided by his helm, and he can tell your pulse quickened as much as his own.

“I’m not just being tough,” he husks glibly, and traces the angle of your cheekbone with his orange-tip-gloved thumb before muttering, “Maybe take your own advice, mir'sheb.”

You’re titillated by him razzing you back, having to submerge the impulse to ask what the Mando’a term means, so you graze your teeth over the plump swell of your bottom lip absently before you instead ask in a smoky tone, “Oh? Which part?”

“The not being so tough all the time,” he counters in a velvety drawl and glides his fingertips along your jawline, enjoying how heat rises to your cheeks. His eyes catch how you distractedly dampen your lips with the swipe of your tongue before you snicker dismissively. “What? Too much to ask?” he jibes amusedly.

There’s a part of you tingling with intrigue – and yes, heated desire – for this mysterious bounty hunter, warrior and snarky man hidden behind Mandalorian steel, so you decide to be daring and move your hand from the side of his helm to the soft spot hidden by his cloak and cowl, pinching a cheeky squeeze there and earning a stutter of breath from him to rasp through the vocoder of his helm. 

“Yes, actually, that’s much too much for you to ask of me, Mando. You got your armor, and I’ve got mine,” is your sardonic musing as you glance at his retreating fingers moving to curl into a fist he places against his armored thigh. You think you see the shadowed outline of his arousal pressing against the confines of his flight-suit, but dismiss the hopeful conclusion when your eyes flick back up to his visor at his musing huff when his other hand lightly encircles your wrist and removes your touch from the sloping juncture that connects neck to shoulder hidden by his cowl.

“Fair enough,” he rumbles, steel back in his tone as he shifts back enough for you to stand so you can put some distance between you two now that the flirtatious bubble popped. 

You nod and turn to retrieve your caf and try to exit back up to the cockpit with some dignity while you feel your blush radiate in the apples of your cheeks and the pulse of arousal tingle down into the seat of your core. 

“…Thank you. For, uh…for listening,” Din finds himself muttering as he turns his helm away from your back to busy himself with his left arm’s vambrace.

You glance at him sidelong, feeling a tickle of delight skitter down your spine. “You know, it’s times like these when I could just kiss you, chrome-dome,” you snicker irreverently and watch his shoulders wind back before he tilts his helm to peer at you over his shoulder. “Right on the lips,” is your parting lilt as you wink at him and then strut out of the cargo area towards the hatch leading to the ladder up into the cockpit. 

Din huffs, aggravated with himself for feeling pent-up and enticed by the teasing prospect you lobbed his way. “Dank farrik,” he grumbles under his breath as he shifts his hand from being balled up against his thigh to cup himself, feeling his arousal throb in frustration at him. 

Truthfully, he’d been harboring some kind of attraction to you for a while now. At first he’d chalked it up to being hard-up – to not being able to remember the last time he got physical gratification from anyone other than his own hand, so the proximity of traveling with a beautiful woman? Of being surrounded by your appealing scent laced in the threadbare sheets of your cot in the sleeping berth? Let alone the wayward warm press of your confident touch every so often? It had left him yearning for more, but stubbornly incapable of broaching that threshold with you. Not with how off-kilter he still felt after having to relinquish custody of his foundling to some nameless Jedi master.

The pang of sadness cooled his arousal and made him think clearly about you. A fierce, independent, wily and brazen woman who was as fearless as you were scrappy. Is it a wonder he’d spent many a night lying on his back in the dark of the narrow berth, fantasizing about you? Wondering what you would do if he pulled you against his chest like he wanted to? How you would look naked and writhing under him? If your voice would be that sultry, smoky lilt when you moaned for him to give you pleasure?

Fuck. Din was annoyed with himself as the specter of the sensual, delectably alluring version of you he’d been conjuring in his mind stuck with him the rest of the time you both busied yourselves with tasks on the intrepid ship while still in hyperspace. Was it a coping mechanism for missing Grogu? This need to fixate on baser urges?

You’re acting like a horny foundling again. Thinking filth to pass the time. And just like countless nights in the covert, Din was lying on his back now, in the dark, warring with his lust, cock aching for him to take the edge off. He thankfully had much more privacy now than he’d had then. Sure, that had never stopped him from jerking off like a fiend, with his teeth baring down on his bottom lip to stifle his sounds of pleasure, all the while feeling insatiable and eventually learning he needed to channel the energy into something else. 

But right now? His mind could wander and encourage his hand to do the same. He thought of the first time he noticed you – truly saw you as an attractive woman. It’d been sometime that first week. You’d been in the cockpit wedged on all fours underneath the hyperdrive panel fiddling away trying to patch some frayed wires that had overheated. When underway, you opted out of wearing your durable two-toned leather jacket and slim-fit thick-weave stretch trousers, favoring the comfort of a thin dark legging that sculpted with sinful detail to your supple curves and made your ass look even firmer and rounder to his leering eyes. Heat had zinged down into his apex at the sight, and he’d feigned distraction by checking the ship’s fuel reserves when you wiggled backwards and wiped your hands on your thighs and glanced over at him. Seeing you on your knees with that long-sleeved umber top clinging to your ample bust, craning your neck back to ask him for the spanner you’d left on the console closest to him? It had made him think of something lewd, and he gritted his jaw at himself as he passed you the tool and then left the confined space before he started thinking about acting on said lewd fantasies.

He wasn’t sure if you’d noticed then, but he was sure you’d discerned his unease in being so cooped up with you at times when he’d exited the berth once in route to the ‘fresher, and found the hatch open while the remnants of steam condensed about from your recent hot shower. You were in a lighter weave legging, fastening your hair up into a messy bun while the ruddy halter-top undergarment you wore molded to your perky tits and kept them snug, the padding concealing your studded nipples…for the most part. Blinking in the mirror when you looked up in the reflection and saw his looming shadow, you’d jumped and whirled, before letting out a breath and deriding that for such a bulky sentinel, he was insanely good at sneaking up on you. Din had grumbled an apology and you’d given him a crooked smile before grabbing your olive-green knit top and yanking it on, padding barefoot by him with an easy-going, “No worries! It’s all yours.”

He'd jerked off to you in the shower. Not his finest moment, but the fragrance of your soap and the lingering scent of you had made his urges wanton, and he started thinking of how you’d taste – if you’d smell just as lovely covered in sweat while getting fucked senseless by him.

It’s what he was thinking about now, and that primal urge clawed up his insides and burrowed filthy want in his gut. So, he gave into the need for gratification – letting his captivation free to lustfully fixate on you. 

Just like the secret weapon you hid in your boot, you were a stunner – gorgeous and fearless. He found himself thinking you were the kind of woman that if he’d still been part of the covert, and came across a version of you that followed The Way? That you’d surely be out of his league. The clansmen – the ones from ancient houses that could be traced back to Mandalore, would vie for your attention. Maybe even brawl for the chance to meet you in a spar that would lead to the feral couplings Din spent the lonely nights in the corp thinking longingly about. But, in this warped alternate timeline he's conjured, if the likes of Paz Viszla ever tried to square up against him in competition for you? He didn’t give a damn if the hulking man was flanked by his allies – he’d fight him for the chance to get even a musing chuckle from you.

If he knew you’d had more than fleeting thoughts about him as well, Din would likely weigh the pros and cons of pushing you up against the nearest sturdy surface and doing the raunchy things he’d been spinning around in his mind for weeks. 

You wondered if he picked up on your light ribbing being more than just cheeky and acerbic – that it was flirty banter you’d hoped he’d play into so it could become sexy repartee and clue you into whether he was interested. Alas, outside of a few hours ago, your usually broody, reticent companion hadn’t played into your attempts. Really, you wondered if he just tolerated you most of the time, but sometimes he’d indulge listening to your chatter, and he was effortlessly chivalrous, even when you’d insist you could manage. But he’d shoulder things – setting them where you’d intended to hoist them onto for you. Or he’d put himself in front of you when he was unsure of your surroundings within a hostile scene, but he didn’t do so because he thought you incapable, you’d noticed. When he would suggest a different route, and you insisted on the flight you’d tracked, he’d defer to you. Or when you needed to suss out intel on a bounty, and he needed recognizance, he’d allowed you to go into locations prior, trusting you to ask around and confirm his target was onsite before he swaggered in. He thought you competent. You especially think so from the way he used your name with that firm, baritone intonation that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand. Yet he was guarded, and you knew virtually nothing about him other than his conviction to his Creed. It was a tantalizing level of contradictions that had you thinking about him more and more.

So, yeah – you’d been left for weeks pining. Scratch that – you’d been lusting after him in ways you’d find yourself blushing, or that got you hot and bothered. 

Sure, you had no kriffing idea what he looked like under all the armor or that blank helm, but wasn’t that part of the allure? What made it more titillating and thrilling to fantasize about him bending you over the console in the cockpit and railing you while the fluid glow of hyperspace danced in your mystified eyes? Or when you’d catch a whiff of his masculine-musk scent in the ‘fresher after he’d showered, and long to bury your face in his bare neck just so you can get lost in his enticing smell, and feel the heat of his skin? Maker – you didn’t even know his name, so when you fantasized about him, you had to call out ‘Mando!’ when you touched yourself and muffled your mewls of pleasure against the back of your hand while curled up in the snug alcove you’d converted into a makeshift sleeping cubby for yourself in the cockpit. 

It was ridiculous. But then again…he was sexy. Enigmatic, with a tantalizing broadness of frame and physical strength that made you tingle whenever he got close – that made you want to pounce on him and see what he’d do. Someone with that much electric, effortless appeal had to be a damned stud under all that damned beskar, right? You often passed the quiet and boring time in the cockpit like this – wondering what he looked like under the helm. You knew he was a human male from the sliver of skin you’d seen when he’d adjusted a hand back into a glove one afternoon when you’d come back from getting a scanner for the nav-computer diagnostics you’d been putting off doing. He’d been working on a delicate part of his blaster that required nimble dexterity he couldn’t totally achieve with his glove still on, and it’d taken all your willpower to yank your avid stare away from him before he could notice. His hand had been tan flesh, with long thick fingers and trim, clean fingernails; it’d helped your mind conjure a suntan hunk from the neck down, with talented hands able to disassemble you with pleasure, but still – you couldn’t picture his face. 

Now, though, your mind wandered to the things you replayed about him the most. One of which you really gravitated to, was his voice. A warm, steely-coated baritone that made you wonder if he had a more earthy, huskier pitch, or a honeyed timbre without the modulation of the vocoder. 

“I lost someone.”

Frowning, you recall the way his voice had sounded so hushed, yet full of untold regret and loss when he’d confided that. It makes you want to know more about him, and wish you could comfort him. Then, you wonder about what triggered such melancholy in him. 

You picture the market from earlier in the day, and do recollect seeing a man with a child. Really, you only recall it in your mind’s eye because when Mando had strode off ahead, you’d looked back in the direction he’d been staring at and saw the little boy wave a chubby little green hand your way before scrubbing at his cheek and curling further into his father’s shoulder while he haggled with a vendor. 

Did he have a family? The way he spoke, it was as if he missed a little one…

You suddenly picture him holding a child. Mando, the strong, inscrutable sentinel in beskar, with a little bundle tucked in the crook of his arm that he cradles with tender fondness while effortlessly shooting at foes who dare bother him and his kiddo. Huffing wryly, you let yourself pine for him until you’re longing with whimsical thoughts that’re leap-frogging through your mind. Said thoughts make you smile, and fawn a little thanks to the fantasy Mando in your mind playing out all the delectable things you wish the real Mando would make reality.

After all, something about the way he takes charge – how he can command his surroundings and make you feel worthy when he herds you close to him when he seemingly wants to make clear that you’re with him and everyone else should tread lightly? It inspires your daydreaming of him now, where he saunters over to you and cups his large hand into the small of your back and pins you to his side. Then it jumps to him in protective stud mode, swaggering up to you and looping his arms around your waist to hitch you against him before he takes flight with that real wizard jetpack of his. Yes, your mind keeps spinning off scenarios where you’re more than associates who’re trying to make your ways through the galaxy, and it starts to fluster you. Especially when you fixate on your blossoming enthrallment for the ruggedly sexy warrior that you sense to be capable of melting you down with his sweetness just as much as with his badassery. Would you quit lusting after him?!

Annoyed with yourself, you huffed at your empty caf cup and decided to take a trip down to the ‘fresher to splash some water on your face in order to cool your heated features. Once down the ladder, you loped across towards the open hatch when you noticed the berth’s hatch was shut. Straining your hearing, you picked up the sound of the air scrubbers and the ambient noises of the ship’s engines, but no Mando. Hmm, odd. He usually putters around until we’re out of hyperspace and can find a spot to idle…

You soundlessly move to the hatch and press your ear to it, picking up what sounds like clothes rustling. Thinking he’s finally taking a much-needed rest free of his heavy armor, you’re about to move away towards the ‘fresher when you catch a muffled, modulated sound that makes heat bloom between your thighs. 

Din’s in the dark, with his helm still on, but the rest of his armor is removed and stowed to the side. He’d peeled his flight-jacket down so he was just in his undershirt while stretched out on the narrow cot that barely accommodated his height. His hand was down the front of his semi-open trousers, touching himself while he muffled a frustrated groan. He’d been at it for a while, and just couldn’t get himself off, and now his cock throbbed beseechingly while his balls ached with needed release. His mind couldn’t settle on one fantasy, so he couldn’t ground himself in one desire before something else skittered across his mind’s eye for consideration. It was only distracting him and making him burn with exasperated need.

With a snarl, he shifted completely flat on his back and flopped his bare hand out from the layers of his clothes to idly twist his fingers into the collar of his undershirt to tug it down from his heated skin. Dank farrik… He’s surly with himself as he closes his eyes and tries to concentrate on the hum of the ship, and before he knows it, his sexually charged mind crackles with fantasy after fantasy that manages to tire him out into a state of half-slumber, one where his body relaxes enough to doze while his thoughts slog through the fog of desire.

Said desire drafts a fantasy in which you’re standing in the open hatch, merely a silhouette in the darkness as you appear and crawl over him. His skin tingles where he feels your weight settle over him, and his loins throb from the wanton urge stoked by the heat of your velvet-wet mouth wrapping around his cock. Oh fuck…fuck this is more like it. Maker, could it feel as good as this in reality?

You hum around him, and Din groans, coming out a bass-pitched rasp through his vocoder as he slowly wakes from his doze to reach down his body with clumsy fingers to wrap around his pulsing cock, but instead jolts when his bare hand brushes your soft, lush hair. 

“W-What—? Mmmph,” he stammers before his voice cracks and dissolves into a throaty groan when you hollow out your cheeks around him and the hand propping you above him shifts to glide up his bare apex to caress his muscled abs and grope his warm skin beneath his undershirt. “What’re—y-you’re…” is his broken croak as he cards his fingers through the back of your hair before gripping the strands and bucking up into your mouth when you take his throbbing length deep. 

The feel of his pulsing, smooth flesh-wrapped-steel cock against your tongue is better than anything you’d fantasized about, and the taste of his skin? It was making you dizzy. He was thick and velvet-smooth in your hand as you stroked his length and pursed your mouth around the girth of him, tasting the salty beads of pre-cum that had gathered on his delectable tip as you laved your tongue over it. The sounds he’s groaning have lewd delight revving your arousal while you press your thighs together to clench and assuage the throbbing of your clit as you suck Mando’s dick like you’ll never get the chance to again. Because – well, this could be the end of whatever partnership you’d managed to cobble together between you both! 

His reactions are the only thing keeping the hope alive that he won’t recede from you and go his own way after this, and when the rush of your pulse subsides in your ears, you can hear Mando swearing in a guttural growl, “Fuck, g-gonna come—oh fuck, fuck—!” just as his cock swells and twitches against your tongue before jerking with surge after surge of his climax. He moans through it and fists his hand in the back of your hair as he loses himself to the bliss of spilling his seed in the warm heaven of your mouth. 

When he finishes and starts to tremble from the aftershocks of pleasure coursing across his charged nerve endings, you let his softening length pop free from the clutch of your ravenous mouth with an airy sigh of accomplishment before nuzzling into his hip and catching your breath while delighting in his warm, heady, masculine scent. Din can only muster to gulp air while his buzzing senses stabilize to realize this was real – you coming to him in the dark and going down on him with gusto was absolutely reality while he tried to reconcile how his fantasy could’ve been conjured into being for him.

You’re brushing soft kisses over his apex and nosing into the trail of hair dusting below his navel when he lets out a frazzled breath and husks your name. When you pause and hum innocently, Mando mumbles huskily, “—What…what made you come in here?”

“Hm, well, it sounded like you needed a hand, so…I figured I’d help,” you murmur in the dark up at him before smiling against his warm, bare palm when he cups your cheek reverently. “And in all honestly, I’ve been hoping to have my way with you, just a little, Mando,” is your sultry chuckle before nuzzling into his calloused-yet-gentle hand with affection.

“Din.”

“Hmm?”

“My name.”

“Oh,” you sit up more, awed and a bit taken aback. “I like it,” you blurt with genuine warmth before wryly smiling when he chuckles and caresses the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. “What made you want me to know it?”

“The fact that I want you to say it,” he retorts with an assured smoothness to his modulated tone before it dips an octave as he adds, “I want you to take your clothes off, and say it while I touch you. And I want you to keep saying it while I fuck you. And when you come? I want you to know who made you come.”

With his hand cupping your face, Din can feel your little excited breath and relishes how your lips plush out when he drags his thumb over them before gripping your chin in a firm gesture and guiding you up to lie fully on top of him so he can press his cool and smooth beskar-clad forehead to yours. 

You sigh and murmur, “After telling me something that naughty? I really wish I could kiss you, Din.”

He chuckles, hands caressing down your body as he rumbles, “You just did.” Snickering, you curl into him so you can nose into his neck and press a kiss there, reveling in how he hums approvingly. “So…just a little?”

“Hm?” you dreamily query as you get lost in his musk and warm skin.

“You wanted to have your way with me just a little?”

The pitch of his tone sends tingling heat into the clutch of your pussy and rushes a new wave of arousal he can feel through your clothed crotch against his thigh. “Y-Yeah—”

“That’s a possibility – but not tonight,” he purrs and presses his thigh up into you. An exhilarated gasp catches in your chest as you rut down and seek the delectable friction he’s allowing you to have. You’re so turned on and focused on how strong and firm his muscular thigh is under the layers of clothes between you that you don’t sense him reach a hand up to the side of his helm while the other gropes up your hip to fondle your breast over your knit top. He cups it and zeroes in on swirling his thumb around your studding nipple before he growls, “Now…take off your clothes and let me see how wet you are for me.”

Oh Maker. Of course, you completely flaked on the notion that while it’s pitch black in the berth and you’re seeing strictly by touch here, that he could easily see everything he wanted with the help of his helm. 

Din was enjoying seeing you coming to that conclusion plainly written on your face, and when his hand encouraged you to grind down on him, he could see you riding his thigh and looking sexily down to where you sensed his gaze. And when you smiled and stuck your tongue out at him cheekily, he chuckled, confirming your suspicions. 

So, you coquettishly got up from straddling him and scampered to stand over his form before slowly working your top up your torso and off to be discarded to the floor. He could see you in a kind of sepia-relief, thanks to the setting on his helm, and was able to appreciate the smooth expanse of your skin as you unbuttoned your trousers and shimmied them off your legs. And when you stripped your bodycon undershirt to free your breasts, Din could feel blood zing into his cock. But he got rock-hard when you took your skimpy underwear off to reveal the soft curls of your mons and the dewy heat slickening your cunt.

“Just for the record, while I respect it, it’s totally unfair that I don’t get to see you naked,” you jibe and pose for him, even doing a silly little spin so he can take a real gander at your voluptuous, bodacious form while you toss your hair back over your shoulders. 

Din chuckles a smug, honeyed purr before rumbling, “Play your cards right, and you just might.”

You snicker at him, about to scathe something naughty when you sense him shift up on the cot and then hear his clothes rustling. He tosses his undershirt at your feet, and you hear the clank of his heavy boots getting discarded aside before the thick material of his flight-suit gets shed and shirked towards the corner where the piled armor sits. 

“You look surprised,” he drawls, amused.

“I am. Pleasantly,” you chime, and smile when his hand cups your hip and tows you closer.

“You might not see me, but you can settle for feeling me, can’t you, mir'sheb?” he goadingly intones, the smirk clear in his delectably modulated timbre.

“Ugh, well, I suppose I’ll just have to take what I can get,” you faux-chide before letting him pull you down to straddle his lap. “You better not be a virgin—” is your teasing jibe.

“I’m not, flygirl,” he laconically drones and pinches your nipple lightly, earning a squeak from you before you swat his bare shoulder.

“You’ll just have to prove it, chrome-dome,” you challenge and undulate yourself against the hard throbbing length of him.

Din growls and pivots you down onto the cot, earning a gasp of surprise that dissolves into a mewl of heated want when he starts to touch you with possessive, deliberate strokes of his fingers through your drenched folds before playing with your pulsing clit and pinching your nipples.

“You touch yourself like this and think of me?” he asks in a smooth, modulated purr as he seats his thumb to grind over your clit while he starts plunging two fingers into you. You moan and arch, gripping the sides of the cot, aching for him to be on top of you. “Hmm?” he hums when you don’t answer, then stills his hand between your thighs as he props himself over you with the other to husk, “You got a silver tongue, you wily little tooka, so use your words. Do you touch this sweet, wet pussy and think of me?”

“Y-Yes—yes, I have. I do, Din. Please, don’t stop,” you gasp and plead, angling your pelvis up for more and whimpering, “Never as good as this. It feels so good. Want more of you, Din.”

He wishes he could put his mouth on you, but settles for taking you apart with his talented digits and watching you come hard with his name recited over and over again in varying cries of pleasure as you ride out the orgasm while he finger-fucks you through the aftershocks. Din marvels at how your cunt is a silken vise around his thick fingers while your climax soaks his hand, and admires how you sigh wistfully and stare unseeingly up at him, looking the most serene he’s ever seen you. 

When his fingers recede from your fluttering pussy, you mewl and reach blindly for him, but then you hear a telltale hiss before the unmistakable sound of a muffled unmodulated hum rakes delight across your aroused senses. Just as Din finishes sucking your heady, tangy slick from his drenched fingers, he secures his helm back over his mouth and it seals in place with another hiss.

“Oh, c’mon, that’s totally not fair!” you whine breathlessly and sit up on your elbows to pout at him in the dark. “You’re such a karkin’ tease, Din—”

With a smug chuckle, Din derides gruffly, “You’re cute when you’re surly.” The goading smirk is evident in his modulated baritone as he wraps his still-sullied hand around his ramrod cock to stroke himself with your remaining climax, making sure to let the slick friction obscenely carry so you can hear what he’s doing before he rumbles provocatively, “And, you’ve proven to be the one that’s nothing but a brazen little tease.” He can see the deviant thrill quirk your features as you take an excited breath when he moves to crowd between your waiting thighs and guides himself to your slick heat. As he starts to breach into your molten, rippling sheath and punches a gasp to skitter into a mewl of pleasure, he groans and looks up from where he was watching his cock disappear into your cunt to stare at your ravishing features as you moan at the stretch of him. “Mmm, so tight. Taking me so good,” Din grouses before thrusting to the hilt into you and relishing how you arch and wrap your legs around his hips. “Tell me you want this—”

“Yes! Oh Stars, Din, please don’t pretend you don’t know I’ve wanted to jump your bones, dammit. Or else you’re gonna drive me crazy,” you scathe with needy feistiness and reach up to encircle his broad shoulders so you can rest your forehead to the cool beskar of his helm’s brow. He grunts a velvety sound, so you scoff airily, “You better quit teasing me—”

Din’s chuckle rakes lewd delight in your belly. “I’m not, you little stunner. Just making sure—”

“I’m naked under you after having sucked your cock, you nerfherder! Of course I want this! Do you??? Hmm? How ‘bout you open that trap of yours and tell me what got you so horny and wound up, eh?” is your sassy counter as you pivot to cling your lower half to him so you can lean up and lick the defined tendon in his corded neck.

He rumbles an enticed sound through the vocoder and grips his arms around you to pin you against him as he starts fucking you with hard, deep thrusts that steal your breath. “You. Was thinking about you and all the things I’ve thought about doing to you. How fucking stunning you are even when you’re trying to get me riled up—” Din grits huskily through his clenched jaw as he sets a possessive pace, reveling in how you’re lighting up with exhilarated delight and clinging to him as he fucks you, with the cot protesting from the furtive movements and limber jostling.

“Shit, D-Din, want you all the time—” you confess on a mewl, ecstasy blooming inside you as he moans in response and quickens his pounding thrusts, which only makes the lewd sounds bouncing around the durasteel walls echo raunchily in your ears as his cock squelches through the molten heat of your yearning cunt. When he cants his hips and angles his thrusts up, you writhe and trill, “—Ah, mmph, r-right there, fuck, Din—please don’t stop!”

Din has you precariously arched over the cot while he holds you at your waist and hip, weight balanced backwards onto his haunches as he slams you over and over onto his cock while you grip his forearms and fall apart, crying out his name and wailing euphoric sobs of pleasure as you come. He growls at the sight of you arching and giving yourself over to the scintillating rapture, and the heat of your cunt clamping greedily around him has Din wanting to make you come again and again.

So, when you feel him lay you out onto your back, and feel his still-erect cock ease out of your heat, you whimper, dimly confused and reaching for him. “D-Din?”

His hand caresses up the outside of your thigh before affectionately squeezing your hip as he rumbles hoarsely, “Get on your hands and knees for me, stunner.”

You shiver, joints feeling like jelly and making you clumsy as you scurry to flip over and do as you’re told, breathy and quivering with the thrill of being dominated by him. 

Din doesn’t prolong the anticipation this time. He hitches up against you and hauls your hips back for him to spear his cock into you from behind, making you see stars in the dark. You moan and reach a hand backwards to grip his wrist, anchoring to him as he starts to piston his thrusts in and out of you like he’d fantasized doing for weeks. Snapping his hips in a pounding pace and gripping your waist tight in his strong hands, he revels in how you arch and squeeze his wrist encouragingly while you rock back to meet every thrust, mewling his name in breathy adulations and basking in being possessed so completely like this by him. 

You’re wrecked by how decadent it feels to have him rail his cock into you with zeal, and even though he’s so big and thick that you know you’re going to be aching and sore for days, you undulate your hips backwards, cock-drunk and mewling fervently from the effort of matching his ferocious pace. 

It lights a primal fuse in him – seeing you so feral with need to be dicked down by him like this, that he crowds you and fucks you with abandon now, side of his helm pressed in a show of dominance to the back of your head as he thunders his pounding thrusts into you. Overcome by the passionate blitz of being fucked so roughly and thoroughly, you wail and bow under the onslaught down into the cot as you cry Din’s name like it’s the only thing you know how to say. He growls at the feel of you strangling his straining shaft before pulsing with the molten rush of your pleasure cresting through you.

Fiercely, you come undone completely by the primordial way Din envelops you with his body while he roots into the most tremulous part of you that shudders incandescently with igneous ecstasy that fans up into your womb and makes you climax with a hearty shout of wordless bliss. 

He’d intended to hold out for one more go, but the way you curl up and cling to his arms bracketed on either side of you while you mindlessly rock back against him is too much for his crumbling resolve and disintegrating control.

Pace becoming frenetic with impending release, Din swears something in Mando’a before grousing in a gruff pitch, “W-Where, fuck, where do you want me to—”

“Inside, oh please—come inside me, Din!” you gasp out in a harried, needy tone as you feel yourself about to fall apart all over again, as the pounding pressure and weight of him has you quaking – clit throbbing with another impending orgasm. “I wanna feel you fill me—”

That’s what cracks him apart and has him barreling into you until his hips stutter as the molten sensation of his pleasure scintillating through him surges forth to swell and strain his cock to fuck his cum deep inside your fluttering, hungry sheath. Din’s mouth falls open on a guttural moan as he nestles home in you and bows his head against the back of your shoulder while the aftershocks of his climax tremor through him. 

You let out a triumphant, melodious sound of delight at feeling him curl over you and hold still against the bone-rattling exhaustion threatening to collapse him on top of you. For a fleeting blink of time, you both just remain like that, panting and coming down from the high before the post-coital serenity beseeches him to shift you both before he ends up just flopping over you like a selfish, teenaged conscript after reaching true manhood. 

Blissed out, you feel him pull out and maneuver you both on the narrow, creaking cot until you’re somehow tucked against him on your side while he lies sprawled out on his back. His arm is bracing the small of your back and pinning you to his hip while his other hand hooks your leg to be draped over him. Your head is pillowed by his muscled pectoral, and you finally feel the sheen of sweat clinging to his warm skin while it beads your hairline and dews your own body. 

His seed is seeping from you, but you’re unbothered, heated features sublime while you recover from the phenomenal hookup. A sense of debauched elation that makes you feel contentment when the whole reality of things should give you some pause fills you up in this sultry post-coital calm – making delight settle in your bones. After all, you’re so thoroughly fucked out that there’s no way you’re going to let anything make you fret. Especially when you feel Din relax while keeping you protectively tucked against him.

Din’s sated and sedated by the intense, lascivious gratification he reached with you after being so pent up with need. Truly, he hadn’t had it that good in a very long time, and he feels like a glutton for wanting to go again. His release had been sheer bliss – a moment of ecstasy he wanted to revel in. To bask in the exhilarating thrill of fulfilling his insatiable desires with you over and over until you both were exhausted heaps of satiated sinew against each other.

He wanted to be like this with you as much as he could while he still had the chance. Hazily, he licks the perspiration off of his upper lip, and wonders if you’d want the same – as well as hoping you’ll want to go again once you’re both recovered, when you loop your arm around his broad torso and nuzzle his collarbone.

