#maybe I would switch it up and go with mando

[pedroshotwifey]

Beg For It

Pairing: Virgin!Din Djarin x afab!reader

Word count: 3.9k

Tags/warnings: piv sex, oral (m), cock worship, virgin din, premature ejaculation, teasing, humiliation, sub din, dom reader, degradation, cockpit sex™, embarrassment, age gap (younger reader), din djarin's monster cock, helmet stays on, pet names, snarky reader, experienced reader, stuff I'm forgetting (c'mon guys, it's me.)

Summary: You make a shocking discovery about Din and decide to do something about it.

A/N: Hey babes! Sorry if you're waiting on TTF or FB rn, but my brain does not want to cooperate atm. TTF 4 should be out relatively soon, but I'm not sure about FB. I hope you like this fic, bc I have no idea where it came from 🤣 My asks are always open in the meantime!!

***

“Fuck, it’s tight in here,” you complain as you stuff yourself into the small alcove exposed by the panel that was just removed from the Crest’s wall. 

“And a fucking mess. Do you ever organize this shit, Din?” 

The exasperated sigh that comes from behind you is enough to answer your question. 

You roll your eyes as you reach for the tangled ball of wires in front of you. No wonder the lights have been flickering. You’re lucky it wasn’t anything worse than that. 

“Who would even be doing this shit if you didn’t have me? Not like your broad ass could fit in here.” 

Mando scoffs behind you. 

“We got along perfectly fine before you,” he argues. “Grogu could fit in there, I’d have him do it.” 

Now it’s your turn to laugh. 

“Yeah, that would go over well.” 

Din ignores your quip as he comes up to your side and nudges you with his boot. 

“Hey! Can you not?” You turn your head to bite out at him even though he can’t see you. 

“Scootch over,” he demands. “I need to see what you’re doing so you don’t blow the ship up or something.” 

“Wow, it’s really reassuring to know how much faith you have in me, Mando.”

You swear you hear him bite down on a laugh and you smile despite yourself. You squash yourself to the side as much as you can, allowing a small gap so Din can peek in beside you. He groans as he lowers himself to his belly. 

“Poor old man,” you can’t help but tease. “Bad knees getting to you?” 

“Shut up,” Din quips. 

You don’t actually know how old Din is, but you’re placing your bets on late thirties or early forties. Definitely older than you either way, but not quite old enough to be deserving of your quips. That’s not going to stop you, of course. 

By the time he’s looking inside, you’ve untangled the mess of wires and separated the two that need to be switched. 

“Damn it, Mando, you’re blocking my light. I can’t see shit.” 

He sighs for the umpteenth time today. 

“Really? There’s plenty of light,” he argues. 

“Yeah, maybe when you have a fucking night vision mod in your helmet. Get up and tell me what to do from there.” 

He obeys but you swear you hear him mutter something about being bossy through a groan. 

“What have you done so far?” 

“I’ve separated the red and blue wires from the rest.” 

“Okay, go ahead and pull them both from their outlets.” 

You try to pull them off, but you can’t quite reach the outlets on the back wall. 

“Damn it,” you mutter. 

You shove your knees under yourself and arch your back in attempt to push yourself further into the wall. Straining a bit, you’re able to grasp both ends and successfully tug them towards yourself. 

“Got it, what now?” 

“Put the red wire where the blue wire was, and the blue where the red was,” Mando instructs. His voice sounds much raspier than it had a second ago, making you quirk a brow. 

“You okay there?” you ask as you finish the task. 

“Yup,” he croaks. 

“Okay, I’m coming out.” 

You start to wriggle yourself back, and you hear Din make a strangled sound before biting down on it. It’s not until you feel your ass waggling with your movement that you realize what has him so worked up. A sly smirk quickly spreads across your face as you decide there’s no harm in teasing him a bit. 

You groan and arch your back further as you back out, your ass up in the air as much as you can get it. You take your sweet time sitting up once you're out, and you can almost feel the heat coming from Mando by the time you do. You turn around to face him only to find that he’s avoiding your gaze, his hands clasped together casually in front of his crotch. You honestly wonder who he thinks he’s fooling—there’s not much that could hide a tent that size. 

“What’s the matter, big boy?” you ask sweetly. “You look a bit flustered.” 

“N-nothing.” 

You have to physically bite down on your lip to avoid laughing at his voice crack. You’ve never heard him struggle so much. He clears his throat and tries again. 

“Nothing’s wrong, cyar’ika.” 

“Hm. You sure? Because I’m pretty sure you were checking my ass out a second ago.” 

Din chokes on nothing as soon as the words are out of your mouth. 

“I was not!” He bites out in a panicked tone. 

“Nothing wrong with it, I get it. I’d check out my ass, too,” you laugh and shrug. He looks down at his feet and your brows furrow. This might be the most flustered you’ve ever seen him. 

“Dude, it was just an ass, not a big deal. I’m sure you’ve seen much more than that,” you chuckle lightly. 

He slowly looks up at that, and time comes to a stop as things click into place in your head. 

“Holy shit,” you say, bewildered. “You haven’t seen more than that. You’re a virgin aren’t you?” 

You grin when he says nothing in response. No fucking way the Mandalorian hasn’t fucked or been fucked before. Hell, you’ve wanted to fuck him since you came aboard this junk pile of a ship. Damn, you’re going to take this opportunity and fucking run with it. 

“Poor baby Din, never had pussy before,” you coo at him as you stand all the way up. “What’s the matter? Is it too small? Maybe you don’t even like pussy. You want a big strong man to fuck your ass?” You know you’re just spouting anything you think might get under his skin at this point. 

