#may he forgive me from mandos

[actual-bill-potts]

Finrod, upon being reembodied in Aman, feels lost. First Noldo to return, the only child left of the house of Finwë where once the streets of Tirion and the beaches of Alqualondë, the halls of the palace and the cozy walls of Arafinwë’s house, had rung with merry laughter.

His father had met him outside the Halls of Mandos, eyes alight with such terrible hope that Finrod had been almost afraid. Never had he seen such an expression upon his father’s face, not even when he had turned away from all his children and gone back to Tirion with head bowed. (But then, his father had not spent half a millennium without his children. Then, his father had not felt his sons fall to dragon and wolf, felt their pain and terror and confusion.)

But then Arafinwë had caught sight of him, and there was such joy upon his face that Finrod forgot the words that had passed between them when it became apparent that Arafinwë would not follow his brother into exile; forgot the years leading his House alone; forgot even, for a moment, the knowledge of how it felt to be ripped apart so wholly you could not understand the shape of your fëa. He forgot all, in the rush to fling his arms about his father and be embraced in turn. Atya was weeping into his shoulder, and Finrod was crying in turn, and he let himself be held as he had not since long before that terrible dark night in Tirion.

And when they returned to Tirion, and his mother embraced him in turn, arms strong about him and words of forgiveness spoken on both sides—still then he had felt nothing but joy.

But with the passing of time, some of that had—faded—and now Finrod wanders the hills about Tirion, lost and longing for something he cannot name.

Part of it is grief. Everyone in Aman knows grief, now; the Teleri cruelly slain had learned it well, and the Noldor forever sundered from their kin no less. But there is still the certainty, beneath the loss: no one is gone forever. The dead Teleri, killed for their ships, had marched home singing long ago. Finrod himself, Doomed and Returned, can see the hope dawning in the eyes of the Noldor who look at him. He is back! they seem to say, he is back, and if he is back why should not my beloved be returned?

But what of the Atani?

Finrod had known, in Endórë, that his fate was sundered from Men. He had felt it keenly as they died: slowly, one after another, in the long years of peace, then quickly and brutally, when their Leaguer was broken. Still he had had hope. He was Doomed, with little hope of mercy; why, after all, might he not see the Atani again, in whatever place he was sent after his ending?

Now he knows: they are gone. Gone beyond the world, and no hope of reunion. Balan, Baran, Barahir, Beren, even Lúthien: gone past recall. And there is no one else in Aman who knew them; no one else who loved them; no one with whom he can grieve as mortals grieve.

He sits, in the hills, and waits. He is weary. There is joy—of course there is joy!—but there is so much sorrow. So many gone, and none who can understand.

What is he waiting for?

I can understand, says a voice next to Finrod, and he looks up to see—

A hooded figure, garbed in gray, shoulders shaking, sorrow-cloaked—

This is the Lady Nienna.

Finrod kneels. "My Lady," he says, "what would you have of me?"

It is so rare, to see Nienna. Others among the Valar had visited often, Oromë and Ulmo, Vána and Estë, to rejoice at celebrations and wonder at children born. But Nienna was locked in grief, and would not venture forth.

Nienna’s voice comes again, haunted with sorrow. I would have you follow me. I grieve with you, for the Secondborn who are so bright and beautiful, and fade so soon. Perhaps you, in turn, may grieve with me, and give comfort to those who come to my dwelling.

You have walked long in sorrow, Friend of Men. You have loved mortals, and have not feared their loss as it breaks you. The Atani had much to teach you—and you in turn have much to teach us, if you are willing.

Finrod has begun to weep, though he hardly feels it. He does not hesitate. "My Lady of Sorrows, my Lady of Mercy," he says, "I will follow you. Through sorrow to joy."

I am sorrow, Nienna responds, her voice like the tolling of a great bell, but through me, to joy will you walk.

#finrod #Nienna #my weird little post death headcanons for finrod #little golden meow meow #my writing #silm fic #the silmarillion

[221bshrlocked]

Stripped Down to the Bone

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Fem!Reader

Words: 12,267

Warnings: Brief description of violence. Loss of a hand. Some angst. Lots of fluff and descriptive smut. Dirty talk (including some degradation). Choking. Hair pulling. Spanking. Fingering. Squirting. Over-stimulation. Penetrative, unprotected sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong people). Fluffy after-care because Mando may be a kinky bastard but he is a giant teddy bear at heart. Love confessions. [Do let me know if I forgot something.]

Summary: “As you watch Mando drag the unconscious body, along with the severed hand, into the carbon-freezer, you can’t help but dwell on that second thought a little bit longer. Mando doesn’t once look away from you as he finally puts the man into the freezer and slams it shut. He doesn’t bother turning his attention elsewhere as he sheathes the Saber down into the handle and pushes it back into his belt. He doesn’t care for how menacing he looks as he steps towards you and eyes your shaking form.”

A/N: I couldn’t get over this fic I wrote a while back so I wanted to approach it from a different perspective. What if reader doesn’t get hurt and Din can’t keep to himself anymore? It’s been a while since I wrote for our favorite bounty hunter (because the inspiration has been difficult) but as you can see, I’m feeling things and they thankfully manifested in a fic that was originally supposed to be much filthiest but the fluff got in the way so it came out less angsty and dirty than I thought. Let me know how I’m doing in the comments please :)  You can add yourself to the taglist here. (This is not beta’d so I do apologize for any mistakes)

In all your time with the Mandalorian, you never thought he would ever reach the point where he would allow his anger to get the best of him. You couldn’t say anything though, afraid he’d misunderstand and, in his fury, tell you to find someone else to work for. It was irritating to know that even if he were to speak untruthful but hurtful words to you, you would forgive him and make up some excuse so you wouldn’t let it get to you. He never told you much about the string of events that lead to him taking you on, but you recall the brief hints Greef Karga chose to reveal to you months ago and you realize that maybe, just maybe, they were starting to catch up to him. Up until now, Mando was quite pleasant to work with. Not once did he step over the line with you, even when you knew you deserved some harsh words for the dumb mistakes you made. 

But things were different now. The smallest inconvenience leads him to lose his self-control, which, most of the time, came in the shape of a loud curse or an extremely annoyed Mando leaving the ship and strutting into the wilderness of whatever planet you are on. You never brought it up to him after he calmed down and returned to the ship, and you weren’t about to start doing that now. There was some sort of a mutual understanding consisting of Mando nodding his apology and you smiling at him before you worked on whatever it was that needed fixing. It wasn’t ideal, but you weren’t in the position to tell him that he can confide in you. 

He had lost his foundling. He was placed in a position he never asked for. And most importantly, he was your boss. 

Yeah, you were definitely not in the place to say anything. 

Ironically, just as you are repeating the last words over and over again, a loud crashing sound from outside the ship breaks you out of your haze. You’re not sure at first if you should go check it out or not, but then you hear another voice swearing and shooting at Mando, and you realize that it would probably be best if you ran to make sure that he was alright. As soon as you slide down the ladder, you dive behind a large crate to avoid getting shot at. Waiting a few seconds until you are sure you aren’t going to be caught in the crossfire, you peek your head from the side and look down to see what is happening. 

What you find shouldn’t be surprising to you but you’re shocked nonetheless because even when he wasn’t paying complete attention to his surroundings, it was still difficult to get the upper hand on Mando. Just like the past few hunts, Mando was trying his best to bring in the bounty alive and breathing. And just like every time, he ended up losing his control on the situation which led to the bounty fighting for his life by attempting to shoot his way out. 

It’s an unnecessary inconvenience that you know will leave an extremely furious and annoyed bounty hunter in your vicinity for the next few days. 

As much as you want to not get involved, you know that the longer it takes to gain control of the bounty, the worse it will be once he is shackled and frozen. Without thinking twice of how Mando will react to your actions, you take a deep breath and stand from behind the crate, swearing to yourself when you look to the side and see Mando’s helmet tilt your way. 

Pfassk, he was going to be pissed. 

You don’t waste the few seconds of surprise on the bounty’s features, and as he turns the blaster your way to shoot you, you shut your eyes and hope that Mando uses the idiot’s distraction to hit him. Thinking that you’re about to hear a blaster go off, you wince in fear and expect the worst. But you reluctantly open your eyes as soon as you hear a familiar loud, vibrating sound echo through the air. You gulp nervously when you look down the ramp and see Mando approaching the bounty with the Darksaber in his hand. He easily evades the blaster shots, and even blocks a few of them with the dangerous weapon. Before you can tell him that the price on this bounty’s head was higher if he were to be brought in alive, Mando slices the thief’s hand and headbutts him hard enough that he falls to the ground in pain. 

The display of power should scare you. It should send you running to the hills with the goal of never returning again. It should make you wish you weren’t ever caught up with someone like the Guild’s best. 

But none of that crosses through your mind. 

No.

The only thing your sick, and rather twisted, brain can think of is how dominant and attractive Mando looked as he easily disarmed the bounty, how much you wanted to be controlled by him. The following thought isn’t any better.

As you watch Mando drag the unconscious body, along with the severed hand, into the carbon-freezer, you can’t help but dwell on that second thought a little bit longer. Mando doesn’t once look away from you as he finally puts the man into the freezer and slams it shut. He doesn’t bother turning his attention elsewhere as he sheathes the Saber down into the handle and pushes it back into his belt. He doesn’t care for how menacing he looks as he steps towards you and eyes your shaking form.

“Don’t ever do that again.” His voice should instill fear into your soul, but as he makes his way up to the cockpit, you continue to humor the spiraling emotions in your mind’s eye.

Why is that making me so wet?

You don’t get to stand there in silence for too long though because as the ship comes to life, you realize that Mando expected you to shut the ramp before he takes off. You snap out of your haze and run towards the control panel ahead of you, quickly pushing in the correct combination of numbers and sighing in relief when the ramp returns to its shut position. As the ship ascends outside of the planet’s air, you try to think of an explanation to tell Mando about your obviously-reckless actions. Before you can even come up with one good response, Mando puts the ship into hyperspace, making you fall backward and slam into the crate behind you. You silently swear at his intentions before you get up and wobble to your room. 

You rub the back of your head as you shut the door behind you and make your way to the refresher. As soon as you’re in there, you part your hair to make sure that there wasn’t any blood from the fall. You’re relieved when there isn’t any and curse Mando for being so childish. 

“I was only trying to help,” you pout at the reflection staring back at you before turning on the hot water. As you wipe at your face and neck, an image of Mando manhandling the bounty flashes through your mind and makes you flinch in shock. You groan irritatingly when it occurs to you that the rest of the night was probably going to consist of you trying to think of anything but the bounty hunter pushing you down beneath him and having his way with you. You curse quietly as you dry your face and move back to your room. The silence moving across the ship lets you know that Mando probably wasn’t going to leave the cockpit any time soon so you strip out of your clothes and into your nightgown. 

And just as you expected, as you move around the room to get ready for a night of self-care and relaxation, you continue to picture Mando touching every inch of your skin. You’re not sure if he’s the type that likes to leave a mark or two, or if he’s a gentle lover. Taking the events of the day into consideration, you realize that he might be the former.

Although, it would be nice to feel his lips leave a trail of soft kisses down your spine. 

“If only…”

You whisper to yourself as you grab the pitcher of water to bring it to your bedside only to laugh humorlessly when you notice that it’s as dry as a Tatooine day. As positive as you were that Mando wouldn’t leave the pilot’s seat for the next few hours, you really were going to try and avoid walking out of your room until you absolutely had to. It takes you a few minutes to think of the pros and cons of potentially running into him but the need for water outweighs your “fear” of Mando. Mustering up some courage, you put on a long, warm coat before walking out of your room. Standing in the middle of the hall for a few seconds, you listen intently for any sounds that might be coming from the main area. When you don’t hear anything but the consistently quiet sound of space, you sigh in relief and tiptoe towards the kitchen area. 

As you fill up the pitcher with cool water, your mind takes a turn once more and conjures up the filthiest images possible. A shiver runs down your spine when you recall Mando’s dangerously rough voice as he warned you before he went to the cockpit. Maker, would he sound like that when he’s fucking you senseless? Or would he fill the air with delicious moans and grunts as he thrust his cock into your wet mouth? The prospect of having either of those things puts you in a daze and it isn’t until you feel a cold sensation run down your arm that you shake from your reverie and look down at the pitcher. 

“Kriffing hell,” you swear as you shut the water off and put the pitcher aside to clean up the mess you made. When you’ve completely dried the puddle on the floor, you turn around to discard the towel but freeze when you look up and see Mando standing still right in front of you. 

Without his helmet.

 Unlike before, when your heart skipped a beat just from studying him as he easily moved the bounty around, the muscle in your chest threatens to leap out of your ribcage now for a whole different reason. You stand there, speechless and terrified of what may occur within the next few moments. In your time aboard this ship, not once did you think you would ever run into this specific issue. He was terribly careful with where he went and you were always sure to make as much noise as possible when you were moving around so he would hear you coming. 

But here you were, unable to look away from the face you’ve wondered about ever since you met him. Even though you know you should shut your eyes and tell him that this was all an accident, that you had a shit memory and probably wouldn’t remember anything particular about his features, you can’t bring yourself to turn away from him. And just like earlier, when you only had one thought running through your mind, you’re back on that train again, except this time, you’re not thinking of how attractive he is, or how much he’s turning you on. 

No, you’re thinking about something much more important, more unfortunate the longer you dwell on it.

Maker, those eyes will be haunting my dreams every night.

“M-Mando?” He must misunderstand your hesitation for fear because his frown deepens as he removes all the weapons from his person and sets them down on one of the tables. You watch his every move, not because you think he might hurt you, but because he wasn’t wearing his gloves and you wanted to commit every inch of his skin to memory.

When he looks at you again, you gulp nervously and stare at him in silence. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Somehow, the whisper is as loud as a terrified bantha and it’s your turn to furrow your eyebrows at him in confusion. You wish you could tell him that you would enjoy it immensely if he did hurt you but you push those twisted wishes down for his sake.

“I never thought you would.” Even though you don’t mean for the response to come out defensive, it is slightly more aggressive than you mean. You watch as his shoulders relax at your truthful response before he approaches you. Mando never once turns his attention elsewhere and you remain immobile to avoid making him think that you were, in fact, afraid of him. Even though you feel a little claustrophobic from how close he is, you don’t dare breathe a word, choosing to give him all the control so he feels comfortable with you. 

“Mesh’la, why would you do something so reckless?” You’re not sure what he’s calling you but you don’t bother asking him, knowing that it was the wrong detail to dwell on in his question. It takes you a few extra seconds to reply to him because you’re busy roaming your eyes across his features. Maker, it was a shame that he wore a helmet. Deep down, you knew that it didn’t matter if he was handsome or not because even with that barrier, you still found him interesting. But it really bothered you to know now that all of that was hiding beneath a mask. Up until now, you had to rely on the slightest tilt of the helmet and his body language to figure out what he was feeling. But now that he wasn’t wearing it, you find it rather difficult to look anywhere else but his face. He was so expressive and if you didn’t know any better, you would have asked him if he was crying. His eyes weren’t completely red, but there were unshed tears covering his pretty brown orbs, tears that you knew would kill you if they rolled down his cheeks. As your attention moves across his skin, you feel bad for wanting to lean up and kiss his aquiline nose, but when you finally reach the edge of his features and notice how soft and rosey his lips look, you can’t help but wish he was claiming your skin with them instead of asking you why you put your life in danger. 

You blink out of your dazed mind when you notice that you never answered his question.

Damn him and that pretty little pout.

“I- I was only trying to help. I’m sorry.” Even though you would rather not apologize for aiding in the hunt, you figure it was probably the best thing to do now to avoid any unnecessary argument.

“You could have gotten hurt.” Mando is a man of few words but you hated how short his replies were in that moment because it made it more difficult to figure out what he was trying to tell you. 

“Why would I have gotten hurt when you were there? I trust you Mando, with my life.” It’s almost as if you declared something unnatural and unexpected to him because as soon as your revelation registers in his mind, Mando’s frown grows and he steps away from you. You don’t have any time to react because as always, Mando’s anger makes itself known in an instant. He’s pacing back and forth in front of you, eyes aimed to the ground and refusing to acknowledge that you were still there. You take a step toward him but he moves away from you, holding out his hand to make you stop and not grow any closer to him. 

“Mando I-”

“I could have lost you, I don’t know what I would have done if anything happened to you. I can’t lose you, not you. I already lost everything I ever cared for, you- you don’t understand what would happen to me if- if you were hurt.” You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or at you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care because his confessions finally explain why he was so harsh with you earlier. Mando doesn’t stop once, his feet ringing across the silent space and making you more nervous than ever. You can tell that he’s trying to reconcile what he’s feeling with the unexpected events with the bounty and when his anger increases, you take a deep breath and try to approach him again. 

Mando shakes his head and turns away from you, stopping his anxious movement just as he looks to the ground in defeat. You can tell that he’s still tense from his clenched fists and the way his shoulders refuse to rest. 

As cautiously as possible, you make your way to him and slowly reach for his arms. He flinches at your touch but doesn’t budge and you sigh in relief when he doesn’t try to move away from you or deny you. The two of you stand in an uncomfortable silence for longer than necessary but unlike Mando, who doesn’t want to open his mouth again out of fear of saying something offensive, you hold your tongue until you come up with something that won’t cause him to react negatively. 

Nothing comes to mind right away. It’s difficult to negotiate with him when he’s like this. 

Then you look down at his gloveless hands and a strange idea briefly crosses your mind. You want to smack yourself for thinking of something like this in such a moment, but when you notice the sheer amount of pent up energy that he’s managing to keep under control across his form, you realize that this line of reasoning, while inappropriate, would probably be the perfect remedy to him. 

“Use me.” You can’t bring yourself to say those words louder and you curse yourself for not being able to grow enough confidence and raise your voice because as expected, Mando doesn’t react. As a matter of fact, he somehow becomes more still than before, and unlike a few seconds ago when you could still hear his violent breathing, you can’t hear a single peep out of him now. Thinking that he probably didn’t hear you, you grasp onto his shoulders even tighter than before and swallow the lump in your throat nervously to prepare for suggesting to him again. 

“What did you just say?” His question nearly makes you jump out of your skin, but you don’t try to explain yourself, and instead tug on his clothes to get his attention. You never worried before from Mando’s elongated silence but now that he wasn’t even acknowledging you, you felt your face heat up with embarrassment. 

“Use me…you’re frustrated, and you have a lot of pent-up energy, and the bounty clearly didn’t help with- well, it just made things worse. So use me, take out all your frustrations on me.” You can tell he’s having a difficult time breathing, perhaps more so than you, but you don’t let him go. In fact, you keep your hold on him as you slowly turn around until you’re standing face to face. You notice the second he shut his eyes so he isn’t looking at you, and you’re not sure if you should feel offended by the minute action or if you should feel bad for him. 

“I can take it.” You whisper one last time as you move your hand up his arms until they’re resting on his shoulders. He still refuses to look at you, and you hope with all of your heart that he doesn’t get offended by what you are about to do. Slowly, you massage his tense muscles as you continue your journey to his neck, and when you finally touch his skin, you find it much hotter than you anticipated. Fuck, did he always run hot or was the prospect of being intimate with each other affecting him as much as it was affecting you? You furrow your eyebrows for a second before you remember to relax your facial expressions so he doesn’t misunderstand if his eyes flutter open again. You study him carefully, and watch in fascination as his body comes to live with shivers the longer you keep your palm on his skin. When the moment stretches longer than your liking, you gulp down the anxiety bubbling up in your throat as you stretch your fingers until your whole hand rests on his cheeks. 

In an instant, Mando’s face tilts to the side and you almost break when you see him trying to nuzzle into both of your palms simultaneously. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice breaks as he lets his words swim in the air between the two of you, and even though he is much quieter than before, you find the tone of his voice much more intense, deeper even. More fearful perhaps?

“I do. Mando…believe me, I do.” You take a step into his space and lick your lower lip when you notice his features begin to relax beneath your touch. You thank the stars his eyes are closed because you are sure you would not be able to look at him this closely if his darkened orbs were studying you as well. On queue, his eyes open and you have to push down the gasp threatening to make its way past your lips when you see a few specs of gold peppering across his brown eyes. He’s staring at you in a way that makes you feel as if you were the most admired planet in this galaxy and even though you want to tell him, then and there, that you don’t deserve to be adored this much, you bask in the warmth his attention offers you. 

“If you know what I want to- what I wish I can do to you, you’d never look at me again. You’d leave me.” He breaks the silence, and bites into his lower lip when he notices the way you’re studying the brief nervous tick. There is something you want to say to him, it’s right there at the tip of your tongue, but you forget what you want to say to him when you see him wet his chapped lips. Gradually shifting your attention across his face, you meditate for a second on his nose before you finally focus on his eyes again. Even though you’ve already established that it’s rather difficult to keep contact with them, you know for a fact that you need him to look at you when you reveal your next words. He had to know, he needed to know that you weren’t lying to him. 

You wanted him to know, for your own sanity. 

“Take what you want Mando, I’m yours.”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that the effect your confession is having on him doesn’t come in the form of a dramatic response. You are taken aback, however, by the way his body jolts ahead into your space before it ceases to move once more. It was almost as if he wanted to crush you in his arms but remembered that he can’t do so quite yet. At least he thought he couldn’t. 

“I don’t want to lose you.” The exclamation tugs at your heart and you realize then that Mando was even more difficult to convince when he was vulnerable. 

“You won’t.” You smile at him, and hope that he recognizes the truth behind your words. He says nothing in return and you begin to lose hope that he would ever understand how much you adore him, how much you’re willing to give up to make him happy. 

“Tell me, tell me what you want.” You rub just below his eyes with your thumbs when you notice a few tears escape his beautiful eyes. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Mando, and you sigh in relief when his shoulders relax and he slips his arms around your back to pull you closer to him. 

“You. I only want you mesh’la. I want all of you.” You lean up as he breathes those final words against your forehead and before you let that crippling sense of doubt run through your mind again, you shut your eyes and surrender to him. Just as you’re about to taste his lips, those lips that you never thought you’d ever touch, let alone see, Mando stops and pulls away from you. Thinking that you did something wrong, you open your eyes and pout at him, ready to apologize for stepping over any boundary he wasn’t ready to allow you to cross just yet. 

“I- I can’t let you kiss me,” he says to you and you have to force yourself to not openly cry at the seriousness behind his words. You try to pull away from him but his arms tighten around you, making you look at him with nothing but confusion. You’re about to ask him what you’re allowed to do when he bumps your nose with his own and smiles at you.

“Not without hearing you say my name.” For some reason, his declaration feels more intimate than everything the two of you said so far. As much as you want him to tell you his name, you shake your head and ignore the way he frowns at you. 

“You…you don’t have to tell me.” You want him to know that you don’t mind it if he still keeps this last bit of him untouched. He already revealed his face to you, and the last thing you wanted him to think is that you were greedy for more. As much as you want to scream his name as he fucked you and used your body for his own pleasure, you knew that this may be too difficult for him. He couldn’t take it back, just as you wouldn’t be able to forget his face.  

“I want to, I want to hear you say my name sweet girl…I want to hear you moan it as I kiss every inch of you, as I explore your body with my hands and my lips, as I- as I feel you welcome me in your cunt…as I fuck you the way I’ve wanted to for so long. I want to hear you scream my name mesh’la, because I don’t think I’ll be able to live another day if you don’t know me, all of me.” You can feel his hands shaking around your waist, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s nervous or because he’s still trying to have some semblance of control. You find that the thought of both excites you, to know that you were making him this anxious and needy for you was almost as addicting as the warmth of his lips as they left a trail of molten lava across your cheeks. 