“Din?”

“Hmm?”

“What’d that mean?” When he grunts questioningly, you mumble, “What does ‘Gar cuyir mar'eyce’ mean?”

Din blushes under his helmet. Not having realized he’d said that while in the throes of his pleasure. He clears his throat and answers as stoically as he can muster, even with the help of his vocoder modulating, “It, uh, roughly translates to, ‘You are heaven’…”

Your heavy-lidded eyes blink open at that, and a slow, sly smile pulls at your plush lips. “Oh, am I?”

He grunts wordlessly before muttering in a deadpan, “You were when you were all nice and submissive—”

You swat his bicep and snicker, “Hah! Oh, really? Well then, I’ll play the doe-eyed kitten for you more often—”

“I like how you are.”

You pause your silly heckling at his guileless, blurted remark, and feel an odd little tingle behind your breastbone.

A comfortable silence reins, where you idly trace the contour of his shoulder while he caresses your hip in slow strokes of his fingertips.

“Din?”

“Hmmph?”

“What’s ‘mir'sheb’ mean?” you pipe dreamily, wondering if it’s some romantic, Mandalorian term of devout love and profound reverence for one’s mate.

He chuckles in that gravelly way even the modulator can’t smoothen out completely. “It means ‘smartass.’”

You scoff in outrage and pinch his nipple in retaliation, causing him to jolt and grunt a comical sound before he swats your ass with the hand that’d been holding your leg hooked in place over him. You yelp and nip him with a cheeky love-bite on his pec, and he hisses a mixture of enticed umbrage before you nimbly maneuver to climb him and press your hands flat against his chest while you straddle his hips salaciously.

“Oh, just for that, I’m going to have my way with you now, chrome-dome. Just a little,” you growl at him and rub your puffy, dripping pussy along his hardening shaft for emphasis. 

Din has no rebuttal, and simply allows you to have your way, which includes luscious kisses along his bare skin while you ride his cock and murmur filthy praise at him while he watches you in the sepia-heightened visual display provided by his visor’s HUD-augmented sight preset. 

After you both reach climax together, you are absolutely tuckered out and fall asleep curled against his side, lulled into exhausted slumber by his rhythmic heartbeat.

Din spends the serene repose in the darkness punch-drunk, relishing the novel moment of calm and contentment that’s so alien to him. Still, he wants to bask in it more, so he carefully shifts up, mindful not to stir you, and delights in how you seek his warmth. Guiding you to lie on your back in the warm spot he’s just vacated, Din watches you stretch out and murmur sleepily. He’s beguiled by how pleased he is to see you like this, looking beautiful and dreamy – hair tousled, countenance tranquil, and supple curves still exuding the sensual allure that first got him yearning for you in the first place, even while knocked out. 

Fitting, seeing as she’s a knockout. He realizes now his wariness towards you was because he’d been intrigued, let alone attracted to you from the moment he saw you unflinchingly stand your ground and square up against a foe twice your size. And he wasn’t sure about you because he suspected you’d be a liability – that you’d become someone he didn’t want to part with. 

As he looks down at you now, Din decides those are concerns for another day.

Reaching for the rim of his helm, he watches as the hermetic seal’s hiss doesn’t stir you, and lifts the heavy helmet off to be soundlessly set down on the floor by the cot. He can’t see you in stark relief anymore, but when he leans down to brush his nose along your temple, he can smell your hair, and savor the heat of your skin as his lips caress the ridge of your cheek. You sigh, but don’t wake, so Din continues his cataloguing of these new delights by tracing his mouth down to kiss the swell of your breast before he lightly flicks the tip of his tongue to lick at your nipple. He wants to purse his lips around it, but decides to move on to instead curl down your body and nuzzle his face in the soft, lithe skin of your womb before nosing into the soft curls over your mound and groaning reverently at the heady and divine scent of you. 

But by the time he delicately shifts your askew legs up and apart so he can settle between your thighs, Din can’t deny himself any longer, so he suckles soft kisses along your inner thigh before brushing his thumb over the seam of your pussy to part your puffy folds and drag through the commingled mess of his cum leaking out of your slit with the honeyed arousal his touch is conjuring. 

Your breathing is getting shallow, and without his helmet, Din can’t tell that you’re awake and playing docile, too eager to see what he’ll do – to give him this comfort.

And when his tongue swipes through your folds, the unmodulated rumble that hums in his chest has you yearning, especially when he nuzzles into your cunt and sighs an enraptured sound before he licks at your clit. 

You moan and don’t say a thing or give into your baser urges, not wanting to break this compromised treatise he’s made with himself that’s allowed him to go without his helmet. Even when you’re spun up into a hearty orgasm and desperately want to bury your hands in his hair you can feel wispily brushing your skin. And when he laps hungrily into your molten core and moans at the tangy taste of your climax, you manage to curb the impulse of riding his tongue greedily to instead revel in the voracious way he devours you.

No, you let him give you pleasure and control what happens, without a saucy musing or flirty quip. So, when Din climbs back over you and presses his straining cock into you before he buries his heated features into the crook of your neck, you wrap your arms around him, clutch his powerful and broad shoulders, and hitch your legs to his waist as he gets lost in this feeling – of being completely bare and engulfed with how safe and worthy he feels. 

When you reach bliss, you bite your lip and mewl, not wanting to shatter the moment or pull him back to reality – to the fact he’s bending the rules of his Creed. 

But, when Din stifles his moan into your neck when he climaxes, you feel him pant against your skin and drowsily collect his wits. As he does so, you can feel his nose brush along the side of your neck before his lips drag covetously over your pulse point. From the way he nuzzles you and mouths languidly along the erogenous spot below your ear, you can almost sketch a picture of his features in your mind’s eye, albeit fuzzily. 

You can tell he has scruff on his features by the soft, not-so-coarse tickle of his beard and moustache, and you’re just able to deduce his lips are nice, full, possibly pillowy morsels you yearn to claim with your own. When he sighs into your skin, you can almost trace that his nose has a strong bridge crafted below a set of distinguished-and-possibly-expressive brows. You’re silently longing to conjure what his eyes must look like in your mind’s eye when Din lets out a long exhale that ends in a husky hum.

“Thank you, kandosii'la dala…and, it means ‘amazing,’ or ‘stunning woman.’”

You smile at his delectable and smooth unfiltered baritone rumble, and turn your cheek to kiss the side of his head before running your tapered fingers through the curls of hair tufting damply at his nape. You’re welcome, smartass.

_____________________________

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Taglist:

@redsilentwolf28 | @just-here-for-the-moment | @mandosmistress | @sarahjkl82-blog | @knittingqueen13 | @mamacitapascal | @chronic-nosebleed | @hnt-escape | @eri16 | @gracie7209 | @casssiopeia | @athalien | @qwertymx | @rosiefridayrogersunday | @pascalesque | @maknimuk1 | @kirsteng42 | @greeneyedblondie44 | @littlemisspascal | @southotheborder | @rosegxoxo | @in-for-a-pennyx | @dolly-on-the-dotted-line | @harriedandharassed | @deadhumourist | @trickstersp8 |

#Din Djarin #Mandalorian #The Mandalorian #Mando #Din Djarin x Stunner #The Book of Boba Fett #TBOBF #Star Wars #Din Djarin fan fiction #Mando fan fiction #Star Wars fan fiction #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal characters #drabble prompt #ROGUEFURY's 300 Followers Drabble Prompt #ROGUEFURY's 300 Follower Drabble Prompt #Mando x OFC #Din Djarin x OFC

[lovelessdagger]

Starlight - Epilogue: Starlight

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence

WARNINGS: None.

Words: 2.7k

Summary:  The end comes as natural as the beginning. In peacetime, indistinguishable from all tellings before.

A/N at end.

Masterlist | Starlight Masterlist | AO3 | Prev

The end comes as natural as the beginning. In peacetime, indistinguishable from all tellings before. The darkness has not been defeated, and the suns have yet to rise in the early morning. Stars persist, and the glimmering silver hues of the moon shine bright from a hole in the sky.

Lumina’s duffle is light, her possessions few. Her stomach churns.

It is too late, she is committed.

---

Hyperspace brings reflection.

In a journal, she scribes nonsense:

Without light

I inherit

my mothers

sin.  

She hears a calling melody and ignores.

---

Lumina doesn’t know the planet they land on, coordinates came from mediation not a hologram. The environment reminds her of Corvus before the rebirth. Desolate, brown, dead. The air is cold, she tries not to shiver, tying a cloak over her shoulders.

Boba Fett exits the ship with her. He watches her with the care of a father under a lifetime of anxiety.

She feels a child again under his eye, itching to run back inside to the security he holds. She could find contentment, being with him. His faith in her is unwavering, should her sickness overtake he is all she would need by her side.

In every meaning she will miss him the most.

“K’olaror,” Boba says. He gives her his hand, holding her one in his two. “Ke'sushi.” He sighs. “Ad’ika. Are you certain this what you want?”

She answers, “I am. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He nods. “I have made many errors in my life,” he says. “I’ve spent my days wondering if I could have changed what’s happened to you. If I were there when—” he stops, squeezing her hand. “I swore to always watch over you. Not once did I ever think that duty would end. I force myself to forget many things, you’ve always reminded me why I shouldn’t. I wish I could have done more for you.”

“You’ve done plenty,” Lumina tells him. “More than you should. You took me on, a stranger, no pretenses. I imagine I’d be a lot worse without you. For all the bad Vader did… I don’t think we’d find each other another way.”

To this, Boba says nothing.

“It is already late,” he whispers. “You should begin your journey now. The dark is treacherous.”

Lumina responds, “It can be.” And as she does, the familiar white condor of Tatooine soars above the Slave I. She looks to her feet, seeing an oil slick snake. “Though not always.” Her eyes find Boba again, her face an echo. “I’ll be okay.”

“Strength is in your blood. Among all things you are a Fett. We are survivors. You may not be my daughter, but you will always be my little light. And I will miss you more than anything.”

Lumina thought herself past tears, she forgets her humanity until her vision is blurred within pools of their own doing. He holds her in a tight embrace, kissing the top of her head. She smells the warmth of leather, the tinge of metal in his beskar, the oak of his wash.

And she cries like a child.

At her calming some time later, he pulls away, holding her shoulders at arms length. “Are you ready?”

Lumina nods. “I am. Are you?”

He smiles. “No. But such is life.” From his pocket he places an item into her hand. A necklace of black cording and a handmade silver skull pendent. “An heirloom,” he says. “So that you may remember.”

Lumina inspects the jewelry, a reflection of her day on Nevarro. Of a witch and a burning. She bites the shock of a gasp, a stern gaze on her stern fist. This is real, she tells herself. Though there are no accessible memories within the object; Everything is real.

She asks aloud, “Remember what?”

Boba Fett answers: “Who you are.”

---

In the night, Lumina is guided through a forest. The white bird leads, the black snake acts as a compass. Not once is she lost. The path is filled by living grass, living trees, living flowers. She follows a line of torch bugs, taking time to admire the sky. There is comfort, even now with the most nerves in her life.

The road ends at a wide opening to a field. A large stone sits in the center, a smaller one at its side. Atop sits a cloaked figure in meditation, the bird flying to their shoulder. “I was beginning to think you’d never come.” Blue eyes open once Lumina is positioned in front, a clever stare given to the snake. “It’s good our friends work together now.”

“Ahsoka,” Lumina whispers. She bends at her feet, her head bowed. “I wish to apologize. I beg your forgiveness for all I have done.”

“Do not speak,” the old Padawan says. “Sit with me.”

With hesitance, Lumina takes her place at Ahsoka’s side. Her legs cross, a hand on each knee. Ahsoka settles into her meditation once more, closing her eyes.

Lumina attempts to follow suit; she is no stranger to the act, however difficulty finds place in rhythm. Her breathing is unsteady, she is disconnected, shaking. Sensory of the new world overwhelms her already peaked nerves.

Pressure comes at her lower back, a flat palm adjusting her posture. Through guidance of the Force, she steadies.

In. Hold. Out. Hold. In. Hold. Out. Hold…

All is well.

Ahsoka comes to her front, lifting Lumina’s chin. They lock eyes. “I will stay true to my promise, but if this is to work,” she says, “we must behave differently than we know. You must be open to the challenge. Do you understand?”

Quiet, Lumina responds. “I do. I am.”

Ahsoka nods. “Very well.” Lifting the hood of her cloak, she turns on a heel. “Come now. There is much work ahead.”

Together, they journey on.

---

There are still days where Lumina wakes with a start. Tonight is one of those instances. Her new home, Ahsoka’s T-6 shuttle, flies gentle in subspace when she jumps. Her hand presses against her chest, the other flinging covers off her sweat. She leans over the cot, steady birthing breaths to the ground.

Her feet touch base first, pushing herself to stand when the dizziness subsides. She pads to the refresher, splashing water on her face. A hand wave powers the lights. She cringes undoing tight braided hair. The resulting mane isn’t much better, though scalp strain won’t be missed. 

She looks younger than she feels. A million lives over the course of an assumed twenty-eight years, how remarkable. Her eyes flicker to the embedded standardized clock in the mirror. Three in the morning. She groans. Perfect.

Lumina elects to finish getting ready, swapping her sleepwear for typical gear. Dark robes reminiscent of a Jedis—something old of Ahsoka’s. 

“You’re up late.” Ahsoka, leaning against the doorway.

“Early,” Lumina corrects. “Bad dream.”

“Again? You said those stopped.”

“They did.” She sighs, wrapping arm bands up to her elbows. “Then they came back.”

“When?”

Lumina shrugs. “One… two months ago?”

“Two months?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Too late.” She walks in, directly behind Lumina. Ahsoka pulls her hair back behind her shoulders. She grabs Lumina’s comb, raking it through. Not having any of her own, Ahsoka’s grown quite enamored. “I wish you wouldn’t keep things from me,” she says.

“Right,” Lumina mumbles. “Because you keep nothing from me.”

The refresher grows quiet.

“I’m sorry,” Lumina says. She rubs the pendant of her necklace through her shirt. 

“Echo,” Ahsoka whispers. “We’ve been over this.”

“I know.”

“You cannot be tethered to the past. You must be mindful of the future.”

“But not at the expense of the present,” Lumina says. “I know.” She chews her lip, rolling her shoulders. “I just… don’t you think if I knew, it could help me?”

“No. Actually I think it would do the opposite. If you knew… you’d devote yourself to her. Not yourself. You’d abandon your training to look for a fantasy. When you’re ready to know, I’ll tell you everything.”

“How will I know that I’m ready?”

Ahsoka shrugs. “You’ll know.”

The ship lurches from under their feet, Lumina grips the rim of the sink.

“Finish getting ready,” Ahsoka says. “We’re early, but since you’re up we’ll get a head start.”

“On what?”

Ahsoka smiles. “The next step of your training.”

---

“This is Tython,” Ahsoka says. They climb a rocky hill in the dead of night and beginning of the planets spring. “Long ago the Jedi held Temples on many planets, not just Coruscant.”

“I remember,” Lumina says. “Days of old believed in genuine aid. Easier done when the aid can actually get to those in need in a timely manner. And it kept separation from politics.”

“The Temple here became irrelevant some time in the High Republic with the emergence of hyperlanes. To my knowledge, what remains of the Jedi have gone largely untouched by sentients since.” Lumina is spared a look. “The Force is meant to be strong here, as pure as it can be while in the known galaxy. This is just fable of course, but I find there is truth in legend.”

Lumina snorts. “Clever.”

“I can be funny.”

“Hardly.” Her eyes roll, fond. “So, why are we here?”

“To test you,” Ahsoka says. “And myself I suppose. The effectiveness of my training, the progression of you, all in-between. You’ve been my student—my partner for half a cycle. Six months to the day. You’re a different person from when we met. Mostly.”

“Not that different,” Lumina mumbles. “Better at pretending, I think.” She taps the saber on her hip, swinging with every step. “I’m still red. Always will be. Leave a crack for the dark it’ll flood your soul.”

Ahsoka’s brow quirks. “That’s a Jedi proverb.”

“Mandalorian, originally,” Lumina corrects. “Ba'slanar palon werede ven kyr'amu gar runi.”

They come to the top of the hill and ruins of a stonehenge, a flat boulder in the middle. Lumina overlooks the horizon, circling the perimeter. No nearby village, no visible forest, rivers, lakes, or mountains. The T-6 shrinks to porg size with the distance, a small blinking light from Huyang.

“Take a seat,” Ahsoka says, waving to the stone. “Present your saber.” Flat in Lumina’s hands, she speaks again. “When I first got that lightsaber, my crystal was green. While I was in exile, it stayed in the care of our Master. He turned it blue. Gifted to you, the crystal is red.”

“I bled the kyber myself” Lumina admits. “Not him. After Yavin… Boba and I went to Tatooine, to learn about that boy who destroyed the Death Star. I knew from the first thing I touched who he was. What he was. I knew what it meant for me. Skywalker took everything from me. He had a family—one who loved him, he didn’t need mine. I thought turning my crystal red would make him care about me again. In the end it just enforced that I could be on my own. So I was. After I did it I felt horrible. Then I felt proud, then I felt horrible for feeling proud, soon enough I stopped caring.“

Ahsoka takes the saber through the Force, pulling apart each section. “How do you feel now?”

Lumina shrugs, the kyber floating back into her palm. “This is part of who I am.” Ahsoka places the hilt on the floor before Lumina. “I think of it like my scars. They’re all a reminder of where I come from. Used to be what I fought for. Now they’re what I fight against.”

She could swear Ahsoka smirks, though the expression is fleeting. “There’s hope for you yet.” She circles Lumina, placing pressure on her lower back. “Your assignment is meditation,” she says.

Lumina looks over. “For how long?”

Ahsoka lifts the hood of her cloak, stepping away. “The Force will guide you, have faith. Return to the ship when you’re ready. I’d like to introduce you to some friends of mine. They could use our help.” 

“In?”

Ahsoka answers, “Meditate. Keep your mind clear. Trust in the Force,” and disappears below the hillside.

---

Meditation is strictly a Jedi practice, one Lumina never thought herself particularly good at. Her breathing found habit in being too harsh, her posture too slumped or too rigid, her mind too full.

The worries allude her now. They’re so trivial. For the first time in her life, Lumina allows her own existence. She connects to the planets core and touches every living creature. She is weightless.

Six months under Ahsoka’s tutelage brought a bounty full of knowledge, but also perspective. 

The good days have been hard, and the bad days impossible. In the beginning, Lumina convinced herself of an imaginary ploy. She kept distance, sleeping with a knife at her side. She expected a break in persona. A punishment for failure, disobedience—of which there were plenty. A punishment which Ahsoka not once delivered on.

Their arguments become heated, Lumina knows how to get ugly with insults. She knows Ahsoka. Knows her memories, her struggles, her fears. Lumina knows cruelness and is unafraid of creating casualties.

But Ahsoka is patient. She is kind. She knows when it’s best to allow space and when to goad the truth. She never forces Lumina to stay, if her desire is to leave she may. By day, Lumina will pack. By night, she rests curled at Ahsoka’s side, mumbling apologies like a told off toddler.

Her maturity was too great as a child, now she lacks too greatly. At times she thinks herself an untrained hound, full of malicious intent when pinned.

She is learning—slowly—to be different. To be better. Perhaps she’ll be a student for the remainder of her life, however long or short that may be.

She is ready.

For trust, although cautioned. Peace, although fleeting. Security, even if conceptual. Love… she doesn’t know if she’s ready for love; the great vulnerability of the soul.

She may not be meant for it.

Loving comes in hand with loss, and she has had her fill of grief. Though that could be the point.

Knowing the Child, raising life—Ahsoka says the lessons from him are greater than any she could teach. Her heart does strain for Grogu more than she can bear. His smell, his warmth, his heart. Gods she prays the Force is with him. For the sake of his father if not her.

Din. Maker… there aren’t enough words in the galaxy to begin. Moons have never been the same, she’d never see the sun again if it meant the consistency of their comfort. She is haunted still, unsure if she holds right to such a feeling. A murderer murdered by their greatest muse.

What a tragedy for the act to be his right, welcomed into her life with each wound.

She cannot complain.

Even still, she would allow the violence. She is deserving.

Their story is the same as the rest, as she predicted, as she warned. He knew. He’s too smart not to have known.  In one form or another they were both willing to their lot in life.

A misery colored with company.

There have been worse punishments.

She would go again, and in a way she is fulfilled. 

She hopes he is as well.

In some way, she knows it to be true.

She is content.

Through the winds of the Force, Lumina Fett hears an echoing melody, far in the distance. Her eyes open. The sun has yet to rise, forgoing any indication of a significant passage of time. She looks to the sky, the stars being especially bright tonight.

All is well.

If the story has happened before it will happen again.

One will try.

The other will too.

Even if nothing will change, they will try because it might. They will try again and again, willing to the devastation for even a chance.

Poetry of ages past declares the law.

Lumina takes her lightsaber hilt from the dirt, placing her kyber firmly inside. She takes a breath.

A story told time and time again.

It will begin with peace, as it always does.

It will be the early morning.

Darkness continues, as it has for many years.

Though its time is ending.

Soon, dawn will emerge.

It is the will of the Force.

In an instant, from the black hilt of a lightsaber, a beam of pure white plasma illuminates the night sky.

Just like starlight.

----

A/N: Moonlight, the second installment, will release 2024.

Thank you.

-----

Taglist: @lexloon​ @jay-bel​ @xsadderdazeforeverx​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny​ @hello-th3r3​

#starlight #din djarin x original character #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x oc #din djarin x original female character #din djarin x female oc #mando x oc #mando x ofc #the mandalorian #Mandalorian fanfic #Din Djarin Fanfic

[hunnythebee]

Stow Away

Chapter 7: Sleep Talking

Jo is struggling with the fact that Mando is beginning to open up and get closer to her. Conflicted about opening up herself Mando leaves for an overnight excursion, leaving Grogu in her capable hands. After a long day, Jo falls into a deep sleep. Little does she know, she talks in her sleep.

Tags: Mando x oc, Mando x ofc, sleepy sex, light dom/sub vibes, aftercare

Warnings: Canon Violence, flirting, threats, nightmares, crying, questionable consent at first but quickly becomes consent (consent is sexy), somnophilia, cock warming, PIV, gentle choking, possessive, creampie

Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 | Masterlist

A/N

Writing this chapter has been a wild ride. I rewrote it entirely, twice. Edited more times than I can count, but I think I am finally satisfied. Also another update on AO3, I think I have finally decided to start cross-posting my work. I just have to figure out how. Its gonna be great. Can't wait to see y'all next week!

Enjoy!

Everything changed after that night on Lothal. Mando became more relaxed around her. He would roam the ship while in deep space wearing nothing but his flight suit, slightly undone, and his helmet. When they would eat, if he was seated before her, he would begin lifting his helmet before she could turn away. Jo could have sworn she had caught a glimpse of his scruffy jaw once, but she would never admit it. He had explained the extent of his Creed to her, and she respected it. Just because she respected it didn't mean she had to like it.

Mando also began to engage with Jo more. He would start conversations with her, asking her questions about her life. He also grew into the habit of touching her more. A hand on her thigh whenever they were seated next to each other, a gentle hand on her cheek, brushing her hair behind her ear. What really shocked her though, was this morning’s interaction.

“Where did you grow up?” he asked after lowering his helmet back down from eating his breakfast. Jo took a beat before responding. She hadn't told anyone about her childhood, and she still wasn't ready to. Not yet. She opted for the safest route.

“I was born on Naboo.”

“Hmm…" his gaze was fixed on her, making her feel as though she was about to be interrogated, or that he might pry further, instead he gave a simple nod at her answer, "makes sense.”

“What does?”

“Nabooian women are always beautiful.”

She froze mid-bite, the anxiety of confrontation melted away, and she smiled.

Is he flirting with me?

She abandoned the bite and cleared her throat. “What about you? Where were you born?”

“Aq Vetina.”

“Not Mandalore?”

“No, I was a foundling, taken in by a Mandalorian warrior during the Clone Wars.”

“I had no idea.”

“It’s okay. I don’t talk about it with people, but you’re special.”

Jo’s cheeks turned pink at his words and a small well of guilt opened in the pit of her stomach. He was willing to be transparent with her, yet she couldn't do the same for him. A silence fell between them and he stood up to collect the plates as usual, this time she stood as well instead of handing him her plate. They both entered the galley, and dispensed with the plates. He moved to pass behind her, or at least that's what Jo thought he was going to do. Instead he placed his hands on her hips and pressed against her ass.

"Don't think for a moment that what we did was a one time thing, sweet girl." His voice was deliciously low and close to her ear. "Soon."

Jo’s heart nearly stopped. She leaned hard against the counter in front of her which caused the Mandalorian pause.

“You good?” he teased, pulling her tighter against him.

A meek, “Mhmm,” was all she could muster.

He lingered a moment longer, she couldn’t see it but knew he was smirking. He knew exactly what he was doing. He had desperately wished he could have fucked her again after that night on Lothal, but there had been no opportunities. The bounties had been particularly difficult and their break on Takodana had put him behind.

He finally moved on to preparing to leave for the hunt and she followed after collecting herself. He strapped his rifle to his back and turned to face her before leaving. She expected some kind of instructions to be given. Something along the lines of ‘stay on the ship’ or ‘don’t be seen’ but instead he reached out and pulled her against him.

His arms wrapped tight around her waist. It took her a moment to realize what was happening, but her arms were already instinctually around his shoulders. He squeezed her tight to his chest, and she hugged his shoulders tighter. They stayed like this for a moment, her head resting on his shoulder. Breathing in his aroma, and letting the memory of him imprint on her. He pulled back slightly, his gaze fixed on her through the visor. She stared back at him, searching for eyes she knew she would never see. He finally broke the silence.

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close them. I won't say it again."

She did as she was told and closed them. The familiar hiss of his helmet depressurizing filled her senses as she realized what was happening. He cradled her face in his hands and pulled her in for a kiss. He hadn't kissed her since that night. He hadn't done anything like this since that night. She happily sank into the kiss and out of her mind. This kiss was different than last time, sweet and soft, not as desperate as before. They finally parted and he put the helmet back on. She opened her eyes and looked at the Mandalorian.

“I’ll be gone overnight,” he spoke softly. “Feel free to explore the village, just keep yourself hidden.” A hand brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Especially your hair.” He walked off the ship and stopped at the end of the ramp to turn back, “Also, you’re welcome to my bunk tonight.”

“Be safe!” She shouted after him and he nodded in response.

Jo spent another hour on the ship, straightening up and dancing to music. Once Grogu finally woke, she fed him quickly and then placed him in a satchel on her hip. On the opposite hip she attached a hip holster for a vibro-knife and picked one from Mando's arsenal to take with her. Jo had no intention of using the knife, but it made her feel safe to have it anyways. She wrapped her head with a scarf, covering her hair and the lower part of her face. Finally she grabbed a cloak she had brought with her when she left Tatooine. Jo pulled the hood up and disembarked the Crest. Whilst exploring the village she came upon a marketplace. An alleyway filled with adobe alcoves and stalls adorned with colorful awnings and woven fabrics. Vendors called out from their stalls, advertising their wares in basic. One stall in particular caught her attention.

A twi'lek woman greeted Jo, "Bright Suns traveller, I see you are wearing a headscarf. I have many beautiful scarves, ones that would compliment your beautiful eyes. Come, come see." The shopkeep gestured to several tables where scarves of a variety of textiles and patterns were neatly on display. Jo selected a few headscarves and hoods, and decided to purchase them, given that having to cover herself was becoming more common. She thanked the woman and went about her shopping.

After exploring for a few hours, she decided it was time for a break. She found a quiet spot near a large pool of water and allowed Grogu out of his carrier. He sat in her lap while she fed him some kettle-popped grains that she had purchased. While he was happily munching away, a old quarren man approached Jo.

"Ex-excuse me. I hate to be a bother, but how much?" The man inquired.

Her eyebrows scrunched together as she glared. "How much... For what?"

He laughed as if she was the one asking an absurd question. "How much for your rare critter? I've never seen a creature like it! I must have it for my collection. I am willing to pay handsomely, name your price."

She stood up, placing the child into the satchel and shifting him so that he was resting behind her. "He is not for sale. He is a child, and he is under my protection."

He cocked his head to the side and scoffed, "My dear, everything in this galaxy has a price." He reached a hand out to touch her, and she caught him by the wrist with one hand and unsheathed her vibro-knife with the other. Jo held the knife to his throat, beneath the tentacles protruding from his jaw.

"Fine. Name your price." She shook with anger as she echoed his request back to him. "How much are you willing to pay for your own life, old man?"

The quarren's chest rose and fell with rapid, anxious breaths. "Apologies. I will leave you in peace with your... Son. No need for threats." He held his hands up in surrender, and she relinquished her hold on him.

She kept her knife firmly in her grasp as she watched him back away. It wasn't until the man had disappeared from sight that she finally re-sheathed her vibro-knife and checked on Grogu. His ears perked up when they made eye contact.

"Everything is okay little guy. I won't let anything happen to you." She patted him on the head and he cooed happily. "How about we finish the shopping and head home?" She froze at her own words. Jo hadn't given it much thought but, she was starting to feel more at home on the Crest than she had anywhere else since... She shook the thought from her mind and returned to the present, focusing on the young one on her hip. He was still happily cooing, waiting for her to begin the trek through the marketplace once more.