“N-no,” he bites out, though there’s not much conviction behind it. You continue walking towards him, forcing him toward the cockpit’s pilot seat. 

“No? You don’t like cock, Din?” 

“I think you need some help, big guy. You clearly need someone to dominate you, since you don’t have the balls to step up yourself. You’re lucky I’m here, I can show you how good it can be.”

Din’s hands move closer to his clothed cock to hide the twitch that ensues from your words. You see the movement and it only spurs you on. He gulps again as you keep walking toward him.

“No, I-”

“Take a seat, Mando.” 

He crosses his arms and stands up straighter, leveling you with a defiant stare you can practically feel through his beskar helmet. 

“I will do no such thing.” 

“Oh,” you reply, crossing your arms and returning the look. “But you will.”

You glance down at the impressive bulge in his flight suit, smirking when you catch him shift ever so slightly under the weight of your gaze. 

“I think you want to sit down for me, Mando. And I think you’re going to be begging for my cunt by the time I’m done with you.”

You take a step toward him, and you can see the subtle way he stops himself from taking a step back in response. You stop in front of him and let your hand down to graze his covered length. There’s a sharp intake of breath barely heard throughout the hull. If you had been standing where you were a few seconds ago, you would have missed it. 

“Sounds like you already want to, actually.” 

You cup him fully now, and a strangled sound slips through his tightly sealed lips. 

“Poor little virgin Din, doesn’t even know how good he could have been feeling all this time,” you tease, giving him a light squeeze. 

“S-stop,” he grits out, uncrossing his arms to grab your wrist with one hand. Your movements come to a swift stop. 

“Ask me again, and I will,” you tell him. “But I don’t think you really want that, do you? I think you want to stick your dick inside my warm pussy and come your dumb little brains out.”

There’s a brief silence as you stare each other down, and you can almost feel the way he starts to consider his options. 

“I-”

You give him another squeeze, tighter this time, and his hips buck forward as another animalistic sound tumbles from his tongue. 

“Fuck, please,” Din whines as he gives up trying to hold back. You grin wildly at the sound. 

“Please, what, Din? What do you want?” 

“P-please fuck me!” 

Your hand flattens against him and starts to rub sensually up and down, giving him enough friction to have him shivering with each pass. 

“Okay, baby. Sit down like I told you to, and I’ll take care of you.” 

He nods as you start to lead him backwards, the back of his knees hitting the cockpit chair and forcing him to follow your instructions. 

“What a good boy,” you lean forward to coo at the side of his helmet, right where his ear would be. “Why don’t you take your cock out for me?” 

You push yourself away from him, your hands placed on either arm rest as you lean over him. Din hesitates for a moment, clearly not used to the kind of vulnerability you’re asking him to surrender. 

“Go ahead, baby. I promise I won’t make fun.” In fact, you know you won’t. Judging by the massive tent in his pants, there is absolutely no way that Din Djarin is anywhere near small. Not that you’ll tell him that, of course. 

You stare intently as he gulps and lets his hands trail down to unbuckle his belt and shakily pull his zipper down, revealing his boxers. He waits a beat before pulling himself completely out, and you have to fight to keep your jaw from dropping when he does. 

“Holy shit, Djarin,” you gawk. “Well, your dick definitely wasn’t the problem. Scared some people off if anything.” Honestly, it almost scares you. You don’t think your hand could even fully wrap around it if you grabbed it right now. 

You look back to his helmet, making what you hope is eye contact. Judging by the way he shifts in the seat, you’re pretty sure you’re spot-on. 

“You’re so pretty, Din. It’s a shame nobody’s ever told you.” 

“T-thank you,” he breathes, his head turning slightly. 

“I want you to put your hands on the armrests while I show you how pretty I think you are.” 

He hesitates, obviously still not sure about any of this. 

“Go ahead,” you prompt. “Unless you want me to cuff you to the damn chair.” 

At this, he quickly obeys your request and lets his hands go to grip the rests. His cock slaps up, hard and leaking against his covered stomach. He twists his neck all the way to the side, avoiding eye contact as much as he can manage. As much as he’s resisting giving in, you can see how his chest heaves with desire. In this case, the lust is simply stronger than the embarrassment. 

You quickly bring a hand up to grab at the bottom of his helmet, roughly jerking his head back to look at you. 

“You’re going to watch me while I suck your cock. If I see you look away, you’re not going to like what happens after.” 

Din shivers and nods, shaken slightly by your authoritative tone. 

“Say ‘yes, ma’am’.” 

You watch his throat bob as he gulps down his nervousness. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes out. 

“See, you can be such a good boy when you put your mind to it.”

You slink down to your knees and place your hands on his thick, tense thighs. With your eyes level with his cock, you’re able to watch the way a spurt of precum dribbles down from the tip. 

“Look at that, baby. Little dick is drooling already and I haven’t even touched you.” 

Din tenses and clenches his hand but makes a point not to look away. Good, at least you know he’s listening. Who knew how easy it is to tame a Mandalorian? A little humiliation and degradation can go a long way. 

You lean forward, grabbing hard onto his thighs in reminder to keep his hands where they are as you stick your tongue out to scoop up the precum leaking down his shaft. His hips jut forward, and you swear you hear a quiet whine from his helmet. You can’t help but chuckle lightly.

You decide not to waste your time with little licks, and instead lean forward to take his entire tip into your mouth. Now you definitely hear a whine. You struggle to shove more of him into your mouth and down your throat, his girth making it much more of a task than it needs to be. 