“T-then tell me your name, let me make you feel good. I just want to make you feel good, want to give you everything you want.” You twist your hands into the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to ground yourself until he takes you to his bed, but the hard muscles of his shoulders send a shiver down your spine, a reminder that he was capable of inflicting so much damage on your body but that he would only take this as far as you were willing. 

“My name, sweet girl, is Din Djarin. And I want to hear you say it as I mark every inch of your body.” 

The hoarse command forces a gasp out of you, and before you can sound out his name, Din is claiming your mouth in a heated kiss, one that you were sure you wouldn’t forget any time soon. He twists his fingers into your hair, tugging on the loose strands until you stop fighting for control over the kiss. Your knees buckle in weakness at the display of dominance and Din takes advantage of your momentary distraction by pushing you back until you slam against the walls of the ship. You grunt in pleasure when you feel him let go of your neck and trail his hands down your body, all the while slipping his tongue into your mouth and tasting every inch of you. You’re already dizzy from the sheer strength and neediness Din is entrusting you with, and before you know it, he’s leaning down in an attempt to carry you against the wall. 

Your nightgown quickly becomes a hindrance to Din’s plan and he breaks the kiss with a growl, not caring for how aggressive he must look to you as he kneels in front of you, takes hold of the bottom of the camisole, and rips it down the middle until it exposes your thighs to him. Your eyes widen in shock at his actions, but relax when Din looks up to gauge your reaction. You don’t want him to misunderstand your surprise for fear and so you turn to the side to avoid his hungry gaze, hoping he can see through your embarrassed response and recognize just how turned you are from the way he was touching you. 

Din doesn’t waste another moment as he slips his hands beneath the camisole and slides them up your thighs to your ass. You reluctantly turn to him again and bite into your lip when he stands up abruptly and takes you with him. The sudden jerk of your body forces you to throw your arms around his neck for support, and Din smirks to himself as he urges you to wrap your legs around his waist as well. 

“Fuck mesh’la, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” Din whispers as he drags one hand across the exposed flesh of your thigh, looking down for a moment to see the faint angry marks his nails left on your skin. You’re practically shaking in his arms, partially because you’re afraid he’ll drop you but mostly because of how unhinged he seems to be now that you were letting him do whatever he wanted with you. 

“D-Din,” your voice barely comes out louder than a whisper but it’s all Din needs to hear to push you harder against the wall. You nuzzle into his neck when you feel his hard cock push against your wet core through his pants, and before you can beg him to just take you, he pulls away far enough to look at you, smiling wickedly at you as he rolls his hips once more and forces a moan from your lips. You throw your head back as he continues to thrust in between your thighs, and Din lunges forward to sink his teeth into your neck as he continues his movements and marks you. 

“Oh maker Din- I…Din, you’re-” The words die in your throat when you feel Din’s other hand palm the fabric of your panties and slip underneath them. Your breath gets caught harshly in your throat when you focus on just how hot his hand feels as it squeezes your ass, and you wonder if his cock would feel just as excruciatingly warm as it filled your cunt.

“Kriffing hell, I thought my name would sound beautiful on your lips baby. But, ah fuck, didn’t think it would sound this filthy as well. Go on sweetheart, keep calling for me…beg me to pleasure you…beg.” His voice is strained and you can’t help but reach for his hair and tug on it as he licks down your throat until he reaches the top of your breasts. You want to give him what he wants, you want nothing more than to beg for him to drag you to his room and fuck you senslsess, but the more he leaves his mark on your skin, the less sense your mind can make of what’s happening, and you find it difficult to do what he wants, let alone think over the command in your hazy mind. 

“I said, beg.” Din growls the command into your ear, and you arch your back into him when he wraps the top of your panties around his fingers and pulls on it until it rips. Your cunt clenches around nothing as the sound of the fabric ripping fills the quiet air, and your throat constricts further when Din crumples the flimsy material of your undergarment before shoving it against his nose and taking a long whiff of your scent. 

“Fuck…the smell of you is addicting. I could drown in your scent, sweet girl…could fuck your pretty little cunt and have you gushing on my mouth all night long and I’d want more.” Your legs try to close as his words register in your mind, and Din senses your body’s reaction to him before you do, his eyes shifting from your panties to your legs and back up to your face in a matter of seconds, almost as if he was daring you to push him away. Your lips part to form a response, anything that can make him put you out of your misery, but then Din shoves your panties into the pocket of his pants and slowly drags his hand across your thigh until he has a firm grasp of your ass once more. Both of his palms spread across the expanse of your backside, and you watch as the smile on his handsome features widens further right before he places your feet down on the floor again. 

You're not sure what he’s thinking, and don’t remove your hands from his shoulders even when he looks like he’s about to let you go. You watch his every move, hoping that he won’t leave you wanting for too long, and when his eyes roam down your heaving chest to where he’s exposed you to his hungry eyes, you tilt your heart to the side at the way he licks his lips like a predator. Following his line of sight, you silently curse and remove your hands to try and cover yourself when you notice how wet you are. But Din wouldn’t be the best hunter in the Guild if he didn’t have impeccable reflexes, and you whine his name when he reaches for both of your wrists and keeps them planted at your sides.

“Don’t even fucking think about hiding yourself from me. You said you’re mine.” His tone is somehow menacing and soft, and you think it might be because he wants to make sure that you were telling the truth. 

“I am.” His shoulders visibly relax are your whispered confession, and the grip he has on your wrists tightens even further before he brings both of your hands to your back and silently orders you to keep them there. 

“Then don’t hide from me what’s mine, cyar’ika.” He orders as he grabs your waist and massages it lightly, almost as if he wanted to calm you down before he attacked you again. Your breathing becomes erratic when you notice the way he’s eyeing your body, and as you’re about to ask him if he needs anything, Din brings his gaze back to you once more just as he rips the rest of your nightgown down the middle, further exposing you to his needy eyes. 

You want to cover your naked breasts but remember what he said moments ago and decide against it, choosing to avoid eye contact instead in hopes of mustering up some courage for when he asks you to. 

“I- I thought you were beautiful when you visited my dreams every night, but you’re so much more gorgeous than I thought…than I saw every time I touched myself and pretended it was your soft hands making me come.” You shouldn’t be surprised that Din is so vocal during such an intimate moment, but you struggle to wrap your head around the fact that the often quiet, reserved hunter had the filthiest desires spilling from his heart so shamelessly. 

“Din-”

“Be a good girl and beg me to touch you. I want to hear you sweetheart, want to hear you tell me how much you want me.” You want to laugh at the pleading words Din whines at you as he tries to have you beg for him, but as his hands roam up and down your legs, you suddenly feel weak and reach for his shoulders again to prevent yourself from falling against him. Din huffs in humor when he sees the effect he’s having on you, and wraps his arms around your back to keep you steady. 

“P-please Din, you’ve no idea how often I thought of this. I think of nothing else but you, all the kriffing time. I even- I touch myself every night to the thought of you, pretending it’s your lips making me feel so hot, your- your hands bruising me as you fucked me like you can’t get enough of me, as you- oh kriff, as you filled all my holes with your cum…but it’s never enough, never hard enough, never thick enough, never- ahhh, never good enough. I need you to make a mess of me Din, till I can’t remember anything but your touch…Please Din? Please take me. Fuck me till I can’t think of anything but you…you and nothing else, no one else. I- I’ll do anything you want I swear. I’ll be your good girl, I’ll take you in my mouth, my pussy…my ass if you want. Just don’t stop touching me because-”

You can pinpoint the moment Din lost whatever control he had left in his body because in the blink of an eye, he’s standing to his full height and reaching for your throat, not caring for how rough he’s being as he wraps his hand around your neck and pulls you into his chest. You fist your hands into his loose shirt as soon as you feel his mouth on your own, and the deeper he shoves his tongue past your lips, the tighter his hold on you grows until you can barely breathe. Between the breathtaking kiss and the way his fingers perfectly close around your throat, you grow lightheaded and decide to surrender yourself completely to him. It’s in this moment that Din finally has some mercy on you and breaks the kiss, never once removing his gaze from your pretty eyes as he waits for you to look into his dilated pupils. There’s something dangerous swimming in his barely brown orbs, and you shiver at the prospect of being at the mercy of such a fiery spirit 

“What will you say if you want me to stop?” He hisses at you, and it takes you a few seconds to realize what he’s asking. You furrow your eyebrows at the odd question, and Din slips his other hand around your back and lands a particularly rough slap to your ass to get your attention. You jump at the sudden impact but melt into his embrace further when he soothes it back and forth. 

“Say the word you’ll tell me if you want me to stop.” He commands again, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion before you respond to him. 

“But I- I won’t ever want you to stop!” 

“I don’t fucking care if that’s what you think…this- when I take you to my bed, I’ll pull you apart piece by piece, and I want to know what word you’ll say if you want me to put you back together again. You said you’d be a good girl for me, so go on. Be a good girl and listen to me.” You can feel slick rolling down your thighs at his words, and you feel ashamed at how wet such violent words are making you feel. 

But this is Din, and you knew you couldn’t be safer anywhere except in his arms. 

“Trask, I- I’ll say Trask if I want you to stop.” 

There’s recognition in his eyes, that you’re certain of, and the little smirk he graces you with is all you need to know that he may have had an inclination as to why you picked that specific word. 

“Now was that so hard?”

“Din, please.” You gasp when he smacks your ass again, this time a little harder than before, while his other hand tilts your neck far back until he can take a better look at you. 

“I think it’s time I give you a reward for being such a good girl for me…especially when I’ve barely touched you and you’re so…needy.” The anticipation of what he’s promised to do to you is driving you mad, and you shut your eyes when Din pushes you flush against the wall again and keeps his fingers wrapped around your throat. 

“Tell me sweet girl, which do you want first? My fingers…or my mouth?” He whispers as he kisses your cheek and leaves a trail of wet kisses down your throat to your shoulder. You’re dying to feel him where you’ve been aching for so long, but you get the sense that he may prolong this if you tell him you just want his cock now. 

“B-both…please Din, I want to feel both.” You hold onto him like your life depends on it, eyes fluttering open when you hear him chuckle above you as he nips at your clavicle. 

“What a filthy girl you are, baby, begging so sweetly when all I’ve done is kiss you.” Din teases you some more, loving the way your skin erupts in goosebumps the longer he stretches out what the two of you have been dying to feel for so many rotations. 

“Since you’ve been nothing but obedient so far, I’ll give you what you want. I’ll give you everything you want mesh’la…my fingers, my mouth, my cock. Everything your heart desires…all I want in return is to hear you pray my name.” Not bothering to waste another second, Din slips his other hand down your front, pinching your nipple in his journey and biting his lower lip when he sees the way you arch deliciously into his touches. He teases and caresses your breasts some more, loving the weight of them and how perfectly they fit in the palm of his hand. He can’t take his eyes off of how quickly they pebble as he tugs and flicks at them, and just when you’ve had enough of the aggressive touches, he leans down and flicks his tongue harshly across one, humming in approval when you moan his name the harder he sucked. 

You’re a moaning mess in a matter of seconds, unable to fathom how good it feels to have Din bite and pinch your sensitive peaks. It’s almost painful, probably is already, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, when he was worshiping you like you were the last jorgan fruit in the fucking universe.

“Hmm fuck cyare, you’re so pretty…and you’re all mine. Fucking mine.” He growls against your heated skin as his kisses turn into little bites, and you’re so busy focusing on his teeth expertly closing around your hardened nipples that you don’t take notice of the hand roaming down your body until it’s settled against your slit. 

“Din…your mouth feels so hot, like- like a fire burning me from inside.”

Your words urge him on, and as soon as you open your eyes to look down at him, Din lets go of your breast with a pop and swallows your moans. You can barely stand up and you realize the only thing keeping you still on your feet is Din’s hold on your throat and your cunt. 

Oh.

Oh his other hand felt good. 

So good.

Din can barely hold himself back from shoving his cock in your pussy when he feels how wet and warm you are the more he slides his fingers across your slit. He’d think he’s been touching you for hours if he didn’t know that the two of you were intertwined for less than one. When he feels how engorged and hard your clit is as he flicks it a few times, he reluctantly lets go of your lips just to look into your eyes as he fills you with his fingers. 

“You’re such a dirty girl, aren’t you baby? So fucking wet and hot for me, and I haven’t properly gotten you ready for my cock.” 

“Oh Din, I- I need you.” Din knows that he will never get tired of hearing you plead for his touch, and he smiles down at you as he takes his fingers away and ignores the little whimper you throw at him at the loss of his touch. He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, spitting down on his hand as loudly as possible before he returns his fingers to your cunt once more. Except this time, he doesn’t bother being gentle and teasing. 

This time, his patience has finally run out, and he desperately wanted to feel you come on his fingers. 

“You know what to say if you want me to stop,” it’s the only warning you get before Din rubs at your wet lips a few times enough to spread your juices across his fingers. When he thinks you’re ready, he slowly slips in his middle and ring fingers until you can feel the palm of his hand flush against your skin. 

“Din-” Whatever you want to say dies in your throat as soon as Din begins to curl his fingers inside you. His fingers are much thicker and longer than your own, reaching parts of you that you only dreamed of ever touching. He starts out careful and soft, rubbing the spongy walls of your cunt with unrivaled expertise. When he begins to rub his palm against your clit, your knees buckle and you lose your balance completely. Din leans down and bites into the top of your breast, increasing the pressure around your throat as he begins to pick up the pace and thrusts his fingers deeper inside you. 

“Wrap your arms around me sweetheart,” he orders between kisses and you somehow do as he says in an instant, as if your body only obeyed Din and not your own mind. 

Had you not been praying every night to the maker to finally be at Din’s mercy, you would have felt an overload of sensations from the last few minutes alone. His lips were creating flames across your already heated skin, and his words were making you melt in his arms without a single care for anything else. Then there were his hands, the one around your throat reminding you of the sheer strength he possesses, of how quickly he can bend you to his will if he so wished, while the other claimed the deepest, most intimate parts of you without difficulty, as if it was made to pleasure your cunt and was finally undoing you the way it was always meant to. 

“I- I’m…Din-”

“I can feel your cunt clenching around me sweet girl. You’re so close, aren’t you? I know you are, I know you want to come. I want you to come too, baby. I want to see you come undone on my fingers, want to taste your wet pussy as you drench me. Go on love, let go for me. Let go and I’ll push you over the edge again. Let go and I’ll fuck you like the mesh’la cockwhore I know you are.” At those last words, you part your lips in a silent cry and brace yourself for what’s to come. Digging your nails into his skin, you barely manage to open your eyes and look at Din just as he begins to plunge his fingers in and out of you at an impossible pace. He’s hitting that special, wonderful spot inside you consistently, as if he’s known your body for eons, as if he’s already memorized what pleases you and wanted nothing more than to do it time and again.

“Come for me, now.” He breathes the command as he closes his lips around your nipple, the hand around your throat loosening just a bit to make it easier for you to breathe. In the end, it doesn’t make a difference how hard he’s grabbing at your throat because you forget how to breathe as soon as that knot unravels in the pit of your stomach and you crash into him. You can feel your cunt burning with desire for more and you don’t realize what’s making Din become so feral with his bites until you look down and vaguely see a pool of liquid forming beneath where the two of you are standing. 

“Hmmm fuck, you- you’re so fucking gorgeous…that’s it baby, keep coming for me. Keep drenching me, fucking mark me for yourself cyar’ika, make a mess of us. Make a mess of us some more, let me- let me look at you so I can remember how hard I’ve made you come.” He puts some space between the two of you, and you throw your head back in ecstasy as his hand doesn’t slow down and continues to move rapidly in and out of your pussy. Your legs are shaking and your screams are louder than you ever thought possible, but Din continues to ask you for more. 

And the more he calls you his sweet girl, the more you come on his fingers and wet his hands. It would have been embarrassing if it was anyone else, but seeing Din’s reaction to the mess you were making of his ship, even hearing the frantic growls he was breathing against your throat, makes you wish you could do more for him. 

“Fuck sweetheart, you weren’t lying when you said you wanted me this bad.” Din manages to say right before he kisses you again, and you try to remind yourself to ask him later why he enjoyed asking you questions and silencing you with a bruising kiss right after without receiving a response. For now though, you relished in the different touches that proved to you he wanted you just as much. From the bruising kiss to the growingly aggressive sensation his fingers were sending throughout your muscles, you knew it would be impossible to ever come again without feeling him against you. 

Din tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, making you reach for his hair and pull on it in an attempt to make him see stars as well. He chuckles against your lips, but pushes you harder against the wall the more you tug on his brown locks, and before you know it, his fingers are thrusting in and out of you harshly and without mercy. You fall apart again, unsure of whether this was your second orgasm or if it was just a continuation of the first. 

It doesn’t matter in the end because like before, Din nips and sucks on your tongue with desperation, silently letting you know that he really enjoyed how hard he was making you fall apart at his touch. Your thighs strain as Din pushes them apart with one of his legs to get better access to your cunt, and when he’s sure you can’t take it anymore, he leans down and angles his hand a bit lower, the action pushing his fingertips higher against your tightened walls and forcing another orgasm out of you. You break the kiss in an attempt to breathe but all that comes out is a string of curses along with Din’s name, and you don’t realize what you’re saying until Din begins to slow down but keeps his fingers warm inside your pussy. 

“You- you really want me to stop?” He’s out of breath when he asks, and you furrow your eyebrows at both the tone of his voice and the question, as if he was the one having a hard time breathing from coming so hard. You barely manage to look at him, whimpering his name like a silent prayer when you see the feral look in his eyes as he studies your features. 

“No- Din, please…don’t stop. T-take what you want….’m yours.” You’re not making much sense to your own ears but Din hears enough to know that you were still willing to give him every bit of you. When he’s sure you’ve had enough respite and filled your lungs with air, he lunges for your throat and bites into the jugular of your neck while wrapping his arm around your back to keep you upright. Just as you’re about to beg him to keep touching you, you feel him inch a third finger inside your cunt, splitting you open on his thick and long fingers like no other has before him. You don’t get the chance to say anything else as you feel him move his digits in and out of you at a slowly increasing pace. 

“I wanted to get you nice and ready for my cock cyar’ika, but you’re so kriffing tight on my fingers…so fucking tight and I’ve made you come twice already. Why don’t you give me another baby? Give me another so I can give you my cock. Come on my fingers like the good girl I know you are.” His words are all you need to fall apart another time, and you hold tightly onto his shirt as he lets you nuzzle into his neck while he pushes his fingers so deep inside you that you can’t feel anything but him. 

“Din…Din…oh maker Din I- I’m…”

“Claim me little cyar’ika, claim me like I claimed you.” You gush around him harder than before, squirting all over his thighs and arm until the two of you are standing in nothing but your essence. You’re embarrassed by how much of a mess you made of his ship, but you realize that Din might not care about that at the moment. As a matter of fact, it seemed that he enjoyed the mess you were making of him and the ship, and you file that information for later when you can tease him about it. 

For now, you give yourself to the sensation that is Din. 

His breath, his gaze, his touch. 

And hopefully his love. 

When it’s evident you can’t support yourself anymore, Din slows down to a stop but doesn't remove his fingers from you just yet. He studies you closely, eyes roaming the expanse of your glistening, shaking form in an attempt to commit every inch of you to memory. He can feel your muscles begging for respite and leans in to kiss your cheek just as he slips his wet fingers from your cunt. You shudder at the emptiness suddenly taking over you, and look into his eyes as he slides his hand up your body. He smiles at you as he takes his fingers into his mouth and hums lewdly at the taste of you. 

“I knew it, knew you’d taste so fucking good.” His voice echoes in your mind as you use him to support your overexerted body. 

The two of you stand in silence for a few minutes, sighing in relief at finally crossing the line you’ve been dancing around for months now. Din kisses everywhere he can reach, occasionally digging his teeth into your skin if only to hear you moan his name as you grab for him. When he notices that you’re able to stand better on your feet, he lets go of you and slips the ruined nightgown from your body. You shiver as the cold air hits your sweaty skin, but the warmth of Din overtakes you completely as he reaches down and carries you in his arms. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and nuzzle into his neck as he begins to move through the quiet hallways of his ship. You feel his hands digging harder into the meat of your thighs and back when you lick at his clavicle, and you can’t help but smile at the obvious effect you are having on him. 

He makes his way towards his room and a rush of nerves engulfs you when you realize that you never once came in here in all your time at his service. You knew better than to cross those boundaries he’s silently set for you all those months ago, and although you hoped for him to open up with you, you never thought he’d be so willing to get this far. 

Certainly not to the point of bringing you into his private quarters. 

“I can hear your thoughts sweet girl.” He teases as he enters his room and walks you to his bed, softly placing your nude form in between his sheets before standing up to rid himself of his own clothes. 

“Din, you- you’re too far.” You sigh at him as you grab for his sheets, and Din bites his lower lip to prevent himself from embarrassing you further. He wants to call you out on being such a needy girl for him, for being so obedient when he’s only just begun to show you how much he wants. 

And he desperately wants to tease you about the effect he had on you earlier today, when he ignited his Saber and ended the hunt within the blink of an eye. He noticed your body’s reactions to his violent movement, recognized the signs in the way your thighs clenched tightly when he strutted your way and ordered you never to act so recklessly again. He spent hours in the cockpit convincing himself that he shouldn’t take advantage of you, but the longer he spent on those little hitched breaths and the way you eyed him whenever he walked by to fix something, it occurred to him that he may not be taking advantage after all. 

Maybe you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. 

And maybe, just maybe, you wanted more than his touches. Maybe you wanted his heart. 

Maker, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you said those words to him. 

So he grows quiet and shoves his own dreams aside, knowing that he would rather have you this way than not having you at all. 

As he lowers his pants, he smirks down at you and winks when you turn away embarrassed at being caught shamelessly licking your lips at his physique. He wasn’t muscular necessarily, but you could tell his body was used to exertion and exercised the right muscles to help him accomplish his job. 

“The way you look at me mesh’la…fuck, makes me so fucking hard, makes me wish I can keep you in my bed all the time and fuck you whenever I please.” His hopes spill without a second thought, and he wants to apologize for presuming that you’d ever agree to such a thing, but then he notices the way you reach for his thighs and beg him to touch you with those wanton eyes of yours and he can’t help but tease you a bit more. 

“Hmm, you’d like that baby? You’d like it if I kept you in my arms every night, sunk my cock in that tight, wet cunt of yours till I filled you with my seed. Tell me sweet thing, you want me to make space for you here, so you don’t ever want to leave me?” He prays his desperation doesn’t come off too strongly for you, but the prayer is cut short when you nod frantically at him and whimper his name like he had the key to everything you’ve ever wanted. 

“Please Din, don’t keep me away from you anymore. I want you, all the kriffing time…want to kiss you and touch you and make you feel good. I want- no, I need you Din. Please? Don’t shut me out, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t- don’t…” Din’s smile falters briefly when he sees how unhinged you’ve become in your requests and he throws out whatever caution he still reserved for you, lunging forward and covering your body with his own in the blink of an eye. 

“Sweet girl, you want me this much?” The genuine curiosity in his voice catches you off guard because up until this point, you thought he could see through each and every desire your heart displayed for him.