Mando had left her a substantial number of credits to be able to purchase necessities, which she took full advantage of. She returned to the ship at sunset, hands full of bags of bursting with food. It was nearly dark when she finally made it aboard. She placed the food down on the floor and closed the ramp behind her. Grogu was set down onto the floor and proceeded to waddle around the hull, searching for something shiny to play with most likely. She left him to his own devices and began to put away the food she had acquired. Since she had joined the Mandalorian's 'crew', the pantry had gone from sparse to bursting. Cooking was one of her favorite pastimes, and it was much easier to do when there was variety. Once that was done she prepared dinner for herself and Grogu, something small since it was just the two of them. They ate and he fell asleep, leaving her to her own devices. She stared at the closed door of Mando’s bunk, debating whether she was going to take the offer to sleep in there. She hadn't been inside since Lothal. 

Jo decided that a shower, regardless of where she would sleep tonight, was in order. As she washed herself, she found the bruises he had kissed into her skin several nights ago. They were mostly faded, but the memory still lingered. She traced over every single mark, reveling in the fact that there was evidence that he had been there. Jo realized she had been in the refresher for so long that her fingers were pruning. She turned off the water and dressed in a silk night dress that Peli had given her that she had 'lyin around'. It was one of the nicest things Jo had ever been given, so she didn't ask any further questions about the origins. She exited the fresher and took a deep breath to gather her nerves.

Fuck it.

She brought the egg-shaped crib with her into Mando’s bunk and the door hissed shut behind her. She crawled into his cot, which was definitely more comfortable than hers. His scent was everywhere, but hung especially heavy on the bunk. Jo let herself imagine he was lying beside her. She drifted to sleep to the thought of his arm draped over her waist and his body pressed up behind her.

She dreamt of him, of Mando. His face was always hazy in her dreams, the only visible feature was his scruffy jaw. He’s holding her on Naboo, and professing his undying love and loyalty to her. She stood on her toes to press a kiss to his lips, and he lifts her completely off the ground. The pair of them fall backwards into the meadow and the dream morphs into something much steamier than it had started as. Clothes were being thrown off each other. Burning hot kisses being pressed against one another. Their moans of pleasure echoing through the field as they gave into it completely.

Jo was moaning in her sleep. A wetness pooling between her thighs. She was grinding her hips against nothing, desperate for a sense of real friction in her dream world. Unbeknownst to her, the Mandalorian was bearing witness to all of it.

It was dark and he was back earlier than he had anticipated, but he could make out her body in his bed perfectly. She was wearing something he had never seen on her before and he liked what he saw. He wasn't sure what he should do in a situation like this. In truth, he was planning to just sleep in her cot for the night, let her rest peacefully. Then she began speaking in her sleep and all rational thought left his mind.

"Mando..." She moaned loudly, "Need you...Don't stop." Jo continued to whimper and moan while he carefully removed Grogu from the room and quietly stripped down. He climbed into the small bed with her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her backside against him. She grinded her hips against his aching erection, lighting a fire in his veins. He grinded against her in return, letting out a ragged breath at the friction. He pressed soft kisses to her neck as he reached a hand between her legs. As his fingers made contact she let out a shaky breath.

"Fuck, what I would give to know what you're dreaming about that would make you this wet." He gently pulled the hem of her dress up over her ass, and dragged his tip through her wetness. Another loud moan left her lips as he sank his hard cock deep inside her. She was soaking wet and so warm. He let his cock just rest inside her for a long moment. The feeling of her pussy clenching and pulsating around him was something he wanted to fully enjoy.

"Please," came her voice in the dark, different than when she had spoken in her sleep before. This time it was a pleading whisper, heavy with lust and sleep. She grinded back against him, an intention there that hadn't been there before. She was awake. She was grinding and begging, desperate for him to move. The fact that she was this needy for him made his head buzz. Experimentally, he brought a hand up and grasped her throat with a gentle pressure. She bit her lip and moaned loudly at the new sensation.

"Keep begging for it, sweet girl. Convince me you deserve it." He growled into her ear.

"Please fuck me. Need your cock so bad. Want you to take me. Only you." She whimpered, pressing against him as much as possible. Her last two words nearly took the wind out of him.

Only you.

He began to pump into her with a slow, aggressive pace, burying himself completely in her with each stroke. He pressed his mouth to her neck and moaned.

"All. Fucking. Mine." Punctuated with each rough stroke. Her moans were unbridled, her mind still in the fog of sleep. She gave her body to him completely. She wanted him to make her his. She craved this.

"All yours. Fuck! Don't stop."

"That's it, come for me. Come on my cock mesh'la." He continued fucking into her, his pace never faltering as she fell apart for him. Her orgasm ripped through her, a blinding heat crashing over her, but he didn't stop. Instead he began fucking into her faster, he groaned against the skin of her neck.

"Where... Where should I..." He couldn't manage a full sentence, his ecstasy clouding his mind. Jo reached behind her and grasped his hair tightly.

"Inside. Want you to fill me up."

"F-fuck. Are you-"

"I'm safe, come inside me. Please." Mando sank his teeth into her shoulder as he came. His release coated her walls and dripped out around his cock. He was huffing and panting. He pulled out of her and she felt it slowly drip out of her. Jo hummed happily as she sank back into the pillow, her body relaxing completely. As she started to drift to sleep once more she felt a shift behind her which pulled her back from the edge.

"Stay," she whimpered, grasping for him in the dark. He grabbed her hand a placed a kiss to her palm.

"I will, but first I need to clean up the mess I have made." He laughed lightly.

"Fine. As long as you promise you'll be back."

"I will always come back." He disappeared for a few moments, and when he returned he had a towel with warm water. She was almost completely asleep at this point, so he wiped her thighs clean for her. He readjusted her dress and threw on a pair of boxers. Mando climbed back into the bed and held her tight as he followed her into sleep.

She was dreaming the same dream again. They're on Naboo and he's confessing his love. She stood on her toes to press a kiss to his lips like before. This time the dream turned, she pulled back and her gaze was met with red eyes. He gripped her tight, bruising her skin with the force. She screamed trying to pull away, it’s no use though. She was too weak in his grasp, unable to run away. The world fell away from beneath her and she awoke in the familiar bunk. She bolted up, startling Mando awake.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his voice a mix of sleep and panic. She was choking on sobs and shaking uncontrollably. Hearing this woke him up entirely. He pulled her into his arms and gently stroked her hair. "Shh… it's okay sweet girl… you're safe. It was just a dream."

She buried her face, her voice muffled by his shoulder, "But it wasn't… it was him…" He cradled her against his chest. He still wasn't sure what memories plagued her, but it didn't matter. She was obviously upset.

"I'm here now. I've got you. I won't let anything happen to you." He promised softly.

Jo was too delirious to process his words, but her body responded. She relaxed into him and her breathing slowed. They remained like that, her in his arms with Mando stroking her back. Once her breathing became slow and rhythmic again, he relaxed. He cradled her face with his hand as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Ni Kelir cabour gar mesh'la." He whispered softly.

I will protect you beautiful.

Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 | Masterlist

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[pedroswhore]

To Break Old Oaths

Hi, guys things are getting a little spicier in this chapter a whole lot of jealous mando and angst. Hope you enjoy it and as always it was fun writing this.

xoxoxo

pedroswhore

TW: Rated mature, profanity, slight smut, possessive mando, jealous mando, slight dirty talk

Chapter 4

The mechanic

His bounty is insistent and uncharacteristically sweet when she presents him with the idea. To her delight, they’re stranded, and she tells him how the temperatures drop at night. With the shields down, they have no real protection. Grogu will have a real bed that is warm and comfortable, as well as a soothing bowl of bone broth in his belly.

 He ignores her at first as she follows him around Grogu on her hip, as always. He wonders how her arms don’t tire she talks endlessly, as he tries to figure out what went wrong with his ship. He ignores her, but he finds himself smiling sometimes under his helmet when she sits perched on the crate as he works, bouncing the kid on her knee feeding him pieces of a ration bar.

 "Be rational mandalorian,"

"I can feed the kid fresh meals every day. He can sleep in a soft cradle. "The temperatures here at night are those of Hoth,"

 The child babbles. She looks down at him, nodding her head. "See, Grogu agrees." Grogu affirms her statement by nodding vigorously with whatever she’s said.

 "Ooh, and we can go to the market for the things you need for the ship and I can buy grocery clothes-"

"Fine," he cuts her off.

 She shot up with the baby, excited, talking to him about how he'd love the cradle she has at home.

 He felt guilty at how little it took to make her so forgiving, how her face lit up with delight. He thought of telling her the truth, but he never been a good man. He thought of his lust and greed and the way he still felt under all his Beskar he was still a man despite it all. And yet he was dishonouring himself by taking her. It would be her choice.

Whether he could bring himself to leave her at the mercy of other hunters was uncertain. Stopping himself from touching her made him irritable. His only moment of relief was in the fresher in the dark corners of his bunk spent fantasising about fucking her up against the wall, taking his weeping cock out and lifting that sheer tattered dress she was wearing. He knew she would let him gasp softly and open her legs, arching her back like she had when he had given in and felt the weight of her breasts.

It'd be her choice, and if she let him in, he'd stay inside her warm himself up. In the cockpit, in his bunk against the walls of the crest. Everywhere he could, he’d have his fill.

 The walk to her home is noisy, her and the kid chattering away, while he lingers behind them silent, on edge.

 She insisted on eating together, putting him to work, making him chop firewood. He had caught her staring through the curtains, and he found himself smirking as he brought the axe down.

 "Women", he muttered to himself whilst Grogu watched him in his cradle at a safe distance, clapping his hands every time a log broke clean.

 She called them in after a while. She had changed into a little dress just below her mid-thigh. He never paid attention to what people wore and their hair, their maker damned eyes, but he could not bring himself to be indifferent to the blue flowers embroidered around her plunging neckline or her sleeve that had fallen so softly off her shoulders. Her hair clipped up tendrils framing her face. The apples of her cheek flushed red from the warmth of her stove.

 She did not smile at him, all her warmth and affection for the kid who cooed at her from his father's arms.

 The aroma of the stews and the fresh bread that lined the table his stomach whined in hunger. It had been so long since he had had a meal. That was not cold broth or ration bars.

 "Sit," she instructed trying to restrain Grogu from pouncing on the food.

 "I can’t take my helmet off," he told her,

She sighed "I know Madalorian." She took her chair and turned it around. I will not look; I don’t want to.”

 She sat down with her back to her impossibly straight Grogu on her lap, peering at his father over her shoulder. "You can eat, hunter; I won't look."

Din considered what she was saying, what she was asking of him, and how unpredictable she was despite her words. But he was hungry and tired, so he took off his helmet, the low hiss making her gasp. A part him knowing he could trust her.

 "If you look, I will have to kill you. This is the way."

 "How many times shall I say this mando "I do not care enough to give up my life to know the colour your eyes are," she tells him, feeding Grogu.

 He bit his lip to avoid an indulgent chuckle instead indulged himself with the food. He was ready to make vows over the first bite of food, promise warriors promise himself. The meat was so fragrant it fell apart on his tongue. They did not talk as they ate; he was too lost in his meal, eating like a man starved.

As soon as he shoved the last piece of bread in his mouth, he put his helmet back on.

 "Are you decent?" she muttered amusement in her tone.

 "Yes," he said as she turned around, prying her hair out of Grogu’s fist, his cheek flat against the swell of her breast ."Here," she said tiredly, "take your son."

He sat back, allowing her to walk into the space between his knees, widening his legs.His gaze fixed her breasts spilling from her dress, and he shifted on the chair, his arms raising on their own accord as he attempted to take Grogu from her.

 His kid just clung to her until she winced his little hand still fisted into her hair. He stood up, untangling her hair from his Grogu’s grip, and took him. The child protested a little, but his exhaustion won.

 "Good night, sweet pea," she whispered, kissing his cheek as the mandalorian took him into his arms, holding him on his shoulder.

 He couldn’t stop himself as he pulled the clip from her hair, watching it fall down her back in shimmering chestnut waves. Her eyes were wide cast down when he held the side of her face, moving strands away from her face.

 "Mando," she faltered , her voice coming out as a whisper. He said nothing, just bent down, swiping his thumb over her lips.

 "It’s getting late," she breathed, moving out of his grasp. He let her. She swiped the imaginary sweat from her brow, her cheeks flushed. As she picked up the plates and fretted about

 He put Grogu down in his cradle and thought about helping her, but the woman was muttering to herself, so he decided against it and settled on one of the armchairs she had crowded up the place.

 Her home was full of trinkets, cushions, blankets, a stack of firewood, and clutter in every corner, which she so clearly loved.

 She came before him, tugging her apron off her eyes at half mast, exhausted from the day from running after Grogu and quickly baby-proofing her house. But he could not want her more like this, tired and soft. Her feet bare the chimes of her anklets, filling the silence when the words were lost.

 She stood awkwardly, unsure of her arms as she wrapped them around her.

 "Um, there’s one room," she began, and he swore to the maker that his cock jumped at what she was beginning to imply.

 "And" his voice was rougher then he expected it to be like he’d spent the day thirsting under the Tatoonie suns without

 "So um, either you can sleep here or you can take the floor."

 "I will take the bed."

 "I did not offer the bed," she narrowed her eyes.

 "There are probably hunters stalking you right now. You really want to play those odds, girl."

 "I’ll take my odds either sleeping on the floor or outside." She hissed.

 He slapped his hands on his thighs before getting up, determined that he knew he’d not be sleeping anywhere but next to her.

 He stalked closer and she fidgeted. He liked that she was shorter; it was so easy to tower over her and watch how her cheeks tinged red the shades of scarlet she wore when he touched her when he spoke to her.

 When her rage became her, "Let me hold you through the night. I can keep you safer than the knife on your thigh." He pulled off his glove and lifted her dress, warm fingers digging into the giving flesh, searching for the blade.

 She ripped it out of his hands, "Somehow, Mandalorian, your hands always end up underneath my dress. I can recommend some popular brothels far into the city. I’ll watch the kid“

 "In the time it would take for you to get to your little knife, you would already be dead." He dismissed her lifting up Grogu’s cradle before he walked up the stairs.

 …

 She nearly screamed in frustration, picking up the cushion he was leaning against and throwing it. Before stomping up the stairs to find the mandalorian on her side of the bed. His pauldrons and chest plate were nearly placed in a corner, his vambraces were still on, and the rest of his armour still on him.

 She met what she assumed was his gaze, trying to read him only seeing his arrogance, splayed out on her bed. It was odd seeing the Mandalorians with such little armour wearing socks.

 She could feel him smirking, his smugness radiating off him, the way his head rested on his arms. He wanted to play dirty, he’d get dirty.

 She glided past him, pulling out a silk nightgown from her chest of drawers, bundling it at her side. She smirked to herself, as she sauntered out of the room, replacing her dress for an even shorter nightgown.

 A shade of sage green trimmed with pink lace, she walked back into the room, head held high. His helm followed her, his body rigid.

 She sat in front of her vanity her legs gracefully crossed like she was a princess of Alderaan ignoring the mandalorian and the hunger he omitted, from the way he shifted again and again the bread creaking under his weight. The irritated breaths of air, she got up putting her leg on the bed and applying her lotion on. It had her body smelling like lillies all day.

 "Go and change," he barked, sitting upright, his casual arrogance disappearing

 She smiled, "depravity doesn’t look good on you, Mando"

 "You said to yourself that it’s cold at night. I don’t want to have to look after you."

 "I don't understand your concern hunter. When I will be exchanged for credits regardless of whether I have a fever," she chastised as she screwed the lid back on. She crawled on to the bed, indulging him in something she knew would make his skin run hot. It was foul play, but he deserved it. As long as she remembered, he was still skin and bones under the armour.

"I won’t get paid, girl," he forced out, looking straight ahead, refusing to look at her. She lay on her side, aware that her nightgown had ridden up in a game she knew she couldn't win. And yet he had no right to touch her, to feel the smooth expanse of her skin under those work-hardened hands.

 "Good," she muttered, closing her eyes and enjoying the way her skin felt against the crisp linen of her warm bed. Yet the man beside her did not settle. He did not settle through the night. His movements were painful. Irritating her too, he was either too hot or too cold, muttering under his breath or breathing too deeply before giving up and leaving.

She was not someone who enjoyed sunrises or sunbeams coming through open curtains. But today she did not complain when the sun woke her. She smiled when she saw the empty space next to her, panicked when she saw the empty cradle.

 She rushed out of her room and there they were: the hunter, sprawled out on her dark green sofa, his legs hanging off his body too wide to be comfortable. His head propped up on his arm, his tiny green son splayed on his father's chest. His other arm held him to her chest, drool dripping from his mouth.

 She bit her lip, trying not to smile too widely, reminding herself that the baby's father was her captor. Her frown returned not long after she put her hair up and started on breakfast. The baby needed something nice and healthy. She went to her garden used to the morning frost, finding it woke her before caf got her ready for the day.

She foraged for tomatoes for some herbs and made her way back.

 The bread was perfect, golden and soft. The eggs were seasoned lightly and with some herbs, she’d go to the market today. The crest was old and it’d take a while for it to be up and kicking.

 She leant over the mandalorian, unsure of how to take the baby without waking the hunter up. But his hand had already shot to her wrist whilst she was contemplating her technique. "Breakfast," she said, her voice deliberately chirpy.

 She heard the faintest growl of annoyance before he handed the baby to her and got up.

 The mandalorian was in a foul mood, probably due to the sleepless night, yet his eyes still lingered on her. When she flitted about serving him a plate on the table, she turned her back to him as she fed Grogu, letting the mandalorian eat. But he did not speak, stewing in silence. Once she had fed Grogu and cleaned his face, he was back in the hunter's lap.

 She went off to change, thinking about how she could irritate him, whether it would be a light blue or a soft green.

 Soft green, it was a dress coming up to her knees, the sleeves long and the neckline low. Her hair in a plait down her back fastened with a ribbon. A cardigan she had croched two winters ago was warming her.

 "I need to go to the market mando." She stood strong as he lets grogu chew on his arm.

 "No"

 "I wasn’t asking"

 "I am not the only hunter looking for you."

 He does not raise his helmet directing his attention on the kid.

 "We will be here quite some time and I need to stock up on food mandalorian."

 "You will not leave, little girl," he says as he pulls Grogu off him and places him on the floor before getting up and ascending the stairs.

Dismissing the conversation

 ‘Little’ is new and degrading, and she bites her tongue to keep anything venomous at bay. She follows him up taking Grogu with her.

 "I have been running for a long time, mandalorian from men like you. Don’t think so little of me," she spits

 He starts with his pauldrons and then his chest plate before he checks his weapons. He doesn’t look at her. "I found you, girl, and that is telling enough."

 Fury laces her veins, "if a hunter finds me, maybe they’ll kill me and I’ll finally be free of you."

 He sighs in annoyance , grabbing her arm, pulling her back, "What do you need?"

 "For you to fuck off," she growls, tugging her arm free. He looked her over, and she wished she could read his face to know what he was thinking. But his body language was expressive. The way he holds her arm, his hand encircling her biceps, digging into her skin.

 "What do you need?" He asked again, his voice a little less tolerant.

 "You won’t know what a parsnip is if it looks you in the eye." Irked at his hands and the way he thinks he can just order her around. The expectation that she would obey him like some bitch.

 He alternates between the names he gives her, hardly using her own "I’ll take you."

 "Oh thank you. I wasn’t going to be able to make it to the market of the village I’ve lived in for three years. How can you ever repay me?" she muttered as he let her go.

 "You can put some clothes on at night."

 "I didn’t tell you to sleep in my room. You invaded my privacy and now expect me to cover up. Because you can't control your c-cock," she hadn't used the word so openly before and felt a flush creep up her neck, but it made her point.

 "Shut up," he growled.

 The villagers looked at her as if she was a reckoning. The man beside her was damning her. He stood over them, tall and armoured. She muttered under her breath, his hand not straying from the small of her back. She could feel him breathing down her neck the way his footsteps deliberately lagged behind hers and the way he did not speak a word.

 They looked on terrified apprehensive when she approached, so she quickly called out of their favour. Her face was burning. Her scowl taking residence on her lips. Grogu was restless in her arms, demanding his independence. To explore, to join the children playing in the streets.

 "Grogu!" She scolded when he tugged at her hair to get her attention, "If you do not hold still, I’ll make your daddy hold you." She threatened, he did not relent, squirming in her arms. She felt inexperienced and embarrassed at the way she may have been perceived a disgruntled girl losing against a green toddler. And then there was the stoic android beside her, refusing to step in.

 "That’s it!" She pulled Grogu off her, pressing him into his father's arms.

 "I don’t need you to navigate for me, mandalorian," she snarled, shrugging off his gloved hand. Instead, he took to her waist, ignoring her and reprimanding his son instead.

 "Don’t hurt her again, you understand?" His voice was stern not to be messed with Grogu let out a whimper, and her heart ached. "I didn’t tell you to terrify him." She said as Grogu’s ears drooped. Followed by his signature pout.

 The mandalorian’s helmet shot up. "You’re spoiling him, girl," he muttered, holding a settled Grogu to his chest, his head on his father's shoulder sulking.

 The vendors were still sweet to her, offering her kind smiles as she stocked up, filling the mandalorians' arms, making use of him. Putting Grogu on her hip when she needed his other arm.

 They made small talk, but their eyes remained on the mandalorian. They asked her how she was limiting their inquisition to her, her alone. Not the strange green baby or the hulking mass of armour next to her.

 The blonde-haired mechanic was the first to stop her. "Lilly," he called her, the smile on his face so bright she couldn’t help but smile back. He opened up his arms and she returned his hug. "I thought we would never hear from you again." He beamed, his smile wide. The mandalorian next to her was deathly quiet as he pulled her out of the mechanics' embrace, standing in front of her.

 "Don’t mind him, Silas, he’s programmed to do that," she said, dismissing him, biting her lip to stop herself from laughing. The mandalorian did not find it funny his blaster ready in his hand

 She moved past him, standing in front of the poor mechanic. "The Mandalorian’s ship is having issues. I was wondering if you could have a look at it. I’d be happy to watch the boys," she said sweetly. He beamed at her, but his eyes hardened as he looked at the mandalorian.

 "I do not need your services," the mandalorian ground out. She nudged him irritated. Silas looked to her for an answer. "He’s just not slept well. The sofa was too small for him." she told him, lips quirking upwards.

 I’ll come around then in the morning," Silas said, not raising his head to look at the mandalorian, a few inches taller than him but taller nonetheless.

 It was fun, antagonising the hunter, who was too possessive for a man who was nothing to her. "Thank you, Silas, see you tomorrow," she said, kissing his cheek in goodbye. The mechanic's eyes widened, a small smile playing on his lips, as he left before turning to look at her.

 The mandalorian had taken her arm and led her further into the market. "Who is he to you?" the hunter could not help himself.

 "It doesn’t concern you, mandalorian," she said, taking Grogu from him, holding him on her hip before finding a vendor selling children’s clothes.

 "It does, girl," he bit out, taking her arm once more and drawing her gaze to him.

"Listen to me, mandalorian "I am nothing to you except a means of credit," she sighed, tired of the mandalorians' pride.

 "You are mine, girl, mine to give, mine to take," he growled at her, tightening his grip on her.

 "You're so sweet for using me as currency, but I'd appreciate it if you'd let me go; you've given me enough bruises these past few days, hunter," she glared up at him.

 He released her and she returned to what she was doing, ignoring the mandalorian’s looming presence. He didn’t realise how strong his grip was, how hands that were trained with blasters were not gentle. Her pride, his possessiveness, confused her. It made her uneasy. She would have been more relieved if he was indifferent to her skin to the eyes of other men. It was what she expected.

But she did not expect this. This is not how bounty hunters acted . All the men before him were ready to shoot at her legs and arms to maim and torture her. Bring her forward with only the breath in her body.

 The hunter currently watching over her was merciful, a trait bounty hunters usually did not possess.

 It made her seethe, making her grind her teeth so hard she felt her teeth chip. Even the sound of his low modulated breaths were irritating. She wanted to turn around and punch him directly in between his eyes, break his nose, and make him bleed. But she knew she was no match for Beskar.

His jealousy had stirred feelings of want. It made her want to be taken to some dirty alley. She wanted those strong tan hands to leave an imprint on her for days wanted to wear his claim on her neck, her thighs. He made her desperate for touch, for a rougher hand. But even when lust was taking root in her, she could not bring herself to ignore the inevitability of his conquest. If he had her take his fill, he’d still take the credits on her head.

What would be left of her?

 Still, her mind wanders to the mandalorian and his capable hands. She had been running from being owned. Yet the hunters' gun-ready hands had her believing if she were to be possessed, she’d rather it be him.

 Their meal was eaten in silence, with the exception of Grogus's excited chatter. They followed the same routine. The hunter sat on the head of the table, his helmet beside him, his back to them both.

 He had left after the evening meal to go to work on his ship whilst there was still light outside. For a moment, the thought crossed her mind that she could just take grogu and run. She was good at it. Had been doing it for years, she had enough credits to pay her fare. Somewhere further in the galaxy harder to find.

 But she could not subject Grogu to a life like that of hunger of scrubbing cantina floors for half a meal. Maybe she could leave him alone, but it was not safe. She could not bring herself to do it.

 So she sat at the table watching Grogu play, not nearly tired enough to force him to sleep.

 She sighed as she closed the windows. Maybe he was right if he had found her here. Maybe other hunters had too, but they would not be as merciful as him.

 Lillia lit candles and slipped on her night gown, throwing on a cardigan to fight the chill as the fire died out. She braided her hair, her cup of tea at her side, Grogu nestled in her lap as she told him a story, coaxing him to sleep. Her eyes were fixed on the door, wondering when the mandalorian would come back and the feeling of safety would return.

 

…

 

He'd need the mechanic after all, no matter how angry he was, he couldn't get the crest running without assistance. The mechanic was no threat, but she could see him.

 See the way he smiled at her, the way his eyes followed her, see the blue of his eyes and the gold of his hair. She did not know that he looked at her with the same desire as the mechanic, how nothing went unnoticed by him.

 The way she would scrunch her nose after she sneezed, the way she would twist her hair into a clip, saving it from Grogu's persistent hands. She would always smile at his kid , no matter what he did. Her anger, her joy, he witnessed it all.

 His infatuation knew no bounds when he would listen to her speak to Grogu, wiping away at his face like a mother did. She would wipe away his tears with her sleeve and kiss his nose when he would smile at her. He craved this domesticity, this quiet familiarity, the home the mechanic could give her.

It made his jaw tick the idea of Lillia preparing a meal for the mechanic like she did for him. She bought him a cup of caff before making her own. The mechanic give her the life he wanted to give her. The years of isolation, the nights blurred into days, the last time he felt the sun on his face. The feeling of raindrops on his hands It had all caught up with him. The comfortable silence he was accustomed to was filled by her. He wanted her noise, her whimpers, the way her voice begins to break when she’s angry; he wanted it all. For the first time, his helm felt like a burden rather than a crown.

But he could not. She would never agree to bind herself to him. To leave the soft life she had made for herself to go crusading in the stars for the uncertainty of patching up old wounds.

 The crest being fixed was a reckoning that he’d be a better man. He’d give her a choice.

 The room was basking in the warm candlelight. Her voice was carried by the walls, tired as she told her son a story. He was not a good man. The way lust ravaged him, he thought only of taking her and ploughing into her. He was pushing up that silky little thing she wore and having his way.

 His chest was tight as he warred with his body at how quickly she evoked a reaction from him His heart raced as he willed himself to be calm. He felt like ripping off his gloves and soothing the way she made him ache.

 She jumped instantly, holding Grogu close to her chest, "you can’t just spring up on me like that." Her voice was still high as she recovered from the fright he gave her.

 "First you made me paranoid and now you’re walking around like a goddess dammed ghost," she said.

 He did not apologise, his eyes trained on her cleavage Grogus's cheek against her breast, a little drool glistening against her skin.

 She got up, flustered by his silence. "Fine," she said to herself under her breath, but he heard it. She did not meet his gaze. Instead, he just took Grogu from her and laid him down on the sofa.

 She turned to leave the tell-tale sign of frustration in her exasperated sigh. He grabbed her waist as she tried to walk past him, her braid swinging around her hips.

 He crowded her against the wall, helmet tilted down, saying all that needed to be said. She looked down. Her hands were fidgeting by her side.

 "Look at me, Lillia."

 She did, and he was mesmerised by her eyes, grey like the storm clouds that filled Hoth's sky. Striking yet softened with dark eye lashes; there were speckles of blue in her irises. The calm before the storm,

 He could tell that she was exhausted by the way she did not put up a fight when he tilted her jaw up.

 "Say yes"

 "To what?" she asked

He was trying to be gentle, but when he released her jaw, he left white indents on her skin.

 "Close your eyes, girl"

 "Why mando?" she questioned

She was stubborn it was never blind obedience with her. He pulled off the scarf she had used to keep her hair out of her eyes, freeing tendrils to frame her face.

 He undid the knot she had tied.

 "Mando!" she asked again, her hands coming to stop him.

 As he placed the scarf over her eyes, "only for a moment," he reassured her. She let her hands fall to her side.

 Blind trust

 He took off his helmet, putting it on the table, and pulled off his gloves too. Before returning to her, the candlelight made her skin glow, still porcelain under the light.

Her back was to the wall impatient hands returned to her waist, holding her there. He could feel her heart racing as her lips parted rosy from being bitten.He bent down. She was so damn light too light that he lifted her up effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around him instinctively.

 "Mando," she whispered, her worry evident in her hands coming to his chest, holding him there.

 "I won’t fuck you." She flinched at his crassness.

"Not like this," he swore.

 His reassurance was enough. Her hands travelled to his face. He let her explore. Her fingers traced over the bridge of his nose and fuck he had vowed but she was making it difficult. He wanted to lean in to her touch and beg her to never stop touching him. Her fingers continued tentatively in their exploration. Her thumb traced the scar down his bottom lip, and he jerked, so sensitive to her touch that she snatched her hand away.