You can feel yourself getting wetter just from the thought of how deliciously he would stretch you out in other places. It really is a damn shame he’s kept this absolute monster tucked away for so long. 

His fingers twitch at the same time his head slams back into the headrest, though he keeps it angled down so he can keep watching you. You have to swallow a few times to work him all the way down, and by that time you can almost feel the way he’s tightened up to restrain himself. 

You take pity on him and pull back, resisting the urge to gag as his weight drags across your throat again. A string of spit connects you to his shiny cock as you smirk up at him. 

“Tell me how it feels, sweet boy.” 

“F-feels s-so good, c-cyare,” Din squeaks. 

“Yeah, you want more?” 

He nods furiously and you immediately flick the tip of his swollen cock, earning you a strangled yelp as his hips buck wildly. 

“What’s the matter? Finally got your dick wet and suddenly you forget how to speak?” 

He begins to shake his head before catching himself and giving you a verbal response. 

“N-no–I mean, yes, yes I want more! Please touch me,” he thrusts his hips forward again, though you're not sure if it’s voluntary or not. 

“Alright, since you asked so nicely.” 

You quickly grasp him and start to pump him furiously, leaning to him again to drool on his tip. The extra lubricant makes your hand glide more smoothly, your pace picking up to the point where you can see his balls drawing up. 

You work your mouth in tandem with your fist, worshiping his throbbing cock with open mouthed kisses and gentle nips on the exposed skin. You close your eyes for a second to savor the way he feels between your lips, and the salty flavor that graces your tongue. If you died with Din Djarin’s dick in your mouth, you would die a happy woman.

“C-cyare, I-” 

He cuts himself off as you quickly pull yourself away, leaving him with nothing but your cooling spit to focus on. 

“No, no, no–ung–I, p-please!” 

You laugh at him as he thrusts up, trying to find some kind of friction. His voice sounds wet, almost like there are tears in his eyes. 

“Aww,” you stand back to admire his writhing body. “Poor thing can’t remember anything but ‘please’. That’s cute. Not hard to get you dumb, is it, Mando?” 

You start to strip in front of him, and his hands come up from the armrests. 

“You better not be moving your fucking hands, Din,” you warn. “I know where you keep those damn binders, don’t think I won’t use them.” 

He groans but lets his wrists back down. His feet shift instead since there’s nothing else he’s able to move at the moment. He whines again as your top comes off with your bra, and then your pants with your panties. 

Fully naked and obviously soaked, you stalk toward him yet again, stopping to place your hand on his shoulder as you climb into his lap, careful not to touch his cock just yet. You settle your thighs over the tops of his and spread your legs. 

When you look up at him, he’s staring you back in your eyes, refusing to look down. You smirk once you realize why. 

“Don’t get shy on me now, baby boy,” you say. “Go ahead and look at my pussy, I know you want to.” 

You watch him slowly lower his gaze and breathe out a curse once it lands on your seam. Leaning forward, you whisper again to the side of his helmet. 

“You can move a hand, Din. Spread me open.” 

He visibly trembles at your command but lifts an arm none-the-less. You feel his fingers trail gently down to where you want him, but he stops just short. 

“T-take my glove off, please. Want to feel you, cyar’ika.” 

You smile at him and carefully bring his hand up to pull his glove off, his dick twitching as you do so. You lick your lips as a tanned and scarred hand is revealed. It’s ridiculous how attracted you are to that simple appendage. You wish you could see his entire body, but you know that’s not a likely scenario. 

Once his glove is discarded on the floor, he moves back to your cunt and sucks in a harsh breath as he feels you. 

“You’re s-so wet,” he says in a way that makes you unsure if he meant to say it out loud or not.

You laugh quietly and guide his hand so that he can prod at your hole, to which he chokes. 

“That’s all because of you, sweet boy.” 

You move your hips forward, and his fingers slip through your seam, your slick collecting on the rough pads. You grasp his wrist to bring his hand to your lips, opening your mouth to suck your tang of the digits at the same time as you let your pussy push against the underside of Din’s cock. 

Another animalistic noise accompanies the way his entire body jolts at the sudden contact. With a pop, you pull his fingers from your mouth to make room for the giggle that bubbles up from your throat. 

“Poor baby’s so sensitive!” you exclaim as you grind against him, making him groan with each pass. Both of his hands grip down hard, one on the rest and the other on your thigh. The man has a fucking grip, you’re sure there will be five little bruises littered across your skin tomorrow. You wonder how good that grip would feel on your hips as he drills himself into you from the back, and file that thought back for another day. 

You shudder as his tip bumps up against your clit, sending little shocks up your spine and making you dizzy. 

“Gonna fuck you now, baby boy,” you breathe. “You want that? Want to stick your cock inside me?” 

“I-ungh-yes, yes!” 

“Yeah?” you ask as you keep up your movements. “Beg for it.” 

“P-please,” Din asks a bit too quietly for your liking. You would bet all the credits you won that he’s blushing under that armor right now.

“Oh, come on now, you can do better than that.” 

There’s a short moment where you think Din isn’t going to do it, and a lump of disappointment gets stuck in your throat. Luckily, he doesn’t make you sit with it for too long. 

“Please, please put my d-dick in your pussy, want to feel you, please! I-I can’t–I want–”

In the middle of his babbling, you lift yourself up and line his cock with your entrance, slowly lowering yourself down. His hands fly to your hips at the same time his thoughts fly from his brain, unable to think of anything but the way your tight pussy is parting to welcome his fat tip. 

He’s never felt anything quite this pleasurable before, the sensation nearly blinding him as you work yourself down onto him. 