“Yes Din, I- I always want you. It- having you touch me and kiss me won’t ever be enough…it won’t. I want to be with you every waking moment and- and every night. If you’ll have me…only if hmphh-” He cuts your revelations short with his lips, wrapping his arms around your tired form and making space for himself in between your thighs as he takes your breath away with his tongue. You bring him as flush to you as possible, not caring for how difficult you’re beginning to find it to breathe. All you knew was that you desperately wanted to have him, in every way possible. 

And as you feel his hips thrust against your heated core, you quickly cross your legs behind his back and move your own lower body against him for some more friction. His cock nestles perfectly against your slit and you cry out beneath him when you feel just how hot and heavy and thick he feels. 

Din breaks the kiss reluctantly, and he pulls away far enough to take a look at you as he finally gives the two of you what you’ve been craving for so long. 

“Mesh’la, I- I must have you. I’ve thought of this moment so often and I believed I would have more patience. But I can’t wait any longer, I need to have you…need to feel your walls stretch around my cock.” He lets go of you and slips his hand between your sweaty bodies, looking down at where the two of you are almost connected and touching your forehead with his in a silent request. 

“Din, I want you to fuck me hard…don’t hold back, I want to feel you with every breath I take.” You lean up and kiss his aquiline nose, breathing heavily against him when he drags the tip of his cock in between your wet lips. As he nudges your aching clit time and again, you feel your lungs almost collapse on themselves at the promise of what’s to come. 

Just when you’re about to plead for him again, Din slowly inches his cock into your pussy, shoulders shaking intensely as he feels your hot, tight walls swallowing him whole. He huffs against your cheeks several times in an attempt to hold himself back so he doesn’t hurt you, but you dig your nails into his back and urge him on, chest rising and falling rapidly as you feel him stretch your cunt around his dick. 

“Oh fuck, f-ffuck…you’re so kriffing tight ‘round me.” He barely manages to whisper as he pushes deeper into you, his heart threatening to leap out of his chest the harder your walls spasm around him. He can hear how wet you are, and he swears beneath his breath when he realizes that he may have not prepared you enough for him. But then you cross your ankles tightly and force him to bring his body even closer to you, allowing him to push those remaining inches in your pussy suddenly until there isn’t space between your forms. 

When you’re finally able to breathe again, you look at Din and gasp at seeing how focused he seems to be. All it takes is one look into his eyes to know what he’s been holding from you all this time and you lean over and nip at his chin as he moves off of you before slamming his cock inside you again. You throw your head back at the force of his movement, unable to fathom how it was still possible for him to hit every little bit of you that you didn’t know could bring you even closer to the edge again. 

“Din-”

“Sweet girl, you’re perfect. Fucking perfect,” Din nuzzles into your neck, and although he knows that he’s sweating hard and should probably give you some space so you can breathe, he can’t bring himself to remove his skin from your own, wanting to feel every bit of your body sliding against his own as he claimed your soul. 

“You have no idea how- pfassk, how long I’ve dreamt of this…I wanted you for so long baby, and now that you’re here, with my cock carving your tight cunt so sweetly so you can take me, I- I don’t think I’ll ever want to let you go. I won’t, never…never going to let you go.” His words light a different fire in your chest, and you open your eyes just a little to look at him as he confessed to you everything you wanted to hear from him. 

“I’m yours Din,” you cry for him as he slams down hard and deep into you, filling you with his cock perfectly until you can feel every ridge and ever protruding vein pass against your sensitive walls. You can feel that familiar burning sensation taking home in your stomach again, and although you want to beg him to make you come, you hold back from those words, not wanting to be selfish in your pleasure that you don’t let him chase his own. With each harsh and punishing thrust, you find yourself wishing you can feel him everywhere all at once. 

“Mine, fucking mine…won’t let you leave me. You’re mine baby, you hear that? You’re fucking mine.” He growls those words against your breasts, and you don’t realize you’re crying until he drags his fingers across your face to wipe the tears away before trailing his hand down your cheeks to your neck and closing his fingers around you. The force of his actions is all you need to push you over the edge, and you forget that you weren’t supposed to tell him those three words until he willingly said to you first. 

“I- I love you, oh maker…I love you Din. Please, come for me…come inside me, fill me with your seed. Make me yours!” You’re screaming your deepest and darkest secrets to him, not realizing that Din was filing those wonderful words in his heart to fill the gaping hole that was begging for attention ever since he hired you. 

“You mean that cyar’ika?” He asks in the heat of the moment, never once slowing down because if he was going to come, then he was going to wait until he was sure you felt the same way. 

A part of you doesn’t want to answer him, pretend that you never heard his question and that you didn’t just tell him what you promised you’d never say. But then you look down and see hope and something more fearful swimming in his eyes, and you can’t hold back anymore. 

“Yes, I- I do Din. I love you…so much.” 

Your words ring in his ears for a few moments, and he sighs in relief as he sinks down against you and pushes his cock one last time inside your aching cunt before he breathes those words back to you. 

“You’ve had my heart ever since I saw you cyare,” he may not have said those exact same words to you, but you knew in your heart that he meant them. When he kisses you again, it’s less frantic but just as desperate as the many other times he filled your mouth with his tongue. As he fills you with his cock, you feel a sense of relief wash over you at finally being with Din in all the ways you dreamt. 

He’s slow and steady now, and you think it might be because he now knew that you aren’t going anywhere, that every bit of your heart and soul never wanted to part from him again. It’s almost too intense for you, the delicious drag of his dick against your tight walls, but then he stills for a brief moment and you swear you can feel his cock twitching inside you, begging for a release. 

“Please Din, come for me. I want to feel you fill me with your cum mark every inch of me.” 

It’s all he needs to hear to pull out one last time and thrust back into you with as much force as he can muster up. You push your fingers into his hair and pull him towards your neck as you pray his name over and over again, the rush of heat filling your cunt making you burn with a warmth unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. He growls his release against your neck, biting down harshly as he empties himself inside you. The two of you are messy with each others’ fluids but neither of you care as Din sinks his weight on top of you and feels your pussy clench tightly around him, milking him dry until his cum leaks down your thighs. Your mixed release brings a smile to his face, and he licks the bruises he’s left behind so they don’t look too jarring the following day. 

Neither of you dare to move an inch for a while, and it’s not until Din feels your chest barely rising and falling that he finally gets off and looks down at you. He finds a hazy smile widening on your features, and he can’t help but lean down and kiss you until the same smile appears on his own handsome face. 

The two of you continue to look into each other’s eyes until Din feels your cunt spasm around him all of a sudden. He hisses when your thighs attempt to close around his hips again, and before he can grow hard again, he slips out of you and falls to the side, bringing you into his chest without caring for the mess the two of you have made of his sheets. 

He looks down at you and raises a curious eyebrow when he notices the way you’re eyeing him already. 

“What is it?”

“Nothing, I just…I never thought you’d look this pretty underneath that helmet of yours.” You would have been too shy to say something so frank to him a few hours ago, but after everything he’s done, you think he might genuinely appreciate your honesty during such an intimate moment. 

“Pretty? Didn’t think you can call men pretty, mesh’la.” He wraps his arm around you to bring you even closer to him, and you laugh as you reach over and kiss his jaw, the scruff of his beard tickling you in the most enticing way. 

“Well, I just did. If you have any problems with that, take it up with my boss.” You nudge him with your nose, and giggle when he slips his hand down and lightly smacks your ass. 

“Oh yeah, I might just do that.” It’s Din’s turn to lean down and kiss your forehead, and you shut your eyes to relish in the softness he had no trouble displaying to you now that you were finally on the same page. 

“But be careful, he’s a little rough around the edges.” You hide in his chest when he narrows his eyes at you, but the gasps turn into giggles when he pushes you beneath him again and attacks you with more kisses and nips. 

“You- ahh, stop it, you didn’t let me finish.” You try to get out of his grasp but Din is much stronger than you, and he continues to assault you with more love bites until he sees you truly struggling to breathe in between laughs. 

“Tell me then.” His voice is hoarse, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wanted to go again with you. 

“He’s a little rough around the edges,” you repeat again, slipping your hand from his grip so you can intertwine your fingers in between his and hold his attention. He furrows his eyebrows when he sees you bring his hand to your face and loosen the hold you have around it. You muster up the courage to look into his eyes once more as you turn his hand around and bring his palm to your mouth, laying the softest of kisses at the center of his skin before moving your lips down to his wrist and kissing it as well. Din’s breath hitches in his throat at the soft gesture and he bites into his lower lip when he sees just how genuine you are with him. 

“But he is the sweetest man I’ll ever know. And I’m beyond lucky that he loves me as much as I love him.” 

Din waits until you finish marking his skin with your heated kisses before he flips your smaller hand into his own and brings your knuckles to his lips. He shuts his eyes and caresses your fingers with his mouth, leaving a chaste kiss on the tip of each of your fingers before holding your knuckles to his bruised lips. 

“Believe me, cyare, he loves you more than you love him…more than you’ll ever know.” 

Din Djarin: @a--1--1--3 @tanzthompson @mrs-ghuleh @caitlynmarty @smileygirl0815-blog @silverclawz @evyiione @kaumalade @quicksilvermad @capsheadquaters @penguinobambino @zanzann

Pedro Pascal (and any of his characters): @pastel-0-princess​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @libbymouse​ @its--fandom--darling​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @princess76179​ @cheekygeek05​ @miraclesoflove​  @purple-mango​ @metalarmsandmanbuns​ @acthenerd​ @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks​ @wordsnwhiskey​ @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf​ @vibin-hippie​ @onesmokinbabe​ @leaiorganas​ @words-way-of-life​ @kideyz​  @lovesickmadsadpoet​ @niall7inches​ @rosiefridayrogersunday​ @sleep-tight1​ @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie​  @marsplsstop​ @ezrasbirdie​ @diogodxlot​ @janebby​ @juletheghoul​ @bii-aan-ckaa​ @nohartandsole-blog​ @djjarins​ @giselatropicana​ @maziken @blackmarketmummy​ @laviipopii​ @ew-erin​ @fan-of-encouragement​ @melody13522 @clydesducktape​ @planetariumx​ @thirddeadlysin​ @leannawithacapitala​ @fangirl-316​ @thou-creature-of-the-deep @what-iwish-you-knew​ @nabootycall​ @pascalsky​ @pedrostories​ @anaaaispunk @monocromaticstaircase​ @severinsnape @elegantduckturtle​ @gothicxbarbie​ @revengeisaconfesionofpain​ @hypnoash​ @pedritopascalito​ @eri16​ @andiesturgss​  @snarwor​ @christina-loves​ @tintinn16​ @persephones-garden​ @reaperofmen​  @heykathchuu​ @hotchlover​ @kaumalade​ @mswarriorbabe80​ @nakhudanyx​ @ezras-channel-rat​ @solemnlyswearss​ @thegirlnextdoorssister​ @alpaca-swimsuit​ @elinedjarin​ @yuukiblissthemusicwitch @dihra-vesa @pscalwhiskey @midwesternwitchery @daddymando21​ @letskeepthislo-ki @xwalltoast @alexxavicry @ewoksrus @dear-fifi @nagassia @kirsteng42 @s-u-t @yourdragonsfire @girlofchaos @thisshipwillsail316 @squidwell @the-helmet-stays-on @buckybarneshairpullingkink @hungrhay @hugmedin @balck-rose-29 @yourdragonsfire 

#the mandalorian #din djarin #pedro pascal #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #mando x reader #mando/reader #mando smut #mando fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanfiction

[sallysavestheday]

I'm fresh out of half-elven inspiration today, so have some Russingon, for a change. And some Lalwen, because there should always be more Lalwen. Also on AO3 (T: 352 words).

********

It is Lalwen who marries them.

Lalwen, whose own heart’s joy had laughed at Mandos, and now melts into the bones of the earth in blistered Dorthonion, returning, as she had ever sought, to the imagination, to the shining, breathing glory of the trees. Sinking down, that the roots may be nourished and the shattered forests rise again.

“Look not for me in the West,” she had said, as the binding caught their hearts, as Lalwen’s breath tracked hers to its source and their bodies wove together, following their minds. “This is all there is. Love, now, and the silence, after, unless it be a song of remembrance, caught in the branches, or the breeze.”

Lalwen had only kissed her again and clung, until the knife came down, and the great woods burned.

She watches Maedhros’ face as they weave their plans for the final battle, remembering Fëanor’s passion, and his bright boys’ following rage. Let the Void take us! And if it does? If there is only silence, and not even a song, where the Darkness reigns?

She is cold. Colder than she ever was in the great crossing; more certain even than then of the long fall, the bleak end. Fingon’s fine eyes catch the light as they did on the Ice, under the stars, only now they are burning.

This is all they will have. Love, now, and the silence, after.

She draws them into the robing room, after the council meeting. Pulls the gold bands from the bases of her braids to use as rings. Wraps their wrists with her sash, lays skin against skin as they stammer and shiver under her fierce, forgiving gaze.

Maedhros tries to demur, to conjure spectres and channel voices of disapproval, but he is already leaning into Fingon; their smiles matching as they ever have; their fingers twining as though carved to fit, knuckle to knuckle, tendon to tendon, bone to bone.

Lalwen blesses them. Kisses them. Sends them to bed, to their true binding.

She sits in the dark, then, for a while, listening to the silence.

To the song.  

#my fics #fingon #maedhros #russingon #lalwen

[parragone]

The Darksaber is not a Fencing Foil.

The strangest thing about the idea of Bo-Katan using the Darksaber as a fencing foil being evidence that she's somehow more suited to it is that... it's not a fencing foil. A better way to phrase what he was trying to say is that it was lighter to her, but I also think that the initial phasing betrays a sort of fundamental lack of... creativity, I suppose, with how the Saber could have been handled.

Like, don't get me wrong, and let me preface this immediately; I do think Bo-Katan should be the Mand'alor. It's the natural conclusion to her story; Mand'alor or death, that is. I just think the narrative of Mando's episodes of bobf + season 3 doesn't lend itself to a strong presentation of why, nor did they show strong character development away from her dark past. Din Djarin isn't a leader because he doesn't want to be, and frankly that itself makes him a better hand of the Mand'alor than anything else. I think that the writers ran into walls they didn't know how to handle, and a sub-par story is the result.

Now, I don't know how many people who read this are familiar with star wars legends, swordfighting, sword making, and how different swords are typically wielded. I've done an absurd amount of research and even some training on how to wield blades of multiple types effectively, and so I speak with some authority [ but certainly not a professional one ] when I say that Bo-Katan wielding the Darksaber as a fencing foil is a fundamental representation of her own character's misunderstanding of the position and power she craves.

Let's start with the basics. This is the Darksaber; I tried to get multiple angles and resources.

Even without the official description, we can see that the Darksaber is unique among all lightsabers. It has a one-edged blade with a thick, weighted handle and a slanted guard. It's the hilt as a whole, the style of the guard, and the design of the blade that gives way to this weapon simply not functioning as a fencing weapon in the slightest.

In fact, for all his clumsiness, Din Djarin had a better idea of how to use the weapon than Bo-Katan Kryze.

Let's begin with the obvious; this is not a fencing foil. To those who are uninitiated, fencing is done with one of three standard weapons; foils, epees, and sabers. The last one would make you think oh, that might be what he was referring to, but I assure you it most certainly is not.

Witness; the foil.

Notice something key about both the pistol grip and the standard grip; they are thin and lightweight, intended for one-handed use and swift movement. They also have a distinct trait among martial combat weapons, being their rounded guards that protect the whole hand in combat. Fencing, as a combat style, is one where your hand is at the most risk of immediate reprisal in the event an opponent manages a strike back at you. You are throwing your arm forward and piercing, attacking with jabs and thrusts. You do not swing a foil.

It's simply impractical.

Now, the epee.

Basically the direct sister of the Foil, with a guard meant to defend from swings. Arguably better suited for combat, I haven't seen it as much in actual fencing sport, so I can't say much on it. It can be clunky to wield, especially given that your hand must fit inside the guard, but... to each their own. It's safer than the foil, and often provides more coverage for the limb you place at most risk.

At last, the saber.

Please forgive the garbage picture for this one.

This one's handle is iconic, used across fantasy and historical fiction alike in one way or another. [ Note; you may actually know this as a rapier. It's how most of my friends seem to know it. ] Again, the notable round guard, thin hilt, and a distinct hand guard to defend the back of the hand.

All of these weapons have one thing in common. They are designed for jabs and thrusts, with thin blades meant to pierce. They have no distinct blade to them, and while a slash would... hurt, it certainly wouldn't be effective in any way. They are also historically used by light-weight combatants; watch a fencing competition, see how they bounce and leap and practically twirl around their arenas. They don't wear heavy armor; the best someone wielding a fencing weapon would wear is leather armor, not plate or even much chainmail.

These weapons resemble, interestingly enough, actual lightsabers; the only difference is that there are no circular guards, likely because if a lightsaber hits you in combat, it's taking way more than your fingers.

All of these are thin, light, and - while customized to the wielder - are all visibly small in the hand. They're meant to be used in quick, acrobatic combat that likely isn't prolonged. Remember that the Jedi would end fights quickly, and all of their fighting styles would only... prolong the inevitable, so to speak, if they were cornered by too many enemies.

Now, again, the darksaber.

This is a weapon wielded one-handed, though it can be wielded with two. It deals a majority of damage through slashing and cutting, it bears a single bladed edge, and the weapon's hilt is clunky enough that it takes the entire hand to hold it. A comparison would be holding a broom stick versus holding a... beer or wine bottle. One is significantly thicker, taking more room in your hand.

The Darksaber is also made from metal. A lot of lighter weapons throughout history tend to prefer wood, or leather wrapped wood, as a hilt; metal or metal wrapped handles tend to be considered more of a medium or heavy weapon feature, as wood could splinter, develop dry rot, or simply crack under the weight of a heavier weapon.

The weapon has a high resemblance to a legends weapon that's a heritage piece for the Mandalorians; the beskad. This is a one-edged blade often the length of the wielder's arm, forged from beskar and carried by those who practice that particular strain of Mando martial arts. In legends, it would sometimes be wielded in conjecture with a kai dagger in the off-hand, but that was optional.

shoutout to Tyler Broyles on artstation for this particular reference.

This weapon is designed for short, devastating slashes and to crack open weaknesses in armor plating. More importantly, it was heavy. It was designed to break through an enemy's defenses through sharpness or strength, and so it was designed to be both precise and brutal. This method of fighting allowed Mandalorians to get in close to an enemy and deny them the space to escape, and a single swing of a well-made beskad could embed itself into the bone of an opponent. Those made in beskar could stop lightsabers.

So, we have a cultural precedent for the design of the Darksaber. More notably, though, the beskad visually presents much closer to a different sort of blade altogether in the real world;

The infamous falchion. No, not the curved fantasy one; the one used in history. One straight or nearly-straight blunt side, one honed to a sharp edge, ending in a tapered point.

including some more modern presentations of the same blade;

Do you see, by chance, the way this mirrors the Darksaber? Let's take one more look at it.

You see it?

This is a weapon designed by a Mandalorian who, according to legend, became Mand'alor and designed this weapon specifically for himself. You don't do that without significant combat prowess. He understood what the weapon was designed for; heavy slashes, close combat, and aggressive, overwhelming force. This is not the weapon of a fencer, this is a weapon of a knight. To use it as a fencing weapon fundamentally misunderstands the point of the weapon.

And he's right. She jabs and thrusts with it, she uses the fact that it's light to her to her advantage, but it's awkward. She puts no weight behind it, or maybe she can't put weight behind it. She uses it as she sees power; something light, to toss around and nearly flaunt even in the heat of battle. It's how she's always seen power; somethign easily passed from hand to hand [ perhaps too easily, as she watched Maul claim it so easily ]

Din Djarin, meanwhile, finds it incredibly heavy. And while he himself is clumsy, he seems to know how to use it, as his first instinct is to slash and cut with the weapon. It's less a lack of embracing the weapon and more a discomfort with the power it carries, one that shows itself the more he knows about the significance it holds, especially as he doesn't appear to find it heavy when he first picks it up in season 2's finale.

From a narrative standpoint, this would have been something fun to explore. Make the Darksaber heavier for Bo-Katan as she comes into the position of Mand'alor and having earned it, having truly changed to embrace all of her culture and people for better or for worse. Have the great reveal about the Darksaber be that it never gets lighter for those who realize the weight of their station, but rather serves as some physical reminder of their responsibility. Rather than some indicator of worthiness or moral compass, have it reflect one's acceptance of their position and the weight that comes with it. Or, if you want it to be some mystical indicator of the worthy, have it only be heavy for those who are.

Use it to show that she truly doesn't understand the weight of what she wants. Use it to show that she's disregarded the culture she comes from and the history of her people. Use it to show that she's finally understanding that she wants what her sister wanted by bringing peace and unity to her people, she's just doing it a different way. Use it to show that Pre Vizsla didn't understand either, which is why it was just as clumsy and awkward for him to use as it is for Bo.

Use it to show that Bo understands that Death Watch was wrong.

The weapon was never designed for lightweight fighting. The fact she uses it for that shows that she doesn't understand the station or the culture behind it. The fact that Din Djarin, unwilling and clumsy as he is, uses it more appropriately? Yeah. It's telling.

The fact the producers somehow missed the whole purpose behind a blade's design and function? Yeah.

#the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian #the mandalorian season 3 #the mandalorian s3 #din djarin #bo katan kryze #swordplay #sword design #star wars #star wars canon #star wars legends #mandalorians

[yukipri]

The Bad Batch Ep S2 Ep 11 - Thoughts & Spoilers

Spoilers,

Spoilers,

Spoilers,

So everything's beneath the cut!

I know with the Mando S3 premiere, this episode may have gotten even less attention than the rest of the show. BUT this episode had some incredible things, so here are *some* of my thoughts.

FIRST:

HIM!!!!! and he was NAMED and had LINES!!!!

This is super exciting, because while we glimpsed Scorch in Season 1 while they were rescuing Gregor, I don't think he was mentioned anywhere by name, meaning it could have just been a random other RC with similar paint.

Delta Squad (from Legends) was technically canonized when they cameo'd in the Clone Wars, but it's so nice to see them again! It makes me pray that the other 3 members have escaped and are with Rex, because Scorch is *definitely* still super chipped....

Next, the MAIN thing I was super excited about:

So many things in this episode made me absolutely SCREAM, but the main one was probably FINALLY some movement on the connection between Nala Se and Omega. That's something I've been dying for more elaboration on since S1.

Omega is clearly a kid created for a specific reason, raised under specific circumstances, who has a unique bond with Nala Se, the primary creator of all clones. I was sure this would be part of the central storyline of TBB so I'm SO GLAD we're finally getting to it.

The thing is, Omega clearly has very complex feelings towards Nala Se, and Nala Se also considers Omega "special." SUPER curious to see where they go with this, especially since Nala Se seems to be reluctant to help the Empire. Understandable, given the destruction of Tipoca City, but she also never struck me as the sentimental type. I'm personally very wary of the "care" Nala Se seems to be showing Omega, and based on what we currently know, doubt that she means it sincerely—Omega (or her DNA) is likely valuable in some way.

Not sure how I'll react if they paint Nala Se as a sympathetic character, because I doubt I'll ever forgive her for what she did to Fives. Her treatment of Fives, which is also indicative of her treatment of all other clones. Her being kind(?) to Omega doesn't erase that.

I am absolutely confident that this lab and Nala Se/Omega is part of a plot that will connect to the experiments done to Grogu, which in turn will connect to Snoke + the return of Sidious in the ST. That's the running thread, to provide explanation/justification for that "twist."