He took her hands in his and bought it back to his face. "It’s okay," he murmured as his blood grew hot rushing south. His pants stretched over his crotch painfully hard just from being touched by her. The wild innocence, the hesitant touches, made him yearn for her, for her softness.

She was still hesitant even when she caressed his jaw.

"You have a beard?"

 He swallowed

 "Almost," he replied, and her lips quirked upwards

 "And a moustache," she observed

 "Hm," he nearly grunted, trying to stop his hips from grinding against her for some maker damned relief.

 He brought his face closer to hers and brushed his nose against hers. Her hands returned to his chest. He kissed the corner of her mouth, tasting a little of her bottom lip. He groaned into her skin before his lips travelled down her jaw, feather light.

 He could lose himself in her soft skin, in its warmth, in the scent of lilies. He kisses the skin on her neck, delicate and blooming pink. His kisses are rougher and she lets out a quiet moan, hands threading into his hair as his teeth break skin. As he leaves little violet marks on her neck, her jaw, her collarbone, she whimpers when his lips move to her breasts, his tongue hot over the fabric, leaving her gown damp. As he grinds against her.

He knows he’s too far gone, his hips meeting hers instinctively. He looks up at her; her cheeks are flushed red. Her lips were swollen from the way she bit into them to keep herself quiet.

 He’s sloppy, uncontrolled in his thrusts in his kisses, too fervent to be methodical. She brings out the creature in him. The creature who tells him to bury himself to the bone in order to stay inside of her until her hips widen and her breasts fill.

 He said he would be a better man he growls in frustration and anger as his hips come to a halt, forgoing relief. He would not ruin her like this. He wouldn’t stain his pants like a boy. But his work is done. He does not regret the marks he left on her skin, the redness of his kiss, his grazes tinging violet.

He takes her lips between his teeth, she squirms in his arms, exhausted by his ministrations.

 "You said you wouldn’t forgive me," he says, into her skin. She clutches his shoulder for purchase.

 "My forgiveness does not mean anything to you, mandalorian." She’s still breathing heavily. Her tongue swiping over dry lips.

 "When I fuck you, I won’t ask for forgiveness."

 He says as he holds on to her, her legs releasing his waist as she slides back down the wall.

 "It will be penance." He pulls on his helmet, wanting to see the fire in her eyes.

 He removes the scarf; her eyes have darkened and glitter in the light, her brows are furrowed, her hair is wild the braid coming loose.

 Dark tendrils flutter about her face, lips ripe and bruised by him.

 He takes her hand in his own, so much smaller than his own, and brings it to his clothed cock, straining under his pants. Her face flushes eyes widening before she looks away, trying to pull her hand back.

 "You don't know about penance, girl, this is far from it," he says, dragging her hand along his length building a steady rythem.

 He doesn’t know where these words are coming from or why they are coming to his tongue so naturally. His sentences are usually short concise there is often little to say. The time he spends in silence in his own thoughts only make his tongue a liability.

But with her, his mind was at ease, despite how his body raged, how his cock twitched just from the heat of her hands. He’s made his point letting her hand go before he makes a mess of himself.

 "I know what penance is letting you touch me is penance, when I know how you will use me, when I know that you will not look back once you take your bounty." She says softly, exhausted at this game. She brings her hand to her chest, letting it rest there as if the next words are too painful for her to say.

"You know, Madalorian, I was loved once," he notices the shift in her eyes, the fire dying out as they gloss over like heavy, burdened rain clouds.

 “I remember it. I remember the feeling. I try not to forget. Nothing would be left of me if I forgot. And I don’t think I can do it again. I can’t deal with the burden of it. Don’t touch me like this mando, don’t touch me like you mean it, I’m not someone who's warm just for one night. Don’t be kind to me when it won’t end in kindness. " Her voice breaks, but she’s resilient, and she steps away from him.

The guilt consumes him and he wills himself to speak, to tell her that he won’t but he cannot lose her so quickly. She’s asked so little, he cannot afford her that liberty. She’s unpredictable. She’d take her first chance and run, getting herself killed. He tells himself he’s being rational, rather than his covetousness being the reason he takes so long to answer.

 "You think I don't mean it, girl," he says as she walks away from him,

" you don't mandalorian, you just want to find some relief inside me."

 He takes her arm, pressing his helmet to her forehead to make her understand without words, without fucking up trying to string them together. "Mando'a was so much easier; the words flowed; only a few needed to tell her that she wasn’t his relief; she was the closest semblance to home."

 "I mean it."

 "You understand?"

 She nods, her eyes faraway glassy as he lets her go. She picks up Grogu and carries him upstairs. The mandalorian follows her, and he knows his time with her is short.

Previous - Chapter Three

Next - Chapter 5

#din djarin #grogu djarin #mando smut #star wars #the mandalorian #dark mando #din djarin smut #original female character #mando x ofc #slow burn #enemies to lovers #mando fic #din djarin fic #star wars universe #baby yoda #his name is grogu #din and grogu

[lady-phasma]

Impenetrable

Chapter 1 of 5 (cross posted from AO3)

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Dar'Nîla (Togruta OFC)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, general smut, p in v sex in later chapters, D/s if you squint, plot if you squint. Written in first person fem!reader.

Summary a/n: Mando and Dar'Nîla meet and she's quite brazen. Reference images for Dar'Nîla after the cut. I wrote this during season 2, around episode 5. No beta. 2k words.

This is my reference for Dar'Nîla from the video game The Old Republic.

I saw him walk into the cantina. I watched him over the top of my mug as he went to the bar. You couldn’t not watch him. The beskar he was wearing was so new it reflected everything near him.

What could a Mandalorian possibly get at a bar? I thought. Do they use straws? No, that’s too banal.

I couldn’t stop staring. I knew he could feel all of us watching. But how many of those eyes were trying to determine how difficult it would be to seduce him while assuring him you wanted his armor to stay on? Probably only mine.

I sat my drink down, placed my front lekku meticulously to frame my breasts, and shimmied my shirt down just a little. The thin, white fabric pulled tight across the rise of my breasts and my purple skin shone through bright and unmistakable. The leather vest rode just below like a corset. I wasn’t great at being feminine but I could give a good show. My shitty, practical boots and plain leather pants were about as unfeminine as it could get. The one asset the pants had was how they stretched tight against and accentuated my ass. I checked the room and saw I had no competition so I stood, smoothed my pants over my hips, and walked to his table.

“Hi,” was somehow the best I could manage. I was never this forward.

His head turned, deliberately slow. I was immediately aware of the advantage he had over me: he could see facial expressions that I only had to guess at. This was going to be tough.

“Yes?” he responded.

I slid into the chair across from him and propped my elbows on the table, my breasts on my arms. I was going to make this easy for him because that would make it easier for me. One lek fell in front of my carefully arranged display and I brushed it aside.

“Um, yeah, hi! I’m Dar’Nîla,” I managed.

“Hi.”

“You don’t say much do you?” I beamed at him. “I’ve heard about you. They call you Mando.” I flashed my blue eyes at him.

“Some do.”

“ Can I call you that?” I played with a crumb on the table that I found, suddenly, much more fascinating than the blank surface of his helmet.

“Sure. What’s on your mind… Dar….?” He trailed off.

“‘Nîla,” I finished for him.

“Dar’Nîla, right. What’s on your mind?” he asked again.

I stammered. I’m never great at flirting and usually better at it when I don’t have a clue that I’m actually doing it. He was just so unsettling, so disarming. He was no one. Only what I projected onto him until he spoke or moved. Those were the only glimpses allowed into his personality. How could I possibly find something to flirt about? It was like talking to my reflection.

I investigated the table, ran a finger around an old ring from a glass. This place was filthy. But my mouth had gone incredibly dry. I flagged a hand at a waitress and ordered another beer. I looked him in the eye.

“What’s on my mind is that I would very much like to have a beer with you, ahem, near you is more accurate I guess, get to know you a little better, and then try to get you in my pants since there’s very little chance I could get in yours.” I blurted all of this out at once so that he couldn’t interrupt me and so I wouldn’t lose my courage.

That was the best possible moment for my beer to arrive. I buried my face in it and looked up at him. His head was tilted just slightly. Curious? Maybe. Offended? He hadn’t run for the door. Yet.

“Well, Dar’Nîla, that was quite the speech. Did you have anything specific in mind?” he asked.

I could feel his eyes on me and hear the smirk on his lips. I don’t know if he’d had one or one hundred women but he definitely knew how to manipulate me. I gulped some more beer, mostly to give myself time to think of an appropriate answer.

“Ummmm we could sit here and talk, since you’re so chatty and all, or we could get me some dinner and make our way back to your place. Get to know you better along the way?” I looked into my beer as I said the last bit. I couldn’t look at him. I was able to say all that about pants a moment ago and now I only wanted to crawl under the table. He made me feel like he was pure and I was… was what? Unclean for having these thoughts. But I knew that wasn’t true from the way he moved. The way he stayed.

His movements were slow and deliberate. He stood and reached for my hand at the same time. His gloved fingers lifted mine and I followed. I dropped some credits on the table for the beer before we walked out.

The suns were setting. The street vendors’ food crackled over fires and the smells drifted and mingled around us. I was working hard at playing it cool. I was quite sure I was not succeeding. I made a lot of assumptions about him. I assumed he wouldn’t be eating. He probably ate alone. So I stopped at a food stall and swapped some credits for a meat on a stick. Not sure what it was exactly but the sizzling fat smelled delicious. We carnivores aren’t terribly picky eaters when we’re very hungry. I tore off a mouthful.

“So, do this often, do you?” I asked as I chewed and swallowed. I was so nervous around him that I forgot all of my manners. He completely disarmed me.

“No.”

Fuck, would I ever get more than one word out of this man? I licked sauce off of my finger and looked at my boots as we walked. When I looked up he was staring at me.

“Me either,” I said. “In fact, I don’t really talk to people I don’t know. I just… I don’t know, I thought I would risk it.”

I looked back at my feet and blushed. Hard. I could feel the heat rise from my neck, first deep violet then light pink as it hit my white cheeks. All the way up my montrals and down my lekku. Sheesh. This was embarrassing.

I felt him pause. I stopped a step ahead and turned back. He seemed to be searching for something, listening maybe. God it was so hard to tell with that helmet. He turned and looked past me.

“Here,” he said and he slid a hand around mine and started walking. I’m glad he had his back to me because my mouth hung open. I shook myself out of the shock and followed.

He gave a few credits to a man selling frozen, shaved juices. I stood, mutely, watching his movements. His head tilted just enough for me to imagine he was smiling. Maybe his helmet was more expressive than I thought. He handed me the shaved ice. The evening was hot even after the suns set. I wouldn’t have thought to get this treat for myself but since he was buying. Why not? Bounty hunters aren’t hard up for credits.

I stared at the cone of ice as if I had forgotten how to eat. I looked up at him questioningly.

“I would like to watch you eat it,” he said. It was flat with no inflection. I couldn’t object or give it back to him. I couldn’t tell him he was weird and to keep his stupid shaved juice. In fact, I wanted the opposite. My body tingled like I had touched a live wire. I wanted to perform for him. I looked directly at him and licked the sweet ice. The movements of his helmet were almost invisible but once I knew what to look for I began to see them more clearly. This one seemed to be focus, intensity, just the slightest forward tilt. I tasted it again. My face was on fire. I wanted to die from embarrassment. I could guess a million reasons he wanted this but none of them mattered.

There was nothing in the world at that moment but the two of us. The noise of the street around us faded away. I could see my distorted reflection in his helmet and that inspired me to take a longer lick from my ice. I closed my eyes, wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. He took a step closer to me. This could not actually be happening to me. This was all a fantasy I created and I was still sitting in the cantina.

No. He walked closer and put a hand on the small of my back. He guided me toward an alley. He was touching me. I felt like I was shaking all over. We stopped a few feet into the alley. He took the cone from my hand and dropped it by my feet. I was frozen. What was happening? The Mandalorian actually wanted me? He wanted something. I wasn’t sure what but here we were.

He stepped toward me and I moved back so that I was pressed against the dusty wall. He put his hand on it beside my head. His body turned away from the street so that his cape hid me almost entirely. I exhaled. I had been holding my breath but in this small world he created for us I started to relax. To feel less embarrassed.

“Well?” he said. He was so cryptic. This air of mystery was almost overdone. Almost an act, yet… yet not.

“Well…” I replied. “I’m beginning to think this is all on your terms, so what would you like?”

He thought about this for a moment. His free hand started up and then fell back to his side. His helmet moved slightly. Then his hand was on my waist. Gentle but squeezing just a bit. I tried hard not to react but his grip was strong. I grazed my fingers over the vambrace on his forearm. His fingers tensed when I touched the metal. I traced a line up his arm and then down to his chest. Trying to read his mind was excruciating.

Slowly, letting him see the direction of each movement as it began, I placed one hand on his side and the other on the vambrace near my head. I felt the rough fabric of his shirt under my palm, the muscles underneath moving with his breath. I slid my hand around to the small of his back and pulled him closer. I pushed my hips out to meet his. I moaned through my teeth when I finally felt his body on mine.

The cuisses covering his thighs were hard against my legs. But that wasn’t all that was hard. I moved my hips just enough to feel that, yes, The Mandalorian was enjoying himself. I had read his mind well enough it seemed. I moved my hand down to his ass and pressed against him as much as either of us could stand.

He muttered something and abruptly grabbed my waist with both hands. He almost picked me up as he moved me away from him. He placed me at arms length with the concentration a child has with the placement of a doll. I think he really wanted to tell me to “stay put” or something like that. So, I crossed my arms across my chest, jutted one hip out, and pouted.

When he saw the look on my face he shook his head.

“My ship isn’t far from here,” he said.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x ofc #mando x togruta ofc #din djarin #din dijarin x oc #mando x oc #the mandolarian #mando fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #mando smut #din djarin smut #mando x f!reader #mando x fem!reader #din dijarin x reader

[imtryingmybeskar]

So....this is from an ask from @galacticgraffiti that has taken me SO LONG to do. I apologise. Have some unbeta'd filth.

Din Djarin X unnamed OFC.

CW for Dom! Din, restraining with cuffs, fingering, light choking, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up please!), spanking, messy blow job, playing with cum.

Based on the prompt "How does it feel not to get your way?" Word count: 5560

Restraint

"So...bounty hunter."

The tone was dismissive, mocking, even hostile to Din's ears and if this had been any other situation he would have walked away, but not before issuing the most deadly and serious of threats masked in the most polite of tones.

Instead he answered in a smooth voice, in what he hoped was a voice that exuded confidence and competence. "That is one of my roles, yes."

"I don't like bounty hunters," came the immediate answer. "I don't trust bounty hunters."

All a once, Din's patience was at an end. This interview had already taken up far too much of his time. He had other places to be, and he certainly had no intention of sitting here to be insulted further.

"Then I suppose I'm not the kind of person you're looking for to take this job," he replied as he stood. "Good luck in your search."

He had just about made it to the door when he was recalled. Of course, they hired him. Who was going to pass up the chance of a Mandalorian bodyguard for the week?

*** *** ***

"But I don't NEED a bodyguard! I'm twenty kriffing five! Not a little kid!"

His helmet successfully masked Din's unimpressed look. Twenty five but she acted like a teen with toddler tantrums. Din himself wasn't much older, but the helmet disguised that too. Rich people were weird. This woman was paying for her daughter and her friends to party on Zeltros for a week, going so far as to hire out the top two levels of an extremely exclusive hotel for them, including the penthouse suite. She was a successful businesswoman and indulged her daughter in everything and anything. But from what he could glean from their (shouted) conversation, she had caused an inordinate amount of property damage at the club where her twenty fourth birthday party was held, so Din had been hired as a glorified babysitter this year. Something which the birthday girl was apparently extremely displeased with. Her mother had brought him along at the very last minute, presumably so there would be fewer arguments, though the screaming match they were starting to engage in was drawing more than a few looks from the hotel staff that had gathered to greet them.

"He's staying. Deal with it. If you manage to keep the damage under fifty thousand credits this time, I'll reconsider this arrangement next year." The girl huffed and rolled her eyes, her face a picture of sulkiness. The woman dragged her into a hug, the girl's folded arms knocking against her chest roughly. "Be good," she pleaded. After she released her daughter, she gave him a sour, meaningful look before she departed, the message that she was Din's problem now written clearly across her face. Before she had even gotten into her personal shuttle, the girl had turned back to her friends and began loudly mocking her mother. They traipsed across the private hangar floor toward the elevator to the penthouse, treating Din as if he wasn't even there. That was fine by him. He was there to make sure they didn't kill themselves or each other. That was about as far as his responsibility went. He had been thoroughly briefed on the security arrangements and knew that the hotel had drafted in additional bodies to cater to the woman's orders. There were guards stationed at every stairwell and lift and more at each entrance and exit to street level. The party wasn't going anywhere.

Not that they needed to, mused Din. There was enough booze, food and drugs there to keep anyone happy. Two private chefs, chambermaids, DJs, a very famous Core Drive band, someone to operate the holo-projector for the private cinema and even a sommelier were also on hand to cater to any whim that might arise. Well...almost any whim. He had it on good authority that some of the drugs available focused and enhanced the libido as a secondary effect, and unless the girls were exclusively into each other, he was a little concerned about what would happen if that need arose.

He needn't have worried. The DJs had been specially chosen for their...additional attributes. And the five band members were also more than willing to provide those sorts of services. He himself had been flirted with by one of the birthday girl's friends once, but he had merely stared impassively at her until she stopped touching him and instead began hurling insults about his sexual prowess (or lack thereof). For five days Din really had very little to do, except to break up the occasional brawls between the inebriated women, who would inevitably declare their love for their opponent within five minutes of trying to punch their lights out anyway. It was one of the easier ways he had made money - he was almost surplus to requirements.

The night before they were due to depart - the night of her actual birthday - it began to fall apart pretty early on. A game of truth or dare devolved into someone accusing someone else of stealing a past boyfriend, and that degenerated into an ugly, drawn out argument - a week of drugs and alcohol having honed the atmosphere into something bitter and volatile. Din dutifully separated the squalling women, then the band members distracted some of them, one staggered off to a bedroom with both DJs, and a few of them took various bottles of alcohol and departed for the darkened room that was being used as the cinema. Din heaved a sigh of relief and threw himself into one of the comfortable chairs. He was so wrapped up in thoughts of his reward for completing this frankly irritating assignment that he didn't hear it at first. But the sound of quiet sobbing slowly seeped into his sphere of attention and he stood again, looking for the source.

The birthday girl was sitting behind one of the large corner couches, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, her back heaving with her crying. Din stared at her impassively. He shouldn't get involved. Whatever was going on with her really wasn't his problem. All he had to do was to last for another nine hours and then he would get his credits. Then he could go and make money the old fashioned way, the way he felt most comfortable. Hunting, stalking, taking quarry down in a storm of fists and blaster fire. Who cared about some rich brat anyway? He settled back into his seat and began to mentally take apart and polish his armour and weapons. He had been unable to indulge the ritual properly the whole time he had been here. Even though he had been provided with his own room, the partying was near-constant. Someone was always up and causing some sort of ruckus, so he hadn't had much downtime. Besides, he hadn't wanted to take his armour off for too long whilst here. He needed to maintain his image as an imposing, unmovable force in order to maintain some sort of order. It had been easier just to keep everything on.

Thigh guards first. Left and then right. Unbuckle them at the back, bottom and top. Check the fastenings for any weaknesses. Clean the-

The sobbing grew louder behind him. He studiously ignored it and tried again.

Bandolier. Check all ammo and ensure any depleted is replaced. Make sure the padding at the shoulder is intact-

A muffled scream of frustration, clearly buried into her knees and Din sighed in resignation. He stood again and made his way over to where she was huddled.

"What's wrong?" he demanded abruptly, his voice made raspy by the encoder within his helmet. She startled and looked up at him and he suddenly saw how young she looked under her attitude and the once flawless but now streaked make up.

"Nothing," she pouted, the word automatically falling from her lips.

Din hesitated for the briefest of moments before heaving himself down next to her on the floor and resting his back against the couch. "Clearly that's not true. Its your birthday, you should be with them, having fun." He gestured aimlessly toward where some of her friends had exited. Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say because her face scrunched up again and fat tears poured from her eyes as she howled into her arms which were crossed over her knees.

He knew he shouldn't have gotten involved. His patience was already paper thin with this whole situation.

"Look, I'm trying to help you," he said loudly over her crying.

She looked up at him again, a mixture of disgust and disbelief on her tear-streaked face. "How could you help me?" she enquired, her voice so laced with venom he debated walking out of the hotel there and then.

"How can I know that," he retorted, an edge of sarcasm to his words, "if you won't tell me what's wrong in the first place?"

She gaped for a moment, her tears seeming to dry up in the face of the logic of his statement. Then she shook her head, her lips pursing in an exaggerated expression of displeasure. "They are the problem," she confessed, waving in the same vague direction he just had. "Kriffing mudscuffing Huttspawn the lot of them! It's my birthday, and they've done nothing but whine and moan and complain and then Jista had the nerve to steal the drummer of the band. She knew I wanted him and she still went after him and its my birthday and they've abandoned me and they're all so stupid...and...and...I hate them all!" She began to sob into her arms again, but to Din's ears it sounded far more performative this time around.

"Sounds like you got the friends you deserve," Din said, shrugging.

She whirled to face him, immediately furious. "Excuse me?" she hissed.

He shrugged his indifference at her rage. "Maybe if you were a little nicer, you would be hanging out with better people," he reiterated.

"How kriffing dare you," she screamed. Her hand raised and came down, the intention to hit him clear, but Din caught her arm, more to save her from injuring herself on his armour than because he feared her tiny act of violence. "Let go of me!" she squealed. Din held fast, not enough to hurt her, but enough that she couldn't move. She raised the other arm to try to hit him again and he caught that one too. He suddenly realised he was up on his knees and staring down at her while both of her hands were now pinned above her head. The display of dominance was unintentional but it was there, and without any further warning, the mood shifted - the air charged with something far different than it had been mere seconds ago.

"Let me go," she said again, much more softly and without any bite behind the words. Her chest was heaving under the thin silk of her dress, but she hadn't exerted herself that much, he thought. Must be from something else. He allowed himself a small satisfied smile behind the helmet and continued to hold her hands above her head.

"How does it feel not to get your way?" he rasped. The tracks of tears were still visible on her cheeks, but there was defiance and determination in her eyes, a look that grew more intense at his words, and it gave him the beginnings of warm tingles down his spine. "Have you ever been told "No" in your life?" The question was rhetorical, he knew she had not and that this situation was new to her. But apparently not displeasing according to the sensors in his helmet. Her heart rate had increased massively since he had pinned her. He slowly leaned closer to her and her eyes widened as she took in the bulk of his form. "Brat," he whispered next to her ear.

Her exhalation of breath was tinged with excitement. "How dare you?" she demanded again, no force behind that repetition either.

Din settled back on his heels and looked down at her again. "Do you really want me to let you go?" he asked, a lazy smile tinging his words. Her eyes grew even wider, and her mouth fell open a little as she considered the implication of what he was saying.

"What's the alternative?" she queried, and he admired how her voice was unwavering.

"That I teach you how to behave," he replied, not missing the way she shifted and rubbed her thighs together at his words.

She leant toward him, as far as her pinned arms would allow. "And what would that mean?" she asked, her voice now low with a throbbing want.

He made a growling noise through his helmet and quick as a flash had dragged her to a standing position, his height and bulk dwarfing her below him. He continued to hold her wrists above her head, easily trapped her with one gloved hand, while the other trailed softly down her face, her neck, the side of her breast, making her draw in a hitching breath. "It would mean that you are going to be sore," he vowed.

She raked her gaze over him approvingly. "Promises," she breathed, a smile now catching the side of her lips.

"Armour stays on," he murmured.

"Oh, I hope so," she rejoined, and Din smirked as her eyes caught on his semi hard cock now starting to bulge his flight suit.

"Strip," he commanded as he released her wrists, and his arousal grew as she did as she was told immediately, unashamed of her bared breasts, courting his gaze as she stood there. Her own arousal was evident on her underwear, a darkened stain across the silky material. He placed his hands on her hips, spun her roughly and pressed on her back so she was bent over the couch. He curved over her body, mimicking the pose she was in, allowing her to feel the iron girth of him against her backside. "The first lesson," he husked beside her ear, "is about restraint. You have none." One hand trailed down her spine, making her shiver under his touch.

"Y-yes I do," she whispered defiantly.

Din huffed a laugh. "No," he insisted. "You don't. But that's okay. You'll learn." He straightened behind her, his finger now trailing down to hook her underwear to one side. He could see how wet she was from here, the lips of her cunt glistening invitingly with her arousal. He stroked softly down over her, making her whimper a little as he passed over her clit. "I'll make you come," he promised, his voice barely more than a whisper now. "I'll make you come on my fingers and on my cock. But first, you have to be quiet." He ripped the glove from his hand before pushing the tip of one finger inside of her and she gasped out at the intrusion. "I said," Din repeated softly, as he pushed further inside, "Be. Quiet."

She obeyed, only a tiny whine escaping her as he sheathed to the knuckle. "Good," he smiled. "That's good." Without further warning he spanked her, not terribly hard, but enough for her to make a startled noise. Din tutted and slowly moved his finger in and out of her. "For every time you make a noise, I'm going to add another spank," he promised her. "Let's see if you can make it to ten, shall we?" She was breathing heavily, trying to keep quiet, and turned her head slightly to nod at him. "Good girl," he purred and pressed against her walls, knowing he had found what he was looking for when her knees trembled against him. He set a slow pace, pumping his finger in and out, in and out, sliding over that spot inside of her.

Slap.

She betrayed nothing. He struck across her cheek again a little harder.

Slap!

Her cunt clenched slightly around his finger as the blow landed and he ramped it up yet again.

SLAP.

Her hands fisted in the material of the couch cushions. He was nearly at the sweet spot of walking the line between pleasure and pain for her, he could feel her whole body beginning to tense beneath him.

SLAP!

An exhalation of breath from her, but no noise. Her restraint was admirable, her desire to reap the reward of her silence intensely arousing and Din's cock was now fully hard and begging for attention at how completely he had her at his mercy, but he ignored it in favour of spanking her once more, the sensors in his helmet telling him that the imprint of his hand on her skin was beginning to heat with every swat.

SLAP!

Her legs trembled a little under her from the force of him, but she did not make a sound. Instead she turned to look at him as much as she could, her eyes full of mischief and lust and invitation and he lost a little of his own restraint the next time.

SLAP!

She ground back on his finger and the next time he withdrew, he added a second and began to pump a little faster, a little harder. He only heard the soft moan that came from deep inside of her and that she successfully bit back because of his sensors. He upped the ante.

SLAP!

He twisted his fingers within her, angling so that his thumb could swipe her wetness over her clit. Circling, circling, circling until he could feel her tensing around him again, trying to chase down what he was so expertly teasing her with.

SLAP!

As he began to pass his thumb over her clit in earnest, her knees almost gave way and he pressed himself more firmly against her, trapping her between his broad frame and the couch. His thigh guards pressed against her now-sore cheek as he continued to slide his fingers in and out of her body, the cool metal no doubt providing minor relief from the stinging slaps he had bestowed. Couldn't have that, he thought as he moved back slightly.

SLAP!

She nearly cried out. He could feel the noise forcing its way up her body. Instead she turned and bit down hard on the meat of her bicep. He could see how the sweat was beginning to sheen on her skin - on her back and on her forehead as she half turned to him again. He had to admit he was impressed. He never thought this spoilt brat would have any kind of tenacity in this way. Although, he had already witnessed her stubbornness so he shouldn't have been that surprised.

SLAP!

With the last slap, it rocked her, sent her body jolting against the couch and he could see how her back was heaving with the intensity of her breath. He returned to pumping his fingers in and out at that maddening slow pace, and the frustration from her as her orgasm began to recede was almost palpable.

"Good girl," he soothed, stroking over the place he had recently been so forceful with. "You did so well. I'm going to make you come now. And I want you to be as loud as you want." He leaned over her back again to whisper to her. "Show those "friends" of yours the good time you're having here."

He redoubled his efforts, his fingers sliding in and out of her and his thumb stroking over her clit in devastating tight little circles. His other hand crept up her body and around, hefting her tit in his hand, pinching her nipple between thumb and forefinger. She moaned, the vibrations sinking through his breastplate and shooting to his cock which was now decidedly cramped within his trousers, the friction of the material against it absolutely not enough. Din rumbled a grunt and groped her more forcefully. He could feel she was close, her body tensing underneath him again, her breath coming in panting little groans. "Yes...fuck...right there, right there," she whined and he felt her clamp around his fingers, the strong muscles of her core rippling around his fingers, soaking him with her slick.

She had no time to recover before he was spinning her on the spot and lifting her up. Her legs automatically came to cross behind him, caging him to her, her heat and wetness a wicked and undeniable invitation against his crotch. Her face was blissed out, a true smile gracing her lips. She was beautiful when she wasn't pouting and whinging, he thought. He set her down on the huge, expensive dining table which was at a convenient height, and stroked his hands down her body, feeling the softness of her skin underneath the ungloved one.

"The next lesson is about control," he informed her quietly, his voice at a pitch both dangerous and full of heat. "Specifically, relinquishing it." He pulled the cuffs he used for quarries from his belt and held them up where she could see. "Specifically you relinquishing it."

Her eyes darted from the cuffs to his visor to where his erection strained painfully at the seams of his flight suit and back to his visor before she spoke. "What are you going to do?" she asked, curiosity rather than fear evidenced in her tone.

"Me telling you defeats the purpose of the lesson," he chided. "Are you going to be a good girl for me?"

She leaned forward to run her hand down his armour, inching lower toward his cock. "And what's in it for me if I am?" she asked in a sultry tone.