Your head tilts back as Din holds onto your hips for dear life. The combination of that pressure along with the burn from his cock stretching you out is almost too much. You can feel a heat bubbling at the base of your spine, and he’s not even all the way inside of you yet. 

“Oh, god, that’s so good, Din. You’re so good.” 

He whimpers in response, though part of that may be due to the fact that your hips are now flush to his. You’re both panting, a sheen of sweat coating both of your bodies. You can’t see the perspiration on Din, but you can feel the moist heat emanating from him. 

You open your eyes, not realizing they had been closed in the first place. You’ve never been this fucking full in your life. You swear you can feel him all the way up to your throat.

“M–plea–please move,” Din begs and lets his helmet rest on your forehead. His entire body is shaking with the effort of not blowing his load too quickly. 

You grant his request, starting to rock your hips as you bring a hand to settle on his neck, delighted to find a damp mess of curls peeking out from his helmet at the nape. Din gasps as you tug lightly while lifting your hips. 

You start a slow but steady rhythm, your skin slapping against each other each time you bottom out. His heavy cock drags against your walls, making your toes curl. A little whine sneaks out from Din’s concealed lips every time you sink down on him. 

A lewd moan tumbles from your lips as you feel him punch against your cervix, tucking in further than you��ve ever been able to reach before. 

“Fuck, Din! You’re so deep, baby!” 

“I’m not g-going to last l-long, Meshla,” Din strains. 

You ride him harder, taking that as a challenge. The tight thatch of hair at the base of his cock catches on your clit as you slam down on him, bringing you further to the brink. Something white hot flashes within your body, blinding you momentarily. 

You’re not even able to tell him you’re close too before you’re clamping down on him, and he’s shouting as he loses control. Your moans tangle together as you soak his dick, your legs trembling unlike you’ve ever experienced before. 

Din wraps his arms around you as he thrusts up into you, spilling himself within your heat. You’ve never in your life seen or felt anyone come as much as he does. Every time you think he’s done, you feel another spurt of his seed clinging to your walls.

By the time you’re both coming down, your ears have started ringing and your breathing has calmed down enough for you to get a word out, though you’re not sure Mando’s quite capable of that yet. 

“Y-you good?” you manage to gasp. 

You feel Din nod against you, and give yourself permission to lean against him. You’re wrung fucking dry. If this is what it feels like when you’re on top, what might it be like when Din’s in charge? The thought makes your body shudder and your pussy quiver. You sit in silence with him for a while until he finally breaks it with a voice just above a whisper. 

“C-can we do that again?”

You laugh at hearing the last thing you expected to come from his mouth after that. 

“Fucking maker, Din.”

***

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[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter twenty one : te mirci't

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 9.0k

summary : reader does a lot of thinking, and a lot of expressing of said thoughts

warnings, etc. : language, angst, canon typical violence, smut smut smut smut, p in v smut, food play sort of kind of, din djarin nearly creams his pants over the concept of domesticity, sort of a dom/sub thing, switch!reader & switch!mando, din has a breeding kink and it's addressed, reader has like zero chill this chapter, dirty talk, men whimpering (hooray!), light bondage, use of handcuffs, unprotected sex

a/n : ik y'all are hype about breeding kink din but i'm gonna real quick say that i will not throw in like a surprise pregnancy in this fic, cause it hasn't been tagged with that thus far and sometimes it irks me when i'm knee deep in a fic and suddenly the reader is pregnant without warning and it wasn’t tagged,, so yeah. it would be different if i advertised this as a pregnancy fic from the get go but i didn't so i'm not gonna spring that on people. (reader could still potentially end up pregnant at the END of the fic (possibly maybe who knows) but there will not be any surprise pregnancy, sorry!) that's it lmao, just wanted to throw that out there.

“It means I love you.” 

You aren’t entirely sure how long you stare at him, looking rather silly with your jaw practically on the floor. 

How many times has he said it without you even knowing? How long has he loved you? Maker, your mind is racing as you try to recall when the first time he said it would have been.

You’ve already said it to him. 

Albeit you didn’t realize what you were saying but you’d said those words to him. And hearing you say them had worked him up so much that he’d fucked you like it was his last night alive. 

He doesn’t seem to have much to say now that he’s dropped that bomb on you. You just stare at each other in this blistering silence for an eternity. Until the smell of burning has you shooting out of bed, scrambling towards the oven as you grab the lone oven mit off the counter, removing the smoking baking trays quickly, propping open the single window above the sink and tossing the ruined cakes under the faucet.

“Kriff.” You lean up against the counter, staring at where he’s currently getting up from the bed to join you. Are you a terrible person if you just ignore it? Because currently the last thing you want to do is think about it. “I’m gonna start a new batch, I lost track of time with this one.” You whisper towards him, never actually meeting that thin black line of his helmet. 

“You don’t have to say it back.��� He whispers back to you, taking a seat at the table. 

You know you don’t have to. 

Honestly the pressure of having to say it is the least of your worries. The most troubling part of this situation is the question that now plagues you which is, do you love him? 

You rinse out the last batch of batter from the bowl before starting a new one.

You’ve always been so hesitant with him. Even from the start. You wouldn’t let yourself think about him, then you wouldn’t let yourself feel for him, care for him, want him. At one point you wouldn’t even let yourself like him. 

So to think about if you love him? 

The only thing you’ve ever let yourself do is hate him. And you never even really did that. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” He leans forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. 

Shit. You’ve been quiet for too long.