While I think TBB is fun, THIS is what I personally was waiting for—Omega's true identity and why she's of value to Nala Se, how she therefore fits into the greater plan Nala Se had, and how that in turn affects not just Fett clones, but all the cloning that runs throughout SW.

I also LOVED that Omega showed her skills here—yes, she DOES know her way around Kaminoan tech!! The only time we've really seen it before is when Cad Bane kidnapped her + the S1 finale. She was Nala Se's personal MEDICAL ASSISTANT. She is older than the Batch! She KNOWS things!!

I was genuinely expecting (hoping) to learn more about Omega throughout the entire show, and we do see her being skilled + confident around various tools, but that's around it. I hope her past that she doesn't want to talk about is dragged out into the open in these last few eps.

I have a LOT of theories about Omega's past and her connection to the Batch and their origins (pst it's all in my fic), some of which will likely no longer be canon compliant, but ah well!

Other things that really made me happy:

-The Batch showing some growth due to the last episode, and growing a spine to stand up against Cid. Both pointing out that she didn't help them like they've helped her, and demanding a higher cut, though she did get the final say in the end. It was still a massive improvement!

-The ZILLO BEAST. First of all, it was definitely one of the coolest creatures in TCW, so it was super exciting to see it brought back! Its physiology is fascinating, and I loved how we got to see it visibly grow due to it feeding on electricity. This is actually the second creature we've encountered in TBB that seems to like electricity as an energy source, the first being in S1. It's neat to see this pattern, perhaps they're distantly related species?

I also LOVED that it tied into more experiments. I need to rewatch the eps, but i think it was implied in TCW that Palps was interested in the Zillo beast's armor, so I loved seeing that actually followed up on!

In general, I'm just a huge fan when world building plot points connect or are followed up on to build continuity and a greater view of the SW universe, and this episode definitely connected a bunch of points, so that was awesome!

Anyway, only 5 eps left of S2, excited to see where it goes!

#the bad batch #TBB #the Bad Batch Season 2 #TBB S2 #YukiPri rambles #Spoilers #TBB spoilers #the bad batch spoilers

[danafinwefeaelenionfeanorian]

Feanorian Week Day Seven: Feanaro and Nerdanel

140 FO

"They're supposed to arrive today," I tell Mother over my tea cup.

She decided to drag me from my desk in the castle to enjoy a small break with her. At the manor, no less. We could have gone anywhere in Tirion, but we had to go home.

I'm not mad about it, but this means I could be here when they arrive. I wasn’t expecting to see them until dinner. I had time to rein in my emotions but now I may not.

I'm supposed to be Arafinwe's chief advisor and head of state. I take care of nearly everything for him like I did for Oropher and Thranduil in their respective ruling of the Eryn Lasgalen.

Father, Grandfather and Grandmother are set to arrive in Tirion today. They should go to the castle to see Arafinwe first, but I have a sneaking suspicion they are coming here first. I’d have been fine greeting them there but again I think they’ll come here.

Mother hasn't seen Father since we left in 1495. I haven't seen Grandfather since he was murdered twelve feet from me. As for Grandmother, neither Mother nor I have met her. She's been in Mandos since before either of us was born.

"That's what has you fired up?" She asks, raising her eyebrow.

"Yes," I gulp some tea down to avoid a longer answer.

"Dana, darling, you're getting married next week, and your Father, Grandfather and Grandmother arriving is what has you more fired up than a smithy." Mother snorts in an attempt to hold back her nervous laughter.

An understatement. I feel like I'm holding back a torrent of flames and heat, and holding it back is so strenuous that I've begun to shake.

"Yes,"

"You'd think I'd be more...more..."

"More fired up than me?" I offer loosely drawing on my skills as a wordsmith.

"Yes,"

"Dana, there are three people coming up the drive. One has silver hair like Turca," Tauriel's voice filters into the sunroom. I'd ask what could have possibly torn her away from her drawing with Nelyo, but when someone has hair like Turca, there can only be one person it belongs to.

The art room and the sunroom overlook the drive. I could see if it’s them. I twist in the arm chair and try to catch a glimpse of the three people. Sure enough there are three people walking up the drive. One has silver hair and the other two have dark brown hair.

Oh, sweet Varda, they're here.

I plop my tea cup onto the side table and stare at Mother. She looks as nervous as I feel. Oh valar.

I slide my legs off the arm of the armchair and stand. Together, Mother and I exit the sunroom. Nelyo meets us in the hall and walks with us to the front entry.

Tauriel silently walks behind us, muttering about our or rather my relatives, trying to figure out who they are. She then comes upon the answer and gasps.

At the front entry we don’t have to wait long for the doors to open. In fact it’s as we’re arriving that they open.

Standing on the other side of the doors are the very people I expected. Grandfather, Grandmother and Father. The original royal family. Finally, complete after all this time.

“Feaelenion,” Grandfather smiles.

“Grandfather,” I whisper.

Then, in an instant, he opens his arms for a hug like he did all those years ago. I surge forward, tears streaming down my face and fold myself into the hug. It's everything I've been wanting all these years.

I feel Grandfather lift his arms from my back and beckon Nelyo over. My brother instantly envelopes me and Grandfather in his arms. And suddenly, I'm fifty again.

“Forgive me, my dearest,” Father weeps between gasps. “forgive me,”

“I have. You are forgiven,” Mother murmurs. "You have been for some time,"

I detach myself from Grandfather and Nelyo to watch my parents. Father is kneeling and hugging Mother's waist as tightly as he can, from what I can tell. Mother is leaning down and murmuring into the top of his head.

Both have tears streaming down their cheeks.

I wipe my own tears from my face and beckon Tauriel over. She wonders closer in a daze as if realizing I wasn't exaggerating when I said I look identical to my Grandfather.

"Grandfather, this is Tauriel my oldest,"

"Your oldest," A feminine voice, not belonging to Mother, says. "How many do you have?"

"Two," I smile, glancing at the small female with silver hair. A clear relation to Father and the hair Turca inherited. "My youngest is Aravel. He's currently out with Nanwe,"

"As in the lord, Finwe mentioned you were courting?" Grandmother asks.

"I still am,"

"Dana, you're getting married to him in a week," Tauriel states as if it were plainer than my nose.

"Are we not allowed to court up until then?"

Tauriel sputters, then blows a raspberry at me. Delightful use of words, darling. Delightful.

"They are...your own?" Grandmother tentatively asks. She eyes me and my daughter.

It's quite clear that Tauriel and I do not resemble one another. Her red hair could have been inherited from Mother if she was my child, but he skin colour? That is far too dark to be mine or Nanwe's.

I'd have her no other way. She is beautiful as is. A perfect addition to my family.

"No, they're adopted. If I were to have a child of my own body, I'd turn out like you, Grandmother," I tell her as I pull Tauriel into my side for a hug.

"Oh,"

"How do you know?" Grandfather asks.

Oh, dear valar. So many questions, and it's not even over dinner. I sigh and tell them I was told by Iluvatar. Which is true. It just wasn't in person.

"YOU WHERE WHAT?" Father asks, tearing his and Mother's attention from each other.

"It was the night I'd accepted Nanwe as my intended," I sigh, remembering the night clearly as if it were yesterday. "He slipped into my dreams that night and said if I were to bear a child I would end up like my Grandmother,"

"Why did you not say something?" Nelyo asks. He saw me that morning after. I was shaken, and he knew me well enough then to know something happened.

He was so sure it was Nanwe that he nearly broke exile to tear Nanwe's head off. It took me sitting on his chest to get him to stop. I had to tell him I had a nightmare to get him to back off.

"It wasn't a big deal. Nanwe and I had just accepted one another, and children were so far off. It wasn't a pressing issue,"

Tauriel pulls on my sleeve. She's looking directly at Father. "Uncle Curvo wasn't lying when he said he looked exactly like Grandfather,"

"No he wasn't,"

"Did you say, Grandfather?" Father asks Tauriel. Father's head snaps to Tauriel standing by me.

Tauriel nods.

Father swears and gingerly picks her up in a hug and twirls her around while murmuring, "A grandchild. A grandchild. A grandchild,"

Mother and I share a smile. We had many conversations over the past month depicting what his reaction will be to Tauriel and Aravel. What his reaction to Mother will be. How she will react and how my siblings will react.

"She's also a smith," Nelyo mentions.

Father places Tauriel down and asks her if this is true. At her nod Father pulls her into a tight hug. Mother chuckles and attaches herself to her husband and grandchild.

#danafinwe feaelenion feanorian #feanaro #nerdanel #feanorianweek #feanor #nelyafinwe #kanafinwe #turcafinwe #morifinwe #feanorianweek2024 #ambarussa #amras #amrod #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #makalaure #maedhros #maglor #maitimo #finwe #mirel #arafinwe #nolofinwe #tauriel feanorian #aravel feanorian

[elenagr]

My fic for @nolofinweanweek Day 7 The huge gates swing open and a shining army emerges from there. Revived Eldar, given new bodies. Each of them became much more powerful than before. Loyal Aule Maiar distribute swords to the warriors. The most majestic of the resurrected is ahead. His fana glows a bright blue, his eyes glowing as if he were one of the Valar. He takes the sword from Maya’s hands and kisses it. “Ringil,” exclaimed the reborn Elda. Indeed, the sword is exactly like the one with which he once went against Morgoth. King Nolofinwe leaves the Halls - and leads his silver army out of there. 299 warriors, including his son. He is the three hundredth.

Those times seem so far away… The Noldor leaving Aman, moving away from Alqualonde, set up camp.

Who took part in this? - asked the leader. Findekano and the vanguard fighters came forward. -Are you aware of your responsibility? They understood what they had to participate in. Nobody shied away. There were 299 of them.

I must punish you severely, but the situation is not the same. From now on, you answer only to me. Your lot in the coming war will be the most dangerous tasks,” Nolofinwe said, adding: “I will share the responsibility with you.” He could not forgive himself that, while helping others, he ended up behind the Findekano detachment - and did not prevent the tragedy. Since then, he has always strived to be ahead. In addition to that only retreat in Dagor Bragollach, where, on the contrary, he was one of the last to retreat. Those fighters were with him. Some did not reach Endore, several elves fell in Dagor Aglareb, but most died in the fiery hell of 455. The King met the latter - together with his son - already in Mandos, immediately after Nirnaeth Arnoediad. …Seeing the fall of Gondolin on the tapestry of Vaire, overcoming his pride, Fingolfin told Namo that he wanted to return to Middle-earth and fight. The answer was: “You may be reborn, but do not try to influence the history of Middle earth any more.” Then he rejected the peace and tranquility of Valinor. Remained with those who were severely condemned for Alqualonde.

Finally, the hour has come. Their valor, their experience, their strength were required when Morgoth returned from the Gates of Night, managing to gather a vast army of creatures from the Void. They must be the first to meet the enemy's onslaught. Let others prepare. Preserve what is possible to preserve from the Old World.

“It is not you, son of Finwe, who will be given the right of the final blow,” Namo told him, “but you will be the first to look into the eyes of the Enemy.” How long had he been waiting for this moment! 300 mighty Eldar - the most luminous host that ever existed - were preparing to meet the army of many thousands of Morgoth.

#nolofinweanweek2023 #nolofinweanweek #fingolfin #silmarillion #day 7

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

For the @ainursecretsanta side event, and inspired by these prompts created by @cilil

Pairing: Tulkas | Maedhros 

Themes: Angst-ish | Soft 

Warnings: Mentions of punishment | imprisonment | death

Wordcount: 700+ words 

Summary: Maedhros humbles himself before his beloved and lord after he earned his pardon and is allowed to leave the Halls of Mandos. 

A/n:  This fic does not have the prompt in its entirety, but the text has been written to reflect the themes of it. 

Minors DNI

Divider by @estrelinha-s

Tulkas did not utter a word while the elf he once embraced as his pupil and the companion of his heart knelt before him. He listened instead, waiting for an excuse, some attempt to justify past misdeeds. He was offered none. 

His audience chamber was empty of all the other elves and Ainur. Tulkas insisted on it when Maedhros rode up to the doors of his halls and begged for an audience. At first, he wanted to refuse and send Maedhros on his way. He had been deeply wounded by the elf's betrayal and wished for nothing more than for him to leave. Then Maedhros took his hand, and pleaded for an opportunity to speak at least. Tulkas felt something stirring within him when he gazed upon a familiar pair of blue eyes and found them empty of the light he once delighted in. He then yielded to Maedhros' entreaties, urging him to wait until he sought the counsel of others. Now they were in a vast hall, all alone, with one being the humble supplicant, the other an aggrieved lord and lover. 

"I will not attempt to lie, my lord." Maedhros lowered his head out of shame. "Nor will I insult you by offering justifications for my misdeeds."

Outside, a wind swept around the trees in the inner courtyard. Their gold and crimson leaves rustled softly. Maedhros recognized that sound, and it pained him greatly. More than once, he and Tulkas lay within the shade of those trees whenever they were done sparring, and ate and talked and loved one another. Such precious moments may never come to him again, and it was all because of him and what he once did. 

"I will say that I have come to regret a great many things from my past life," Maedhros continued. "Following my father heedlessly is one. Shedding the blood of so many elves is another, and, of course, turning away from you. I will always regret turning away from you." His eyes grew wet with tears. "You were forever in my thoughts, my lord, and I... I yearned for nothing more than the warmth of your embrace."

Tulkas sagged into his seat and sighed softly. "You disgraced yourself, Nelyo. Your brothers as well. Why should I forgive you and welcome you back into my arms?"

"I... I do not know, my lord."

"I grieved for you, Nelyo. From the moment I learned of the part you played in the first kinslaying to the moment of your demise and beyond that, I grieved for you. There were times when my grief was more than I could bear. I cannot endure such agony a second time, so if you are playing me false..."

"But I am not," Maedhros dared to lift his gaze. Vivid amber orbs studied him intensely, pinning him to the cool marble floor he knelt on. "I am not playing you false, my lord. I give you my word that I am not."

Tulkas leaned forward and cupped his chin. He looked into Maedhros' eyes. They were dull and lifeless, as if all the joy they once held had been picked clean and consumed whole. 

I should have protected you, he lamented in silence. I should have defied Manwë and come for you. Melkor should never have been allowed to lay a hand on you. 

"I desired to punish you," he confessed instead. "When I went to Lord Manwë seeking his counsel, I yearned for nothing more than to wound you the way you wounded me. He reminded me of what you endured. He then reminded me of the love I still hold for you, and then he urged me to show you mercy. He was right. You have suffered enough. And he was also right when he declared that I still love you. I do love you, Nelyo. And for that reason alone, I will let you stay here. You had endured a great deal already, and I would not be so cruel as to add to it. As for my forgiving you..."

Hope and fear warred with each other in Maedhros' heart. He was hopeful that Tulkas would indeed forgive him. And he was frightened, for Tulkas, while being slow to anger, was also slow to forgive. He listened still, and awaited his lord's judgment. 

"I may forgive you," Tulkas declared, "in time. But," he held up his hand, "only if you are truly sincere, and only if you do not wish to seek the paths you once tread after Aqualondë. And you must hide nothing from me. Are these terms acceptable to you?"

Maedhros nodded, timid and hesitant. Fear slowly poured out of him, and hope poured in. "Yes," he agreed. "These terms are more than acceptable to me." 

"Good," Tulkas replied, pleased to see the resolution in his face. "Let us begin anew, you and I, and perhaps, fate will be kinder to us both."

Tags: @asianbutnotjapanese @3dragonstar

#whimsy's winter fics #twelve days of ficsmas #tulkas #maedhros #tulkas x maedhros #maekas #the valar #the ainur #the silm

[nerdanel-the-wise-istarnie]

  Nerdanel ─── .°｡↷ ✧*̥₊˚‧☆ﾐ

While still in his early youth he wedded Nerdanel, the daughter of a great smith named Mahtan, among those of the Noldor most dear to Aulë; and of Mahtan he learned much of the making of things in metal and in stone. Nerdanel also was firm of will, but more patient than Fëanor, desiring to understand minds rather than to master them, and at first she restrained him when the fire of his heart grew too hot; but his later deeds grieved her, and they became estranged. Seven sons she bore to Fëanor; her mood she bequeathed in part to some of them, but not to all

─── The Silmarillion, ❝Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor.❞

୧ *·˚ ❝ 𝒾'𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝒻 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂┆↰

·⊰ ABOUT:

Roleplay Blog of Nerdanel the Wise from the Silmarillion.

Affiliation: Not Oath of Fëanor

Language: Quenya

Birth: During the Years of the Trees- unknown

Spouse: Fëanor

Children: Maitimo, Makalaurë, Tyelkormo, Carnistir, Atarincë and Ambarussa (Amrod and Amras).

·⊰ RULES:

୧ *·˚ ❝ please just once If I can just see you❞ 

·⊰ Muse and Mun(s) are 21+ - currently two muns present

·⊰ This rp blog will contain both sfw and nsfw content, minors please dni with nsfw posts, they will be tagged appropriately

·⊰ OCs are welcome and the blog is au friendly too

·⊰ Please be aware one of the muns is dyslexic: In whatever they write there will be grammatical errors. Sometimes they may overuse this symbol (-) mainly because it helps them break things up and sometimes helps them to reduce errors

·⊰ No form of pedophilia, homophobia, racism and discrimination on this blog, and you will be blocked on-sight

·⊰ All questions for Nerdanel will the tagged as #nerdanel answers

Other RULES

·⊰ QUESTIONS:

୧ *·˚ ❝and we can love again, just as we are❞

Would Nerdanel forgive her sons if they returned to her from Mandos?

Could Nerdanel really forgive all her sons did, even if they cannot find it in themselves to forgive their own actions?

What was Nerdanel like after Fëanor and her sons left her?

·⊰ MEMORIES:

୧ *·˚ ❝my love for you, your love for me❞

tag stories, please read from the end and upwards 

˗ˏˋFollow the story of Nerdanel's sons leaving secret winter gifts for her

Nerdanel faceclaim (Eleanor Tomlinson) edited by @sorisooyaa

#nerdanel #nerdanel rp blog #rules #pinned post

[lya-dustin]

The moon lives in the lining of your skin

Chapter 1

(Reposted after deleting my lotr sideblog)

Summary: in which Melian and Thingol are not the only Maia-Elf romance ti have existed in middle earth

Gif by @mizar113

The first time he had seen her she had been tending to a grove that had been burned during a sudden wildfire that consumed the outlying villages of his realm.

When they had left it had the bareness of a battlefield, but as the maia spun and danced in her moss green dress it came back to life.

He wonders if this was how Thingol felt when he met his beloved Melian.

Was he as entranced by Melian as Gil-Galad was of this red-haired creature dancing in the sunlight?

He had been out riding, wearing none of his sigils or anything that would let her know he was the King of the lands she was in. Gil-Galad supposed that made it better, especially when she picked up her skirts and gave him a mischievous smile.

“Come find me.” She had whispered as she took off running and laughing as the woods returned to life behind her.

Gil-Galad raced after her, but he never did find the mysterious maiden.

"Lóteriel, I will find you ,Lóteriel!" the Elven King shouts to the trees.

The second time he saw her, she was sitting by a river, and he had gotten lost and injured on a hunt gone wrong.

Had he been in a better condition he may have heard the rushing of a swift current hiding under still waters of a seemingly shallow river.

Had he been paying attention to anything else but his relief at finding her he wouldn’t have stepped into the river.

“My lady, save me.” The words were lost in the roaring of the current. “Save me, Lóteriel.”

The river was enchanted to keep intruders out, had Erinti not been there he would have drowned and never found.

No orc, no troll, no human, no elf, no dwarf and no harfoots have ever survived it. Even the entwives who lived with her knew better than to get in it.

But this elf had not known that, to him it appears like any narrow river, and he cannot hear the way the current rushes faster than any of Oromë’s horses.

Erinti could not guard an entire kingdom like Melian did with her girdle, but this part of the hills was a small haven itself. A haven this elf lord had broken into and would have paid for with his life.

But he was quite handsome and rather obvious in his infatuation with her, so she believed it would be very awful if he perished and hoped Eru did not punish her for stealing a life that may have been needed in Mandos.

Erinti had taken him out of the river, but most of the damage had been done, his poor horse would never be found and the rider had far too many injuries for her liking. He may be one of the eldar, but not even the eldar was immune to injuries like that.

Erinti may be a servant of Yavanna and Vanna, but her healing abilities were meager at best. Her abilities lied in making nature awake in spring or after a disaster, not saving people.

“You are rather bold to enter my realm.” She said placing her hands again on his broken leg. It was really broken, like if they had been humans, they would’ve just killed the man. “Had I not been there you would have died along with your horse.”

“Forgive me, my lady, I was overtaken by your beauty.” As he is now, the ellon was young barely in his majority, and like all young people, he is easily beguiled by her unnatural beauty.

Enough to almost kill himself earlier this evening.

“A rather stupid thing to do, my lord.” She scolded him. “What is your name?” she asked as he got comfortable in her modest bed.

He was wearing an old tunic Erinti had from their time in Doriath and still damp from the river, but he showed no signs of discomfort and pain…yet.

There is a pause, a telltale sign that he is lying by omission. “Rodnor, or Artanaro if you prefer Quenya over Sindarin.”

A noldo, she should have known by his looks. Noldos have gray eyes with hints of golden brown or even black like coal.

Sindarin and Silvan elves had hints of green, Teleri blue like the sea, the Vanyar the yellow gold sunshine or the cool silver of the moonlight.

Rodnor’s eyes shine like clear diamonds, like the brightest of Varda’s stars.

Finwë used to have eyes like that, all his children had eyes like that with the exception of Finarfin who had the golden hues of the Vanyar.

Rarely did sons inherit their eye colors of their mothers, but Finarfin was one of those rare cases.

A shame Erinti did not have much knowledge about the Finweans. Who could his father be?

“Well met, noble fire, I apologize for what happens next and hope you do not hold it against me.” She takes advantage of the improper thoughts he is getting as her hands moved from his ankle to his knee. The tunic fit him a bit shorter than it had when she had worn it as Melian’s sometimes brother, that combined with his infatuation with her spelled trouble for the both of them.

If Erinti had applied herself to the healing arts, she could find a less painful way to set broken bones, but she does not know any other way. At least his bones had not splintered, splinters made healing difficult, could leave a flaw even Melian could not heal without great difficulty.

He tries to bite back the pain, but he is sweating and shouting by the time his broken leg returns to its original state. “You are a terrible healer, my lady.” He says as he tries to compose himself.

“Call me Erinti, but I like the name you gave me so much I wish to keep it.” She said making it worse.

“Lóteriel.” The sound of it is so beautiful it makes her heart sing. “Lothriel, in Sindarin.”

Crowned with Flowers.

It was rather sweet of him to give her a name, and such a lovely name it was.

Maybe she should rejoin society for a while, just to make sure he does not die.

#erinti of the maiar #gil galad #gil galad x oc #the moon lives in the lining of your skin fic #silmarillion fanfiction #silm au #ereinion gil galad

[longsightmyth]

Hey want a slightly angsty bright lights convo between Laeriel and Elrond re: Celebrian?

Sure you do.

“Up,” Laeriel said briskly from the doorway of his study. Elrond blinked at her.

“I am not certain what you have been told,” he said carefully, knowing full well that for Laeriel to arrive without notice meant she had come for something she considered an emergency, “but Rivendell is not in danger of siege or storm.”