He said nothing, merely jangled the cuffs gently in her direction and jerked his hips away from her touch once she got too close to his crotch. She raised an eyebrow and pouted, clearly judging whether or not he could be as good to her with his cock as he was with his hands. Finally she acquiesced with a tiny smile and held out her wrists. He slapped the cuffs on her and tightened them to a point that was just the wrong side of uncomfortable. Then he spun her on the table so her back was to him.

"Lie down," he commanded. She hesitated for a micro second before obeying, looking up at him upside down with a fiery curiosity, her bound hands resting heavily on her stomach. "I was going to fuck you," Din announced casually. "But since you keep questioning me instead of obeying, you can take me down your throat." Her eyes sparkled at his words, and by the way her tongue came involuntarily to wet her lip, he could tell she wanted it as much as he did.

He unzipped his flight suit, finally released his erection from its confinement and pumped himself lazily a few times inches above her face. "Let's see how good you can make me feel," he challenged.

She rose to it. Stars, her tongue was talented. The faintest of touches against his tip at first, then a slow, warm drag down his underside and back up, sloppy kisses interspersed with her licking. And when she took the head of him inside her mouth and softly sucked at it, he had to bite back the moan trying to force its way up from his chest. He had to be silent, maintain control of this. A task which became much harder when she slowly, slowly inched down his length, taking him all, opening her throat to allow him greater access...She moaned around his cock and squeezed her thighs together for relief as his hands landed upon her tits, stabilising himself to thrust softly into her mouth. She moaned again, a wanton sound, a delicious vibration that ran through him. He thrust a little more insistently and she took it, his cock sliding down her throat as he fucked her mouth. A tingling sensation pooled in his stomach and he released her chest and slowly pulled away. He didn't want to come yet. He really did want to fuck her first.

She lay there, gazing at him upside down with lust in her eyes, drool over her lips and chin that she hadn't yet attempted to wipe away. He indicated that she should sit up with a gesture of his hand and he cradled her face and wiped her down with the leather of his glove, his thumb running softly over her face, catching on her lower lip. He leant closer to her, so close that her breath began to fog the visor of his helmet as he spoke.

"Your third lesson is about obedience," he announced, his voice a quiet husk. "I'm going to fuck you now, and you will only come when I say so. Do you understand me?" She nodded and he allowed his gloved hand to slip lower, over the elegant expanse of her neck. He held her there, not squeezing - not yet - but the whimper that escaped her fed his ego, showed him she felt the coiled strength within him and it excited her. "I need your words for this. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she rasped, her voice a little choked even though his hand was merely resting on her skin.

"Good," Din smirked, using his other arm to circle around her waist and yank her closer to the edge of the table. He stroked down the crease of her thigh until it met the resistance of her silken underwear where he slowly ripped it from her body, the sound of tearing fabric devastatingly loud in the quiet of the room.

"Hey!" she exclaimed indignantly. "They were worth more than you make in a month, Mando."

He regarded her in silence, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly as he did. He looked until she began to squirm a little uncomfortably under the black T of his visor and then and only then did he grip her neck with a little force. "Manners," he rasped lazily. "Manners, brat. Mind them, or I won't let you come at all."

Though the look she gave him was defiant, she remained silent. He could see that she was still wet, evidence of her arousal on the lips of her cunt and the hair there, and even on the inside of her thighs as she opened her legs wider to welcome him. "Put me inside of you," he ordered and she obeyed, grasping his damp, heavy cock and positioning it. Her fingers didn't quite meet around his girth, he would have to be gentle at first. He pushed inside of her slowly, just until the head of him popped inside. The effect was instantaneous - her head rolled back on her shoulders, eyes closed, bliss written upon her face.

"M-maker," she gasped. Inside his helmet, Din was biting his lip as he tried his best not to loudly and fervently agree. She was squeezing him, the tight clutch of her cunt warm and inviting and it took all of his discipline not to thrust forward and fuck himself violently into her. Slowly, slowly. Make the pleasure stretch. He fed himself into her inch by inch, her bound hands scrabbling uselessly at his breastplate as he did so. He understood - she was trying to find something to ground her, to see her through the dizzying opening steps they were performing. But he wanted her to lie back, so she could be more comfortable and to see her spread below him fully. When he gave the command, she sighed a little before complying, stretching out on the table, her hands now raised above her head. Kriff, she was pretty. Her tits were stretched upward by the placement of her arms and he had an overwhelming desire to suck on her nipples. Shame, really. Instead he focused on where he was spearing her, his hips now flush against her, his cock fully inside. He gave an experimental short thrust, making sure she was comfortable. The sighing moan he received in return told him that she was more than. He gripped her legs, hooked them over his waist and pulled her down further on to him, the tight warmth around him making him see stars behind his visor.

And then he fucked her. Short, sharp thrusts turned into long, punishing strokes and she mewled and whined and cursed and moaned. Given her penchant for dramatics, she wasn't as loud as he had been expecting, but he didn't mind because it was real. He could clearly see the pleasure his cock was delivering written all over her body - in her furrowed brow, her lax mouth, the way her legs caged him in, willing him deeper, deeper.

"Harder," she groaned, and he obliged, grabbing her around her hips and lifting her slightly so he could pound into that sweet spot he had found with his fingers before. Her head tipped back, eyes closed, exhaling breathy moans and one hand found its way to her neck again as the other supported her.

"Nuh uh," Din said, his words coming out clipped from the force of his thrusts. "You don't come until I tell you to remember." He squeezed her throat gently, just to remind her who was in charge. Her eyes snapped open and she looked at him above her, her gaze betraying how close she was.

"That...isn't...helping," she panted out and Din's mouth twitched in the shadow of a smile within his beskar.

"You like it like this?" he asked, punctuating his question by gripping her throat a little tighter for a little longer before relaxing his hold. She nodded fervently, and bit her lip, her eyes watering a little at the sensations he was bestowing upon her. "Hmmm...good to know," he purred, as he fucked into her even harder. He could feel the telltale skittering beginning at the base of his spine, the heat wrapping itself around his pelvis. She was close, he could feel it in the way she was even wetter, the trail of her slick escaping where their bodies met to pool on the table where his bare knuckle was skating through it as he supported her.

Not yet.

His gloved hand released her neck and trailed down to her tits where he pinched her nipple, causing her to squirm in his arms, and utter a curse loudly. He slapped over the hardened bud almost lazily, first one side and then the other and she ground down even further on his cock. He wanted to bite her, mark her flawless skin with his imprint over and over and over, taste the salt tang of her sweat upon his tongue and the thought made him drive into her even harder.

Not yet.

He gripped her thighs bruisingly, pushing her knees back up to her chest and almost folding her in half and there! The reaction he had been looking for. She gave a humming whine and her eyes rolled back into her head as she whispered a mantra over and over. "Yes, stars, yes, right there, don't stop, don't stop..."

His own pleasure glowed, burnt brighter and he allowed the filth to fall from his mouth in words that were half growled. "When I say so, you can come. And then, I'm going to come all over your pretty tits. And then youre going to clean me up with that gorgeous mouth of yours. Do. You. Understand?"

The last three words were punctuated by sharply snapping hips, deep thrusts that had her wailing to the ceiling. "Yes, yes Mando, yes!"

"Come," he commanded and the tenuous thread of her control snapped as she allowed her body to let go, to tense and ripple around his cock, milking him as she sobbed her pleasure to the ceiling. He didn't let up his brutal pace for a moment, pounding deep into her as her increased wetness squelched around his cock, speeding his own end ever nearer...

He withdrew and pumped himself three, four, five times before he was coming too. The first jet landed on her stomach, the next on her tits, and when he raised his eyes to her face and realised her mouth was open to receive him he stretched forward, managing to splash the last of his spend on to her tongue before he was wrung out. She smiled at him, satiated, yet still mischievous and he couldn't tear his eyes from her mouth as he scooped his cum on to his gloved finger and she sucked it off. Again, again, until she was clean of him.

Breathless, they regarded each other, both quite unashamed of their respective states of undress. She pointedly cleared her throat and brought the cuffs in front of her, the request for him to remove them clear.

He huffed a laugh within his visor. "Oh I don't think so. I'm not done taming you yet." He could feel the heated lust at the prospect of having her again begin to cloud his thoughts as he added, "I still think you could stand to be a little more polite, a little less bratty. I'm going to teach you some manners, little girl. And so our next lesson will be concerning punishment."

Taglist - @thisshipwillsail316 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @elegantduckturtle @dihra-vesa @midwesternwitchery @just-here-for-the-moment @eri16 @readsalot73 @littlemisspascal @princessxkenobi @harriedandharassed @pagannightwitch @tentacruels @kirsteng42 @literallydontlook

#din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x ofc #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x ofc #mando x ofc #mando fanfiction #mando smut

[artemiseamoon]

When an actress I used as an OC (in 2020) does a movie which gives me gifs for said fic 3 years later.

Fic: Chasing the moon

Shea chillin in the cantina bf Mando showed up and ruined her day

On the ship with Din

That final battle at the end

I want to thank Jurassic world only for making Shea even more real!

Just imagine purple hair and you have my OC 💕

I’m about 60% done revising and re-uploading this fic to A03. Fixing the tumblr version is my last priority but chapters 1-4 are now live (again) on a03. 💜

Again I’m not going for perfection, just fixing rough parts and make them smoother, also clearing the name confusion (her and her sister have similar names)

All these gifs of her now inspires me! One day I’ll do a Shea backstory (2-3) chapters. Not yet tho, my plate is full. 👀 I could also do an au or my au 👀

#din x Shea #mandalorian fic #fic: chasing the moon #fc: DeWanda Wise #Shea Berkea inspo #my oc #Mando x ofc #Mando x black ofc #din djarin x black ofc

[artemiseamoon-ficart]

Chasing the moon

More & new Moodboards!

Fic info

Fic is revised and re-uploading to a03. 💜

Now that DeWanda was in Jurassic World I FINALLY have more gifs for my Shea 💜

#the mandalorian fic #din djarin #Mando x ofc #Mando x black ofc #black women in scifi #Din djarin x ofc #din & grogu #ofc & grogu

[lokischocolatefountain]

Guess

Fandom: Star Wars, The Mandalorian

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: PG13, fluff

Word count:

Summary: A game of guessing goes right in every way for you and Din, your kind of friend, sort of boss.

A/N: Day 1 of my fic advent calendar and my first Din Djarin fic on here! Credits to my friend @lokislittlevalkyrie for co-creating the reader character and for our long conversations about her and Din. Keep checking the advent calendar Masterlist for more fics dropping this month. And leave me a little comment to encourage me to keep the fics going 💜💜💜

“Stop scowling.”

“I’m not scowling,” he lied, trying his best to keep his tone neutral even though he was surprised that she knew he was scowling. Lucky guess, he told himself. But how many lucky guesses could one person have about his facial expressions?

“You so were!” She insisted, sinking further back into the novelty ‘chair’ she bought on their last stop. It was a sphere half filled with tiny soft particles that molded itself to the user’s shape. She slouched on it as she continued watching one of her holodramas, something with a murder or speeders (or both) at the heart of the story.

“I was not.”

“If you say so, Din Can,” she said, using her nickname for him. He chuckled reflexively, unable to control his responses to her. Thankfully, his helmet filtered the sound out, saving him the embarrassment of finding humor in the humiliating nickname. He smiled, glad she didn’t know just how many times she’d made him laugh whether by mocking him or making clever remarks in general.

“I do say so.”

She was beautiful. Taking up the creed meant hiding one’s own face from others. To hide what would serve as the basis of others’ first impression of you so that your valor and your character would serve as your defining features. Vanity was not something he was raised with. Yet he knew beauty when it stared him in the eye and called him Din Can everyday. Or Tin Djarin. Buckethead when he really pissed her off.

Dinny Bear when she was intoxicated.

Blood rushed to his cheek when he thought of the last time she did that. She’d gotten very comfortable around him in the months they’d been crew mates. All her initial jitters and jumpiness around him had gone and been replaced with her stubbornness, strange sense of humour, and a level of confidence she didn’t have with him before.

He had to chase her down to even get her to accept the job he was offering her as a travelling mechanic. He’d never heard of one before. And she was quite frightened of him after the kind of interaction they had at Peli’s shop. But he needed a mechanic on board. With the kid in his hands now, it became hard to juggle a failing ship with hunting bounties and caring for a mischievous kid who waited for the moment he took his eyes off him to cause chaos.

It helped to have a mechanic on board at all times. She was wonderful and came approved by Peli. Over time, she became more than his mechanic. A friend, he would be brave enough to say. If he were braver with women, he would say that he’s caught her sneaking glances at him. That he felt her twinkling eyes rove over his armor every now and then. Sometimes he was confident of it. At others, he convinced himself that his mind was clouded by his desire for her. By his desire for her to desire him too.

The matter of his expressions came up once again later after dinner.

“Stop looking so grumpy.”

“You cannot see my face.”

“Yeah but you look grumpy.”

He grunted, turning away from her to focus on the controls. They were on hyperspeed. There was nothing he needed to do with the controls. But to come face to face with her when she told him exactly what he did underneath his helmet was…too much.

“Heyy! Let’s play a game?” She asked, her voice bubbling with excitement.

“Play with Grogu.”

“He’s asleep. And this is not a game for little potatoes.”

He chuckled softly at the nickname and looked up at her again, awaiting her proposal. “What would that be?” He asked.

“A drinking game.”

“Drinking is a game now?”

“Dank farrik! I missed when you used to be quiet. Just listen to me. I’ll guess what your face looks like under your helmet and if I get it right, you should take a sip of your drink. And if I get it wrong, I take a sip. Let’s do it with the Silver Elixir,” she said, getting up from her seat to fetch the bottle from their liquor cabinet they kept locked to keep away from wandering little womp rats.

She returned with the bottle, two glasses and straws. They’d recently taken to drinking together. She bought him a straw a begged him to join her, using her sweet eyes and her adorable pout to convince him. She said she only had drinks with friends and that drinking alone on the razor crest made her feel lonely.

He gave in to her, just like he gave in to their little green crewmate.

She didn’t need to use a straw, of course. Yet she did. When he asked, she said it was so that he didn’t feel lonely drinking through a straw like a kid. Even in her insults, she managed to be sweet.

“Start guessing,” he said impatiently as she sat next to him and looked intently at their glasses to see if they were filled equally.

“Sure, sure… You have dark hair,” she said, passing his drink to him. “Dark brown.”

“A little too obvious, isn’t it?” He asked, knowing she had definitely seen his hair in the trash after he gave himself haircuts and shaved his facial hair.

“Drink up, old man!” She said, lips wide in a grin as she knew already that she was right.

He snorted, but followed through, taking a sip of the strong liquor. “Alright. Next.”

“You have….big green ears.”

“Wrong,” he huffed, smiling nevertheless at her sense of humour.

“Damn it! I should’ve known they wouldn’t fit inside the helmet,” she said, taking a sip. She was smiling too, and unlike his, it was out in the open and as bright as the stars around them.

“Those were two descriptors. Big and green. Take one more sip,” he argued. He didn’t particularly want to get her drunk, but he liked how adorable she was when intoxicated. One of their drinking sessions ended with her snuggling up to him because she couldn’t find the kid to snuggle like a children’s stuffed animal.

“What? No! It was one guess, so it’s one sip.”

“Again, you guessed the size and color of my ears and they were both wrong. Take a sip.”

She rolled her eyes, but complained, taking another sip. She leaned close and narrowed her eyes at him, as though focusing on his helmet would reveal what was underneath. He smiled unconsciously, taking in the beauty of her from up close. The light in her eyes, the way her eyebrows knit together when she was in deep thought, lips that impressed him with the wittiest remarks… Lips he wanted desperately to pull to his, to devour and make moan his name.

“No moustache.”

“Hmmm….” He hummed, thinking of how he could sort the point for this. He *did* have a moustache, but that was only now. There were times when he shaved it off completely. “It’s complicated. I have a moustache now, but I change it quite frequently. So, half a sip.”

“If I have to take half a sip, so should you.”

“No, I don’t,” he scoffed at her warped logic. Here he was, being nice and giving her some credit even though she was wrong. But she was trying to take advantage of it.

“Yeah you should. If I’m taking half a sip because I was half right and half wrong, you should also take a sip because you’re half right and half wrong.”

“No. That’s not how it works. I have facial hair now, which means you are wrong. I should’ve made you take a full sip, but I decided to make a concession because I am sometimes fully shaven.”

“Dank Farrik! You’re such a lightweight. Just say you can’t handle your liquor and I’ll let you go,” she taunted, a smirk plying at her lips.

“Oh please, I can handle my liquor much better than you can. Here,” he said, drinking the strong undiluted alcohol like it was water in a few big sips. He slammed the glass against the control panel surface and shrugged. “See, I’m good. You are the one who gets drunk after one portion of the Silver Elixir and terrorizes the kid.”

She gasped, as though he made a much bigger accusation. “I don’t terrorize the kid! I just give him extra cuddles and kisses. He enjoys them very much. It’s called affection, Tin Can. Ever heard of it?”

He tilted his head at her in the way that sometimes made her swallow audibly. “So you think that because of my way of life, I have never experienced affection?”

She opened and closed her mouth quickly, as though her mind and lips were in disagreement about whether or not what they were about to say was appropriate. He smiled under his helmet, proud of himself for stumping her. She talked a lot. Since he was a quiet man, everyone else was talkative in comparison. But she was the voice he heard the most as they lived together on the Razor Crest and their other occupant communicated mostly in coos and squeals.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Say what. Since the drinking thing was already disproportionate anyway because I’m not guessing your features and I can handle my liquor much better than you do….lets change the rules.” He took a deep breath, afraid of the consequences of his words but unable to miss this opportunity. “For each correct guess you make, I’ll give you a kiss.”

“You’re kidding,” she said, scoffing.

“I’m not known for my humor.”

She took a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes, making his heart skip a beat. Kriff, the things she did without even knowing! He thought he could die from the anticipation of hearing her next guess. Would she guess something ridiculous like big green ears to make sure she doesn’t have to kiss him? Or would she make a very obviously correct guess?

“You have…” she trailed in a softer voice, looking at him almost coyly. “…pink lips.”

Not the most obvious guess. Not all humans had pink lips. And he could easily not be human. He didn’t remember telling her he was… But if she was going for something for a higher likelihood of being correct… Kriff he hoped she was. “Do you want me to turn the lights off or blindfold you?” He asked, conveying indirectly that she was right.

“Wh-whaaat? Why?” She sputtered, looking at him with those pretty eyes, vulnerability brimming in her expressions.

Did he get the wrong idea? Maybe her obvious guesses weren’t because she wanted to be right so she could kiss him… Maybe it was just the product of her usual playful nature.

“Because I will have to take my helmet off when I kiss you,” he proceeded to say, even as his heart beat faster with the anxiety of how this could go. They were adults. It it was a misunderstanding, he would simply get over it and do his best to not make it awkward between them. “And you cannot see me.”

“I…” she trailed off before letting out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“Again. Not known for my humor,” he said, letting a smile seep into his words. She was so kriffing adorable, looking all nervous like a blurrg stuck in a doorway. “You don’t have to, of course. I can give you something else. Ten credits, perhaps?”

“What, no. A deal is a deal.”

“Then tell me, my dear mechanic. Lights out or blindfold?”

“Lights out.”

Pity. He was hoping to see her pretty face when he kissed her. Not moving from where he was, he pressed the buttons on the control panel, turning all the lights out. In the pitch black of outer space, he could see nothing. Perfect.

“What can you see?” He asked, just to be sure.

“Nothing,” she said, in her voice so low and soft that it was swallowed up by the darkness. What entity wouldn’t want to swallow up something his pretty mechanic put out? Every word she said, every touch of her fingers against the trees and rocks and flowers. If he were air, he would luxuriate in her scent. If he were water, he would caress her skin and play with her hair as he cleansed her. If he were fire, he would creep into her skin, warm her up when she needed. But he was nothing but man. So, he would have to satisfy himself with a kiss from her lips.

“Are you sure?” She asked as he stepped forward to her.

“I am. Are *you* sure?”

There was silent for a moment before she said, “Yes. Kiss me.”

Needing nothing else, he took his helmet off and placed it carefully on his seat. His heart thudded against his ribs, and his breaths grew labored. And he hadn’t even touched her yet.

In all his years, he had never kissed anyone. It was not part of the culture of his people what with the metal barriers that kept them from it. He remembered the sweet kisses on his forehead and cheeks from before he took the creed. But that was not what his heart desired. He wanted the kind of thing she watched on her holopad, all the holodramas with characters who showed their desire through an intense kiss that left their partner speechless.

He reached forward and found her hand. She gasped softly, the quietness of the ship letting him in on her soft sounds. He caressed up her arm, enjoying the slight tremble of her skin beneath the tips of his fingers. He stopped at her neck and allowed himself to cradle it in his hand. He felt her lean closer and he reciprocated, taking the final step. He tilted his head to his right feeling that she tilted to her right.

As he closed the gap between them, he felt her warm breath on his skin. He swallowed, his lips parting from how nervous he was. What if he was no good? What if he didn’t have good breath? What if he’s such a bad kisser that she— he gasped softly as she pressed her lips against his. In an instant, she quietened the sounds his head. The fast beating of his heart, he realized was now from the effect of proximity to her more than his insecurities.

She placed one hand on his shoulder and wrapped her other arm around his waist. He let out a shaky breath at the intimacy of their contact and let his other hand trail down her back. She pressed herself closer against his beskar clad chest, making him wish he had the forethought to toss that bit of his armor too. He wanted to feel her. Every bit of her that she was offering up to him like she truly believed he was deserving.

Her lips were soft, just as he’d dreamt them to be. He’d never kissed before. It was an act saved for married couples in the covert, as only your spouse could see you with your helmet off. He had married friends who waxed poetry about the magic of kissing. How they felt like nothing and nobody mattered other than your partner. How it turned you into putty in their hands. He thought it was exaggerated… Until now.

He cupped her cheek, her face fitting in his hand and making him feel a new sense of protectiveness towards her. He’d protected her before, sure, but this felt different. This was something to do with a need to be gentle with her. To cherish her and treasure her. She licked his lips and he parted them instinctively, letting her tongue between his lips. He shuddered as her fingers threaded through his hair. He whimpered and pulled her closer to himself in the moment of vulnerability, using her as a crutch to support him. He’d never been touched like that before…

Her fingers explored his hair and he allowed himself to relax in his arms, even letting himself give her comforting caresses of her back. He felt her melt into his arms as their kiss deepened. She tasted of the silver elixir first, but when they were both a little along the way, he began to taste something that was distinctly her. Something sweet, mixing with the fragrance of her citrusy perfume to further dull his senses.

It was soft, but electrifying. He poured his passions into the kiss, exploring her with his tongue and luxuriating in the sweet little whimpers she let out. The technicalities stopped mattering. He was here, holding the girl he’d been pining for, lips connected as the unlikely result of a stupid game. That moment was all that mattered and her sounds of satisfaction told him that he wasn’t doing so bad after all.

She pulled back in a while and they let out the breaths they’d be holding. She let out a laugh and he smiled, comforted by her job. He didn’t even know he’d been holding his breath. He’d forgetting the necessity for breathing as he found her lips.

“You have…a big nose,” she said, confusing him.

“Huh?” He asked, his mind still clouded from her kiss.

“I get another kiss if I’m right, Dim Djarin,” she teased, pointing to his obliviousness when it came to things of this nature.

“Right,” he said, grinning as he kissed her again. He needed to play games with her more often.

#din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fluff #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x original female character #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fluff #inexperienced!din #din x reader #din x you #mando x reader #mando x you #mando fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic #am i a star wars fic writer now? #din dijarin x reader #din djaren #din dijarin fanfiction #all that i've inflicted on the world

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 8}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: You're slowly getting back to a semblance of yourself after being given a life altering choice.

Word Count: 4.2k (it's a short one, apologies)

Warnings: WE GOT SHIRTLESS DIN Y'ALL, canon typical violence, canon typical fighting, trauma, ptsd, nightmares, illness, reader throws up, allusions to past SA (not detailed), gun violence

A/N: this was a rather hard chapter for me to crank out, i wasn't sure how much of reader's personality would immediately show after the events of the last chapter, but i think i managed to do a decent job that doesn't make it feel like it's a different character altogether. she will come out of her shell more throughout the next couple of chapters as she gets used to traveling with our dear mandalorian as an equal

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

The clearing was silent as the sun made its rise into the sky, displaying an enticing view of warm pinks and deep oranges that bled into the soft blue of the still waning night sky. Your gaze was locked with the visor across from you, so far and yet still closer than anyone had dared to approach you, with an offer no one had dared to extend to you before. But it didn’t feel real, it felt like a ploy despite the fluttering in your stomach at learning the name of the man who you had spent so much time with.

“How do I know this isn’t a trick, Din Djarin?” You spoke with more control than you truly had, voice strong despite the waning tears that now stained your face and left your eyes tinged with a telltale pinkness of their occurrence. Mind working to calculate the situation playing out, an edge of clarity to your eyes now that the high emotions had all but rushed out of your lips in outraged pleas. A new facet of who you were, of how you survived for so long, taking it in and mentally checking it, much like you were doing with the man across from you.

“My name… I have not spoken it aloud since I was a boy. I have not shared it with anyone,” Din took a step toward you, your body instinctively took a step back despite the fluttering in your middle at the confession. It was a warm feeling akin to the heat thoughts of him blazed underneath your skin in the darkness of night, but far more innocent. At the part of him he was willing to give to you, even after you threatened to kill him. “I…. want to share it with you, to prove to you that I will not harm you and give you something in return that could harm me if it were to leave the two of us.”

This was all so new, different sides of the alluring mystery you both posed to each other.

“You saved my life twice, when you had no reason to.” His words were strong, though there was a caressing of emotion in them you had only been allowed to glimpse before. “You deserve the same, you deserve to be saved, given a choice.”

It was hard to believe him, believe the words, the offering he was extending to you. You were sure he could pinpoint the conflicting emotions as they passed over your face. Positive in your very soul that he could tell you had never been handed a choice before and were confused over, especially coming from someone initially hired to capture you.

“It was the right thing to do.”

“As is this.”

“You- you want me to travel with you?”

“Yes, I would be honored to have you aboard the ship.” His tone was solid, with no hint of hesitancy or fraud in his words as they sounded in the air. “You are a strong fighter, a survivor.”

“Free?”

“You are free, I will do my best to ensure it until you wish to part ways.”

“What…what if I do something you don’t like or speak out of place?” The words you wanted to say died in your throat to allow for those ones to come to life. The confession of wanting to remain with him until he no longer wanted you around nearly slipping from your lips as the conversation continued. Because that’s what it was, a conversation. You weren’t being talked at or down to, he was talking to you, with you. He had begun to do so the second you had boarded his ship, even knowing the dynamic that he had initiated by taking you from that compound.

“I will not raise a hand to you, I’ve promised you that already.”

“I’m annoying, I say things under my breath, I-I-I…I’m selfish.”

“Then we can be so together.” A deep chuckle decorated the air of the clearing, making your heart stutter for a reason other than fear and anxiety for the several times since he entered your life. The sound was beautiful, and your selfish tendencies were already returning to you. You wanted more of it, of that sound, of being able to draw that sound out of him.

“Y-yes.”

He closed the distance of the clearing and came up toward you with his hands at his sides as he approached, the rising sun catching his amor in a mesmerizing way. He walked past your still form toward the wall of trees surrounding the space, retrieving the heavy pack he knew you had hidden in the brush. He hauled it onto his shoulder, his cloak billowing more with the weight resting along the upper part of it along his back. “Let’s get everything back on board before some food. Then we can rest after traveling all night.”

You felt a shy smile come over your lips, liking the sound of ‘we’ after being alone for so long. You reached for one of the trunks and hauled it up, following his lead back toward the ship. His steps faltered as he looked over his shoulder and saw the expression. You quietly asked him if he was alright, getting a nod from the man in response.

The hammock from your new pack was secured to the walls of the ship, off in the corner opposite of Din’s small personal quarters, near the wall that made up the back entrance to the ship. Your bag was atop it, heavier now with the other items you had purchased while in town with the villagers just yesterday. A time that felt so long ago, when you were worried about having to bide your time and make a run for it, run away from the man you could feel crossing the space of the hold toward you.

You jumped clean off the floor of the hold when a crate was set down with a loud thunk and you spun on your heels to face the sound. He was rather close as was the sound and your hand was tight around the handle of your saber, instinctually reaching for it. It should alarm you how used you were to his presence that it didn’t register how little distance was between the both of you, but you pushed that thought down to inspect at a later time.

You turned in time to see him using his right leg to scoot in neatly underneath the space below the hammock. There was enough room beneath it and the top of the storage to accommodate the weight of your body while resting.

“For you, for your…things.”

You nodded at him, aware of the weight of his visor taking in the small space you had claimed for yourself. Worry flared for a moment, worry that you had chosen a bad spot or infringed on his space in a way he hadn’t anticipated. It all tapered out of you in a shaky exhale, hands letting go of your weapon as you realized you had clenched your hand tight around it, your knuckles creaking with the effort and your fleeting, overwhelming emotion. Turning back around, you began to unload the pack into the open space of the crate with a small ‘thank you’.

“There…is a small cabin behind the flight room.” He reached out and his gloved hand gently turned you around, so you were facing him fully. You let him do so, your heart hammering in your chest at the casual contact, at his words. “We can make it your own space, more privacy than here in the hold.”

“I don’t want to intrude-“

“You wouldn’t, yours if you want it.”

Your body betrayed you at his words, at the phrasing. You felt your skin tingle as a whoosh of desire flared hot in your middle and your mind decided to recall the feel of his bare hands. You ducked your head, unable to keep a somewhat shared look with him as you pulled slowly from his light grip on your arm.  His hand lingered, brushing down the side of your arm to blossom comfort with his touch, as if he was aware of the waring emotions you were experiencing.