“I’m fine, sorry, just… upset about the cakes.” You both know it’s a lie. But neither of you says a thing. He just nods. You work in silence, willing your mind to think of anything else as you scrape the burnt cake tin off into the sink before refilling it with the new batch of batter. As you slide the tin into the oven you turn, unable to face him you turn your gaze elsewhere, to the single shelf in his home. 

A few days ago when you were here it was covered in assorted pieces of metal and scrap. Now it’s mostly bare. In a desperate attempt to change the subject you walk over, picking up one of the few remaining scraps. 

“What happened to all your stuff? You hold a small metal ball between your fingers as he walks up behind you, resting his head on your shoulder as he leans down. You feel the chill of beskar against your skin. 

“I used it all.” He’s still being far too vague about all this and you frown, holding the ball up in front of his face. 

“You forgot this piece.” He takes it from you as you say it, you don’t remember him taking his gloves off but they are, his bare hands holding it like it’s a precious gemstone. 

“This isn’t a part of my secret project,” He murmurs, rolling the ball between his fingers. “this belonged to the kid.” 

You have to remind yourself not to pry, that you promised yourself you’d let him talk about it on his own. His free hand snakes around your waist as he stares longingly at the metal piece, you say nothing, giving him the option to go on if he wants. After a brief moment of pause, he continues. 

“I tried to buy him a proper toy. Just once. He used to play with this, I thought maybe he was just bored because we spent so much time on the Crest. On one of my jobs I stopped and got him this little stuffed frog toy.”

You think of the frog he picked up from the lake all those moons ago. A pang of sorrow in your chest.

Every time he talks about the kid it seems like he’s talking more to himself than to you, this time is no different. He adjusts himself, standing up straighter so his chin rests atop your head now. He sways you gently to a song that only he hears.

“He tried to eat the damn thing, I tried to explain that it wasn’t for eating but he didn’t seem to care. Once he realized I wasn’t gonna let him eat it he lost interest, threw it into the fresher and went off to find this again.” He sets the ball back onto the shelf and just holds you for a moment. Just when you’re about to reach down to touch the hand he’s resting on your stomach he speaks again, in a whisper, like he isn’t sure he wants you to hear what he’s saying. “I used to worry that he was bored. Spending so much time on the ship with just me, without any of the things a child usually grows up with.” His grip on your waist tightens. “I thought for the longest time that he’d be happier somewhere else. Now I wonder if maybe he was content with what we had.” 

The more you let him talk out his feelings the more you realize that deep down Din is one thing above all. 

Someone who doesn’t think he is deserving of love. 

You turn around in his grip so you’re facing him and don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his waist, holding him tight. You might not be ready to tell him you love him but that doesn’t mean you can’t show him that he is cared for. He doesn’t move for a moment but eventually holds you back. 

He makes no effort to pull away so you don’t either. Staying like that until you have to get the cakes out of the oven before you burn another batch. He follows you in silence as you set the new batch on the table, he reaches for one and you smack his hand away. 

“You’re gonna burn your hand, stop that. And I still need to frost them.” 

You turn back to the book for the recipe, happy that the two of you seem to be in mutual agreement to not talk about the current situation. As you start pouring the sugar to make the icing you hear a hiss of air, on instinct you turn to face the noise, not realizing until it’s too late that you shouldn’t. 

You should feel regret.

But Maker, how could you. 

Your eyes fixed on the way he parts his plush lips to take the chunk of pastry he tore off into his mouth, his finger lingering on his bottom lip and that tongue. Darting out to lick his fingers clean. The way the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. You know you shouldn’t look, he’s got the helmet pulled up just enough that you can see the tip of his nose which means he doesn’t even know you’re looking, there’s metal between his eyes and you. You can’t, this is so bad, shit. You just keep finding reasons to not look away, especially now that he’s smiling. You always thought his smile would be condescending, maybe a triumphant smirk, but it’s so… dorky. He’s got such a dopey grin.

Stars, he’s got a dimple. 

Are you still breathing?   

And you can finally see the facial hair you’ve only ever felt brush up against you. Surprisingly well kept, with a few small bare patches. You want nothing more than to lean forward and kiss each one of them but you’re quickly reminded of how bad this entire situation is as you hastily turn back around. Stirring the bowl in front of you, acting as if nothing happened. Only a few seconds after you’re facing the counter again do you hear the airlock reseal. 

You hear a sharp inhale and a part of you worries he knows you accidentally looked but he hisses again before cursing.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” You can hear him breathing heavily through his mouth into the modulator.

Thank the gods.

“I warned you.” You chastise him, turning around and pouring a generous amount of the cinnamon sugar icing onto each of the cakes while they’re still hot so it absorbs into them. “These need to sit overnight in the conservator.” 

“Okay, should I put them in now or when I get back tonight?” 

You know what he’s really asking. 

He wants to know if he’ll be staying with you or coming home alone.

The answer is obvious to you as you nudge the conservator open with your foot, sliding the tins onto one of the shelves. 

“I’ll do this now since you won’t be around to. Should we go?” You slip your shoes back on, watching as a bit of tension leaves his shoulders. 

“Sure.”

★

It’s a quiet walk back but it isn’t really uncomfortable. You just want to get him back to your room, where he’ll hopefully help you forget about this whole mess. 

You waste no time when you get to your chambers. You drag him to the closet, struggling to remove his armor, carefully setting each piece on the floor while he simultaneously lifts your shirt up over your head. Once you have every piece of beskar removed, you find yourself tumbling to the floor as he practically tackles you into the blankets. Both of you fumble for the lamp until finally you manage to flip the switch and it’s like he can’t get the helmet off fast enough because in what feels like a single second, you’re shrouded in darkness, you hear the the sound of air, a thud onto the ground, and his lips are on yours. 