“I have been told that you leave your rooms only to come here or the healing wing,” she said. “I have been told this by your children, who are convinced that you are putting things in order so that you may leave them for the west. I have, of course, told them that this is an impossibility, as you would have said something about it to me.”

Elrond raised his eyebrows. “I was not aware I need inform you of that sort of personal decision.”

Laeriel took a moment too long to answer, which meant he had hurt her, but she kept going anyway. “Now you are. Now tell me the whole thing is ridiculous so I may reassure your children that you are not about to abandon them.”

“As my wife did?” he asked. Laeriel examined him, and he knew her well enough to know that she knew she had upset him and was trying to decide whether to pursue the matter.

“Arwen and the boys might see it that way,” she said at last.

“Do you?”

She did not answer, which was answer enough. He stood, shoving his chair back too hard so it shrieked against the floor, and stalked to a window. He knew Laeriel had very strict views of what did or did not constitute reasonable cause for leaving someone she cared about, and he knew she held those she cared about to those standards.

“Celebrían was hurt very badly,” he said to the window.

“Yes,” Laeriel said.

“Her hurts were not only outside.”

“Yes,” Laeriel said again. “I know her justifications, Elrond. I am not here to condemn-”

“Are you not?” he demanded, spinning to face her. “But you do, with every word and every silence, when I know you loved her-”

“I love Celebrían,” Laeriel said. “I love many people.”

“Do you judge me, then? For I could not save her, and I a healer of such renown, while you kept Thranduil with you even when the gates of Mandos loomed, even when there was dragonfire, even when you loved Gil-Galad, when you speak of love but cannot forgive even someone too hurt to go on, cannot even forgive your own grandmother!”

She let him shout even when he knew he was trading arguments and making less and less sense, even when a particular remark hurt enough to show on her face. He could not seem to help it. He was no scion of Feanor, to lash out when thwarted, but here he was while the actual scion of Feanor let him.

“Do you only want to keep us here, those who passing care for you, and think nothing of our wants?”

Thranduil might actually kill him when next they met. Elrond was not sure he would blame him.

“Not only,” Laeriel said when he ran out of poison to spew. “I did want to keep Elros tied up in a basement until he gave up that mortality nonsense, but as I recall you backed me when I proposed the idea to Gil-Galad. So we share that impulse.”

“I wanted to keep Celebrían,” he whispered.

“We cannot keep those who truly wish to leave,” she said calmly, hands folded in front of her. “You are wise enough to have known that since childhood. I learned it rather later.”

“I learned it when Maglor left me for the nearest elves when he could no longer bear a reminder of his guilt even if meant atonement.” He sighed. “And then you found me.”

She shrugged and appropriated his chair, shoulders stiff, and said what she always did when he spoke of it. “I was looking for you.”

“I am sorry, for what I said. A great deal of it was untrue.”

“You are angry,” she said.

“I am not-”

“You are angry,” she said again. “You are angry, so angry, and hurt, and you cannot fathom why she left when she could have been here with you, who she said she loved – who you know she loved, for she showed it. It is only that she did not love you enough, or perhaps that she did but could not feel it through her own pain.”

She smiled tightly. “And also you are angry that someone hurt her enough for that to happen. I know the feeling, you see.”

“You could come with me,” he said. “If I went.”

“No,” she said.

“Thranduil.”

“Legolas,” she countered. “I could perhaps give up Thranduil – perhaps – but not my child. I know far too well the pain of that. To do that knowingly…” she shook her head.

“It would be wrong,” he finished for her.

“Worse than wrong. And, too--” She raised her eyes, which she had lowered to her lap. “I left you once, at Sirion. You were not mine, and you are not my child, but I had some measure of responsibility and I should not have left, and you were hurt for it.”

“Maglor loved us,” Elrond protested.

“Erien loved me,” Laeriel said. “It did not stop her from hurting me.”

She leaned forward, and Elrond realized suddenly that he had come towards her as if drawn there, and sat at her feet as he had often in Sirion, in Lindon, when everyone had cared for him but Laeriel had known him. “Celebrian loves you, Elrond, and she loves Arwen and Elladan and Elrohir, but she has hurt all of you nonetheless. It is all right to be angry.”

“Well,” he said after a long moment. “You would say that anyway.”

She tugged a lock of his hair. “I would, but it is still true.”

#laeriel's mother did the turn her face to the wall and die postpartum elf depression number #laeriel's dad did the turn his face to the wall my wife is dead so I die too maneuver #Laeriel has Opinions on parental responsibility #bright lights cast long shadows #also early draft bits yay

[kurlyfrasier]

Clan Mudhorn

Synopsis: Din has decided it’s time to give his friends a little something.

Pairings: Din & Friends (all platonic)

Warnings: Din is gift giving. This is just fluff with friends, I’d say. Found Family.

A/N: idk what this is you guys, more of a drabble probably lol. Grogu is in this for a minute. Also, this takes place after TBOBF. Din has accepted and is settled in his role as Mand’alore.

Word Count: 1360

It had been a few years since he accepted his role as Mand’alore. Truly accepted it. Now when there were challengers for the Darksaber (few and far between as they may be at this point), he wanted to win. He wanted to be the one shouldering the weight of Mandalore and her people. It felt…good. Natural, for the most part. It was a lot like being beroya, except now it wasn’t just for his covert. But for all Mando’ade. With fewer enemies and a - mostly - peaceful Mandalore, Din Djarin had decided it was time his name could protect his Mudhorn family. Before now, he believed his role as Mand’alore was more of a target for his enemies than protection for those he cared for. If anything ever happened to them- well, he’d never forgive himself. 

And really, if he made it known to the galaxies who his family is then it would mean a safe haven for all Mandalorians. So, in hindsight, it was a win-win.

First stop was Peli Motto. He didn’t want to have to argue with her about it so he made sure to arrive with a small squad of fighters and a couple of the best artists from Mandalore long after the two suns had set. Just in case she woke up, he brought back-up in the form of Grogu. If there was anything that could distract the mechanic, it was his son.

He landed his starship as quietly as possible and waited for the angry shouts of his favorite mechanic. After a few minutes of silence - not even the droids woke up - he lowered the ramp and had his crew tiptoe (he could not believe he was asking his people to tiptoe, as if Peli was a danger to them, but he kept that thought to himself) out of the ship. Once out, leaving a sleeping Grogu in his hammock, he whispered through his comms.

“One mudhorn signet on the roof and one on the wall, here,” Din pointed out exactly where he wanted his mudhorn signet painted to the artists before turning to his fighters. “You keep watch for any lights or sounds coming out of the building.

His team nodded their assent and took up position, scanning the area for danger as he went back into the ship to check on Grogu. He was still asleep, quiet snores the only sound in the hull.

Din sighed, thinking it ridiculous that his elite crew was lowered to this sad excuse of a covert operation. He had tried to get a few young fighters to come with him, to gain some experience in silent operations, but his crew refused to oblige him on it. What was the point of being Mand’alore when his own guard didn’t listen to him? Ridiculous.

“Hey!” The high-pitch shout had Din flinching. “What are you ruffians doing to my hangar!”

“The Mand’alore-” 

“The Mand’alore, huh?” Din could imagine Peli with her hands on her hips, droids waking up beside her and scurrying away in fear as she yelled at his guard. “You tell him I said this is a respectable establishment, not some back alley to graffiti- Bright Eyes!”

Din sauntered down the ramp with a half-asleep Grogu in his arms as Peli met him halfway, grabbing the sleepy child.

“What are you doin’ here, little guy. I haven’t seen you in months. Have you been eating good? Do you need a snack?”

Grogu cooed, wide-awake at the mention of food.

“Don’t go thinkin’ you’re outta trouble Mando,” Peli stated pointedly as she headed for the garage. “I wanna know what brings you here in the middle of the night. Ya scared me half to death with these newbies.”

Din sighed as he passed his guard, following the outspoken mechanic.

“So,” she started once she found a quick snack for Grogu, settling him on her lap as he munched away. “What are you havin’ your people do to my hangar?”

“I’m having them paint the mudhorn on your wall,” he chose to omit the signet painted on the roof.

“What for?”

Din chose his words carefully. He didn’t want Peli to think he thought she needed his protection, so he explained his reasoning in a way she would appreciate. “So Mandalorians will know you are a friend they can trust when they need repairs.”

“Well, why didn’t you just say so! If I had known your mudhorn thing would bring in business, I would’ve had you paint it on there a long time ago.”

Din didn’t tell her she would’ve been used as bait by his enemies if he had done this sooner and instead reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a necklace with a mudhorn pendant dangling from it.

“What’s this?” She asked, reaching for the gift.

“In case you’re ever in trouble. There’s a panic button on the bottom of it. Just push it and I’ll come find you.”

“Mando,” she said quietly, reverently, as she held it gently in her hand. “I can’t accept this. You’ve got a whole planet to run. You don’t have to worry about little ole me.”

“You can and you will. You don’t want to offend the Mand’alor, do you? I’ve heard he has a temper and kills anyone who so much as looks at him wrong.”

“Ha!” Peli barked out, knowing full well the man in front of her was really a gentle soul, even if he was a bit rough around the edges. “I wouldn’t wanna do that, now would I?”

~~~~~

Next stop was Fett’s Palace. A place of respite for his Mando’ade. They were already welcome. Had been for a while, but Din figured it was about time to make it official. Plus it was a good place to rest after being up all night at Peli’s hangar.

When they got there, though, Din’s Mudhorn Signet was already scorched into the sand wall behind the throne.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Fett stated when Din froze at the sight of it, voice gruff. “I wanted your people to know they were welcome, vod.”

“That’s…actually why we were here,” Din replied. “Mind if we stay the night?”

Fett smiled, helmet held at his side. “Not at all.”

Din nodded and pulled out two of the same necklaces he had given Peli. “These are for you and Shand.”

“Are you?” Fett let the question hang, knowing exactly what this meant.

“If you would like to be a part of my clan, yes. I know you can both hold your own, but there’s a panic button on the bottom of each. Push it, and I’ll come find you.”

“I am honored to be a part of your aliit, vod,” Fett gently grabbed the back of Din’s neck in a kaldabe kiss.

“You already were,” Din was surprised by how steady his voice was. “Now it’s official for the galaxies to see.”

~~~~~

There was no need for explanations on Nevarro when Cara and Greef woke up one morning to find the Mudhorn Signet painted outside of their offices, necklaces dangling on the inside knob of their doors. They put them on silently with an understanding nod to each other before continuing their day like usual. Not even questioning the fact that their friend had broken in. It was just part of being friends with a Mandalorian, plain and simple.