“I’ll…think about it.”

He leaned in close, helmet coming to rest on your forehead in another comforting action. Fingers reached out to wrap around his elbows before you realized you were even moving, reaching.

“I asked you to stay, mesh’la. Please don’t feel like you’re unwanted here.”

Lifting your eyes to gaze into the visor, you felt a shudder of something faint make its way down your spine. You were sure the man could feel the way your body reacted to it, this close to you. You could only nod in response to his words, your own too jumbled in your chest to voice.

With a slow nod in return, he was back over on the other side of the space, taking a seat at the makeshift table. The Child was atop it, exploring the food packages around him with excited gurgles. You felt a soft smile pull at your lips as you watched him, so excited with such a simple thing.

“The village packed us a lot of food, you’re welcome to any of it.”

“Oh, um, I…ate in town.” You shuffled on your feet, turning back to the small corner and began to unpack the items you had purchased in the village. “I wasn’t sure when I would get to eat next.”

It was quiet for a few heartbeats, the man focused on opening some of the wrapped bundles.

“You were going to run, even if that transmission hadn’t come through.” He wasn’t asking for confirmation, he was stating it as if he had been privy to the way your mind had been running, like it was second nature for him to know about the things that had occurred in your mind and influenced your actions. Maybe it was, to an extent. Having traveled with him for some time now.

“Yes.”

“I was going to leave a note.” You admitted, eyes falling closed as you gathered yourself. You didn’t reach for anything as you sat atop the other makeshift seat of a crate. Hands in your lap as you spoke, eyes still trained on the Child and his many noises.

Your lips quirked up when his small form turned to you with an outstretched hand. He was clutching a kebob in his little claw, cooked krill pieces skewered onto it. When you reached a hand out to take it, he fussed, shaking his head with a grumble. A soft laugh bubbled up as you opened your mouth and leaned closer to him. That seemed to be what he wanted, and he giggled freely as he watched you tear the topmost piece away with your teeth and began to chew it. Bringing a hand up to cover your mouth, you exaggerated a nod at him to let him know you liked the taste.

He turned his attention to Din and held his hand out once again.

A shake of the helmet made him frown, a little angry grunt sounding from his chest. He mimicked Din, shaking his head and then brandishing the kebob at him in a wave. He bumped it against the front of the helmet, right where Din’s mouth would be. And again, and again. It was making the only noise in the ship other than the odd beeping sound or so that signaled things were up and running.

With a deep sigh, one of Din’s hands came up and pressed something just underneath the front of the helmet, where it settled over his chin. The hiss of the helmet decompressing startled you and your heart thudded in your chest as froze in place across the makeshift table. Surely he wouldn’t just expose himself so casually…? The Creed of the Mandalorians forbade the removal of the helmet, and while that wasn’t the case for all of them, it was a rather important factor in the practice that Din took part in, that he was raised in. The hint of a strong jaw covered in dark scruff was visible as he quickly leaned forward and took a bite from the offered stick.

Just as quickly as the helmet had been lifted ever so slightly, it was set back in place.

The Child’s happy giggles echoed off the walls. He turned back to you with a large, toothy smile. Willing your heart to calm down, you returned the smile with a soft one of your own.

A shout ripped from your throat, and you were thrashing around as your mind was ripped from its stream of unconsciousness. Heart thudding painfully in your chest, panting with the effort to catch your breath, you sat up from the hammock, swinging your legs over the side of it. It was swinging with your harsh movements, the supports of it groaning with the actions. The door to the personal quarters across the hold slid open and Din’s form filled the doorway, a blaster in his hand.

You were shaking, body humming with adrenaline as your mind had decided to replay a rather harsh memory from your captivity. The roaring in your ears prevented you from hearing Din cross the space, moving toward you in nothing but his helmet and a pair of sleep pants. His gentle hands on your knees startled you and you kicked out at him, sending him stumbling back onto his backside and palms to catch himself.

“It’s me, mesh’la.”

You shook your head, bringing your hands up to cover your ears. Your throat constricted and the words you were trying to say warbled out incoherently.

“What do you need?” Din’s voice was dulled, as if you were hearing things through a tunnel. Your vision was blurry as you opened your eyes, blinking away the remnants of the nightmare. It was then that you realized you were crying, tears spilling over your lash line to race down your cheeks. They dripped off the end of your chin, splattering to the floor.

“W-water.” You managed to choke out, your skin feeling so caked in filth and the phantom touches from the men who had held you captive. Poor choice of words, you mused as Din moved to gather a pouch of water from atop the makeshift table. You were shaking your head as he turned back around with it in his hands. He could see the way your muscles twitched even from the short distance, your body reacting strongly to whatever your mind had decided to conjure up during your sleep.

“I need to clean. I feel- I feel their hands all over me.” You were pushing up from the hammock, holding a hand to your mouth as nausea roiled hot in your middle. Rushing across the hold toward to fresher, the door hissed shut just as Din caught sight of you crumpling to the floor in front of the toilet basin and heaving the contents of your stomach.

The sound of the shower running had Din standing in front of the door to the fresher with a change of clothes for you in his hands. He had gathered one of his shirts, recalling the way you had held the first one up to inhale his scent back on Sorgan. A small comfort he could offer you when words failed him, as they so often did, but especially in the wake of what just happened. The knock that sounded from his bare knuckles had you jumping underneath the spray of hot water raining down on your body.

Pausing in your frantic scrubbing, your head shot up and focused on the door through the frosted glass of the shower stall.

“Got you a change of clothes.” Din’s voice sounded muffled through the metal of his helmet and the shut door to the small room. “I can set the helmet to another setting and place them on the sink for you.”

“Th-thank you.” Hopefully he understood with your minimal response that what he was saying was alright with you. He seemed to understand, because the door hushed open, and his broad form filled the space of the room. You watched through the glass paneling as he placed a bundle of dark clothing down atop the sink. His helmet never turned toward you despite knowing he could feel the weight of your own gaze upon him. He left as swiftly as he had appeared, allowing you to finish your shower in privacy.

When you emerged from the fresher with damp hair and a new outfit that consisted of a baggy shirt and pants, the hold was empty. There was a single light left on the wall that held the ramp settled into while it wasn’t activated, illuminating the space in soft light. Your eyes landed on a steaming cup of something left on the table, watching the wafts of heat climb into the air. Smiling to yourself, you moved to take a seat and reached to cradle the hot ceramic in your hands.

You were nestled back in the hammock after finishing the warm broth, the liquid helping to sooth your settling stomach. Despite the comfort of an added blanket and the relaxing residual warmth from your shower, you couldn’t help but wring your hands where they rested atop your middle. Din had checked on the ship’s course before returning to his own space. The hush of his door nearly shutting closed the space off and left a weighted silence in its wake.

Settling down further into the blankets, a muffled sob made its way through your body, and you quickly clamped a hand down over your mouth to stifle it. Eyes darting to the small sliver of space that Din had left his door open to see if it traveled across the space toward him. Nothing akin to fear or worry or the instinct to run washed over you as a bulb lit up and his hand bare hand suddenly appeared and was shoving the door open with swift motions. He was across the space in a few long strides, the fabric of his sleep pants swishing around his legs with the speedy, tempered movement.

As soon as he was close enough, he was leaning over to place his hands underneath the curve of your knees and along your upper back, your hands going up around his neck as if they were made just for that. The blanket fell away from you as he lifted you into his arms, turning away from the set up you had made for yourself.

He carried you across the space back toward the door and it shut behind him as he settled you both into the small bed atop the cot that took up a majority of the space. His body was a warm line beside you, your arms loosening from around his neck to fill the space between your bodies atop the mattress. His hands busy pulling the discarded blanket up around you both, letting it settle around your hips.

Eyes trained on him across from you, breath labored as you took in the bare expanse of his chest. Nearly all of his bronze skin was on display in the dull light that probably needed replacing. Fingers twitching in an effort to not cross the space and run them over the temptation that was so close. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes closing to shield yourself from the want. As he spoke lowly to you, the rumbling timber of his voice caressed over you in a muffled sound.

When you opened your eyes back up from a long blink, the confusion in them let him know you had no clue as to what he had just said. His chest expanded as he took a deep breath and deflated as he let it out in a sigh.

“San,” The sound of your name had you focusing on the visor of the helmet looking down at you as he sat partially up on his elbow. His other arm reached out for you, hand encompassing your cheek as he repeated his soft-spoken words. You leaned into his touch, something you couldn’t find it in yourself to be ashamed of or embarrassed about at the moment. It just was, it was right, there was no thinking about it. “Do you want me to turn the light out?”

You reached out tentatively, fingers still twitching with the effort it was taking to restrain yourself from lunging at the man and wrapped your arms around the broad expanse of his bare chest. Fingers digging into his shoulders as you clung to him. Nodding in an answer to his careful question as you buried your head into the crook of his neck. His body moved around and underneath you to turn the light out, shrouding you both in darkness.

The helmet hushed against the fabric of his pillow as he laid down completely beside you. His strong arms came around you and pulled you flush against him, his legs tangling with your own beneath the blanket. Eyes already fluttering shut, you let out long exhale that faltered near the end. You were feeling completely at ease in the wake of that horrible nightmare, safe in this enclosed space, wrapped up in his arms, surrounded by the scent you associated with him.

The feeling of his even, steady pulse humming through his skin where your face was pressed into his neck lulled you into a peaceful sleep.

“I’ve got you.”  

The next morning, or what you assumed was the morning, due to time being hard to keep track during long space travel. It was something you weren’t sure you would ever get a handle on, not having much experience with longer space travel with the focus of seeking out hideaways. The ship had just dropped out of hyperspace, Din having set a random location in order to rest for the night with less threats. He was currently in the cockpit and you quelled the minor nerves at seeking him out after the breakfast you had made an effort to down alongside the Child.

You were cradling him on a hip as you climbed the ladder leading to the partial upper floor, his happy babbling announcing your arrival to the armored man before you physically entered the room. Setting him down in the chair to the right of the door, you turned your attention to the front of the room.

“I chose Tatooine, a few years ago.” Your voice was quiet, nearly a whisper as you walked up behind the pilot’s chair. Eyes trained on the hologram display of nearby planets. “My hideout should still be intact if the sands haven’t swallowed it. I had just installed new moisture farming equipment before…”

Tatooine looked much the same way as it did all those years ago when you picked it out of all the options you had assembled for a good hideout. Washed out and pale as you gazed at the display of the planet before you.

“That’s where….I thought we were when you took me from that compound.”

“Its an easy mistake to make, both are mostly open desert.” He was watching you as you flipped through the rest of the planets displayed as possible locations for the ship to land next, though he had already programmed it for Tatooine. The ships settings displaying as much when you checked the flight path. You could feel the weight of his visor on you as you boldly did so, not having asked to enter the control room let alone mess with the things he was organizing. You turned to face him with a deadpan look, punctuated by a single raised brow and mouth tight in a firm line.

“A fool’s mistake.”

“You’re not a fool, those kriffng bandits were.”

“Landscape here is more limestone, red rock more prominent on Arvala-7.” You gestured to the display with a wave of your hand.

Any other conversation to be had was put on hold the second a warning alarm trilled from the control panel. It was only a second’s notice before blaster shots landed on the starboard side of the ship. Your legs tensed as you tried to keep your balance through the turbulence, hands going out to grip onto anything within reach. It happened to be the armrest of the pilot’s chair. Your head swiveled around to see the Child’s frantic look, eyes wide and sounds of upset falling from him in a steady stream.

“Dank ferrick, we got someone on our tail. Sit down and buckle up, mesh’la.”

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#dev writes #fic: of beskar and kyber #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorain x you #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x OFC #order 66 #order 66 survivor #force sensitive reader #jedi reader #mando and grogu #angst #hurt and comfort #soft din djarin #star wars #star wars universe #new republic #new republic era

[lovelessdagger]

Starlight - Chapter 37: Where it Began

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Smut

WARNINGS: Explicit Language. Explicit Sexual Content. Talk of Mental Illness.

Words: 10.7k

Summary:  If Din couldn’t run away then, he sure as hell can’t now. His dignity is already lost, and he’s proven to be too weak to escape fate.

Masterlist | Starlight Masterlist | AO3 | Prev | Next

Tatooine is hotter than Din remembers, the automatic cooling system of his suit on overdrive. Twin suns beam down at high noon, the public of Mos Espa flocking to shade. His footsteps mark in the sand and Grogu grows restless off the transit in a satchel across his body. Together they make way in the city center, towards a building of scandal and bustling populous. The option had been displayed to meet at a more reasonable and less horrific time of heat. He could never be so kind to himself as to accept.

His company sits at a back table, soiled boots on polished wood, nursing a cup of Maker knows what. “You’re late,” she says. “I was beginning think you bailed.”

“Fennec,” he greets. “You don’t sound too upset by the prospect.”

“I would have chalked it up to divine intervention.”

He glances behind to the entrance. “The Force?” 

A pair of Twi’leks approach, offering to clean his helmet. Fennec waves them away and orders another drink. Her stomach, she says, makes alcohol more like a juice. She lives to indulge.

“Why did you agree to come?” She asks.

He chooses not to answer, taking internal inventory of the room. Once deciding it safe, he allows the Child to roam free. He runs to the band, cheering for the attention of the Ortolan. “What is this place?”

“The Sanctuary. I thought it fitting.” She tosses a bag of credits. “I’m hiring you on for a job.”

“A job?”

“Call it a favor if it makes you feel better.”

“Since when do I owe you a favor?”

“Since you left me shot for dead a year ago.”

“It’s been that long?”

She shrugs. “And some change. Say yes, it’s easy money.”

“I thought Fett called the shots. He know you’re here?”

“He does.” Feeling Din’s surprise she adds, “Mostly. It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”

He responds, “Not always.”

“In this case it is. Do you remember the Marshal who used Boba’s armor?”

“Course. Cobb Vanth.”

“Are you friendly?”

“I killed a krayt dragon for his people. Planned on leaving the kid in his care if something were to happen so—” his head bobs “—you could say that.”

“How’d you like to pay him a visit?”

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing tragic, don’t worry.” She takes a swig, briefly offering the drink to Din. “All I need is for you to talk to him, do some of that convincing you’re so good at.”

“For?”

“There’s a treaty we need signed with Mos Pelgo—Freetown. Unification is important to Fett. All we ask is they recognize Boba as Daimyo and agree to follow a new constitution of laws.”

“Marshal Vanth’s a smart man,” Din says. “He’s fought hard to keep his people free. Won’t give into city say-so’s.”

“Believe me there are far more benefits than cons. Fett is shockingly well versed in politics. The treaty is brilliant.”

“If it’s so great why do you need me?”

“Because we need this signed, you’re our best shot at getting a yes. This is more than giving Boba more power or tribute. He wants to ensure underworld business stays in the underworld.”

“You’re cleaning up Tatooine?”

“Trying to.”

“How’s that worked out?”

“Well, we killed the Mos Espa mayor a couple months ago. Drove out some Pykes. Stopped a spice trade line. Established land agreements between some Tusken clans. And given the people a fair water tax and management system that is beyond me. We’re getting there.”

“I hate to say I’m impressed.”

“Then say you agree to speak to the Marshal. If he’s as decent of a man as you say, there should be no problem.” Din lends no response, crossing his arms. Fennec leans on her elbows. “What?”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

A smile plays on Fennec’s lips, disguised by another drink. “Here I am thinking you aren’t smart,” she says. “If you agree, you would have to be accompanied by a member of the Fett Gotra.”

Foolishly, Din asks, “Who?” An answer given by Fennec’s wryly smile. “No,” he says. “No, forget it.”

“I wouldn’t have come to you if I had another choice.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking me?”

“Yes. I’m asking you to do a job. Take it as just that.”

He grasps for a new excuse. “She’d never agree.”

“She already has,” Fennec says. “Granted I haven’t asked her yet, but she’s on board.” He gives a look. “If you agree, she will be. I know you want to so let’s skip the back and forth.” He swallows thickness, leg bouncing. Fennec stands, shoving the flask in the calf of her boot. She takes her helmet, unnoticed by Din on the ground, pulling it on. “You’re saying yes,” she tells him. “Come to the palace before nightfall. We’ll officialize details and get you briefed.”

‘Fennec…” His words are lost when she looks, though meaning still perpetrates.

“She’s fine. But don’t make me regret this.”

---

Contrary to popular belief, the Mandalorian known as Din Djarin is also fine. He isn’t doing particularly great, but he is fine. He’s okay, and that’s enough. Frankly, okay is the best he’s ever been in these past months. Okay is what lets him sleep at night for a full six hours and okay is what reminds him to eat. Okay means he doesn’t need a sip of alcohol at least twice a day, and maybe he should watch his temper.

So yes, he’s okay.

Frankly he thinks okay is the best he’ll be.

At least for a long while.

Nevarro isn’t shitty anymore, he’s as surprised as anyone else. Din isn’t exactly sure how the money came in or from where, but Karga—now deeming himself High Magistrate—saw to Nevarro’s settlement as a trade anchor and hyper lane port of the Hydian Way. The schools were proper, roads paved, water clean. The town bustles, new homes and land being established every day.

Din is the only one to still find it all insufferable.

He stays off world as much as possible. He never planned on returning at all until word came through about Cara. Greef said he reached out to someone, who reached out to someone, who reached out to someone, who eventually got to Din.

Neither she, Moff Gideon, or the New Republic vessel arrived to Coruscant for deliverance. Three and half months after what Din has only referred to as The Incident, they were found. Stagnant in space, exterior hull destroyed, bodies… A vigil was held with candlelight and Din left when Karga asked if he wanted to say any words.

He didn’t.

Cara was his friend. Now she is dead.

Gideon was his enemy. Now he is dead.

That’s all there is.

Din thought himself changed, arguably for the better. Emotion became too difficult to ignore, compassion bit at his ankles, all he wanted to do was give. Now caring is the least of his worries. Nothing matters. In an objective sense, nothing matters. Din is determined to go about his every day knowing this. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the Empire, the New Republic, the Jedi, or whateverelse there is. He doesn’t care about Nevarro, or Coruscant, or Mandalore. He doesn’t care about his lost ship, he doesn’t care about the stupid sword stuck to his hip. The only thing he can be bothered to give a damn about is the Child.

Din does his best for Grogu. He gets up everyday, he works, he travels, he lives for Grogu. No one else.

He does an okay job at this too.

The parenting thing is… a learning process on his own. The Child, what with his immense powers and inability of speech, makes for an interesting dynamic. Din still isn’t a talker, less now, but he read an article about the importance of enrichment so he tries. He likes to think Grogu appreciates the effort.

They make the best of their nomad life. The kid learns to behave on public transit, Din learns the quickest way to check his weaponry to not hold up a line. Grogu stops fussing when it’s nap time, Din uses the opportunity to have time alone. Grogu uses his magic to eat a frog for lunch, Din builds a fire to camp for the night.

They’re content.

They’re okay.

Sometimes, and only sometimes in the rarest moments of bliss, Din can pretend everything is good and believe it. When he has enough credits to rent a ship for particularly long or dangerous excursion, he can close himself inside the bedchamber and do nothing. He can take off his helmet without paranoia, he can escape to a galaxy where the Razor Crest still exists. Where he doesn’t have a Darksaber or have to worry about an Empire. Where he doesn’t know of the existence of Jedi, or Inquisitors or—

He can pretend nothing changed. He is still who he was at the beginning of the cycle. He’s made no promises, no oaths, he’s not tied to anything or anyone. He’s totally and utterly free.

Din likes the dark. He doesn’t like much at all these days, but he likes the peace of nonexistence. He likes being able to forget, to live without a dragging burden or guilt or shame. He likes not being able to see two inches in front of his face. He likes being able to feel his face. He likes sleeping with his head on a pillow. He likes waking up without a direct stare of himself from the reflection of his helmet. He likes forgetting the helmet exists.

He likes forgetting that he likes forgetting the helmet exists.

The idea complicates things, so he forgets that too.

He is still a Mandalorian. That’s what he tells himself anyways. The helmet is… a technicality, and he convinces himself he never broke Creed to begin with. The Child saw him yes, but Din had also seen the face of his caretaker as a child. Neither of them burst into flames then, they won’t now. Boba Fett is also a Mandalorian whether he admits to such or not. He is born Mandalorian or… created. That alone gives greater credibility than Din has to the people.

He supposes the exposure to Migs Mayfeld was unwarranted. Although, according to New Republic record, Mayfeld is dead. There’s no reason he can’t have died in Din’s recollection either.

All who’s left is…

Din does a remarkable job of moving on. Truth be told, he never thinks of Lumina once. He forgets all about her, every little aspect. The way he should have after the first time. He doesn’t spend nights caught on what ifs or maybes or would’ve could’ve should’ves. He just, forgets. He’s far happier this way, he is. Life is less dramatic, uneventful overall and… a little boring. He blames the unfamiliarity of calm on peace, a stranger to his life for so long.

He isn’t complaining, all it is is a learning curve.

He hadn’t begun to feel anything close to normal until the third month. The first caught him hollow, irritable, angry. He slept and drank and slept and wandered and got into one too many needless fights.

In the second the headaches stopped. He wasn’t angry, he was tired. He felt guilt about everything, about nothing. But all the nothings he shouldn’t feel guilty about and all the everythings he should. He lived in a hole.

On the dawn of the third he decided to live again.

And living is hard.

Living is the most dreadful part of his day.

But it gets easier, somehow.

Easier when he’s occupied, when he’s with the kid, easier as he stops thinking about her.

Forgetting isn’t easy, until it is.

Though, he isn’t sure he likes it.

Within the Sanctuary on Tatooine, the lights of the fresher refuse to work. But every now and then one will flicker and reflect off a piece of armor.

He thinks it is symbolic after all.

---

Peli Motto’s 3-5 hangar is virtually unchanged. A few spare parts have disappeared, a few more having spawned. A small ship of some client taken where the Razor Crest should be. Pit droids scurry like rats, astromechs follow along with aimless direction. Din prefers the sight in the day, illusions remain uncommon.

He’s selfish to expect what he does and too proud to admit it. Everything has been a cyclical repetition so far, how dare it stop now after so much has happened.

He should be greeted with what he expects. It should all play out exactly the same. It has happened once it should happen again.

It does not.

For a moment, Din considers the possibility that he has finally learned.

But moments pass and he is the same.

Maybe he will always be.

--

“Thank you,” Peli says, leaned against some wall. For the past five hours they’ve worked in relative silence on what Din would classify as a piece of junk. A halfway skeleton of some starfighter from Naboo.

Of course it’s from Naboo.

Din peeks over the defunct astromech port, wrench in hand. “What?”

“Thank you,” she repeats. “She wanted to tell you that.”

“Who?”

“Do you remember that girl that was here way back? The one you kept asking about?”

Yes.

“Not really.”

“She lives here now.” Grogu is the one to react, his play built of nuts and bolts toppling. “Not here, but Mos Espa.”

“Can you hand over a circulator? Uh… three inch circumference.”

“You know, I like her. Comes in to help every now and then, works hard, doesn’t take payment. Used to ask about you.”

“That’s… kind of her. I think the parts are over there if you could just—”

“Lumina Fett. That’s her name. Remember that refugee story? No family, no nothing? Turns out she found em. Her old man came back here and took over Jabba’s place, runs the joint now. Guy with your reputation I’m sure could just… walk right in. Introduce yourself.”

“Why would I do that?”

Peli snorts. “Because you’re as obvious as a rancor. You need an excuse to see her.” She holds out a set of shiny shock absorbers. “And I need this delivered to the palace, they’re for her. Two porgs one stone. C’mon, take it.”

Reluctantly, he does.

“I’m always right,” Peli says, smug.

“What are you talking about?”

“Her. I told you you’d like her, didn’t I?” She bumps his side. “And you do. I can tell. If you didn’t you wouldn’t keep lookin at my door like you’re expecting someone to walk through.”

If only the sand could swallow him whole.

“It’s okay, she likes you too.”

---

Boba Fett is not a man of faith, on the contrary he is far from it. He submits to no man, no god. He has not once fallen to his knees in prayer and has never cursed a deity or power greater than he. The matter is all trivial. Faith did not spare his father and there is no god to thank for his test tube creation. Kaminoans deserve no such honor.

He is without.

Life is simpler this way.

There is no fate, no prophecy, no one way life is meant to be. Life only is. Destiny is but an excuse to alleviate misery. All that happens is of natural effect, not a greater plan. No ineffable strategy.

The Force exists, sure. Boba is in no position to deny the fact. What he is in position to deny however, is its power. It’s ironclad grip on the galaxy, on the living. Power lays in the hands of the creations not the creator.

Every problem has a solution. A perfectly logical, reasonable, and achievable solution. All that is required is patience.

A patience running rather thin.

--

“My methods are unorthodox but proven in many studies of my people.” A Rodian speaks to him the floor of his throne room within Jabba’s defunct palace. Changes made in the past months have been both minimal and monumental. 

“How unorthodox are we talking?” Fennec asks. She sits on the arm of his seat, wiping the tip of her rifle, a performative action.

“There is a creature I possess which I have named Cxhenc, after the philosopher. It is not unlike a leech. You see, the Cxhenc will attach itself to the base of the patient’s skull and in doing so release a chemical—”

“I’ve heard enough,” Boba says. “You may go.”

“Buzz kill,” Fennec mutters at his exit.

“You’re serious? Absolutely not.”

“Don’t you want to know what it does? Could be useful in other cases.”

He thinks it over, she does have a point. She usually does. “We’ll call him,” he decides. “Who’s next?”

“Doctor Shuez Bhilba,” the 8D8 droid introduces, arm out. From the palace steps walks a human female. “Doctor Bhilba holds many degrees from the esteemed Academy of Medicine located in Coruscant. Including human neurological operations and advanced psychologics.”

“Coruscant?” Boba whispers.

“You said to cast a wider net,” Fennec responds.

“Cast wide, not tell the whole galaxy.”

“She knows as much as the rest. Daimyo Fett of Tatooine requires a royal physician. It can’t get worse than a parasitic lobotomy.”

Doctor Bhilba bows, reaching the pair. She wears glasses which slide down the bridge of her nose and a lab coat with a foreign emblem. “Lord Fett,” she says. “It is an honor to meet you. I’ve heard many stories since your come to power.”

“Flattery will get you no where with his lordship,” Fennec scoffs. “Whores are for confidence, jesters for stories. Not doctors.”

“My apologies, I mean no offense. I understand your hesitancy what with my tutelage, however I want to assure I hold no connection to the New Republic or any form of galactic government. My application comes in no way to betray, I promise you. I believe my skills will be of tremendous use.”

“How do you mean?” Boba asks.

“You are Boba Fett,” Bhilba says. “You are a clone, a man who has survived the unlivable, beaten the unbeatable. A man who despite all odds and in mere months establishes himself as a force matched only by Jabba the Hutt with one drastic difference. I’ve seen articles, met with locals. You are in the midst of accomplishing something truly good, truly great. Forgive my saying, but I am shocked you haven’t sought professional psychological aide sooner. It shows your resilience and your keen awareness to be unafraid to ask for help.”

“Hold on,” Fennec says. “Lord Fett does not seek psychological aide. He seeks a physician.”

“Which I too am qualified for, however it does not take even a single doctorate to deduce the true reason for your request of applicants. Great physicians can be found on Tatooine or any world. The reason there has been no hire is a lack of trust in psychology. Bacta heals the body not the brain.”

“She’s good,” Boba mumbles.

“Too good,” Fennec responds. “Doctor Bhilba, do you question Lord Fett’s sanity?”

“Certainly not,” she says. “In fact… I would need clearer consultation, but I classify Lord Fett as being entirely sane. Stressed, anxious slightly, and exhausted, but sane. Am I wrong then in thinking there is perhaps another in need?”

“She is good,” Fennec admits. “Your observations impress the Daimyo.”

“Thank you.”

“This is not to say the imaginary patient does indeed exist.”

“Of course not.”

“Should you however come across a patient with… deep psychological distress, how would you treat them?”

“Deep psychological distress?” She repeats. 

“Anxiety, attacks of panic, insomnia, general detachment, paranoia, hallucinations, and being a risk of harm to oneself and others.”

“My,” Doctor Bhilba says. ”And, there is no way for me to meet this… Imaginary patient?”

“Of course not,” Fennec says. “They do not exist.”

“Of course. In any case I would treat them as I would any client. The first few sessions would be spent in simply building trust. Then after assessment I would start medications and general therapy. My goal would be to ensure the patient feel safe above all else. Psychosis can be terrifying, but I’ve treated it many times. There may not always be a cure, but there is always a better.”

“I like you,” Boba says. “I do not like many people.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Should we take you on as the royal physician you will need to relocate permanently,” Fennec says. “And you will be bound to never speak of your work to any being under any circumstance.”

“I understand. I established a very successful practice on my homeworld of Naboo. Leaving would be difficult, but I have an excellent team whom I know will continue to do great things.”

“Naboo?” Boba repeats.

“Yes. I’ve been aide to our queens, common folk, and members of aristocracy since completing my studies.”

“No.”

Doctor Bhilba blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said no. You’re dismissed.”

“Sir I—I’m sorry I don’t understand.”

“Lord Fett has dismissed you,” Fennec says. “Quite kindly might I add. I will not be. Leave.”

Boba slumps against the throne when the doctor is out of sight. “From now on we stick to calls in the Outer Rim.”

“Perhaps we should take a break, just for a short while. She said so herself, the call has been out for some time now, it’s suspicious you’ve found no one.”

“I don’t care if they think I’m mad.”

“You should. Mad kings rarely go down in splendor. Should the people get even an inkling that you are unfit to rule they will revolt. We’ll stop now and revisit later.”