You’re waiting for something more to happen, he’d been so urgent just a moment ago but now that you’re here he’s just kissing you.  

Of course you aren’t complaining. Every kiss with him feels like a blessing from the Maker themself. You’re just a little surprised. 

You had sort of hoped he had plans to ravage you solely for the purpose of distracting you from the question, still searing your every thought, demanding your attention. But instead he kisses you one last time before laying atop your chest, arms wrapped around you. You think about teasing him but there’s something cathartic about this. His willingness to just be with you without searching for more. So you let him.

And when he inevitably falls asleep, his monstrous snores filling the small space, you’re left alone with your thoughts. 

Well, thought. 

Do you love him? 

Do you want to love him? 

Loving him means too much. 

You tangle your fingers in his curls, in an attempt to soothe yourself. 

Loving him is complicated. It means you’ll have to finally answer the rest of the questions you don’t want to so much as think about.

Kids? Marriage? Kodo? Any sort of future.

Loving him puts him at risk. 

He’s always been at risk. His choice to love you meant putting his life on the line. Everyday he wanted to be yours was a day that he could be dragged off by one of your husbands unlimited guard members and killed. 

Loving him means understanding that you’re on a clock. A clock to get off of Naboo as quickly as possible, to somewhere far away to hunker down. To hide from the inevitable onslaught of search parties that would come after a missing royal. 

They’d send bounty hunters.

Kodo doesn’t even like you, but if you ran off with the man he hired to protect you? He would stop at nothing to get you back. The thought of what he would do to Din when he inevitably found the two of you makes your blood run cold. 

But you need to push those thoughts away. Yes, they are important but they shouldn’t impact your feelings. Because at the end of the day you either love him or you don’t. 

And you can’t even seem to figure that out. 

You’ve never been in love before, you don’t really have a frame of reference. 

You’ve certainly never felt for anyone the way you feel for him. 

Is that love? 

If you weren’t already married would you have said it back?

You aren’t even really a wife at this point. 

You’re a prisoner. 

You aren’t sure when he woke up but he brings you back to reality with a kiss to your chest. 

“You should be asleep, princess.” His voice is gravely, still thick with exhaustion. You run your hands along his vast shoulders in an attempt to soothe him back to sleep. 

“So should you.” You whisper into the darkness, he hums softly in response. 

It goes quiet again. His arms tighten around you and you know he remains awake, every so often he’ll place a chaste kiss to your breast. 

Would it be cruel to bring it up again?

At this point he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest that you didn’t reciprocate the sentiment and you can’t keep fighting these battles alone. 

If you love each other, talking about these things is something you would do. 

It might be nice. To not be alone with these thoughts for once. 

“Din?” 

He hums again in response. You feel the scratch of his stubble against your chest as his head turns in your direction. 

You should let him sleep. Shut up and not bother him with this. 

“What does love mean to you?”

It’s such a corny question but you really are curious.

“What did you say?” For a moment you’re worried you’ve upset him but his tone makes you think he genuinely didn’t hear you. 

“What’s it like, to love someone?” 

He chuckles softly and a wave of relief washes over you. 

“That’s an awfully complicated question, cyare.”

“Okay, then, how did you know?” You purposefully avoid saying the words, “that you loved me.” 

“It sort of snuck up on me. It started my first week with you, when being with you started feeling less like a job and more like an honor.” 

Does he have to be so good with words? Even in this state, barely awake, he manages to be a goddamn poet. 

“Eventually it got to a point where I couldn’t ignore it anymore.” He mumbles his words into your skin. 

“When was that?”

“When you gave me a birthday.” 

Right before he had ended things. 

You don’t have to ask to know now that that's why he did it. 

“And that was when you were sure?”

“Yes. That was when I knew I loved you.” 

If he’s upset about you not saying it back he doesn’t make it known, he says it so casually.

“What does it feel like?” You run your fingers along the scar on the back of his head. 

“It feels like being afraid. There is a certain vein of fear that I had never known prior to meeting the kid, when I los-“ He hesitates. “When he left, I didn’t think I’d ever feel that fear again.” He sighs. “When I met you I learned how to be afraid all over again.” 

You sort of understand that feeling.

You felt it when you thought Kodo knew. And you felt it when you imagined Kodo’s reaction to your hypothetical children with Din. 

You felt it just moments ago. When you asked yourself if you loved him. 

“It’s like all the air leaves the room, replaced with terror. That terror eats away at everything until there’s nothing left.”

All you can think of is the night you found him in the hallway, and you’re certain you’ve never felt that level of fear.

“It’s not all fear though. I assume it’s different for everyone but the fear is only a part of it. For me it mostly feels like devotion and temptation. I know what it is to be devoted, for decades I followed my creed without question, and when I finally did abandon it, it was a matter of life and death, fueled by that fear.”

He sounds half asleep as he says it, like he’s telling himself a bedtime story, and you don’t dare interrupt. 

“That’s how I feel about you, except in your case, nothing could make me question my devotion to you, not even a matter of life and death. And as far as temptation goes…” He laughs quietly to himself. “I was unfamiliar with that feeling before you.”

“Temptation?” You whisper to him.

“When will you understand what you are to me, sarad’ika?” He sits up a little, you can’t see him but you feel his nose bump against your jaw as he rests his face in the crook of your neck.

“I know how you feel about me, you tell me quite often.” You’re only half-joking.