And if there were simple drawings left behind with Grogu’s favorite cookies- well, they weren’t going to complain about that gesture either.

~~~~~

Sorgan was refreshing to see. Looking the same as it had when they were last there. Except the children had grown several inches and were now helping, more often than not, with farming the krill.

The small Mandalorian crew stayed for two weeks. 

Grogu ate his fill of frogs (despite the children being grossed out) and krill.

They painted the mudhorn signet on the barn roof Din had previously stayed in.

Omera and Winta were the only two to receive a necklace.

Din uncomfortably accepted their hugs in return.

They were alitt now, after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mando’a Words:

~ Mand’alore (MAHN-dah-lor): Leader of Mandalorians

~ Beroya (Bair-OY-a): Bounty Hunter

~ Mando’ade (Mando-AH-day): Mandalorians/People of Mandalore

~ Vod (vohd): Brother/Sister/Sibling/Comrade

~ Aliit (Ah-LEET): Family/Clan

Pronunciations found here.

If you would like to read more by me, click here to browse the Masterlist!

#Mandalorian #fanfic #my writing #mand'alor din djarin #gifts #clan mudhorn #found family #fluff #gift giving

[sauronnaise]

Morgoth: I know exactly where to put this Christmas decoration!

Sauron: Ah?

Morgoth: *hangs Maedhros on the tree*

#tolkien #maedhros the og christmas tree decoration #silmarillion #morgoth #sauron #incorrect silmarillion quotes #incorrect tolkien quotes #maedhros #maitimo #nelyo #melkor #mairon #angbang #angband #i'm cruel with the poor nelyo these days #may he forgive me from mandos #or the volcano #whichever

[djarinsbeskar]

EXPLORATION ARC: PART 7 - A WELL EARNED REST

A/N: Please be prepared for a completely indulgent chapter that has little to no weighing towards the actual plot (truly this chapter can be skipped - think of it as an intermission chapter) but I felt may be necessary before we start diving head long into the final two parts of Exploration and thereafter, into season 2 canon. I've completely lost the plot with these chapter sizes but hopefully you can forgive me because I included a rather gratuitous smut scene for good measure (as if we don't have enough of them already). Apologies for any mistakes! I've looked at this chapter until my eyes have gone square so I've probably missed a few. Massive thanks to @heartsofbeskar​ for the gif!

Please see the notes at the end for explanations of lore mentioned and any creative liberties I've taken with it.

Word Count: 18k

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warings: SMUT! Penetrative sex, oral sex (male and female receiving, face fucking), overstimulation, squirting, mentions of breath play, mentions of violence, there is a short description of field dressing an animal, Mando and Medic both have competency kinks for each other.

Summary:  It’s mighty hard to distract yourself from your mysterious and alluring shipmate, so why bother?

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It sounded like the start of a bad joke; what does a bounty hunter, a medic and a baby sorcerer do for a vacation?

You splashed some water on your overly warm face. The refreshing coolness cleared away some of the fatigue and sweat that was still clinging to your face and neck after you had – somehow – untangled yourself from your lovers embrace. The heavy weight of his arm always winding tighter around you at the risk of losing your body against his.

It was adorable, but adorable didn’t stop you needing to pee unfortunately. So, it was with great reluctance that you staggered blindly to the fresher on wobbly legs that were still recovering from the brutal pace of his passion hours before when he returned from a hunt earlier than expected.

You examined your reflection, hit with an abrupt awareness of your own existence and how it had altered since last you properly looked at yourself with no intrusion. When the galaxy fell under a gentle hush of unconscious limbo, a rare occurrence that only existed in this ship at this time. When you finally saw yourself without the distractions of an outside world to contaminate your verdict.

When had been the last time you simply stopped and looked at your reflection?

After the victory on Endor, you recalled immediately.

The emperor was dead, and it had taken nearly a whole standard day for the news to reach you as you worked tirelessly on the casualties on Durkteel in the wake of three Imperial Star Destroyers indiscriminately laying waste to the region over a rumor of rebels meeting there. They had been correct, but the hordes of bodies – civilian and otherwise – caught in the crossfire still made your stomach roil nauseously nearly six years later.

How different you look now… an unobtrusive, seldom heard and even more rarely acknowledged part of your mind whispered. The shadow of a smile passed your lips softly.

Gone was the haunted, gaunt face streaked in the lifeblood of those you failed to save as you clutched the sink in the fresher of a rebel Star Cruiser until your knuckles turned white. As though that metal basin was the only thing keeping you tethered to this reality while the cheers of victory blaring loud and jarring from the other side of the door rattled your tenuous hold violently. Splashes of water hadn’t helped then. Not when it turned red and pink and dirty with your failure.

In her place, you saw a girl with soft eyes and glowing skin, a content smile sitting unbeknownst on her lips. An unintrusive reminder of the person who existed before the Rebellion, familiar boots sitting just inside the door, their owner missing but their presence confirmed somewhere in the house. A girl who still had cracks in her irises from the carless aggression of long held nightmares that were now paired with a relaxed, budding hope that softened those fractured edges and made them beautiful.

I missed you… you wanted to say, knowing it was silly but feeling the sentiment, nonetheless.

A quiet, muffled noise drew your attention away from the cracked mirror and to the closed door. Mando must have knocked against a crate – the Razor Crest wasn’t exactly built for a man of his size to sleep comfortably – while he was turning over in his sleep. No doubt he had startled himself awake with the noise, you thought with an exhale of laughter; he was a light sleeper at the best of times, those rare moments he did actually fall asleep.

You reached across the short distance to the small round button that plunged the fresher back into darkness before you pressed the hydraulic door to slide open into the hold with a soft whirr.

He hummed something, rumbling and incoherent into the arm he had thrown over his eyes once your feet hit the edge of the mat and you crawled back over his body nimbly. The ache between your legs and the throb of a new mark blossoming poppy and purple where your shoulder met your neck made a satisfied grin spread over your lips when his large, calloused hand found its way to the nape of your neck. There was no fight in you as he pulled you down, his mouth slanting over yours lazily in his sleepy haze, both of you spent and worn but while his cock was soft where it brushed your stomach, he didn’t seem quite ready to fall back asleep just yet.

“Kitten…” he rasped into your mouth, his tongue tracing over the bow of your upper lip when you broke apart. Your inquisitive sound at that damned nickname you found yourself liking if only because of how it sounded on his gravelly tone went unacknowledged.

There didn’t seem to be a motive for his purrs of your name as he nuzzled an aquiline nose down to the hollow of your throat when you shifted to lay on your side. His hand ran warm along your arm as he pushed himself up onto his elbow—the muscles of his arm straining as he supported his weight to hover over you.

A soft, ticklish laugh left you when the whiskers of his moustache scraped over the sensitive skin of your neck. A quirk of his lips on your throat prompted you to spread your fingers beneath his jaw and lift his mouth back up to yours, swallowing his grunt of approval when you did so.

Stars… but you would never get tired of kissing him.

It had been a whirlwind of a fortnight. Of the few jobs Mando had left, none had taken more than a day to complete. In the meantime, when he was back on the ship—he kept you in bed as long and as often as he could. It was only during waking hours, when the child needed caring for and supervision, that you actually managed to keep a shirt on for longer than an hour and his hands from wandering beneath it.

The darkness in the ship came more frequently so he could use his mouth on you as he wished. Not the same—need to taste you—he would moan if you found yourself scrambling to get him inside you somewhere where he needed to keep his helmet on. Surly and bristly, he still managed to somehow convey an affection through gruff and sometimes crass remarks that had you melting into him time and again.

The intimacy of having him like this now—invisible but fully bare to you, it was indescribable. From the sound of his voice as he panted your name and choked moans of bliss when he emptied himself inside you—to the soft, reverent press of those same lips to your palm, a location he seemed to gravitate to as much as your mouth in that delirious high the followed an orgasm.

You nestled closer with a distracted smile as his hand found its destination—lifting your palm to his mouth for his lips to trace along the thin, barely perceptible ridge of a newly formed scar. His tongue peaked out to lap at the new scar tissue before pressing his mouth more firmly to every inch of it. Mando never failed to be drawn to it since you removed the bactapad two days after the fiasco on Dantooine.

The wound he healed.

It meant something to him.

It was like another ritual—had the same feel to it, you finally figured out. That same undercurrent of intent with every move of his lips as when he cleaned his weapons, polished his armor, removed it altogether or donned it anew.

It made you ruminate more frequently on how you received the wound that caused it… the tender way he had treated it—what it eventually resulted in. But even two weeks later, a piece of the puzzle was still a mystery, and it made your brows furrow once more in thought.

“Mando,” you hummed before you could talk yourself out of it.

You felt his head shift—his lips leaving your hand and a warm hand settling at the back of your neck as his nose traced up along the column of your throat to press open-mouth, languid kisses over the marks he had left earlier; his ability to sense where they were uncanny.

But fuck, did Mando like to leave a mark.

Now that he could, now that he was free to touch you and kiss you the way he had desired to for months, a secret revealed in panting whispers against your ear one night when he was deep inside you—he never hesitated to suck a bruise into your flesh. Every time he saw it during the day cycle, he wasn’t far off from wanting to leave another. He told you as much—right before he tore a strip off the shirt you were wearing to tie around your eyes and do just that, right there as you straddled him in the cockpit.

You shoved the memory aside. It wouldn’t do to be distracted with what you wanted to ask him.

“What happened in the forest,” you mumbled quietly into the hold, hesitant to ask even as your head tipped back to give him greater access to your neck.

Neither of you had addressed it, the fight on Dantooine. You were more concerned with reaffirming your survival – through racing heartbeats and carnal desire and the ecstasy of falling apart around each other – than you were of acknowledging the fact that you might have died.

But you needed to know.

You always needed to know.

That same mind – brilliant, it was often called as frequently condescending as it was complimentary – would always wonder. The curiosity you had in spades, that allowed you to absorb countless tomes of information eagerly, would never be satisfied until it made sense of what happened.

That Trandoshan should have killed you, you had come to terms with that. But you wouldn’t be able to let it go and finally move on until you knew how he was stopped. And as much as Mando might brush it off as a well-timed shot—you knew there was something he wasn’t telling you, that one missing piece.

Ah.

And there it was—his tell.

That sudden tension in the muscle of his neck as your fingers ghosted over it, the twitch of tendons that was no doubt mimicked in the tick of his jaw. It all pointed to a concealed truth you meant to learn.

“We both know he was would have ki—”

“He didn’t.”

Mando’s voice was harsher than he probably intended, a feral snap of annoyance cracking hard and fast like a whip as his fingers dug into the meat of your thigh to hook your leg over his hip, pulling you closer. Always closer.

You sighed at the vibrating growls you could detect rumbling under your palm that rested on his chest and leaned up to kiss beneath his jaw soothingly. It was a newly found erogenous zone that never failed to make him shudder and his muscles melt. But he held strong this time—tried to remain firm as he rolled onto his back and took you with him, pressing your soft body into his hard one as though he meant to pull you into his skin, into his body where you would be safe while the semi-hard length of his erection pushed up against your sore cunt.

“He didn’t” you breathed quietly against the scruff of his jaw, “because I was saved… and you know how.”

It wasn’t a question, and you didn’t phrase it as such. He was too smart, too sharp for you to show any possibility of uncertainty. You knew he would exploit that instead of answering you, focus on that uncertainty instead and attempt to soothe you with placations. So, you removed all doubt, and put him on the spot. You were just as clever, after all.

“Kitten—” he warned, his hand tangling in the length of your hair at the back of your skull to crash his lips to yours.

It wasn’t a soft kiss, it was a warning. A move to try and dissuade you from your path, to distract you as he kneaded your ass cheek roughly, releasing it only to snake two fingers down between your cheeks where they glanced over your rear entrance and down to your swollen pussy to circle and spread the evidence of what remained of your combined release and renewed arousal.

“Mando…” you warned in turn, his name puffed against his lips and a clear statement that you knew what he was up to.

The gust of a sigh, deep and defeated left him as his head fell back against the mat, staring at the darkness above him. You smirked—victorious and proud of your resilience to his efforts to distract you. Though, if you were completely honest with yourself, had he not just fucked you earlier, your resolve would have been non-existent. You knew that you would be reaching for him soon enough again, but for now—you reveled in a small triumph when you propped your head up by your elbow and shifted to lay beside him again, your free hand stroking lazily over the broad expanse of his chest.

“Please?” you tagged on quietly after a few molasses slow seconds of silence.

His head turned towards you on the mat, the tip of his nose brushing yours and you felt the warmth of his breath fan across your chin silently. It disappeared soon after as he turned his head back to continue staring blindly at the ceiling of the ship, contemplating.

“The kid.”

The words fell flat and heavy on your lap, a tone of gravity and reluctance making them sound almost foreign and you wondered for a second if you had heard him right at all.

That… wasn’t what you had been expecting.

Brows furrowed, a noise of confusion caught in your throat – halfway between voicing a question but stalling when you realized you hadn’t a clue where to begin – and your eyes, though unseeing, were drawn to the pod where the child slept peacefully in front of Mando’s bunk.

“The…kid?”

He adjusted his arm to rest it behind his head, his free arm tucked around your body to loosely hold you as waited for him to speak. Eons seemed to pass to the quiet melody of your breathing, the constant hum of the ship in motion and the mindless, slow strokes of his thumb over the arch of your hip.

“He’s special…” was how he chose to begin, as if he needed to convince you first that whatever came after was secondary to that fact.

He’s special.

It was an obsolete task really, you had been a convert to that belief from the first moment you saw the little bogwing swaddled against Kuiil’s chest what felt like a lifetime ago.

And then he told you. It took some coaxing, some prying on your part with a well-placed inquiry for more detail, but eventually he told you just how special the little green bogwing was.

How old he was for starters (nearly twice your age, unbelievable).

How much he had seen (so much violence for a baby…).

How much he had gone through (if you had caught those imperials near him, you would have shot them yourself).

He told you of his own experience reminiscent of yours—how the child stopped the massive creature that donned Mando’s pauldron in its tracks with just his mind (a Trandoshan was nothing more than a pebble in comparison it seemed).

How he healed people (he reversed what kind of injury?).

How he belonged with the Jedi...

You had to bite your tongue on a slew of questions – firecrackers of curiosity and intrigue making your heart race and a thrill of discovery spark bright and inquisitive as your mind greedily absorbed all he was telling you.

You had heard stories of individuals able to manipulate the energy that surrounded all things. The Force, your brothers had called it in hushed tones over a rare holotransmitter call you all had during the Rebellion. When they saw great pillars of metal and steel lift into the air and collide with members of their squadron amidst a skirmish. The great, seemingly immovable mass focused in its direction, crushing X-Wings and the pilots that flew them in seconds, nothing but raging balls of fire and fuel left to break apart and disappear as they plummeted to the planet surface, lost and forgotten.

You thought they had been exaggerating. The exhausted logic in you concluding that adrenaline and fear could construe a monster to make sense of the madness, of the carnage you had all seen. You never did get to ask them to explain it to you again. A dogfight in the Hudalla system to obtain critical imperial intelligence and a sacrifice made for the victory on Malastare stole that chance away… you never got the chance to ask them anything again. Let alone bury them, let alone say goodbye.

“That’s why I sent him to you,” he finished, gruff and quiet—uncertain, as if he was saying something he wasn’t sure he should reveal, his throat bobbing on a thick swallow while you pressed an encouraging kiss to the arch of his collarbone, “knew you would keep him safe while I got rid of the threat.”

His arm tightened marginally around you when you tipped his chin with two fingers so you could peck his lips softly where words failed you, a silent appreciation for the trust he showed in you all those months ago.

“So that’s why they wanted him… he’s a Jedi?” you thought aloud, your mind racing to try scramble and piece together the meagre scraps of information you had amassed throughout your life about the ancient sorcerers. The Jedi had been wiped out before you were born, their existence nothing short of a fairy-tale before the Rebellion.

He grunted his affirmation, a distinguishable grind of his teeth as his jaw clenched and you exhaled.

You really had no idea…

A thought had always scratched irritably at the back of your head as to why the Empire wanted a baby of all things. But the atrocities and evils committed by the imperials as you grew up had desensitized you from wondering. Of course, the Empire would want to harm a child. The why wasn’t important until now.

A child saved your life on Dantooine, as he had saved his father before. A choke of emotion caught you off guard as it lodged in your throat. You dropped your face to bury it in the crux of Mando’s neck, breathing in the heady musk of his skin as your mind was barraged with thoughts of wide, innocent eyes and chirps of affection. Something so little, so pure—had stopped that Trandoshan from butchering you.

A shaky exhale fanned over the tight, tanned cords of his neck when that reality hit. Had it not been for the impossible, your death would have been inevitable.

Maybe sometimes ignorance really was bliss…

It was an unforgiving floodlight on the reality that you had the death fate intended for you in the face. The brutal edge of a vicious blade mere inches from your body—baptized in the blood of your hand it managed to score before being stopped—a permanent reminder to you that you should be dead right now.

As if sensing the rapid descent of your thoughts, Mando took your hand once more—the phantom throb of a simple cut long since healed soothed when his lips found the raised scar tissue once more,

“He failed,” he graveled against your palm.

A simple pull back to facts, a candid statement that made your eyes close so you could ground yourself in the steady beat of his pulse, in the rise and fall of his chest and the quiet exhalations through his nose against your fingers as he continued to venerate your scar. Laps of tongue and presses of lips were made in earnest to replace the vestiges of death that clung to your scar with that of life, of loyalty, of—

You shifted that same hand to cup his scruffy jaw – he would probably shave soon – to guide him back to your lips, kissing him slowly—an unassuming movement of your lips over his, swallowing his groan and tasting the sincerity on his tongue as it pressed into your mouth.

A growl of rumbling words – foreign and beautiful – were muffled by your mouth, followed more surprisingly, by a whispered translation, “Kad Ha’rangir showed me mercy in his stay…” that made no sense to you, but then—little did when he was rubbing the swollen fat head of his cock through your folds again.

He didn’t make any effort to explain it to you, but the words held meaning—and reverting to Basic, to include you, you figured that was pretty important too. His nose knocked against yours, a brief nudge as he navigated this new form of affection, his forehead resting against yours momentarily before you settled your cheek back down on the pillow of his pectoral, fingers playing loosely with the curls at the base of his neck.

You breathed his name when his hands manipulated your body to lay straddling him as opposed to being at his side—content with feeling you soft and wet over him while you mouthed at the mark you knew you had sucked into his chest hours before.

The rough pads of his fingers ghosted absentmindedly down your spine, lulling you with the repetitive caress before he pulled your mind back when he spoke,

“We—”

He paused, huffing an exhale as he sought the words that eluded him,

“We could go somewhere,” he finally whispered into your hair.

“Mmh?”

“To… take some rest,”

He sounded like he was testing words he had never spoken before, stilted and unsure of their pronunciation as he strung the sentence together in a husky rasp. He wanted to go somewhere unrelated to bounty hunting, unrelated to anything but a break and his next words made your stomach flip,

“Would you… would you like that?”

Mando was not a selfish person, but he was a minimalist. He didn’t need fancy food, or a soft bed or anything remotely like a holiday. He worked, you worked when you could, and you both took care of the child. He had no reason to suggest a break, and that was when you realized—he was doing this for you.

“Somewhere peaceful?” you inquired with a growing smile at the realization.

“I think we could spare a day or two, yeah,” his confidence grew a little at your receptive tone, “that last bounty took less time than I thought.”

“Mm—aren’t you a talented hunter,” you teased him lightly when his fingers curled into the meat of your thigh to hold you steady as he rocked his length between your slick lips, his head lifting enough for his mouth to occupy itself with nibbling along the column of your throat and make you gasp.

“Only the best,” he purred, one hand slipping between your bodies to stroke along his pulsating length and press it between your folds, “so here’s my proposition, kitten—” the thick head of his cock breached your entrance, stretching your walls tight around him—free-flowing lust soaking him as it dripped down from your pussy, “whoever makes the other cum first… gets to choose where we go.”

You whined as a solid inch of him – rigid and throbbing – slid into you, the self-control he had in stopping himself from thrusting into you fully was mind-boggling.

“What do you say, ner baar’ur?” he growled temptingly—honeyed words like the irresistible siren call of a dominant male as another inch thrust deeper inside you—the drag of his length filling you but not deep enough—making you whimper his name as he mouthed beneath your ear, your hips useless against the strength of his hold, “think you can beat me?”

The teasing inflection fired up that competitive play in you that had been dancing between you for as long as you had known him, the banter always toeing the line of flirting. You clenched tight around him in retaliation—basking in the surprised, low moan that bubbled in his chest as a result,

“You’re on, shiny—”

You lost.

The silent, arrogant pride of the Mandalorian could be felt throughout the entire ship for the single days travel it took for you to arrive at his planet of choice. You sat arms folded in a petulant frustration over losing your bet with him in the co-pilots chair behind his smug form.

But Stars, the man knew every button to press.

He knew your body better than you did—and when he gripped your throat after flipping you to be beneath him—the possessive squeeze against your windpipe and his growling moans – so fucking tight, kitten… look at this greedy cunt squeezing me – while he pounded into your mercilessly had you shattering around him. And Maker, that intoxicating exertion of control, the vice your pussy held his cock in as you gushed around him made him follow you soon after, cock hammering into you hard enough for you to feel him now hours later and filling you to the brim with the evidence of his release.

“I win,” he snarled heatedly, his mouth swallowing your whine of defeat. He fucked you through overstimulation, through his recovery—and again when he hardened inside you again, pushing his release out of you with brutal thrusts that had you gasping for breath and digging your nails into his biceps, his shoulders, his back—all to try keep yourself together as he aimed to break you apart once more.

“Still pouting?” he hummed now as he saw you in the reflection of the transparisteel while he steered the Razor Crest in the direction of the gradually approaching green planet.

His voice carried an arrogant lightness uncharacteristic to his usual tone, and it made you bristle even more. Fucking cheater—if you had been able to stay on top, stay in control—it would be him pouting and you lauding it over his head.

But as it were, you lost, and it wasn’t the least bit fun especially with the competitive streak you possessed. But the sudden low laugh – a raspy chuckle like the deep full sound of a speeder engine that filled the cockpit humbly and made his shoulders lift with amusement – made you forget why you were so annoyed. That single sound made bruising your ego worth it.

“Maybe you’ll win next time,” he tossed over his shoulder casually as he engaged the Razor Crest’s entry procedures, your eyes brightening as they were pulled from the endless vacuum of sub-light space to the back of his helmet with a fond, secret smile.

Next time…

You never heard of Bharani V until Mando told you its name as you landed.

A valley of green meadows and rolling hills were flanked by great, towering pines that spread in mismatched heights across the uneven, sloped inclines of the valley edges. Their size was only dwarfed by the jutting shards of grey mountain ridges winding around the great basin far as the eye could see, like a colossal rock serpent coiled long around its precious nest of eggs. The softly swaying grass, dotted with wildflowers—paint flecked across a canvas of green stood in stark contrast to the impenetrable line of trees, sentinels protecting the secret treasure within.

And what a treasure it was… the valley. Splintered in two halves by a narrow, meandering river that flowed down from some unknown mountain source many klicks away and told you of the basins sheer size when the portion of river you landed next to barely disturbed the reeds that poked their wispy heads from beneath the current as it flowed past. Lined with low, flat banks, the constant overflow of the river any time it inevitably rained made the shorelines muddy but at the same time rich in nutrients for shrubbery and flowers to survive.

Gurgling water and the rustle of a soft breeze through the closest line of trees was all that could be heard, pine needles and thin branches disturbed before settling back to stillness under a cloudless sky.

“Somewhere peaceful,” you breathed, your shoulders immediately relaxing under the gentle heat of the sun that sat high in the sky.

You crouched on your haunches to let the child down, keeping a steadying hand on his small back until he found his balance to carry himself on with arms outstretched to maintain it. The instant calm that washed over you as soon as the ramp lowered with that familiar mechanical hiss into the soft grass convinced you he would be safe.

You weren’t the only one watching over him after all.

“Somewhere with Bharani boar,” Mando corrected you as he brushed past you to follow the unsteady waddles of the little bogwing who didn’t even reach the ammunition strapped to the top of his father’s boot as he slowly made his way down the ramp.

The large warrior slowed his gait, instantly gentling his steps so as not to rattle the ramp with his weight and throw the child off balance. Your features softened at the display, the unpainted beskar helmet turned downwards to keep an eye on him as they reached the bottom before casting a sweeping glance about your surroundings.

Always the hunter.

You snickered in amusement, shrugging off your durable taupe jacket to leave you in only the thin tank top you wore underneath. You liked to take advantage of the fresh air on your bare skin whenever you could, and the weather here was nigh on perfect.

“So, a pig made you choose here as your prize planet,” you quipped jovially, coming to stand beside the imposing male as he slowly assessed the surrounding areas with the advanced features his helmet afforded him, crossing you arms under your chest and relaxing your stance to take in the serenity of the wilderness as he did so.

“It’s not a pi—”

You could hear his words catch in his throat the moment you caught his helmet turn in your direction. the tingling heat of his gaze traced over your exposed arms and down over the swell of your breasts—the noticeable pebbled peaks reminding him of your lack of chest bindings before continuing his route down and…

A soft groan left him when he hooked a finger into the old blaster holster he had adjusted to fit you to tug you to his body, his free hand splaying over your hip—right over where the butt of your weapon rested snug against your body and his head dropped to keep his voice low

“I like this,” he rasped, words unnecessary with the way his hands were running indulgently down over the curve of your ass before tracing more carefully over the blaster held at your hip—his outward affection more generous now that he was certain there was no one around, that the surrounding threats were minimal. You could sense the insurmountable weight he always seemed to carry lighten just a little as he enjoyed the feeling of you under his hands.

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you enjoyed his languid attention lasted for only a moment before he was cupping your jaw—his thumb swiping across it slowly to free it from its snare,

“I like this too…” his voice rumbled thick across your skin, his thumb continuing in its tactile exploration of your lips before you pursed them into a kiss against the gloved pad. He tugged you closer by the belt of the holster to stand impossibly closer to his unyielding bulk, making you adjust and bend to fit attractively against him—your hands on his chest plate feeling the heat roll off him in waves, even with the beskar in the way.

“Let’s go back onto the ship…” he tempted you, one hand spreading down over your ass to put the slightest pressure between your legs from behind. The other cheekily spread a palm just beneath a breast over your tank—pressing up to feel its swell for good measure while you laughed and swatted his hand away.

“We’ve been here for all of five minutes, Mando—” you giggled, an uncharacteristically girlish noise that bubbled from the sudden lack of responsibilities, the lightness of having free time to yourselves, “I am not getting back on that ship until we’re leaving.”

“Mm, pity… won’t be dark for hours—” he grumbled, releasing a deep sigh while he lifted his head back to stand at his full height. You patted his chest in consolation but were determined to make the most of every minute you had of this time planetside.

“So, what’s so special about this boar?”

Mando looked up from where he was reclined against the slope of a large bolder – one of several that made up a cluster in the location he deemed safe to camp at, the rocks providing both shelter and cover should you be attacked by weather or foe. His arms were folded across his chest, the only indication that he was relaxing at all being the minor drop in his shoulders, the rare slouch in his stance as he crossed his legs at the ankle while leaning back against the rock.

Relaxed or not though, you knew he could still drop an enemy in the blink of an eye.

His visor tipped to follow you as you sat bare-foot and cross-legged a few feet away. Your boots discarded to the side and a spread of colorful pebbles you had braced the cool river water to collect littered the grass in front of you. They were currently under inspection as the child wandered from stone to stone, making a pile of those he liked—which was all of them so far.

“I remember eating one once.”

You cocked your head at him, and he shrugged a single shoulder dismissively,

“It was good.”

That appeared to be the only standard of expectation Mando had when it came to going on vacation. A lucky thing too, because even if it was a pig of all things that brought you here, the uninhabited planet – overflowing with life and untouched by the ugliness of the populated galaxy – was beautiful.