“After last night I don’t know how much longer we can wait.” He sighs. “Gods help us.”

“Lord Fett,” the 8D8 speaks. “There is still one visitor awaiting your audience. Shall I dismiss them?”

“Yes,” he answers. “I’ll see no one else today. Preparations must be made for Freetown.”

“What are the chances I get an exception?” Down the winding steps comes the Mandalorian Din Djarin, beskar shining as bright as a knights. His head bows, fist to his chest.

To note Boba Fett as being a particular fan of Din Djarin may be a gross exaggeration. He does not like the Mandalorian. He does not like his unpainted beskar and how it shifts in the light. Boba does not like his stubbornness or arrogance. For the past few months Boba has been bound to specifically not like Din. It is his duty as caretaker to not like Din, and he does not.

He does however, like the Mandalorian’s dedication. His oath for a Creed Boba could not care for. His gall in ever showing his beskar helm to any of them again. And how absolutely pitiful he looks right now.

That Boba enjoys very much.

“You’re here,” Fennec says. Boba knows her too well now, and so he knows her attempt to mask surprise.

“Not without reason.”

“And…” Boba says. “What would that be?”

The Mandalorian presents open palms, a shock absorber in each. “I have a delivery.”

---

The palace hangar is a large and desolate thing. Fuel canisters litter half empty and half full, the flooring untiled, windows unheard of. What lighting the room has is limited and dimmed, more so casted in shadow than life.

Really it looks more like Peli’s than Peli’s ever did.

A rather unfortunate guarantee in this exact situation.

“You’re just in time. Thanks for coming so last minute.” Comes as he enters, the owner bent over a speeder bike. A girl crouches at the bike, running her hands over the exposed power cell.  She whispers, “Let’s see…” The speeder struggles, wheezing for life. It rumbles on the ground, repulser lifters desperately wanting to ignite. Instead, the light above Din flashes.

“Fuck.” She stands, back muscles stretching under a black shirt. “Whatever. Listen, I did everything you said and I’m telling you the shock absorbers the speeder came with can’t handle the new engine. If I don’t have that double padded K2-R, the second I hit top speeds I’m gonna fly right off this thing.”

For the second time in his life, and the first with discontent, the Mandalorian’s heart flutters.

What. The. Fuck.

“I’m not Peli,” he says, an echo of the past.

The other turns quick, nearly breaking their neck in the process. Suspicions confirmed. They’re more than a girl. They’re the reason Din’s brain malfunctions and now the both of them are staring like they’d just seen a ghost.

Ironic.

She has speeder oil smeared across her cheek, her clothing is worn and stained. Her hair loosely tied back, but too short to stay. Curled bangs escape to the front. Her eyes are wide and bright grey under the light. They sit with overwhelming grief and unending exhaustion.

If Din couldn’t run away then, he sure as hell can’t now. His dignity is already lost, and he’s proven to be too weak to escape fate.

That’s the problem with only being okay. Din lies to himself more than anyone else. Because while he can say he’s moved on, life catches up and shows him a mirror. It can bring back every memory he locks away, every feeling he convinced himself didn’t matter and it will only mock his reaction.

Because while Din has forgotten everything and never thinks of Lumina once, he’s also builds exceptions. He’s perfectly fine and okay without her until it rains. He’s okay until he walks through trees. He doesn’t care until he reaches for his knife. Until he gets in bed with all his anger and frustrations. He’s doesn’t think of Lumina once unless he sees a flower. He forgets she exists until he looks at the moon and watches the sunrise and is faced with stars.

Those stupid fucking stars.

Din would give anything to never see one again.

And now there’s one right in front of him. Her. Lumina. His flower. His sun. His star. Looking… utterly terrified.

No one moves. No one speaks.

So Din does the only reasonable thing he can think of. 

He says, “Hi.”

And Lumina responds with the only reasonable thing she can think of. 

“Hi.”

And so they both find that neither of them are very reasonable people and the mutual action does very little to suppress any panic at all. They continue to stare thinking one may simply disappear or the galaxy will self correct and vanish the other itself.

The galaxy does no such thing.

By this point they should have each learned that the galaxy is as kind as a god. That is to say, not at all.

As it turns out Din is still moronic when it comes to planning. The space between their words are longer than he would prefer but he can’t necessarily blame her.

Not this time.

The light above flickers, and neither flinches.

“What brings you?” She asks.

Nothing. Everything.

“I was in the area… Thought I’d pop by. You’re a mechanic now?” His feet feel heavier than normal, trudging. He places the absorbers on the nearest table, their fall sounding like wrenches.

“I wouldn’t go that far. I help Peli in Mos Eisley where I can, take more off days than I do on.” She slides off thick padded gloves. A bandage wraps her right wrist, ending at her knuckles. Her hands shove deep into the pockets of her pants. “Gives me something to do.”

“Do you like it?”

She shrugs. “Beats calculating water tax.” Her weight shifts, sinking an inch deeper. “Where’s your kid?”

“With Peli,” Din answers, ignoring the pang of it all. “I didn’t know if it’d be good for him. Coming down here. He’s good, really good actually, but—”

“I get it. I wouldn’t bring him either.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You did. It’s okay.” A fluttered chime sounds, echoing against the walls. “That’s dinner.” Lumina wipes oil off her face with a red rag, staining the fabric. “Will you be there?”

“Yes,” he says, sudden and eager. “Dinner.”

“Yes,” she repeats laughing, though the smile is never full. “Dinner.”

---

Din can’t help but wonder whether the circumstances of dinner is a direct dictation of Boba, or rather a natural fall of events. The dining hall is large and undecorated, a long table in the center. One chair sits at the head, another to its right, two to its left. Servant droids deliver the banquet from the kitchen, but Lumina—now cleaned from earlier—sets the table. Glassware, plates, spoons, forks. Fennec places the knives when she enters. Passing Lumina she says, “I’ll take care of clean up tonight,” and doesn’t accept argument.

Boba enters last, helmet removed and held against his hip. His skin is cleared from last they’ve seen of another. Scaring relatively gone, tan returned. He pays Din no mind, which isn’t entirely unexpected. Instead, the newest Daimyo hugs Lumina by the side and kisses the top of her head. Their hushed conversation is one Din can’t make out. The bulk comes from Boba, Lumina nodding along. She speaks thrice, the second after she looks at Din, the third a simple confirmation of whatever it is Boba says.

Lumina sits first then Boba. Him at the head, her the single chair. Fennec takes the left closest to. Din is stiff taking place next to her, the empty seat given with no setting.

Food is passed between the three, Lumina taking the smallest of servings, Boba the largest, Fennec in the middle. The scene feels too intimate for Din’s intrusion. Too nuclear.

“Adi,” Boba says. “Have you finished your bike?”

“Not yet.” She cuts the same piece of meat over and over, pushing it around. “I will tonight.”

“Don’t stay up too late.”

“I know.”

“You go to Freetown in the morning.”

“I know, Boba. I’ll be there. Are the documents ready?”

“The majordomo approved them this afternoon,” Fennec says. “He compliments your skill.”

“Does he still oppose my proposal for an election?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t care for his compliments.” Fennec snorts, Boba shoots her a behave look only a father could master. “I don’t,” she reiterates. “The people need representation and fair council.”

“I agree,” Boba says.

“A new mayor must be selected by those they will run, not us.”

“Adi, I said I agree.”

She slows. “You do?”

“Yes. I do. Fennec has read through your proposal, it’s excellent. The initiative will take time to implement, but your strategy is good.”

Fennec nods, mid bite of a fried porg. “Good job,” she says, mouth full.

Lumina says, “Thank you.”

The table falls into silence again, forks and knives scraping plates, wine pouring into Boba and Fennec’s glasses.

Boba clears his throat. “Din Djarin,” he says. No one misses Lumina’s fork dropping, a loud clink clink clink. “Tell me, how goes the life of the Mand’alor? Fulfilling I hope.”

“I am not Mand’alor,” Din says in his chest. “And I do not plan on becoming.”

“Yet you still carry the Darksaber? Seems counter productive.” He pushes his plate aside, dabbing the corner of his mouth. “Have you given the position any thought before dismissal?”

Din does not answer. He thinks it a growing habit, comfort in the unknown. 

“Ad,” Boba says. “I should like the Mand’alor accompany you to Freetown in the morning. It will serve as his first taste of diplomacy. What say you to that?”

She sounds like a child, a quiet, “What?”

“I think it an excellent idea,” Boba continues. “Don’t you agree Mand’alor? Your first taste of politics coming from an expert?”

He wishes he could hesitate. “Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, I would like that.”

“Ad?” She gives no answer, he tries again. “Lumina?”

Her body startles first, then her mind. She sits up impossibly straight. “Yes, yes of course,” she says at once. In her momentary silence, she looks in a daze.

“Lumina,” Fennec says.

She jumps again, standing her chair knocks over. Watching the floor her hands turn to fists. She mumbles, “Excuse me,” and hurries out.

Din’s motion to stand is waved down by Fennec.

“I do hate when you’re right,” Boba says, sipping wine.

“I always am,” she says.

“You may take a plate to the kitchen to eat in privacy,” Boba says to him. “I will have a room prepared for you when you are finished.”

“You said she was fine,” Din tells Fennec.

“You said you were done with her,” she counters. “I guess we both lied.”

“I should talk to her.”

“You will not,” she snorts. “You’ll go to the kitchen and eat your food like a good little Mandalorian. Then you’ll go to bed, get up, go to Freetown, get that treaty signed, and leave. I will talk to Lumina, and you,” she says to Boba, “will reconsider Doctor Bhilba.”

“The answer is no.”

Fennec stands, grabbing a leg of nuna. She takes a bite, juices drip. “Then find your sister.”

---

Lumina resides in the second largest room of the palace. Her walls are circular, the floor a white marble tile. Her door is atypical, a thick curtain on a steel rod, a carried theme to both her closet and fresher. Her bed is larger than necessary and softer than she knows what to do with. The sheets are perfectly steamed to conform to the shape. She thinks it was meant to be Boba’s but bacta does little to heal bones sore with age.

She can’t open her windows, though there are plenty. A desk is littered with paperwork and ink, a small computer terminal, books on books, open, torn, written in. A potted plant, yet to bloom. A map of the known galaxy, pinned to the wall.

She sits in the center of her room on the floor, legs crossed, one bedside lamp dimmed. She stretches out, breathes, and retracts. The motion repeats several times over until the pain of the pull subsides.

Three knocks come at the limestone outside, one right after another. She’s slow to rise, slower to approach. The curtain retreats to the image of the Mandalorian, tall and not so proud.

He says, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.” Groggy, like he’d just woken up.

She moves aside, an open invitation to which he accepts.

He ends standing where she sat, turning. “It’s nice.” Pointing to a seven-stringed hallikset in the corner. “I didn’t know you played.”

“I didn’t. Boba gave it to me. He says it’s important I have hobbies. I get too caught in my work here, it worries him.” Unsure how to move, Din begins to pace. Looking anywhere feels like an invasion of privacy. “Listen,” Lumina says, sensing the unease. “I want to apologize for earlier. I got overwhelmed, I didn’t mean to cause a scene. Fennec talked it over with me, you coming along… and I agree, I—it would be very beneficial for you to come. I can—” she stops short, a deep exhale passing her lips.

Stepping forward is a guttural response from him.

So is her step back.

Lumina takes the moment to recompose, blinking away the oncoming panic. “You’re welcomed to come along if you wish,” she says. A true diplomat in ways, she passes Din in favor of her desk. “I thought it best if you read over the treaty yourself and then posed questions afterwards rather than my explaining it to you. I write better than I speak.” Instead of handing the datapad to Din directly, she places the tablet on the trunk at the edge of her bed between them. “I’ve met with Marshal Vanth twice before, he is kind, mostly agreeable. With luck the deal will be simple. Now, I know taxes and tributes will be an issue but I’ve commodified some numbers and with the elimination of spice our annual capital growth is already going to shrink horribly and we need to make up losses… What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Din asks. “You’re standing here talking about economics like any of this is normal and all I can think about is why didn’t you tell me? I deserve an answer.”

She whispers, “I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“I said I—”

“I know what you said, I’m asking why.  What did I do to make you think you couldn’t tell me? That I would see you any less? I already knew so much about you, or I thought I did. I knew how you grew up, I knew your connections, I knew you could get sick and act differently. I knew you weren’t normal. I knew that and I never held any of it against you. Everyone else called you something, everyone else hated you. I didn’t. So why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I couldn’t,” she replies. “I tried. I tried so many times. Do you think I wanted to betray you? Do you think it was easy for me to lie to you every single day? It was hell. You were so wonderful, even when you were a dick you were a million times better than me. I know that you’re hurt, you have every right to be. But all this anger you’ve had for me for what… four, five months?” She points to herself, jabbing her own chest. “I have had to sit with every day of my life. You always give me shit for leaving but you left! You left! You get to leave, you get to run away and forget. I don’t. So I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I used to kill Jedi when I was teenager. Okay? I’m sorry I didn’t want to ruin the one good thing I’ve had in years.”

“You wouldn’t have ruined anything—”

She laughs, palms pressed to her eyes groaning. “Gods just shut up! Are you kidding? Grogu scared the shit out of you and he’s a baby. You called him dangerous. You wanted to send him away because you couldn’t handle it. Where does that leave me?”

He hesitates. “We would’ve figured it out.”

“Din, I didn’t think you were actually here until Boba said something. Do you know how many doctors they’ve brought for me? There is no figuring this out, this is just who I am.”

Din is too quiet for either of their comforts. He takes the tablet from the bunk, gives it a once over glance. “You wrote this?”

“I did.”

“I think you need to give yourself more credit. Cause you’re a lot more than you think.”

“Maybe.”

“You used to freak out when you thought someone wasn’t real,” Din says. “Why talk to me?”

She shrugs.

“I missed you. A lot has happened. I wanted someone to talk to. Take your pick. Why are you here in the middle of the night?”

He repeats. “Take your pick.”

---

Tatooine is significantly colder at night, moons high in the sky. Lumina and Din exit the palace with relative ease, Gamorrean guards asleep at their post. She wears a cape with a large hood drooped at her neck. They keep a simple distance, sabers on their hips swinging in tandem.

“You once asked if I knew of the Force,” she says. “Do you remember this?”

He does, so he nods. “I do.”

“What do you know of it?”

Within the helmet he frowns. “It’s…” He searches for the words because in truth he does not know. Not really. The definition given to him by Ahsoka feels too textbook and manufactured. Like it were to be given to hundreds so that no further questions may be asked. “It’s… energy, of life.”

She nods once. “Do you know what that means?”

He does not, and admits such. “No.”

“For as long as sentients have existed,” Lumina says. “The Force has been studied. No one knows what it is, not really.  It’s everything, and nothing, and it’s everywhere, but also no where. All at once, all of the time.”

“Right,” Din responds curt. “How does that work?”

“Think of it like the air. You can’t see it, but you know its there and sometimes you can feel it. The Force is like that, except it never ceases to exist. Not in space or water or dirt… really it is all of that, except it’s never tangible either. It just is. Does that make sense?”

“I guess.”

“There are two sides, like a moon. Light and dark. The dark is cold, lonely. It’s an infection that feels like it can never be cured. It’s being trapped in a frozen lake wishing for anything to pull yourself out with but nothing is ever within reach. So you get angry, and you hurt. My father—” she says with far greater ease than ever before. “He held so much hurt for all I knew him. He passed his hurt to me, encouraged I grow my own. I am in the dark, I always have been. A Jedi would call me a Sith. I’m not given a choice to disagree.”

“And the light?”

“I wouldn’t know, but I imagine it’s beautiful.”

“So… Moonlight is good?”

“Yeah,” Lumina whispers. “Moonlight is good.”

--

Lumina takes her lightsaber in her hands, twisting at parts. “This weapon belonged to Ahsoka Tano when she was young. My father trained her before he got sick, and gifted it to me when I came of age. There is a crystal inside which…” She struggles, pulling said crystal out. It’s presented to Din between her thumb and forefinger, a dull red. “Gives the sword its power. We call it kyber. The crystal connects to the Force, we connect to the crystal.”

“Why red?”

“They were blue once, when I got it. My people we… conduct a process called bleeding. This crystal is bled.”

“Ahsoka’s were white.”

“They were,” Lumina confirms. “I don’t know why. I’ve never seen anything like it. Or yours.”

“That’s reassuring,” Din mutters.

“Could mean nothing. The Darksaber is older than the Republic, maybe there were different methods of building back then. Have you tried using it at all?”

“Very little, nothing to count. It’s heavy.”

Lumina reassembles her saber. “Let me see?”

Vertical, the Darksaber ignites, black blade shining. His elbows drop.

“Are you trying to hold it up?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t. You focus on its weight, it will only be heavier. Close your eyes… are they closed?”

Truthfully he answers, “Yes.”

“I want you to breathe, slowly like you’re learning. Pay attention to everything else. The temperature, the smell, the sand, the sky. Relax into all of it.”

Din can’t all together describe the sensation. Not with any hint of accuracy anyways. He worries he does it wrong at first, focused too closely on the ‘other’. His feet, his hands, the weight of his helmet. Her. Gradually the oddness settles and all becomes natural. A wind or a flame, a particle of sand in a greater world. Light.

“What do you call this?”

“Meditation. Technically a Jedi practice but… well I find it helpful. How’s the sword feel?”

“Better.”

Sounds crackle again, he sees a red hue flashing from behind his eyelids and visor. Pressure comes from the sword. He pushes back.

“I want you to remember that when you use this sword, you are using energy. It’s your job to direct with intention. Understand that the currents are a part of you. The kyber wants to connect and you should want to allow it. Think of it as liberation, not a hinderance.”

The pressure vanishes, as does the weight.

--

Din asks about her wrist, Lumina too caught up in rubbing the wrapped bone to pursue conversation. She blames the sprain on an accidental fall the day prior.

He isn’t sure why he still lets her lie, but it becomes a comfort to them both.

--

“You’ll like Krrasantan,” Lumina tells him. “Even for a Wookie he’s huge. Scary too, but secretly sensitive. When he found out I used to live with Trandoshans he wouldn’t speak to me for a week.”

“Have you heard from any of them since?” Din asks. “The Trandoshans.”

“I’m not allowed to use the comms,” she says, head shaking. “Fennec monitors my calls. I’m can only call her or Boba when they’re not home. She says it’s a security issue, but I know better. I do miss Sully though… Don’t tell BK. His dad and Boba were friends. Went bounty hunting together a lot actually. ”

“Speaking of, I hear you’re officially a Fett.”

Her head ducks. “Who told?”

“Peli.”

“Of course.”

“So it’s true?”

“It is.” She kicks sand, watching the clump blow into the air. “Fennec introduced me as it once before to the old mayor. I had a meeting with him to discuss the spice trade, he said he’d only talk to Fett. Fennec told him I was his kid and since then it stuck. People talk a lot around here, word spreads. I still can’t tell how Boba feels about it.”

“I’d think he’d be welcoming to you claiming his name.”

“Oh he is. You should see how he lights up when he hears Lady Fett get thrown around the palace.” A smile grows on her the same, the first real one he’s seen since arriving. “I think it suits me well. Lumina Fett.  It’s my favorite name I’ve ever had.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“He never claims me as his.” Her brightness dims, pace slowing. “He explicitly says he isn’t my father whenever someone says otherwise. Doesn’t explain why either. Fennec says it makes him feel guilty, whatever that means.”

“So… you guys are what exactly?”

“Family,” Lumina says. “We’re family.”

--

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Lumina says, their walk to the palace gate cautious in step. “Marshal Dune.”

“How’d you hear?”

To Din’s knowledge word had only been sent to Nevarro by way of Adelphi Ranger, Capitan Carson Teva. The coming and going of Moff Gideon still unknown to the Core, a ‘nonissue’ so to say.

“Boba has access to New Republic channels, not that they know. Remnants from Jabba’s rule, the tech is old but it works. I like to listen when he’s not looking. It’s harder to stay in the loop now that I don’t live in the Core. Boba offered to send something to her family when I told him but…”

“Alderaanian.” 

“Yeah. Alderaanaian. I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

They come down the steps into the throne room, empty, unlit. “It is, actually,” Lumina says. “It’s entirely my fault. I failed in killing Ghost, in turn she killed Gideon. She killed your friend. That is my fault, and I am sorry.”

“You’re certain it was her?”

“Who else would have done it? If Gideon were to successfully arrive to the New Republic, who knows what he would have said. What they would have made him say. I’ve already ruined the secret of Inquisitors. The New Republic is a beast in disguise. They wouldn’t rest until he said more. He failed his duty to the Empire, proving himself no longer useful. Killing him was a security measure. I would’ve authorized it myself honestly.” 

Din continues to follow Lumina back to her room. He realizes he shouldn’t. Their farewells and goodnights should end now. The night has been long, the morning will be longer.

He does not think himself a man of sound mind.

Lumina pulls back her curtain, leaning in the entryway. “She loved him,” she says, suddenly. “She loved Gideon and she killed him. We grew up together, she spent years looking for me and the moment I turn out to be different, I’m no one.” She takes a breath, leaning her head back. “Gideon was the first person to show her any kind of love, empathy, desire. Whatever you want to call it, that is what he provided her. And she wanted him just the same, and now he is dead, she is missing, I am here. I worry I may have underestimated her.”

“You think she’ll come back?”

“Oh I know she will,” Lumina chuckles, soulless. “The question is when. How. That I’m still working out.”

“I would argue it’s not your problem anymore.”

She walks inside, casually imploring a use of the Force to hang her cloak. “I was the first to come back from the dead. I am still the rightful heir, and I’ve yet to abdicate. I should like to dissolve my inheritance before others are reborn as well. When rooms are crowded, navigation becomes trickier. If the downfall of my father’s empire is not my problem, it is no one’s.”

---

Lumina sits at the top of her bed, Din across on the edge of the mattress. With the Force, she closes her curtain door, hooking it’s fabric latch. “They took out my door a couple days ago.” She calls it a ‘safety issue’, and doesn’t elaborate.

She falls onto her back, he looks up. Unnoticed until now, her painted ceiling. A dark galactic blue, hand drawn thin white lines connecting various dots. Nothing is labeled or really makes logical sense. The image isn’t one Din would recognize.

“Finding a hobby meant I had to try everything at least once,” Lumina says.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

“Descriptive.”

“Shut up. It’s a map.”

“To?”

“No clue. I would see it in my dreams a lot, visions I guess. Could be nothing.”

It’s too obvious he struggles with the words. “Do your visions… usually mean nothing?”

She snorts. “My visions usually don’t happen. Not on their own anyways. I’m more of a historian than a psychic.” She sits up, preemptive to his declaration of confusion. “Psychics see the future, I see the past. I touch an object, I see it’s history. Some things more vivid than others. Sight, touch, smell, sound, everything. It’s why hotel beds make me uncomfortable. I’m good at controlling it, but some things just set me off.”

“Your gloves…” he says, a sudden realization.

“Like you said, dirt talks to me,” she chuckles. “And everything else.”

“The clones, on Nevarro. They’re what made you sick.”

“The last time something that bad happened was when I grabbed my dad’s lightsaber as a kid. I was out for a week straight. When memories are sourced from the dark side I go into shock. On Nevarro it was the clones, in Arkanis it was the school. I can’t handle it, so I drop.”

“Shit,” Din swears. “Fuck I’m sorry.”

She ignores this. “I can access memory too,” she says, like the notion has only just to come to her. “In sentients. I can go inside anyones mind and do whatever I want to their consciousness. With Doctor Pershing I… I let him relive memories of his mother. I used to do it with Grogu all the time, let him remember his life before.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not when the other agrees.” He can tell she isn’t totally there, mind wandering. “ It’s totally painless, I’ve been told euphoric.”

“And when they don’t agree?”

“Unbearable. It’s how I would information out of Rebels, Senators. I just—go in. It’s what I did to Gideon…”

“What?”

“It’s what I did to Gideon,” she says again, growing confidence. “I went inside his mind. I took out every memory he had of me. Everything just—I made it all disappear so he couldn’t turn me in. Din, I—I have an idea. And you can say no but… I think I can help you.”

“Help me?” He repeats. 

“I can feel your emotions. I know you’re not totally comfortable right now, with me. I understand. You’d rather not be here, you’d rather not see me. I’ve done… irreparable damage to you, your friends, your kid. You never wanted to see me again and now you’re here because Boba and Fennec made you think that’s what you want, right? What if… What if I—What if I made you forget me?”

“I don’t follow.”

“I can access your memories,” Lumina says. “I can alter your memories. The topic is specific enough, I can go in and make it so you’re totally free from me. You’ll never have to think about me again because I won’t exist. Every single thing, as far back as you want to go, can be gone. Everything. You won’t even remember you showed me your face.”

That gets his attention.

“You’d still remember,” he says.

She rubs her wrist. “That can be remedied.”

“What about everything else? I wouldn’t know any of it?”

“If it didn’t involve me, you would. If it did… you have two options. Total erasure, or your memory just gets spotted. You go to Trask, not Arkanis. You lose your ship, the kid, but I’m not there. I’m not saved. You might feel like you’re forgetting something but you’ll never know what. You can leave all of this behind you. Forever.”

 Before his conscious can command otherwise, the Mandalorian removes his helmet, dropping the beskar onto the marble floor. Were it a simpler material, it would shatter.

In some ways he’d be better off if it did.

Her shock is the same as the first time, if not greater.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” he says. “I need you to look at me when I say this. I am never letting you do anything to control my mind again. Never. Because out of every single thing you’ve done to me, that is the worst. I thought I was going insane. You made me hate you. You made me say a million things I don’t believe, things I still don’t believe.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I thought—”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t think. You don’t think. If you did you would know better. Why the hell would I be here? Why do you think I’m still here? I know you’re not familiar with free will, but I am capable of making my own choices. This is my choice. You are my choice. You have been for a very long time and you’re the only one who can’t see it.”

“I don’t understand. You said—you said we were done before I did anything to you. You said that. You acted on that. I’ve respected that, I always have. I’m trying to help you and—and you’re mad at me.”

“How can I not be mad?”

“How can you? Every good thing I’ve done has been for you. This is a good thing. This is good. I’m letting you let me go. I need you to let me go so I can let you go. I waited for so long for you to change your mind. All I wanted was for you to change your mind and come back. You didn’t. You stayed away and I never blamed you. I’m never going to have a good life. I’m never going to escape this. You can. You have. I want to. If you let me go, if you say you’re finished, I can be too. I want to let you go. I want to know you’re doing good. I can if I know that I’m not hurting you anymore. So stop telling me I’m wrong. I know what I’m doing, I know what I’m asking.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Why?”  

“Because it is impossible, Lumina,” Din snaps, whispered. “You would have to erase every memory I’ve ever had. You would have to kill me. There is not a point of this galaxy that I can go to be free of you. I see you everywhere I am. Every dream. Every sun. Every star. I see you. I want you. I have spent months trying to do nothing but forget you and I cannot. You have put a hunger in me that I cannot feed in your absence. I starve without you. I’ve broken my Creed for you. I’ve yet to face my people due to my own fear. You have made my life a hell worse than any sin I could commit on my own. But that is a hell I would walk a million times over if it meant having you for just a moment. You have never insulted me more than to say I would want otherwise when I want you. I have always wanted you.”

Lumina says nothing at first, until she says everything.

“Do you still love me?”

He does not respond, bringing their lips together.

---

“You’re so handsome,” Lumina whispers. She cradles the side of his face, he keeps her steady on his lap. It’s all hands and mouth, attempts at closeness. His armor is off, placed delicately on the ground. Her shirt hrown somewhere unknown, so is his. He unbuttons her pants but they’ve yet to be removed. “I wanted to tell you then. I couldn’t believe it. I always had an idea, hard not to. But… Stars you’re beautiful Din.”

He tells her to shut up, mumbled into her neck and in-between kisses. He buries himself there, nose pressed to her shoulder at the start of her scar.

“You are,” she says. “I was right. The galaxy wouldn’t know what to do with itself if it got to see you like this all the time.”

He bites her. “Quit.” His chest is too tight, too full. He’d be better off if she killed him now, save the embarrassment.

“How do you say that? Gar mesh’la?”

Din shoves his hand down the front of Lumina’s pants, two fingers going directly inside. Her gasp is silenced, his mouth swallowing the sound, his tongue pushing inside. His fingers hook in a practiced way, pumping in and out. 

“I said shut up,” he whispers. “Boba walks in I’m dead.”

“Don’t—Do not talk about Boba right—now.”

There’s pride in Din, knowing she���s just as responsive as she was. Knowing he’s the cause.

He pulls out, the sound making his head spin. Selfishly, he takes time to inspect the mess, a long quiet groan. “Go turn off the lights.”

Her left hand raises above their heads, with a twirl of her wrist the power cuts.

“Gods,” Din mutters. He takes a hold of Lumina’s waist, turning to lay her down. He yanks her pants over the swell of her ass. “This whole fucking time…”

“Lights are new,” she tells him, moving up to assist in the removal. “Can’t control it. Better at turning off. Not good at turning anything on worth shit.”

He grabs her hand, placing it over the warm swell between his legs. He squeezes rough over the fabric saying, “You are.”

She squeaks, “Oh.”

“There she is,” Din whispers. He guides her palm, rubbing slow strokes. “There’s my shy girl.” His other hand unbuttons his pants, shoving them down, pulling himself out. “Used to think it was the other way. Only pretended to be all sweet. ’S the other way isn’t it? You just act scary. Don’t know better.”

“Fuck,” she whispers. “I am scary.”

“Mm yeah…. terrifying.”

“Fuck you.”

He cups her jaw. “I’m trying.” He guides her mouth to his cock, which she accepts graciously. “My pretty girl,” he says, breathless. “Oh my Sarad.”