“Not how I feel about you, what you are to me. You are so much more than the one I never meant to love, I swear you were created just to tempt me.” You let your hand rest on the nape of his neck as he absentmindedly brushes his lips up against your throat. “If you asked me to remove my helmet, I would.” He murmurs against your throat. 

That’s a rather serious claim.

“You could have asked me from the moment I met you. It took time for me to realize I loved you but I have always, been sworn to you.” His fingers trail up and down your torso. “From the moment I first saw you, when you tried to remove my helmet, I promised myself that if you ever tried again, that I wouldn’t stop you.

Maker. 

How the fuck do you respond to that?

“We can talk more in the morning. Get some sleep.” He kisses your temple and lays back down against your chest.

He can be annoyingly eloquent when he wants too. You can’t help but wish you were as capable of putting your feelings into words the way he does. Seriously, how are you supposed to top, “When I met you I learned how to be afraid all over again.” 

Maybe tomorrow you could try and show him how much he means to you. Since you can’t seem to find the right thing to say, and even if you could he’s already asleep again, snoring at an ungodly volume like he didn’t just profess his profound love to you.

But talking to him helped, from how he describes it, you might just love him too.

★

This morning is much more coordinated than your last. 

Din wakes you up before the girls arrive. You have plenty of time to pick out one of the simpler pink gowns in your collection, along with a matching pair of slippers. You leave him there with plenty of time to spare. 

The girls don’t question it this time either. Neither of them tries to go into the closet and they waste no time dressing you. Lysa finds you a nice pink nightie from the dresser but you honestly aren’t all that thrilled about it this time around.

It’s getting harder and harder to care about this. 

Being dressed up like a doll every day.

Din certainly doesn’t care about what you look like so why even bother at this point? You’re antsy to get back to him and you’re about to hastily thank and dismiss the girls as they finish but Elaine speaks first. 

“Princess, would you join me for tea this morning?” 

You have no logical reason to refuse and you do enjoy time spent with Elaine.

You just want to be with Din.

But you can’t tell her that. 

“Certainly, shall I meet you in the gardens again?” 

“I will see you there, my lady.” Both girls give you small bows before leaving. Only a few seconds after they’re gone the closet door opens and there stands your Mandalorian. He makes his way to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

“Shall I escort you to the gardens, my lady?” He leans down a bit so your eyes are level with the line of his visor.

“Lead the way.”

It’s a short walk and you’re once again surprised by how quickly Elaine has set things up, a table and chairs wait for you in the gazebo.

“Do you think you could find something to do for a few minutes on your own?” You say quietly enough that you know only he can hear it as you approach. 

He doesn’t respond but as you step into the gazebo he doesn’t follow you in, once you’re seated he walks off into the garden. 

“Seems like things are better between the two of you?” She pours you a cup, making it the way you like it before handing you the saucer. 

“Much better.” You smile as you take a sip. 

“May I speak freely ma’am?” She sets her cup down and crosses her arms, staring at you. Her tone has gotten so serious so suddenly you’re a bit stunned. 

“Of course.” 

“Lysa and I stopped coming to help you undress in the evenings many moons ago, we stopped waiting for you to summon us.” 

What a strange thing to say. 

“Okay?” Is all you can manage, still unsure as to what she could possibly mean by that statement. 

“Well, my lady, we just assumed you didn’t need the help anymore…” She stares at you expectantly but you’re still giving her a confused look. “You know…” Her eyebrows are raised but you just shake your head slowly, giving her a blank stare. “With getting undressed.”

Oh.

Oh.

Not much you can really say about that, she’s right, and you hadn’t even noticed because someone else was undressing you. Still, she can’t expect you to outright admit that. 

“I don’t need you to say a word, my lady, I just needed to talk to you, to warn you.” Something about her tone makes you shiver, even out here in the sun. 

“About?” 

“You’ve been reckless, princess.” You set your cup down. 

“Spit it out Elaine, you’re making me nervous.” You laugh anxiously but her expression remains stern.

“Kodo won’t take your absence from dinner lightly. And you’ve been too blatant about your friendship with the Mandalorian. You should act with more caution.” 

Well, you had wanted her to be blunt, you can’t be too shocked about that. 

“He is not a man who takes kindly to disrespect. He will retaliate if you aren’t careful, that’s all.” You nod as she takes a sip of her tea.

That’s all she says on the subject, quickly moving on to another topic.

Her warning was genuine and you’re thankful for it but you push it from your mind. You will right this wrong and attend dinner with Kodo this week.

★

Tea is short after that.

You aren’t in the mood for small talk anymore, you just want to spend the rest of the day with Din.

You whisper a genuine thanks to her before she departs, and you rush over to where he stands in the flowers.

“Cabin?” He asks. Thankfully he doesn’t risk holding your hand in broad daylight but he lets his knuckles brush against yours. 

“Cabin.” You follow him towards the pond and once you’re close enough he scoops you up into his arms to keep you out of the water. “Din! What if someone sees?” You whisper yell at him, eyes scanning the vacant gardens. 

“This isn’t any less damning than you walking in on your own. Besides, no one’s around, promise.” He pushes open the door before setting you down, locking up behind the two of you. “I’ve lived here for long enough to know that nobody comes out this far except us. Now, what do you want for the rest of the day?” He kicks off his boots and you set your slippers next to them.

It’s past noon at this point, you have nothing planned. 

“Do you want to just stay here? I think today I just want to stay here.” You walk over to the bed, lifting your skirt and taking a seat. 

“Works for me, I’m going to get some chores done if you don’t mind.” He removes his gloves, tossing them on the table before kneeling beside the dresser. 