You knew he would never be able to relax on a crowded planet like Naboo or Coruscant, hated the noise and the people even more so—no, Bharani V was the perfect holiday destination for a man like Mando. Wild and serene, where life simply existed without the complexities of society and their expectations. No one wanted anything from him in a place like this, and he deserved that, if even for a day.

That in mind, you nodded,

“Well then, lets go catch a boar, shall we?”

“We?”

Amusement and curiosity colored his tone as he watched you stand and dust your hands over your bottom, his helmet tilted to the side as he you did so.

“I think this is one hunt we can join you on, no?”

You crossed part of the distance to where he stood, the clench of his fingers into his bicep from where he had his arms crossed revealed he was thinking. Weighing the options before committing to speech, his helmet once more tilting to trace down the length of you slowly, appraisingly. There was no overt sexual design behind the movement this time, he was assessing you for an entirely different purpose and your brow quirked challengingly, daring him to say otherwise when you cocked a hip out against your hand.

With a short snort, Mando dropped his arms, and you passed. Whatever the criteria was for passing, you had no idea. All you knew was that when the Mandalorian – fearsome and intimidating in his prowling advance – placed a heavy hand on your shoulder when he passed, a loose hold that failed to mask the unbridled depth of strength within him, there was a distinct pride to the action. It was a warriors hold, a brief glimpse into the secret social customs he shared with others who followed the Way—and it was enthralling. It was mesmerizing.

“Okay, kitten—let’s hunt.”                         

The beast dropped with a resounding thud of dead weight about two hours later, muffled by the spines of fallen pine leaves that littered the soft detritus underfoot, undisturbed, and untouched until the boar made its way into it.

It was average sized for a pig – boar, Mando corrected you once again – but the longest of the four golden tusks that curled out from beneath its lips was nearly as long and thick as your entire arm.

How on earth did it stay balanced? You wondered, intrigued, and slotted the question away for investigation later.

A spine of black fur tufted from the top of its head down to the short, skinny tail and stood stark against the glaring grey of its harsh, bristly upper coat. A single smoking entry wound through the neck from Mando’s silent, long range hunting rifle that hardly made a whisper of noise as he fired was the only indication that the boar was dead.

With a grunt of marked satisfaction at such a clean shot, Mando pocketed the shell casing that had been dispensed and slung the long weapon over his back. With a shot like that, the boar wouldn’t have known what hit it and you were quietly impressed.

In your culture, it was a great responsibility to hunt or cull the animals that wandered your home planet. Common law even dictating that those animals that represented the various clans could only be slain either by, or with the permission of members of said clan. It was shameful to make it suffer with a non-fatal shot—a bad omen to bring unnecessary pain to the symbol of your clan. A single shot was all it ought to take, and Mando proved that fact.

Yes, you were extremely impressed.

Your eyes followed the swish of his cape as he made his way through the brush, the streams of light that broke through the canopy of trees catching on the glint of beskar. Somehow, he hardly made a sound. Every casual footstep was measured in a way that avoided the snap of twigs or the crunch of leaves and you were reminded, quite suddenly, of what an expert hunter Mando really was—seeing him in action.

You followed a few moments later, cheeks distinctly hotter while the child blinked curiously up at you.

“I don’t think you’ll want to see this, kitten,” Mando graveled automatically, reaching down to his calf to withdraw a wickedly sharp knife.

You blinked. Then scoffed. Then shook your head in disbelief. Men.

“Honestly, hand it over.”

You rolled your eyes impatiently when his head tilted inquisitively at you, confused. You held out your hand for the blade and you held his eye – you hoped – as he slowly turned the handle of the knife towards you to take while you exchanged it for the kid who now settled contentedly against his father’s shoulder.

“I do know how to dress an animal, Mando.”

“You—”

He choked on a sound when you fell to your knees—in front of the carcass unfortunately, and not in front of him. Seriously, did he forget what you did for a living? You had seen plenty worse than a dead pig – boar – before. Besides, this was hardly the first carcass you had dressed – from back home and during the Rebellion when supplies were scarce – and, well, you wanted to show you had other skills. Beyond those he got to enjoy night after night… you bit your lip to prevent a snort of laughter.

With the ease of someone well practiced with a knife that reminded Mando once again of how chillingly adept you actually were, you sliced open the boar’s midsection from throat to haunches to dress it for cooking.

The bloody intestines and stomach fell out with a wet slosh onto the soft dirt in a messy heap. The smell alone—you wrinkled your nose, Maker but it was foul.

You could feel his presence behind you, watching silently as the child was distracted with teething on the skull pendant around his neck while you plunged a hand into the still-warm guts. The warmth was disturbing and, apart from the squishiness—it felt no different than a hot bath. You began removing the victuals from the boar, careful in your movements. The last thing you wanted was for one to burst. If it did, you would not only smell like shit for a week, but the meat would be spoiled.

It was hardly the most pleasant job—bloody and smelly as it was, but you had always lived by a happy code of sharing out the work. If Mando had put in the effort to track and kill the beast – something which you were not talented at – then you would dress and skin it, something you could do.

“Huh.”

His surprise was evident. You swiped the back of your hand across your forehead as you looked over your shoulder up at his tall form, a snort of laughter making you drop your head back in front of you at the dumbfounded expression – even through the impassive helmet – that you could sense him looking at you with.

“Can’t—can’t say I’ve seen someone gut a pig that quickly before, kitten,”

“Boar,” you corrected him with a cheeky grin, “I’ve done the rotten job, now you can carry it back—” you waved the tip of the blade at the carcass flippantly, slipping back into that authoritative – if somewhat bossy – role you were comfortable in, “we’ll salt what we don’t eat tonight and bring with us.”

You wiped bloody hands on the forest floor, using the loose dirt to cling to and dry the sticky fluids enough to swipe the worst of it off to make do until you could wash them properly in the river. He was still standing in the exact same position when you pushed yourself back up to your feet, a puff of an exhale to push away the stray strands of hair the breeze pulled loose. You flashed him a coquettish wink when you passed him, his body only turning enough to watch you saunter off.

Somehow, covered in muck, dirt, and innards—you still had that same thrill of self-confidence from the way he was looking at you. The weight of his gaze was as fiery as if you had just walked off the ship stark naked asking him to fuck you.

Was that fucked up? Maybe.

You didn’t particularly care, not when he was a man who appreciated parts of you that no one else ever did—made you feel desired whether you were covered in pig’s guts, cranky from lack of sleep or snapping at someone to keep out of your way while you were treating a patient. It was invigorating, especially when he caught up several moments later, the carcass of the boar thrown over his shoulder and the kid sat comfortably in the other arm,

“You’ve no idea how hard I’m gonna fuck you later…” was growled heated in your ear as he continued on ahead, still silent as a predator dragging his prey back to the den.

You had come to a sudden stop—the momentary control you had evaporated in an instant and the crude vulgarity of his words left to ripple through your skin like the spark of a thousand matches, fizzing along your nerves and settling low and heavy in your stomach.

All you could hear was the deep chuckle coming from under the helmet as he made his way back to the makeshift camp and you – slightly more aroused and distracted – were left grumbling to yourself as you stomped after him.

You hated to admit it, but he was right.

The tantalizing smell of Bharani boar cooking over an open fire filled your nostrils and made your stomach growl almost as loudly as the child’s. He was being kept under the watchful eye of his father as he stood at the spit the Mandalorian was turning periodically to keep the meat cooking evenly.

“Careful, ad’ika,” you heard rumbled when the little one’s eyes grew too big for his belly and he attempted to reach up towards the boar, bringing his oversized robes a little too close to the crackling flames for Mando’s liking. A pinch of two fingers at the back of his robes followed by an annoyed chirp and the warrior had tugged him back to a safe distance beside him, again.

He would no doubt be dragging the child back again in about five minutes as he had been doing for the past hour after you had proficiently skinned the animal while he sat sharpening a sturdy branch to a point in front of the fire he was stoking, his eyes lingering on you as you worked.

You wondered what fascinated him so. Muffled scratches of his second knife peeling away thin slivers of wood meticulously meshed with your own – wetter – slices to separate the muscle of the boar from the skin until you were able to tug the last of its’ hide off and leave the carcass for him to skewer and roast.

It was refreshing—doing something like this. There weren’t many planets where the old ways were honored, ways that were still practiced in Pamarthan culture and when you asked—were still adhered to in Mandalorian culture too.

“This is the way,” was his solemn response, a dip of his head to an invisible but ever present altar.

“This is the way,” you agreed mindlessly, distracted with a smile by the memory of boisterous children being lectured by clan elders on the importance of maintaining Pamarthan culture. You didn’t notice the way his head snapped up to look at you—preoccupied as you were with cleaning off the tusks you thought were simply too beautiful to discard. You made your way to the river to wash up none the wiser.

He had the boar roasting by the time you returned, arms covered in goosebumps from the chilliness of the water where you had scrubbed them clean of any blood and gore. Mando was sitting in the same location by the fire, one arm resting comfortably on a propped knee as he poked the fire that was beginning to cast a progressively deeper glow against the beskar of his armor, the sun beginning to age and dip past the horizon.

One thing most people didn’t realize about uninhabited planets that had no moons, was that they were the only places in the entire galaxy where one could experience true darkness outside the vacuum of space. The world melted away as shadows crept closer like inky tentacles to your camp, inhibited from crawling any closer by the protective ward the firelight provided.

Truly, yours was the only light on the entire planet, you thought in wonder. A whole planet, all to yourselves—it boggled the mind, and still, with all that space it afforded you, you still chose to sit beside him, his heat more tempting than that of the fire.

He noticed your bare arms once more – too lazy to make the short trip back to the ship to grab your jacket – and without a thought, he unlatched the cowl of his cape to drape the material over your shoulders wordlessly. The residual heat from his body that still clung to the starched fabric melted into you like the memory of the kisses he woke you up with as his lips traced down your spine.

“Ad’ika, no—”

The exasperated sigh, followed by a sharp hiss of an exhale told you he was beginning to get frustrated, but as you had noticed since you first saw him with the child—he never lost his temper. Never raised his voice, never shouted or even snapped at the little menace.

It pointed to a gentle passivity that contradicted what he outwardly portrayed, and a question niggled at the back of your head over who he was really was. You knew him… Stars, of course you knew him—but you knew him now and you yearned to learn his past. His family, his childhood, his name.  If he was raised on Mandalore, a great planet you knew had been made uninhabitable during the first Galactic War years before you were born. Possibly before he was born, but you couldn’t be sure of his age.

You had spent time tracing his features over these last two weeks—mapping out the cut of his jaw and slope of his nose, gauging his age through the deep furrow of his brow and lines on his forehead that could have only settled after years of frowning at the galaxy from beneath his helmet. You could feel the crinkle of crow’s feet that spoke to the contrary however, that smiles were not foreign to your lover. A fact that was only confirmed when your fingers came across a single dimple on his right cheek when he smiled into your neck after the scratch of his facial hair tickled you to laughter.

If you were still adjusting to the sensory overload of having him out of the helmet, you couldn’t begin to imagine what it must be like for him.

You watched distractedly as he got up from where he sat beside you to spear the meat with his blade to test if it was fully cooked, the wiggle of the child’s ears at the affirmative making your smile.

Mando was still so incredibly sensitive to any sort of contact you had on his naked skin—you could make the man melt against you in a puddle of groans and pants with just your fingers scratching along his scalp, combing through thick locks of gorgeous wavy hair. He was handsome. You always knew he was—you had never seen his face and probably never would—but you could say without hesitation that the Mandalorian was a handsome man.

He cleaned the knife once more before carving slices of the succulent meat onto one of the tin trays you all used for meals on the Razor Crest, the child having long abandoned your side to waddle over and hold onto his father’s boot to watch in fascination as the pile of meat grew.

The plate he handed you was dauntingly full, laden with food—but besides the overwhelming amount he served you was the distinct lack of any on his own plate.

Catching your confused gaze, he dropped a hand to stroke down the back of your head once,

“I’ll eat later,” he commented dismissively.

You deflated when he took out his blaster, intent on cleaning the weapon while you ate. The child didn’t hesitate to wolf down his own portion Mando had given him. Once he realized he wasn’t getting any more and the content fullness began to make him sleepy, he snuggled into your lap for a nap. You stood – Mando’s cap falling from you shoulders at the action – to place him in his hover-pram as you cast a critical look at his empty plate, deeply offended by it.

“It’ll get cold, Mando—”

“So?”

His helmet turned to look down at you when you sat by his side again, his height dwarfing you even while seated and you frowned down at the steaming tin tray. This was the only reason he had chosen this planet in the first place. It didn’t sit right with you that he wouldn’t get to enjoy that reason in its entirety, whether he seemed bothered by it or not.

“Do you trust me…?”

The question spoken out of the blue – echoes of the question he asked you weeks before – had him freezing in his movement to disassemble his blaster, your eyes lifting to watch him through your lashes. That familiar T-shaped visor, the only face you had to put to him was illuminated in reds and golds as he looked at you.

A single, almost imperceptible nod was your answer, the warrior placing the blaster down by his side so he could turn towards you a little more fully. He gave you his full attention while an unspoken question hung between you as you weighed in on asking him something like this. Wondering if it was okay… wondering if you had any right to.

“Do you trust me not to look? If we both turn our backs to one another?”

He remained silent, watching you poke your dinner around your plate just to give your hands something – anything – to do rather than look at him and feel the possible rejection roll off him in waves. But it didn’t. You could see in your peripheral, his head casting another wary look around the inky blackness of the valley,

“We both know we’re the only people here so…”

You trailed off.

Even with his decision to remove his helmet around you in the safety of the ship in darkness, there was still a hesitation on your part to… ask him to remove part of himself. You didn’t know when the helmet had become so important to you, all you knew was that there was a niggling fear that to ask him to take it off, would somehow making him feel that you wanted him to change, that he was… less with it on than when he had it off. And that simply wasn’t true.

“You won, remember? You should enjoy your prize hot, not cold—”

You pressed your lips together when you realized you were rambling and frowned down at the meat.

A chuckle – low and lovely – followed soon after as his hand found the ground behind your back to bring his body closer to you, “Kitten… are you saying you want to eat together?”

Your cheeks flushed – dammit – and you thanked the Maker that the wash of warmth the blaze colored you both in hid that fact. C’mon girl, you scolded yourself, you were acting like a damn teenager with a crush—yes, you wanted to share a meal with him. You also had his cock fucking you silly this morning, so why was this what was making you shy?

“Maybe if you asked nicely…” he purred, and you wanted to punch him.

Kiss him, punch him then kiss him again. It was terrifying, how he managed to capture you with just his presence— you could feel the ghost of his hand at the small of your back even when it pressed into the ground just out of reach, the warmth of his breath on your skin even as it was obscured by the helmet that hovered a hairsbreadth away from your forehead.

You lifted your head to meet his invisible gaze, your eyes trailing over the dancing flames that brought the fathomless black of his visor to life. It was an act you had done countless times but now you could imagine the way his mouth was moving beneath it. The way he would bite his lip after asking something cheeky to stifle a grin, the way that dimple would give it away under your fingers anyway. Somehow, you could see more of him even if the helmet remained unchanged,

“Will you stay and eat with me, Mando?” you asked quietly, the lack of scathing retort or a wicked rebuke making a surprised noise lodge in his modulator and his forehead finally dropped to clunk lightly to the top of your head with a sigh,

“How could I say no to that…” he muttered and if you didn’t know any better, the hushed tone of his voice sounded more like he was talking to himself than you.

His hand squeezed your thigh once, a silent affirmative but before he could stand, you were already on your feet, stealing his knife from the concealed scabbard on his calf to carve him a generous portion a man of his size needed. There was a rustle and soon he was peering over your shoulder curiously as you piled the tray high,

“Gotta keep your strength up,” you quipped as a wide hand spread indulgently around your waist to settle low on your stomach, his helmet mimicking the nuzzles he enjoyed giving beneath your ear—a filtered snort of bemusement huffed through the vocoder,

“With you around I do.”

“Get eating then,” you teased, your smaller hand moving to cover his on your stomach where it radiated warmth into your skin. You stepped out of his hold reluctantly and replaced yourself with the tray of food instead before returning to your own forgotten meal sitting on the grassy incline a small distance from the cluster of boulders.

You took your seat again, the soft grass unbelievably comfortable in comparison to the sheet metal that the floor of the Razor Crest was built from. You kept your eyes forward, in the direction you could hear the flow of the river from and after a few tense moments, there was a click followed by a deep, unmodulated inhale.

Stars, just the sound of him breathing set your heart racing. Or maybe it was the distorted shape of his shadow you could see cast against the boulders—the wide breadth of his shoulders exaggerated by the deceptive flames and the outline of messy hair that had you snapping your eyes closed. He was walking towards you; he must have been able to see his shadow—and he didn’t react.

Your eyes cracked open again once you felt the air disturb behind you and a soft grunt when he sat down, the solid press of beskar against your back and the soft brush of the curled ends of his hair tickling the top of your head when he tipped his head to look up, watching the night sky silently. You would have done the same had you not been steadfastly trying to avoid his shadow from your peripheral, the arch of his neck to crane upwards defining his profile against the boulders.

Your heart stalled again and – however wrong it might have been to notice accidentally – you locked away that image of shadow and flame away where you kept your most precious memories. The distorted, shadowy profile of what you already knew; a strong jaw and curved nose— nothing you didn’t already know and yet… your heart continued to race while he ate none the wiser.

The meal was fucking delicious. Din devoured every morsel and – after a moment’s hesitation – went back for seconds.

Dark eyes flickered to your back, your posture effortlessly regal in his eyes as you nibbled on slices of the catch he killed, and you prepared. Your face was obscured, turned away from him dutifully and the clash of light and shadows that danced along your skin had him entranced, the delicate curve of your neck outlined in shadows while the poppy bruise of his mouth stood in stark contrast to the unblemished expanse of your exposed skin.

That satisfied hum of happiness, your jaw working over the piece of meat you were chewing before swallowing made the boar seem all the tastier as he returned after carving some more for himself. If hunger was a great sauce, then your simple enjoyment was like the nectar of the gods poured over it. He never remembered it ever tasting this good.

Not even when his Buir grabbed his twelve year old self – angry and unable to express that resentment anywhere but internally to the point that he despised training with others – by the scruff of the neck and absconded to some unknown planet away from the other foundlings for a chance to breathe.

He had been sullen, difficult in his silence as he claimed he could hunt their food easy. He was going to be a Mandalorian for Makers sake, what was an animal against him? But he had failed, again and again… his Buir following silently the entire time while his own frustration grew—made him sloppy, made him all the more determined to prove he could do it alone. That was until after nearly two days, when he finally asked for help.

“Understand ad’ika. A lone loth-wolf will not survive long without the pack.”

The Mandalorians were that pack, he came to realize as a boy. He ate Bharani boar that night with his Buir—tender and tasty on his ravenous taste buds. The meat melting on his tongue as quickly as his pack eventually did in his life when he once again found himself alone in the galaxy.

A wisp of your hair blown back to caress his cheek seemed to remind him of the contrary, his head turning to inhale the mix of your shampoo and your own unique scent as he watched the imprint of your existence painted across the boulders – fire encasing the shape of you both together and mesmerizing him for an entirely different reason. Once more, this planet seemed determined to prove him wrong and for once, Din didn’t mind it. He wasn’t alone anymore.

You ate in companionable silence for the duration of the meal, your ever inquisitive mind quietened since you weren’t talking. Your mind was always working, he learned early on. Telling the child this or that about some niche medical research you were reading about. Telling him about some study you read about the unique genetic formulation of a Togruta’s stripes or something equally as irrelevant to him but still wanted to tell him about.

Din would never admit that he enjoyed it. It had no baring, offered no help to his mission or hunts but the light he saw brightening your eyes, the minor increase in how fast you spoke – your excitement not quite juvenile but holding a genuine stamp of excitement most tended to lose in adulthood – made a pang ricochet inside him, and his lips quirk annoyingly to a smile despite himself.

No, he liked it when he saw a new datastick of articles you purchased whenever he landed near a large town or settlement. He knew he would hear about their contents in some shape or form over the following weeks and that…

His jaw slowed as he chewed, pondering on the curious light feeling he experienced when you thought to tell him what you were researching next. It wasn’t annoyance anymore, pleasure maybe? No… it wasn’t as lackluster as contentment but neither so exuberant as joy.

Happiness?

Din let his lips form over the word silently and it resonated as another noise of enjoyment carried from where you finished your meal to him. Yeah… that’s what it was, a faint flare of happiness.

“What are you thinking about?”

You broke through his thoughts with a splash and made him clear his throat to cover the fact that the bite he had taken went down the wrong way. He rubbed his hand down over his mouth and chin as he scrambled to say the first thing that came to his head that wasn’t the truth,

“Togruta stripes,” he responded gruffly, hiding his lie by lifting his helmet back up off from where it sat beside him on the grass and putting it back on, the technology in the helmet immediately adjusting to fit comfortably once more.

“Oh! Personally, I don’t think you can map out the possible patterns like they suggest, nature isn’t made that way but—”

He turned his helmet to look at you over his shoulder when you caught yourself going off on a tangent, your face still steadfastly away from him but he could just about see the faint flush rising on your neck and you chuckled self-deprecatingly, “why were you thinking of that?”

Fuck.

“It--- uh,”

He masked giving himself time to answer with shifting around so he could lay back down on the grassy knoll and the return of his filtered voice gave you the permission you needed to turn inquisitive, bright eyes down to look at him. Stars, you were pretty… all soft skin and plump lips, soft curves and easy grace and a lethal intelligence that was a greater weapon than anything he could possibly wield.

“It helps me relax.”

He winced at the ridiculousness of the statement. He was beginning to think maybe that sarlacc pit wasn’t such a bad idea again as he cringed, thanking the Maker you were none the wiser as he stayed still staring up at the empty night sky, an arm beneath his head letting him watch you if he wanted to.

And Maker did he want to.

Especially when you unfurled your legs where you sat cross-legged, turning onto your knees so you could follow his suit and laying on your front beside him. You had your chin propped up on your palm, that wicked cleverness glinting attractively as the flames danced in your eyes. Your tank left little to the imagination from this position, the press of your breasts into the grass accentuating how low the top cut.

His cock twitched, awareness running down his spine like a trickle of electricity to settle at his crotch.

“A funny way to relax,” you hummed teasingly, and he thought himself wise for not responding with anything more than a flippant snort, turning his helmet more decidedly to watch your free hand trace over the signet of his pauldron, tracing the outline subconsciously.

He waited to see what you would do, curiosity piqued and eyes heavy as he drank in your presence beside him.

“I can think of a better way to relax,” you purred, and he would know the sound of your mischief anywhere.

His suspicion was only confirmed when he felt your hand trace down over the large, growing bulge that was making his flight suit tighten uncomfortably. His balls felt heavy at those coy caresses by your fingers, his cock swelling while he tried – futilely – to seem unaffected by your nose nudging against his neck seal.

His cock was already half-hard with just your voice, with that tempting allure of anticipation as he continued to admire your body from where he lay, the dips and curves he had spent countless hours learning with his hands and now—his mouth. The material of that flimsy tank top tight across your chest made his mouth dry with a desire to drag his tongue across pebbled nipples and suck on the soft flesh, to claim you again with hidden marks only he would see.

He groaned when you wrapped your fingers around the thick outline of him, his head falling back as he gritted his teeth. Maker, he was aching, warm beads of precum wetting his tip and navel. His eyes – heavy and consumed with an unmasked lust – followed your movement down his body.

Fuck, but you were beautiful.

His stomach muscles clenched, and a breath caught in his throat when you mouthed over him from above the flight suit,

“Stars… kitten—” he sighed, the teasing heat of your hot breath and the subtle pressure of your lips made his cock jump. Fuck he needed more—needed to feel you. Whether it was the soft wetness of your tongue or the tight, soaked inferno of your pussy, he didn’t care. He had been practically edged all day with the sway of your hips and the sunlight in your hair and the heady arousal of your knife skills. He needed to bury himself inside you, now.

“So hard for me…” you whispered, and he could have cum right there from how you were looking at him. Raw desire, unhidden and exposed filled those intelligent eyes, you wanted him to know how much you desired him and that drove Din half wild.

With a snarl, a hand shot out to tangle in your hair, your sudden gasp of surprise tugging a smirk from him as he sat up enough to form his free hand over yours, stroking himself with your hand over the duraweave—guiding your movements until you were rubbing him in such a way that made his mind spin with a pleasurable dizziness, heat expanding beneath his skin as lust consumed him.

“For you,” he admitted huskily.

He kept his eyes on yours to watch them darken under his words. Those fiery fucking eyes that dared him to try and dominate you, that yearned to be taken by a man like him, it was all there in those expressive orbs. Abandoning your hand, he crunched his stomach to sit up so he could unzip the pants of his fight suit hurriedly while you continued to stroke him at the pace he set.

Your lips parted; your head unable to move with his tight hold in your hair beyond your eyes breaking contact with his to drop to where your hand had slotted inside his flight suit to pull his thick length out. You trailed a finger along the length of him, your bottom lip catching between your teeth at the tempting twitch of his cock from the lightest of touches.

He bared his teeth with a hiss when you finally wrapped your hand around him – fuck, your hand felt so good – and that visceral image of your fingers barely fitting fully around him made his cock jump and a jolt of primal lust shoot down his spine. He lost all brain function when you let a string of saliva fall from your lips to his swollen head, a furious flare of possessiveness erupting with every labored pant.

Stroking him in strong, tight pulls—you soon had him moaning in deep, low rumbles, his body falling back heavily on the grass. That addictive twist of your wrist as you reached his swollen head – that extra squeeze – had his head falling back as his chest expanded and collapsed violently over and over under your ministrations,

“Shit—good girl, kitten—so good…”

Growls melted with your whine of his name and your hand slowed enough for him to snarl at the lack of friction. When he lifted his head from the grass, your gorgeous form on all fours with your face so close to his cock but held back just enough by his hand that remained tangled in it—he swallowed thickly. Your tongue swiped over your bottom lip as you dragged your eyes from his length to his eyes,

“Mando—let me,” you breathed, your hot breath sweeping over his cock while you focused your dexterous fingers on massaging the sensitive head, your free hand shifting to pull his neglected balls from his flight suit, “let me look after you—"

Something inside him clenched painfully, a confusing symphony of arousal and affection misting together and drenching every crack and crevice of him with the feeling. He was powerless to stop from giving you what you wanted, and his fingers slid out of your hair. It was only the approving mewl and your lips wrapping around the fat head of him that made him jolt with awareness, his fingers fisting the grass by his sides as your wet tongue lapped at him.

Maker’s Helmet, there really wasn’t anything you didn’t perfect once you put your mind to it. He was a mess under you after just a few seconds of your hot mouth engulfing his cock to suck him off in earnest, your talented hand stroking what you couldn’t yet fit inside you.

He knew you could do better than that…

“C’mon beautiful… open up for me—” he panted, your eyes hazy and unfocused with the sheer need he saw reflected in them and then you smirked, as much as you could with his cock on your tongue—and Din knew he was fucked.

There would never be anyone like you—a girl who could skin a boar without a word of protest and then suck his cock like it was what you were made to do; who lived to save lives but take one in an instant to protect someone like him.

With his hands back in your hair, he guided your head down onto him. His feet pressed into the grass to lift his hips up and press his cock deeper down your throat—the spasming clench when you tried to repress your gag reflex making him groan and push further at the tight heat. He knew you could take it.

“That’s it—more…” he moaned, rocking his hips up into your mouth when you squeezed his thigh once, a silent message to keep going and he would never forget the image of you propped up on your elbows while he fucked your mouth, bright teary eyes and the occasional choke he soothed with a gentling of his thrusts, saliva making a mess of your chin and his cock,