That gets her, a high whine around Din. Her hand snakes between her legs, rubbing at her clit. Din pulls her off as soon as he notices, which isn’t for some time in his current state.

“No,” he says. “I take care of you. Me.”

She lets him.

Like there was ever an argument not to.

Din lays her down again, mouth following to kiss. He’s never been one to like the taste of himself, but from her mouth it’s all so sweet. His fingers find their way inside again.

“Have you…” he tries to ask, brushing their noses together.

“No,” she answers. “No one. Tried once. Got drunk. Sad. Punched him. Threw up.”

“How far—”

“He kissed me. That’s it. Hated it. Called me a bitch.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“Please,” she moans. Though it could just be so he’d hurry along.

“Hold on baby. Hold on almost.”

“You?” She asks. “Did you?”

“Have I?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Tried.”

“Tried?”

“Went to Canto. Moon. She looked like you, wanted… needed someone like you.”

She pulls away, holding his jaw. “What happened?”

“A lot. Accent was wrong,” he mutters, embarrassed. “Called me Mando. Wasn’t you. She got naked, I got pissed, left.”

“You left her naked?” Lumina asks.

“Yeah.”

“Did you pay?”

Now he moves back. “What?”

“Did you pay her? You know… for her services? She got naked, she deserves to be paid.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m very funny.”

“You’re not—” He does laugh though, quiet. “Fuck me.”

“I’m trying,” she mimics. “Hurry up.”

Din kisses her once. “Brat.”

She laughs. “Can’t change everything.”

They don’t take long, after Din enters. She’s sweet as ever, taking without issue. Things slow to a crawl, pressed to the hilt, they become acutely aware of what exactly it is they’re doing.

“Are you okay?” Din asks, whispered. He moves at a snail’s pace, gentle. Focused more on grinding and getting her comfortable than any real fucking.

If this can be called something as simple as fucking.

He thinks not.

“Yeah… Yeah just, thinking.”

“I know. Me too.” Lumina rubs at his stubble, thumb circling the one spot hair never seems to grow. He turns, kissing her palm. “I missed you,” he whispers. “Feels like I shouldn’t.”

“We’re fucked up,” she tells him. “’S why we work.”

Din thrusts after that, slow and cautious movements soon turning fast, needy. He fucks into her like its his dying day. She takes it all and begs for more.

Lumina releases first, without warning. He feels her tightening, her squirms, hears his name pass from her lips.

“Din.”

He comes after, her sound the key to nirvana. His mind fogs, muscles weaken, filling her. Pulling out, he collapses besides her, panting.

She looks over.

“I still love you,” she says, catching her breath. “That part was never a lie.”

Fuck.

---

The air is sweet, comforting when Lumina wakes. She faces the Mandalorian’s bare back, running her fingers over every scar. She could stare at him for the rest of eternity and at last know peace.

The suns have yet to rise, the room is dark. She is the most herself she has felt in ages.

This is halcyon remembered.

Gods she could die now and find no bitterness in what awaits.

Lumina smiles, she can’t believe she remembers how to do that, leaning her head on him. Whatever this is, it is real. He is real. It is good. It is just, it is right.

Daybreak cannot come soon enough. The stars have been fun but she aches for the suns warmth.

Lumina kisses his shoulder, settling into her pillow. She’ll try to sleep again, fluttering nerves aside. The sooner to sleep the sooner she’ll wake again. He will be here, they will go to the Marshal together and he will see how she’s grown. He will see her maturity, her politics, her good will.

He’ll be so impressed he’ll retrieve the Child from Peli Motto. They’ll all be together again.

She runs her hands through her hair, the shortened length still not familiar. She should clean it up before departure, Fennec would do it for her.

Lumina decides she is being silly, those are plans for later, this is now. She should enjoy right now. And she does.

Until that is, Din begins to stir.

She doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to wait for him. She’s been too forward in every regard, the calls will be his for now. She assumes that is the correct choice to make.

So Lumina continues to lay, just as she has been. She does not move, she does not speak. She only watches.

She watches Din’s shoulders move, she watches him sigh. He does not sound particularly pleased, but he never has enjoyed waking in the middle of the night.

He sits up, moving his feet off the bed. Then, he stands. He dresses. Undergarments, pants, top. Piece by piece his armor reattaches, each a subtle click.

He hasn’t looked at her once.

Lumina isn’t smiling, she doesn’t know what to do.

So she does nothing.

Din sits again, the bed caving in. He pulls out his boots from under the bed, shoving them on. He picks up his helmet and rubs at a scuff.

He puts it on.

Hiss. Click.

He leaves.

Lumina sits up, pulling the sheets to cover her exposure. 

Maybe he’s gone to the kitchen, thirsty. He’ll come back, she’s sure of it.

He will.

She’ll wait until he does.

An hour passes, then half the next.

Her room is still dark, her stomach sick. Sunlight may have been too hasty a request. She would settle for the moon and silver hues.

She wants nothing but moonlight.

------

CHAPTER 38: Losing Dogs

------

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#din djarin x original character #din djarin x female oc #din djarin fanfiction #Din Djarin fanfic #din djarin x ofc #Din Djarin x oc #din djarin x original female character #Mandalorian fanfic #mando x oc #mando x ofc #starlight

[corazondebeskar-reads]

well it's love, make it hurt: chapter eleven

well it's love, make it hurt series

eleven: cut me up gently

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 3k

Summary: After recovering from your injuries, you and Mando close in on your target.

Warnings: BDSM, established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, dom!Din Djarin x sub!reader, soft dom Din in that he's tender and loving service dom but also, sadism, spanking, pussy spanking, rough oral, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, canon-typical violence, graphic violence, description of injury, no y/n

also on ao3

3 ABY - Winter

You wake up with Mando’s cock still in you. You’re swollen and sore, but it feels so fucking good that you can’t help but rock back against him a little.

He’s a light sleeper, so it doesn’t take long for him to stir and meet your motions halfway. “Good morning,” he murmurs, slinging his other arm around your waist to draw you closer.

You press a kiss into the soft flesh of his arm under your neck where his sleeve has ridden up. The new day hangs low in the dark bunk. Outside, the sun has begun to rise, but in here, in this place that’s just for the two of you, it’s unmoving.

Time is slow and syrupy, and so is the way you move to meet, hips rolling with the sole purpose of finding one another. Neither of you chase the pleasure. You’re not sure you’ve ever fucked him like this before.

The bunk grows warm with each moan and exhale, a thin layer of sweat gluing your bodies together, as if there was space between you to begin with.

His hands don’t wander. He doesn’t grope at your breasts or dig crescents into your hip. You wrap your fingers around his forearm where it stretches across your chest.

When your orgasm comes, it rolls through you from your cunt, stuffed full of him, to shudder through your body. He holds you and soothes you through it until he can’t take it anymore.

“Close your eyes,” he says, and it’s the only warning you get before his helmet is discarded somewhere behind him on the shelf. Your eyes are shut tight, and he wastes no time before pressing his lips to your neck, soft kisses peppered up and down the line of it with reverence, pulling little gasps from you.

He moans when you tilt your head, burying your face in his arm and giving him access to all of you. His arm around your stomach comes up to hold your bicep, thumb rubbing back and forth as he kisses behind your ear.

You crane your neck, twisting and blindly seeking him out. He catches on and catches your lips with his. It tingles, and you moan, surging forward, wrapping your arm around the back of his head to pull him closer.

When he licks inside, it sends another orgasm through you in reverse, bursting from where he bites at your lip and spreading through you like the first sip of morning caf. His hips stutter when you clamp down around him, and you cry out into his mouth as he cums.

You kiss him through it, swallowing down his moans and weaving your fingers through his curls.

He can’t help it, can’t hold it back. It’s whispered into your lips between bites and kisses. He had promised himself he wouldn’t, promised not to push you, or back you into a corner where you’d inevitably run or lash out.

Thankfully, it slips out in Mando’a. “Ni kar’tayli,” he whispers, burying it beneath another moan as an aftershock of your orgasm squeezes his softening cock.

You don’t ask. You never do. He’s grateful, really, but a small part of him stings. He doesn’t know how to tell you he wants you to ask. He can’t say it, can’t explain any of it on his own, it sticks in his throat, but if you asked, he’d tell you everything.

He indulges in a few more kisses before pulling his helmet back on, nuzzling against you. You are content to lay for a moment, but the stillness jitters down your spine and sends your knee bouncing, and feet wriggling. He gives it about a minute before you’re up and moving.

“Well,” you say, rolling onto your back and examining your chrono. “We got lucky. He took the ship with the tracker.”

“Not luck,” Mando murmurs. “I put trackers on the other two when we got there.”

You grin. “Oh, good,” and you press a kiss to the helmet. “At least one of us was thinking realistically. I really thought we’d get him.”

“I had a bad feeling,” he says.

You sit up on your knees to examine his bandages. “Next time, have a bad feeling before you’re going to be stabbed, so we can leave,” you say. It comes out less playful than you mean it to.

There’s a bit of dried blood, but when you peel his bandages back, the skin is shiny and raw, but nearly healed. You press a kiss to it without thinking, and when you sit back up, he’s watching you in a way that makes your chest too tight, heart too rabbity, so you get up and get dressed, brain whirring away at a plan.

As you feared, Vanda fled to Imperial territory, but only as far as Radhii, which had the advantage of being nearby, and the occupancy was small. Your plan was to secure lodging in the capital city and gather information, steal an ISB uniform and passcard, and kill him right under their noses. You didn’t need to smuggle out the whole body, after all. Just the head would do.

Mando did not like your plan. Namely, because it kept him on the ship until you made your move, and then still separate.

You weren’t having it. “What are you going to do, put on one of those stupid hats and pretend to be an officer?”

“I could still be nearby; we should stick close.”

“Yes, you won’t stand out at all here.”

“Cyar’ika, I’m just worried. What if something happens like last time, and I’m too far away?”

“It’s a risk we have to take. Have taken before. Will take again.”

“I don’t like it.”

You step closer, smoothing your hands over his shoulders and wrapping them around his neck. “You don’t have to like it.” You pull his helmet to your forehead, and he sighs, draping his arms loosely around your waist.

“Fine,” he grumbles.

You wait. He knows you’re coming, now, and he’s locked up in a tower of a still-functioning ISB unit on the western side of Tavuu. You don’t know where he is, exactly, but you do bribe your way into a copy of the schematics. The locals tolerate the Empire (particularly given that most operations are kept to the eastern side of the city), but they certainly wouldn’t complain if they were removed.

The bartender at the cantina has loose lips and looser morals. “They’re bad for business,” he says, and you feel a little bad that you’re not planning on taking out the whole operation.

But no, it’s heavily staffed. As much as you’re sure the pair of you could handle it, you’re none too eager for a repeat of your last encounter.

Instead, on the day you select to execute the op, you enter the tower using the uniform and passcard of Myria Halcorr, a communications officer who had the unfortunate luck of matching your build.

Mando had tried to convince you to leave your comm line open, but you were glad you had refused when the passcard doesn’t open the lift door. Luckily, you’re able to sweet talk a young man into agreeing that, yes, it’s quite unfortunate that your unit has such run-down equipment, and yes, he’s had issues with his card, too, it’s the darn reader. He lets you into the lift without a fuss.

You acquire a cart of datapads and communicators on the third floor and make your way to the topmost 18th level without more than a passing glance from your temporary coworkers. You work your way down, offering a demure apology and request for any malfunctioning equipment. Your cart starts to fill up, and you can’t help but laugh to yourself.

You find Vanda on the 15th floor.

“I didn’t call for service,” he says, reclining back in his chair and reading a report on a datapad.

“No, I imagine you didn’t,” you say, shutting the door carefully with the toe of your boot and finally open the line for Mando to listen in.

He looks up. “Excuse me,” he begins to complain, but stops as you unhook your jacket.

It’s a good distraction, but really, you just want easier access to your weapons. When you shuck it off and reveal your tactical vest and small personal armory, he opens his mouth to yell.

“Ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Turn around.”

He turns and spots the red laser dot on his chest through the open window. Mando’s rifle doesn’t even have that function, but you appreciate his flair for the dramatics.

Vanda turns slowly back to face you. “Who’d I take from you?” he asks. His voice is quiet but not soft. It lilts along with the hint of a curve to his lips. “A sister? A daughter?”

You don’t take the bait, but you do match his smirk with a sneer, hand curling around the handle of your blade. He was waiting for you to lose control, but you don’t. Won’t.

Mando, however, twitches, and then there’s a hole smoldering in Vanda’s shoulder, a mockery of your own injury at his hand.

Vanda clutches his wound, quick to change his tune.

“Don’t kill me,” he gasps. “Don’t, please, I’ll tell you anything you want. They’re planning something, please—“

“You’re not wanted alive,” you lay the faux apology on thick.

“I swear what I can tell you is worth far more than the price on my head. Moff—“

His words are efficiently snuffed by your blaster.

“Fucking finally,” you sigh, lowering it and snapping it back into your holster. “Would you like the honors?” you say into the comm, hoping Mando will volunteer to remove the man’s head. He does.

Extraction is a little less quiet, given the attention drawn by your blaster fire, but he gets you both out via grappling cable like some foolhardy hero in an action holo. You almost throw up when you’re back on the ground.

“Different plan next time,” you pant, crouching with your hands on your knees and head down.

The relief of finishing the hunt gives way to the crash once you’re back on the Crest. Back safe at home with the ramp sealed and Vanda’s head in carbonite (which you have to admit is almost comical to behold).

Luckily, Mando seems to be feeling it too. After you’re in the air again, he comes up behind you as you put your weapons away, sliding his hands around your waist and leaning close to your ear.

“Can I hurt you?” His voice is wound tight, betraying the depth of his need.

The words alone draw a moan from you. He’s never been so blunt about it, always charming and disarming, as if it’s a natural part of his nature.

You had taken the collar off for the hunt, but it’s gripped in his hand now, dangling from where he holds you.

“Please, sir,” you whisper.

“What was that, cyar’ika? Speak up.”

“Yes, please, sir,” you try again, and it morphs into something on the edge of desperation.

“Please what?”

“Ah, fuck, please hurt me, please.” You bounce one hip, biting your lip against the urge to whine.

“Hurt you how, sweetheart?”

You do whine a little, this time. Mean, he’s being so mean, can’t he tell you’re barely holding on?

“Anything,” you turn to face him and wrap your fingers into his cloak. “Please, anything you want to do to me.”

“That’s a generous, dangerous offer, ner kar’ta.”

“I know what I’m asking. Use me however you’d like, sir,” you blink up at him through your lashes.

He swears, bringing the collar up and wrapping it around your neck before grabbing you by it. “Yeah? Is that what you want?” His voice is thick and breathy, and you’re practically vibrating with excitement and excess adrenaline.

“Does it really matter what I want?”

He takes the bait, plays your game. It’s a topsy-turvy rush, the artificial power he’s extending you. The real power underneath, of course, is always present—you could stop him with one word. But the tension you create together is heady.

“Of course not,” he murmurs. “You’ll do whatever I want. Take whatever I give. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Knees,” he snaps, and you’ve hit the ground before he finishes speaking.

There’s no ploy, no ritual, no toy, no pretense. He wraps his hand around your throat and squeezes while he pulls his cock out with the other. When you gasp for air, he shoves it into your mouth and moans when you gag.

His fingers wind into your hair and pull, the hand on your throat not letting up. He fucks into you with no rhythm, no finesse. He’s in no rush to cum, just to enjoy as you struggle to keep up, tears leaking down your cheeks.

He pulls out and slaps you across the cheek, sending your head spinning, hardly able to keep up as he smacks the other cheek with his cock a couple times before pushing it back down your throat. You moan around it as he fucks into you.

When he feels too dangerously close to his climax, he pulls out and yanks you up by the hair. You scramble to your feet only for him to shove you down, bent over the makeshift sofa.

“This what you needed, huh?” He punctuates the question with a hard swat to your ass. He can’t help himself, and gives you a staccato series of hits, landing the last few on your cunt.

You cry out and whine into the sheet, hands fumbling to find purchase.

He grabs your wrists in one hand, holds them against your back, and hits you again. “Answer me when I speak to you.”

“Yes, sir, thank you.” It leaves you in a sob that you swallow, forcing the tide back down. You’re not ready to fall apart just yet, yearning to be present for whatever he uses you for.

“Good girl,” he says. “Eyes closed.”

You gasp. He’s never removed the helmet twice in one day, hardly even twice a month. You squeeze your eyes shut without hesitation, afraid to draw attention to it by being overeager. He releases your hand to squat down behind you, and you yelp as his hot tongue parts your folds.

He pulls away, and you whimper, only to be cut off by a firm slap to your already swollen pussy. A few more follow before his mouth is back on you, licking and kissing the hurt away. He carries on until he draws an orgasm from you, permission granted with his lips against your clit.

When he pulls away, he keeps a hand on your cunt, spreading your lips wide so he can deliver the next set of slaps right on your clit. You howl, squirming, and he sucks your swollen bud into his mouth as soon as he’s finished.

He's insatiable. It carries on over and over, cycling between the brutality and the soft devotion of his lips. You're gasping to catch your breath when he slides the helmet back on and helps you roll onto your back, legs dangling from the edge of the crates. He hoists them up onto his shoulders and runs the tip of his cock over your clit until you finally snap and start to cry.

“Please,” you sob.

He looks down at your sweaty, flushed body and runs a hand down your side. “You’ve been such a good girl. Would you like a break?”

You cry harder, shaking your head, and he grants you the mercy of sliding his cock between your swollen lips and pressing until he’s seated as deeply as possible.

He wipes your tears with his thumb before setting a slow and exquisite pace, letting you feel the drag of every ridge and vein against your soft, overspent walls before snapping his hips back into you.

“I want another one,” he says, thumb on your clit though he can tell you’re exhausted. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

All you can do is plead, over and over through gasping sobs, and reach a hand to his. He lets you guide his palm to settle on your breast, and you peer up at him through the tears.

He brings the other hand up from your clit to cup your neglected breast, groping and pinching as he starts to pound into you. The sobs are subsiding, and your lips are parted as each thrust knocks a small ah from your sternum.

He watches you, watches your eyes linger on his visor, and is almost overcome with warm pride and affection as you don’t hide away, as you let him take in the rawness etched into the crinkle of your eyes and the furrow of your brow.

You whine, and he smiles. “I know what you need. Be patient, pretty girl.”

Your eyes roll back at the praise.

“You’re my pretty girl, you know,” he murmurs. “All mine.” He brings one hand up to your face and presses his thumb into your waiting mouth, moaning as you hollow your cheeks around it, sucking hard and caressing it with your tongue. He pulls it out and wipes the saliva on your nipples before he grabs tight to each and twists cruelly, tugging as if he might pull you toward him.

“Go on, cyare. Cum for me.”

It doesn’t take anything more for you to fall apart, and the clench and pulse of your cunt is all he needs to join you, twitching and throbbing inside you. He releases your tits, rubbing a soothing thumb over your nipples, and crooning soft praise and affection as you ride out the aftershocks. To his delight, the words turn it into another rolling orgasm.

After you’re cleaned up, Mando insists that you both eat, but you’re exhausted. Maybe more than you’ve ever been before. He seems to agree, settling for ration bars in lieu of anything that takes more than thirty seconds to throw together.

“Sometime after we drop him off, can we take a day off? Maybe somewhere pretty? Or just not awful,” you ask quietly in the dark of the bunk.

Mando’s not sure he’s taken a day off. He suspects you haven’t, either. But his “yes” is immediate and rewarded by your happy sigh brushing over his chest.

*title from "Cut Me Up Jenny" by Taking Back Sunday

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #din djarin x ofc #dom din djarin #make it hurt verse #mando fic #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian smut

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

AO3 Link Main Master List

THE RAZOR CREST RANCH SEVEN

Chapter 01 | Chapter 02 | Chapter 03 | Chapter 04 |

Chapter 05 | Chapter 06 | Chapter 07 | Chapter 08 |

Chapter 09 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

THE CRESTWORLD

Chapter 01 | Chapter 02 | Chapter 03 | Chapter 04 |

Chapter 05 | Chapter 06 | Chapter 07 | Chapter 08 |

Chapter 09 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 |

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15

ON TEMPORARY HIATUS

#din djarin x reader #din djarin series #din djarin fanfiction #din x reader #western din #cowboy din djarin #western din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x ofc #the mandalorian #cobb vanth #grogu #mandalorian and grogu #peli motto #fennec shand #boba fett #mando fic #mando fanfiction #mando x reader #mando #the mandolarian

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Din Djarin | Masterlist

Series:

Heart of Beskar - Ongoing [AO3]

Catch me if you Can - Ongoing [AO3]

Worlds Collide - Unfinished, on hold [AO3]

One-Shots:

Kinktober day 17(Thrill of the Chase) | Smut, established enemies to lovers. [AO3]

Taungsday's am I right? | Tentacles, Sex Pollen, read the warnings. [AO3]

Hazy Dayz | Sex Pollen, breeding kink, read the warnings. [AO3]

Din x Cobb

Need | M/M DinCobb oneshot - Din needs to be with Cobb, it's eating him alive. [AO3]

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #din djarin #mando #the mandalorian #masterlist #fic masterlist #din djarin masterlist #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x original female character #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #theywhowriteandknowthings #theywhowriteandknowthings masterlist #theywhowriteandknowthings din djarin

[dindjarinandlysakane]

The Sweetest Taste | Chapter 15 - Seeing Red

When Din Djarin meets a beautiful cake seller from Nevarro, do you think he’s just going to stand back and let her suffer at the hands of her abusive boyfriend? After a lifetime of heartache and pain, Lysa Kane realises she’s not on her own any more and finds an unlikely friend in the Mandalorian. And Din Djarin does not like men who treat women like that, not one tiny bit. Friendship/comfort and maybe something more…

Masterlist

Chapter 15

----

A week passed slowly.

Din and Grogu had spent four of those days off planet, tracking down a bounty on behalf of the New Republic.

But even that had done nothing to distract Din Djarin from his own thoughts. From his own painful recollection of what had happened on that stormy night.

Playing it over and over in his mind, desperately wishing he had done something differently.

Just said something…

Anything…

To stop Lysa leaving.

Din’s heart hurt.

Right now there was nothing in the galaxy Din wanted more than her.

But he had missed his chance, been too cowardly to tell her how he felt.

He wasn't sure if it was fear of rejection, or humiliation that had driven Din to just stand there silently and watch as Lysa had fled his home, running out into the night alone.

But just the way she had been so defensive of Crix. The man that seemed, to Din, to take all the light out of her eyes every time she spoke about him. 

And that hurt.

To think that she could love a man that treated her that badly.

Din had pondered this, and only this, for the past week.

And despite them being due a delivery from Lysa today, he knew it likely would not arrive…after how they had left it the last time he had seen her.

Despite how sweet and truly delectable the sweet treats that Lysa had dropped off last time were, Din had not been able to even stomach a bite of it, instead allowing Grogu to eat it all. Which his son had of course revelled in.

Grogu however, had not been completely oblivious to the tension felt between Lysa and Din. The child had bleated a little after she had left on that stormy night. And every landspeeder or similar they had passed on their travels ever since, Grogu had stared quickly at, as though hoping to see her.

Din would be foolish to think that Grogu hadn't noticed how happy Din seemed around her. It was rare that anything bar his son could get Din to laugh, but around Lysa laughter and happiness felt easy.

It was a bright evening, the still sun high and hot in the sky - a complete opposite to the weather a week ago.

Din was sat on a low bench just outside his cabin, fixing a stuck trigger on one of his blasters, as Grogu played beneath a tree a little way from him - his favourite spot.

The blaster wasn't even one of his favourites, but he was fixing it more as a distraction than anything. Just something to keep his mind from Lysa.

But that was a feat that Din Djarin was about to find impossible, as a flash of something shiny in the distance caught his eye.

He glanced up through his beskar helmet, seeing a vehicle speeding across the lava flats towards them, a vehicle that he recognised almost immediately.

Din’s heart began to pound as if on cue, his entire body suddenly numb.

His stomach lurched with apprehension and excitement as he saw Lysa Kane’s landspeeder zipping quickly down the long path towards his and Grogu’s cabin.

Din had no clue what to say to her.

Would she be angry…upset? Would she drop the package and leave without a word?

Din let out a shallow breath and got to his feet, his cape billowing behind him in the breeze, watching as the vehicle drew nearer.

Grogu’s ears pricked up, only just noticing the sound and turning, getting to his own little feet.

As was usual, the landspeeder wound its way down the makeshift path towards the cabin.

But today, instead of parking up near to Din’s large N-1 Starfighter. Curiously, the battered old speeder came to a sudden stop a little way away, down the path.

Behind his mask Din gave a light frown.

Grogu, who let out an instantly happy chirp, obviously recognising Lysa, waddled away from the tree and over towards the little speeder.

From here Din could just about make out Lysa’s face, just about visible behind her yellow tinted visor. 

And rather than hop quickly out of the landspeeder like she usually did, Lysa remained there for a long few seconds.

Din’s heart ached to think that now she didn’t want to see him. Maybe she didn’t want anything to do with him. Perhaps she was as embarrassed as he was.

But dank farrik he was a Mandalorian.

And so pulling himself together, Din decided to be the bigger man, walking slowly down the dusty path towards her.

But as though spotting him, Lysa lifted herself quickly from the speeder, looking a little stiff.

“Hi,” she called over in a friendly tone.

But she didn’t look at Din or Grogu, nor did she make any move to remove her helmet. Instead moving hurriedly around her vehicle and pulling their small wrapped parcel from the basket at the rear.

Today she was clothed in a grey jacket, covering a pale green shirt and breeches. But it was certainly odd for her not to even make a move to remove her helmet.

She kept her back to the pair of them as they came to stand just a couple of feet away. Waiting for her to turn…

But Lysa didn’t. Instead, passing Din the parcel with a quick swivel of her hips, keeping her face turned away.

Grogu at Din’s feet gave an expectant croak. But there came no response from Lysa as Din took the parcel from her grasp. He tried to catch a glimpse of her expression, but from where he was standing could not see one.

“I can't stop,” she said quickly, her voice sounding a slightly higher-pitch than normal. “I’m running behind on some deliveries today.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact and friendly. 

But there was something behind it that made Din feel uneasy.

Was she feeling uncomfortable about what happened last time they saw one another?

No, thought Din, eyeing her as she fiddled with a buckle on the basket. This was something else…

Again from the floor. Grogu gave a croak as though asking her to turn around, to give him the attention he wanted.

But still she remained turned away, helmet on.

Din bristled.

Something was wrong.

“I’ll see you next week,” she muttered, turning back to the driver's seat and making to hop up and swing her leg over the side, when Din suddenly spoke. 

“I still need to pay you,” he said, his voice sounding stark, as Lysa froze, fingers tensed around the rim of the speeder. “I actually owe you for two deliveries.”

Din eyed her as best he could through her visor.

Why was she in such a hurry to get away?

Lysa’s foot dropped back down to the ground,  causing black dust to puff up into the air between them.

She was quiet for a second or two before she finally spoke, turning his way for maybe the first time.

“Of course,” she said lightly, flashing Din a half smile through her visor. Though he noticed that her eyes still couldn’t quite meet his.

The frown at Din’s brow deepened beneath his beskar, as he reached into his belt pouch extracting six credit chips, before handing them to her.

But as Lysa reached out to take them, her shirt collar shifted slightly and a flash of something dark against the paleness of her skin caught Din’s eye immediately.

Din stopped still, staring, his heart suddenly thudding hard…for another reason entirely.

But Lysa caught his look, hurriedly shifting back and making to turn away once more.

But there was no way Din was going to let this slide. Not this time.

“Lysa,” he said in a sudden low voice through his modulator.

She froze again and Din could see her breathing become suddenly very shallow and very fast, her eyes widening through the yellow plastic of her visor.

“I-I’m late..I’ve got to go,” she said hurriedly, a sudden panic in her voice.

But Din reached out before she could move…his gloved hand catching around the top of Lysa’s arm.

He instantly felt her flinch beneath his grasp, as she turned towards him, suddenly looking terrified.

“Show me,” uttered Din in a sudden serious voice. A voice he reserved usually for bounties alone.

But to him, now, this was a job. A job where someone would be punished for what they had done.

Din could feel Lysa trembling beneath his grasp now, as she stared up at him.

He could see the fear and reluctance in her now tearful eyes…

She knew exactly what he was talking about.

Din took another considered step closer to her, letting go of her arm, and carefully reaching up with his gloved hand… gently pulling her shirt collar down by an inch or so….

…revealing a large blossoming bruise covering the expanse of her collarbone and neck. And how far it went beyond that point was anyone's guess.

In an instant, Din clenched his jaw hard, sheer fury filling every crevice of his body.

And before Lysa could do a thing to stop him, Din had turned and made for his N-1.

“Din-” she said, her breath hitching, sounding fearful. “Please don't-”

Right now she knew full well, that Din knew exactly what had happened. What was still happening.

That bruise was fresh. And must have been excruciatingly painful.

And for someone to do that to Lysa…

Right now Din felt more angry than he had done in a long, long time. 

Seeing red. Hopping up into his ship as Lysa approached.

“Din-” she tried again. He could see tears falling from her cheeks now, behind her visor, as she shook her head, almost pleading with him not to do this.

But Din was too far gone to listen to her. Furious.

“Stay here,” said Din commandingly. “Both of you.”

He looked to his son who was staring up at him from the ground in confusion. He would explain everything to Grogu later.

But right now Din Djarin had only one thing on his mind.

One priority above anything else.

To find Crix Val’shif.

---------------------------

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[artemiseamoon-ficart]

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For A03

(This is a repost of a previously completed fic)

#chasing the moon #the Mandalorian fic #Mando x ofc #Mando x black ofc