“That’s my girl… taking me—fuck, taking me so—so well,”

He swiped a thumb under your eyes to wipe away the tears, choking on a moan of your name when you swallowed around him every time he snapped his hips up to push himself down your tight throat, the unbelievable vice you held him in making him tremble with a gasp, slipping back into Mando’a as his pleasure mounted.

He pulled you off him after a few moments, a wet cough frustrating you before you satiated yourself by latching your lips onto the length of him with a mewl of approval, licking and kissing ever hard inch while you stroked him hard in time to your tongue,

“Taste so good, Mando—love when you fuck—fuck my mouth,” you whimpered breathlessly, dragging a long strip up the underside of him.

He opened his mouth to respond but all that left him was a strangled moan—fuck, fuck yes kitten—distorted by his modulator when you sucked one of his balls into your mouth gently, the soft sensitive flesh engulfed in the furnace of your wet heat while your tongue massaged it and your hand glided along his length rapidly.

He wasn’t going to last.

He said as much while one of your hands dropped between your legs, the vibrations of your whine making pleasure ripple across him when you realized your clothing was in your way. And still, you rubbed yourself over the fabric like you were in fucking heat, as if he made you so ravenous for relief, you would get yourself off over your clothes just from sucking his cock. His tongue felt heavy and his mind even more so with drunken lust at the thought,

“Fucking… filthy—look at you,” he groaned as you released his balls to take him into your mouth again, sinking your head down until your nose brushed the short, coarse hair at his base. He cursed the damned fire, the physical barrier between him and your soaked cunt on his tongue, “Maker, I want to taste you…”

He was certain he could smell you, that heady musk of arousal as you slipped your hand beneath your pants and the wet, slippery noise that joined the sloppy sounds of your mouth on his cock made him snap and lean up on his elbow to grab your wrist,

“Impatient, aren’t you?”

Your hips wiggled over your hand to give yourself more friction – naughty – your ass higher in the air as your breasts brushed over his armored thigh, mouth too preoccupied with licking and sucking his cock to answer, but that desperate glint of mischief in your eyes told him all he needed to know.

Tease.

You knew he couldn’t remove his helmet, not yet. He snarled at you aggressively, and pulled your hand out from where you were rubbing your clit frantically much to your annoyance, your noises muffled as he pushed his cock deeper down your throat once more, punishing you with his pace,

“This is mine,” he growled heatedly, possessive need flaring along his spine when he pulled your drenched fingers under his helmet to suck them into his mouth. His deep groan at your taste was only overshadowed by your sharp gasp, pulling your mouth off his length so he fell heavy and glistening back onto his stomach as he cleaned your digits diligently, his helmet not moving an inch to reveal his face as he worked.

You tasted like heaven. You tasted like sin. You tasted like the only thing he ever wanted to eat again, everything else falling utterly short of your addictive tangy flavor. He grunted filth against your fingers, his modulator muffled and unable to pick up on the words with your hand blocking the way. His hips jerked when you bent your head back down to lick a long, wet stripe up along the thick vein running along the underside of his cock.

Din wanted to snarl when you pulled your hand down from under his helmet, even if he had licked every drop of your essence off your fingers. He couldn’t even remember his name when you gripped him tight in your hand to begin stroking him fast and hard, your mouth bobbing on him and tongue massaging over every inch it could reach, catapulting him towards the edge,

“Fuck—fuck—yes…” he panted, stomach lifting in great swells before he dropped his head back between his shoulder blades with a low, drawn out groan, his release coating your tongue and throat with several thick bursts, hips thrusting shallowly into your fist and mouth as you worked him through the delirium and inexplicable high that left all his senses scattered across the stars.

All he knew was your name, the breathless pants of it that dripped from his lips like a prayer as he watched you wipe the corner of your lips, cleaning up the length of him with soft licks and purrs of contentment until even that became too much for him and he hissed—dragging you up the his body with his remaining strength to straddle him.

The satisfied smirk on your face was downright feline as you ran your hands up over his chest plate, your body following suit as you laid down on him leisurely, your welcome weight making him grunt incoherent praise in your hair and his hands splay indulgently down your curves to knead the cheeks of your ass,

“Maker, what you do to me…” he rasped, voice strained from exertion and the steady slowing of his breathing, the dim light of the fire that was gnawing away at the little dry wood that remained made you lift your head as the orange glow became less saturated on his armor,

“Mm… fire’s dying—should I add some more kindling?” you purred teasingly, voice raw from his earlier treatment to which he could only growl a warning in response,

“Let it go out, kitten… let it die so I can have you—”

When you shivered at his words, his large hand meandered up under the thin fabric of your shirt to cup your breast lazily. Your soft moan when he pinched a peaked tip between two fingers – your flesh practically humming with unsatiated arousal and your hips canting shallowly against his crotch - was enough to make him want to stomp out the rest of the fire himself.

You didn’t need the heat. He would keep you warm in other ways.

You were filthy by the time you cracked an eye open with a groan as the unforgiving sunlight beat down on your body, covered only with the familiar charcoal fabric of the Mandalorian’s cape. Dirt and grass stains stained your hands, back—your knees and even your cheek from where he had pressed you into the grass while he fucked you repeatedly. In every position—his hunger as insatiable as yours when the fire finally died, and he could rip the helmet off his head and crush his lips to yours.

Thank the Maker Bharani V was a slow rotating planet—a standard galactic day ten hours short of a full day here. It extended the night for hours… giving him ample darkness to bury his face in your cunt for as long as he wanted, lap at your free-flowing juices while his fingers pumped inside you until you came once, twice—three times, before he even entered you.

And when he did… Stars, it was no wonder you were both filthy afterwards when you both collapsed to rest after finally exhausting each other, his body framing yours, boxing you in against his chest and keeping you warm throughout what remained of the night.

Mando greeted you with a plate of salted boar, the rest having been wrapped and stored while you slept—ready to be brought back on the ship. He knelt on one knee beside you, releasing an exhale of amusement as he swiped a bit of dirt from your cheek while you grizzled under his cape, trying to cling to those last tendrils of sleep.

“We have to go soon, kitten,” he muttered, trying to coax you from under his cape while you simultaneously tried to burrow deeper into it, “I’ll pack up the ship while the kid’s still sleeping and come find you when we’re ready.”

You sighed, turning on your back as he stood back up and stretched your arms above your head with a soft noise as your tired muscles complained under the strain. He paused in departing for a mere second, enough for you to hear the rumble of satisfaction in his throat when he caught sight of the fresh mark on your neck, directly beneath the one that was beginning to fade from the day before—the bruise darkening as the hours passed by.

You smiled lazily at him, arching your back to both stretch and tease him just a little for waking you up with his cock buried inside you, rasps of “want you again, kitten…” whispered hotly against your cheek from where he lay behind you, lifting one leg up to open you more to him so he could slowly bring you both to climax once again.

He grunted something in his native language and then turned on his heels to stride back to the closed hover-pram and the supplies he had in a pile. You chuckled lightly at how ramrod straight his spine was, his gait not so effortlessly arrogant as it usually was.

Birdsong and the whisper of wind through the grass had you closing your eyes, just to savor it one more time. You would miss this place. This little corner of the galaxy carved out for no one else but you, Mando and the child. Pressing pause on the chaos you found yourselves in the middle of and you were struck with the realization that – like Mando – this was the first real rest you had allowed yourself to have since before the Rebellion.

You filled your time by jumping from one responsibility to another, always with the excuse that you were too busy, too concerned, too irreplaceable for even a short few days’ rest. But Maker, you had needed it.

Pulling yourself up to sit, Mando’s cape fell to your waist and your attention was drawn down to the cacophony of dirt, grass and sweat all clinging to your chest and breasts. Release sticky between your thighs when you shifted them with a wrinkle of your nose made you decide, then and there, that you weren’t leaving without washing the worst of it off you.

Leaving his cape, but grabbing your scattered clothes, you tiptoed back the few feet to the waters edge, the river brisk but refreshing when you dropped your pile of belongings on the dry grass and dipped a foot in.

You shivered, goosebumps tightening across your skin and before you could talk yourself out of it, you slid into the gentle stream of the running river. Dunking your head beneath the water immediately, you gasped when you resurfaced—the initial shock of cold wearing off almost immediately as your body adjusted and you basked in finally being near water again.

 For all its flaws, Dandoran had been the only planet you found yourself on that wasn’t bone dry or barren since leaving Pamarthe. And while you enjoyed being on the Razor Crest, you couldn’t deny the joy of fresh water as opposed to the filtered, recycled kind from the ships water tank. You were raised on a planet of islands; how could you not love the water?

Your hair clung to you, the dirt washing away easily under your hands as you waded deeper. The sun was warming the water – or perhaps that was just you adapting to the temperature – and you could feel the tiredness melt out of your muscles with the current running downstream. You tipped your head back like a flower chasing the warmth of the sun, the breeze rejuvenating on damp skin.

That was how he came across you – naked and soaked – in the middle of the river, rinsing your hair in the tepid water. You felt his eyes on you before you saw him, the imposing presence that demanded attention and deference while at the same time, kept to shadows and secrecy.

He didn’t say a word, and you knew he was enjoying the view.

Since he had first taken his armor off in your presence – and later, his helmet – you had spent most of your time tangled with each other in the dark. Your naked body was usually as concealed in shadows as his. It wasn’t surprising that he was drinking his fill now and you felt positively divine under his gaze.

You chewed on your bottom lip to stop from giving yourself away, silt moving between your toes and the water reaching just halfway up the swell of your ass at its deepest. Feeling a little wicked, you bent over at the waist, masking your action by scooping some of the crystal water to rub up along your breasts and clean away the dirt from the night before, humming absentmindedly as you did so.

His prone figure shifted, your eyes catching the movement in your peripheral. He was enjoying the show as he dropped one of his hands to hook in his utility belt comfortably, no shame in how his helmet travelled down the curve of your spine, over the swell of your breasts that he could catch a glimpse of from the side and further… between your legs to your pretty pink pussy when you bent over again, still swollen and sore from having his cock and mouth on it for hours the night before.

You caught his gaze when you turned, unconcerned for your nakedness in front of him out in the open, basking like that same flower under the raging inferno of a different suns light as he absorbed your newly cleaned skin. Skin you felt would be muddied again soon enough with the way he was approaching the water’s edge, the closed hover-pram nearby but still a safe distance away.

You glided skilled fingers through the current by your sides slowly, coyly, letting the water caress your hands as you stood back a few paces, your eyes tempting him closer—pools of molten desire beckoning to him, begging him to abandon his ship and drown in your pleasure.

His head dipped to scan the bank before he paused when he caught sight of something on the nearby shore. Crouching, he returned with your tank top—still dirty but wearable for the short trip back to the Razor Crest. Or at least, it would have been before Mando – frighteningly quick – nicked the edge of it with his knife, sheathing the blade before pulling a long strip of the fabric apart, the material like crepe paper under his unyielding strength.

Your heart was stalled in the back of your throat, anticipation mounting as he dropped the forgotten piece of clothing back onto the bank before stepping into the river, fully armed, fully clothed, and fully intent on having you again.

The water sloshed around his knees as he strode unimpeded by the current that – for a normal person – would have slowed their stride, made it more lethargic. But not Mando. No, the water conformed to him, not the other way round.

You stopped where you stood near the far shore, river still lapping up to your thighs as he stalked closer, his helmet tipping along your form and – had it not been for the temperature of the water already – your nipples would have tightened to peaks under the heat of his gaze as he came to stand before you. Blocking the sun and dwarfing you as you lifted your eyes up to him through your lashes, droplets of water running down over your face and neck from the movement.

“How cute, a kitten that likes the water…” he hummed in mock fascination.

A gasp parted your lips when – with just a hand – he had you turned around, your back to his front while the strip of fabric he had cut from your shirt was held up over your eyes for him to knot it,

“Splashing and playing and making me hard… is that what you wanted?” he growled when he finished tying the blindfold, the sudden darkness disorienting you before his hands grounded you when they settled heavily on your hips to pull your ass back against his crotch with a splash. The thick throb of his length was evident against your bare lower back and you wriggled your hips once to a snarl caught in the vocoder.

He rolled his hips against your ass in a slow grind – unable to help himself – as his fingers snaked down to tease along your inner thighs, so close to where you wanted him. His hand at your breast – gloved palm warm as he squeezed the tingling flesh – distracted you as two fingers split down over your clit to spread your folds, groaning into your neck when he found you already slick.

You rested your weight back against his beskar-clad chest, a quiet sigh, and a jerk of your hips from how overly sensitive you were music to his ears. With an impatient grunt, he unzipped himself haphazardly and pulled one of your hands back to wrap around his exposed cock, your head dizzy with lust.

“Mando—” you keened, clenching your thighs together over his hand as another trickle of wetness pooled there. Like on the ship, the lack of sight enhanced every other sense; the throb of his cock in your hand as you stroked it, the cool press of his helmet to heated skin that hummed with renewed pleasure.

You were completely at his mercy as he ripped his hand from between your legs to turn you back around to face him—your hand swiping up and down on his length before you felt him drop to his knees, the splash of water being disturbed by his armored body not even resonating with you as he spread your lips – exposing you to his hungry gaze – to drag the flat of his tongue over your clit.

You jolted – where in Malachor had his helmet gone – an arm banding around one of your thighs to keep you still, the curved dome of the beskar helmet pressing into your leg from where he had it held under his arm securely.

You cried his name, your hands blindly finding his hair to keep your balance—wet fingers dampening the strands as he burrowed his face deeper into your cunt after coaxing one leg out of the water and over his shoulder. His facial hair sanded along the soft flesh of your inner thigh and clashed with the soft wetness of his tongue delving through your folds to collect your arousal.

Sobbing, your clit throbbed with the renewed assault on it, already swollen and sensitive from his earlier attentions and it only took his lips sucking the hooded little bundle of nerves into his mouth, his fingers digging hard into the meat of your thigh to keep you on his mouth and two thick digits breaching your entrance for you to fall apart around him with a choked cry. Your fingers tightened in his hair—tethering yourself to him lest you completely float away with the ecstasy as he prolonged the pleasure, thrusting his fingers shallowly against that one devastating spot that had you seeing stars.

Legs trembling, he groaned into your pussy as your release soaked his chin and mouth, greedily lapping up every bit of it before he stood, water cascaded down his drenched flight suit. He kept your leg hooked over his arm as he did so—the delirious burn of your muscles stretching at the position adding to the numb pulse of hazy satisfaction when he met your lips in a hard kiss. The cradle of your hips kept your cunt open to him and you jerked with a whimper as the blunt head of his erection prodded between your slick folds.

“How… how do you—” you were babbling into his mouth, your high making you loose-lipped about your continued awe at how he made you feel. It rose to the surface but was mercifully cut short from revealing too much when your head fell back to expose your rapture to the cloudless sky when he pushed into you, splitting your walls apart around him so you could feel him swelling inside you.

Guttural groans were muffled against your neck when your body accepted him again so readily, an intoxicating thought that it knew him—and would always open itself to him willingly, without hesitation—exhausted and sore but always wanting more… always more because it was him.

Your walls trembled at the tightness the position afforded, and your arms wound tight around his neck to support yourself as he began a brutal pace, snapping into you wildly as he bit and licked at your chest and up along your neck, groans of unadulterated need tattooed into your flesh forever as they sank below the surface to the very core of your being.

“Stars, Mando—r-right there—” you whimpered when your face fell into his neck, mouthing over his pulse point before biting down on it hard enough to make him stutter in his movements with a low grunt when he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. You clamped down on him, shaking at the drag of his cock along your slick walls and with a hand tangled in your soaked hair, he met your lips in a desperate kiss—yes, yes—more—moaned into his mouth all the while the water sloshed around you both.

“Fuck, you’re so tight—always so tight for me—” his voice strained on the words as he hammered into you, “can’t—can never get enough.”

His flight suit was completely waterlogged, and you could feel the heaviness in it but that didn’t prevent him from hooking his arm under your other leg after entrusting his helmet to you, the heavy beskar warm as you gripped it behind his back.

He lifted you fully out of the water to wrap both your legs around his hips while his hands formed over your ass. His strength alone moved you off his cock before dragging you back down to meet the force of his brutal thrusts, the combined sounds of the disturbed water and the wet slap of his balls slapping against your skin sending spasms of sensation all over your body.

One hand carded through his hair – gorgeous strands running through your fingers like the water you were surrounded by – and your lips slanted over his in a clash of tongue and teeth, more biting and panting into each other than kissing as his muscles strained beneath the armor. The warrior took the final few steps to the far shore – silt and dirt marking the surface muddy – so he could lay you down, your back arching and a gasp lost in his scorching mouth at the cold wetness beneath you.

It coated your back and clung to your hair, your hands pressing back through the slosh of wet dirt to support yourself with his helmet beside you as he knelt to keep pace pounding his cock into you. His mouth followed yours as his hand slipped in the slick mud, bringing him down onto his elbows with a grunt, knees finding purchase to keep from crushing you.

Your breathless laugh at such an uncharacteristic show of clumsiness was short-lived as his teeth sank into your shoulder, a violent snap of his hips sending his cock hammering against a spot inside you that made you drop your head back into the cold sludge of mud with a cry, his cock feeling larger as a pleasurable taste of his heavy weight settled over you.

“Atiniir—” he snarled.

Warmth infused your pleasure, made it an inferno at the rasp of his native language in your ear. His body braced itself to strain on one elbow so he could knead his free hand – the furnace of his body heat warming the mud that covered it – over your breasts possessively. A baring of teeth against your lobe was all the warning you got before he bit down on your pulse point with a hard thrust, eager to show you just how much of him you could take.

You might have panted – can’t—can’t Mando, too much—but he knew you could, and Maker, it drove you half wild to be proven wrong for once. Made you crave him all the more when he pushed himself back up onto his knees and slipped out of you. The whine that bubbled as your walls quivered and clenched around nothing caught when the river water was disturbed again, the Mandalorian shifting back into it as he shifted down to open his mouth over your cunt.

His hands linked at your lower back, his strength forcing your ass higher as it pressed your dripping heat into his face. You were helpless to move. Whines and futile cants of your hips against the rasp of his stubbly facial hair on sensitive flesh were all you could manage, his wet tongue soothing you by spreading your slick along swollen lips and kissing them as heavy and hard as he did your mouth.

Your moans of incoherent pleasure filled the peaceful valley—his tongue prodding your entrance before dragging your leaking wetness impatiently with vulgar, slurping licks. He had patience for most everything in life – but not you – oh no, with you he could never wait—could never deny himself when you were around. You were the one thing he felt greed for, felt selfish and Maker be damned, he hoped he always would be.

He groaned into your pussy when a gush of wetness flowed from you at the realization that he wanted you this much, that he was so desperate for you that he went against his very nature to have you. It didn’t matter that you were blindfolded, he was helmetless in daylight—devouring your cunt like it was the last meal he was ever going to have—his garbled, drunk words of filthy praise muffled against slick folds and swollen lips,

“Always want you, always—”

Your heart clenched as that simmering depth of feeling you were trying to ignore boiled over, made you quiver around him as your dirty hands tangled clumps of mud in his hair so you could encourage him back up your body. Rolling your hips to the side, overly sensitive and twitching, your top knee managed to meet the muddy mixture of dirt and silt when his hand prevents any more movement with an iron grip to your thigh, bending your leg up to leave you exposed in a position that had you half twisted beneath him.

You sighed a moan and twisted up towards him for him to lick into your mouth – your back arching as you leaned back to meet his lips blindly. His cock – hard and heavy – nudged against your backside before a hand spread your cheek to open you up to him again after a light smack to the soft flesh,

“Fucking perfect…” he whispered, capturing your whine when he guided his cock back inside you, the tightness of your leg folded over the other making him feel inexorably bigger to the point that when he bottomed out, you were sure you could feel him throbbing in the back of your throat.

“S-so big, Mando, you—” you were cut off by his mouth as he started rocking back into you, feeling him spread his legs for a better hold in the slippery surface he was fucking you on, his flight suit rubbing against your clit with every grind of his hips into your soaked heat. The unforgiveable edges of his thigh armor slammed into your thighs repeatedly, no doubt leaving light bruises you could remember this by, and you were thankful—because you mind was empty of all but his name as he fucked you mercilessly into the riverbank.

“Fuck kitten, that’s it—take me so good-- fuck, an’edee—”

He panted into your mouth when he ripped his mouth from yours to let you collapse back down half on your side while his lips formed over the heated, wet flesh of your shoulder—chasing the droplets of water that trickled down and highlighted the curves and dips of your body that made you so unique, so special, so his.

No one would know you the way he did. No one would hear the sounds you made as you sobbed his name through another orgasm that wracked your body with shivers and spasms—your hand reaching blindly to hook your nails around the mudhorn pauldron to drag him back over you, to fold his massive body over yours—hide it from the sun, the world, the galaxy and keep you for himself, exactly where you wanted to be.

Tears streamed down your face from the force of your orgasm, spurts of your release coating the ribbed, flexible armor of his stomach and streaking through the mud there. You could hear him curse and bite back moans – fucking soaking me, kitten – as it slowed his thrusts, gushing around his cock splitting you apart with every slam inside you, but you couldn’t make sense of any of it.

All you could do was babble incoherently into his mouth, unable to see his nods to your ramblings – good, so good—want you, want you always, please— due to the blindfold covering your eyes but his rough rasps of praise had you turned your face into his neck as he continued to rut into you, hardly pulling out of your exhausted cunt as he frantically chased his release with hard, short thrusts.

When he finally came inside you, stuffing you full of his seed with a low groan, his breathless pants fanning hot across your already overheated skin was all you could focus on as you struggled to regain your own lost breath. Stolen from the intensity of his passion and locked somewhere deep inside him, where you could try to regain it every time you welcomed him into you.

He braced himself up onto his elbows, muscles sapped of energy and straining taut from his weight, but his nose remained in contact with your flushed skin, tracing it down your temple and across your cheek before he pressed a languid kiss to the corner of your mouth.

He stayed inside you as he softened – neither of you able to move – and plugging you so that his release stayed deep inside you for as long as possible while he soothed gentle kisses to sweat fragrant skin, the mud drying rapidly over your body and his armor.

“Good girl… so good for me, taking all my cum—” was rasped roughly against you deliriously, his tone tinged with a warm affection he only ever displayed in moments like these, like the curling smoke that chased away the burn of an expensive Corellian whiskey.

He shifted to let you roll onto your back, your legs opening to accept his weight into their cradle. Your mouth sought his and he was only too happy to meet you when you whimpered his name, your head lifting for his fingers to comb through your wet locks and kiss you slowly. His tongue tangled with yours lazily, interspersing long wet kisses with murmurs of that beautiful language against your lips.

It was several minutes later, after he had finally pulled out of you and the stark milky white of his release dribbled slowly down your cheeks onto the dark brown of the mud that he returned his helmet back onto his head. The beskar was completely covered in mud, but a swipe down the T-shape of his visor let him see at the very least.

You were absolutely filthy. Filthier than when you arrived to wash, but you couldn’t even attempt to feign annoyance—not after he had fucked you so good, to the point you actually squirted all over him. A fact you didn’t realize until he pulled the strip of fabric off your eyes, and you saw the tell-tale streaks through the mud on his armored stomach.

A flush of embarrassment was curbed by his rumbling appreciation – such a good girl… soaking me so much – that you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, your own limbs slipping a little through the unstable surface.

Mando’s hand was cupping the outside of one of your thighs as your legs lay splayed open, the massive warrior knelt between them, the constant stroke stroke stroke up and down your leg lazily tempted your muscles into relaxing further. His gaze was fixated at the apex of your thighs, cocking his head slowly as he watched the physical evidence of his claim to your body trickle out of you slowly while your pussy clenched in the aftermath. He didn’t try hide his pride at how you looked, the muddy handprints that caked to your body and his cum filling you up—it was all a visceral image neither of you wanted to forget.

“I don’t think I can walk back to the ship,” you admitted on an exhale, your legs slack and useless, ego clashing with common sense to admit such a thing.

A rumble of affection – pleased at your words – lifted the Mandalorians chest, a hand wrapping around your ankle to pull you down to him. You squeaked as the mud shifted beneath you, a wrinkle of your nose at the gross feeling making you shiver.

“Always wanted to throw this cheeky backside over my shoulder,” he teased you, your jaw slackened in disbelief, trying to close your legs in protest, you’d rather fucking walk bow-legged.

“Don’t you dare—”

Mando rolled his shoulders back, hands spreading wide down your thighs to your waist while you squirmed to get away from him, nervous laughter bubbling in your throat as you tried to warn him off with stern looks that might have worked better had it not been for the mud covering you and the grin plastered to your lips.

“Oh, I do dare.”

And with that the valley was filled with shrieks of surprise as the Mandalorian tossed you – muddy and naked - over his equally dirty shoulder to carry you back to the Razor Crest, the hover-pram following dutifully behind him, an unusual end to a rather unconventional vacation.

Mando'a Translations: ad'ika - son, little one ner baar’ur - my medic atiniir - take it an'edee - all bite** 

**Note: there's an undercurrent of affection in this saying, usually relating to saying you "can and will do something" e.g. a Mandalorian who can and will meet you in the ring for a fight and not just harp on about it. For the situation these two were in, Din is specifying that even though she says she can't take any more, her body is accepting him-- it's a bizarre little nugget of praise unique to Mandalorians. This analysis was provided by izzyovercoffee on tumblr who is an excellent purveyor of all things Mando'a)

SW Lore used and any Creative Liberties taken:

The Bombardment of Durkteel - this battle/attack ran concurrently with the Battle of Endor that ended the Galactic War when the Empire sent Star Destroyers to the recently liberated planet after receiving news of the Rebel Alliance meeting there. Knowing the devastation three Star Destroyers could inflict, I figured it would take any news of victory longer to reach the feet on the ground (like Medic) as the rebels struggled to deal with the aftermath.

The events that killed Medic's brothers - the dogfight in the Hudalla System and the Battle of Malastare - both resulted in rebel victories due to sacrifice thus making her pilot brothers fallen heroes - some creative liberties here since there was only one casualty in the Battle of Malastare and none in the dogflight.

Medic's knowledge of the Jedi - limited, but Ahsoka Tano did visit Pamarthe during the Clone Wars before she was born, so it isn't outside the realm of possibility that children would have heard stories of magical sorcerers called the Jedi even after they were all wiped out. This is why she is knows the name, if not much information about them. She wouldn't be able to distinguish what is fiction and what is real information based on the fairy-tales she's heard.

Kad Ha’rangir - the main deity in the Mandalorian religion. He is the God of Destruction and, in relation to the Creed - from destruction, change and growth can be achieved. Something good can come from destruction, and this is the way Mandalorians live their lives. As such, for Din to say "Kad Ha’rangir showed mercy in his stay..." by *not* destroying his Medic, we can see the intrinsic link between her and his Creed. If she had been killed, by Creed-- he would have been expected to get over it, to grow from it. But he wouldn't be able to, not really. His thanks is for both her life, and for his continued adherence to the Way.

Bharani V - an uninhabited planet of my own making. It has a standard rotation of 36 hours (about 10 hours less than a Galactic Standard Hour) and has no moons rotating it. Therefore, when it's dark, it's hella dark. There is no light - apart from the light of the fire that eventually dies - so Din is safely able to remove his helmet. The fact that Bharani V is uninhabited is also the *only* reason Din takes his helmet off in daylight. On any populated planet, he would be very reluctant to do so without knowing they had somewhere extremely private. The valley they land in is heavily inspired by the Lauterbrunnen Valley in Switzerland, and the Oldedalen River Valley in Norway.

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