“I don’t mind at all.” You scoot back a bit to rest against the wall, you’re actually quite curious to see what he’ll do, and you need time to think of how you’re going to show him how much he means to you. 

You watch as he takes out different weapons and tech that you don’t recognize. He tosses his gloves to the side and starts methodically cleaning every item. 

You’re sort of hypnotized by his attention to detail, it lets you think.

What does he like? 

Green, you, the kid, classic ships. 

None of those things can really show him how much he means to you though. 

He’s setting different things aside as he finishes any maintenance required, every so often he looks up at you before returning to his work. You feel a little useless just sitting here so you get up to take the cakes out of the conservator. 

Suddenly you have his attention. 

You don’t dare say a word, letting him just observe in peace. He drops whatever he’s working on, you don’t look but you can feel his visor trained on you. 

You take the tins out, setting them on the table before finding a dull knife. Each cake is small enough that you can fit your hands around each tin if you hold your fingers in the shape of a circle. You carve each cake out of its tin and he watches you intently the entire time, you can see him in your peripherals. 

So he likes… watching you do a shitty job at taking cakes out of tins?

It’s crass but you go through the list of things that have worked him up before. Things you’ve said to get him to give you what you want during sex. 

Two instances come to mind. 

The time you unknowingly said I love you.

And then last night, when you told him he could finish inside you.

And now? Your head tilts up just in time to watch him adjust himself in his trousers before sheepishly tuning back to his work when you catch him watching you. It takes a second but eventually things start to click.

He likes watching you look at home in his cabin. He likes the intimate feeling of a simple life. Watching you bake, saying I love you, having kids. 

Things a normal couple might do. 

He tosses something up onto the bed, you stare at it for a moment as he starts putting other things back into the dresser.

Handcuffs. 

Thick, padded, and metal. 

You know he intends on using them on you but you act fast, hurrying over to him, taking his hand. 

“What are you doing mesh’la?” He chuckles as you sit him down on the bed.

This is gonna be a shot in the dark, but if you’re confident enough, (and right) it’ll be worth it.

“Just, let me take care of you.” 

“You already take care of me.” He insists, starting to get up but you firmly plant your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down. Your plan is rapidly forming in your mind.

“I mean it, now stay put.” He sighs loudly but nods, tilting his head to the side in confusion. No sense in being coy, might as well be clear with your intentions to see if he’s actually into it. “Don’t be a baby, I know you get off on this kind of thing.” The moment you say it he scoffs but you’re already across the room, taking one of the little cakes and putting it onto a plate. 

“Excuse me?” “His voice is already terribly defensive but you just laugh it off. 

“You’re not the only one who can make observations. You think I didn’t notice the way your tone switched when I offered to bake for you?” He starts to argue but you cut him off. “And I’m definitely not going to ignore how quickly you came when I told you you could finish inside of me.” That surprisingly shuts him up. This might actually be the only time you’ve caught him so off guard that he doesn’t have a response. 

You bring the plate over to the bed, setting it on his nightstand.

“You like domesticity.” You lean in to whisper to him. “You want me to take care of you, don’t you Mr. Tough Mandalorian?” You can’t gauge his reaction because of the helmet but you can gauge the tent in his pants perfectly fine. 

“Djarin.” He certainly doesn’t sound stern now. 

“Djarin?”

“Din Djarin.” You hadn’t even realized until just now that you didn’t know his last name. 

You straddle one of his thighs, spreading his legs with your knees.

“Well then, let me take care of you, Din Djarin.” You like the way his name feels in your mouth and based on the way his cock twitches against your leg you’d reckon he does too. 

He’s always been so open with you and you’ve always kept him at a distance. 

Right here right now, if you weren’t dealing with the worst possible circumstances (your husband), you know that you’d tell him you love him, that you ache for him, that you know fear because of him. You know you love him. And you’re pretty sure he knows it too.

You just aren’t ready to say it. 

So you’ll have to show it. (And maybe say a few things that you are ready to say.) 

You love each other, at the end of the day you can’t keep censoring yourself when you think about him, he doesn’t deserve that. 

You want to show him what he deserves. 

You reach behind him and grab the cuffs. As you do his hands wrap around you to tug at your corset strings, an act that he’s getting rather good at. 

“You gonna put those on for me, mesh’la?” He drawls. Once he’s loosened your corset enough so that you’ll be able slip out of it you lean back again.

“No.” You grin at him and he immediately shakes his head. 

“Absolutely not.” He says the moment you start smiling.

“You’re always in charge, just let me be in charge, I’m doing this for you.” You grab one of his wrists but he easily pulls it away. 

“You were in charge last time.”

True, but irrelevant.

“Do you love me?” You stick your bottom lip out a little. 

“You’re terrible.” 

“I know.” But it works, because when you grab his wrist again he doesn’t pull away. 

“You know I can get out of these right? Very easily.” He says, watching you close the first cuff around his wrist, removing the belt around his torso and the one around his waist. 

“I know that too, but you love me, so you’re going to leave them on until I take them off.

“This feels less like you’re taking care of me and more like I’m your prisoner.” He mumbles. 

“Oh hush, you’d be happy either way.” Once again he seems at a loss for words as you cuff his other wrist, he sets his hands in his lap. You smooth out the fabric of his cowl before carefully removing it, folding it and walking it over to the table and setting it down. “I’ll make you a deal.” You say, turning back to face him. “If you don’t like it then I will stop and we can do this your way. But if you don’t then I will assume I was right, and you do want me to take care of you.” You straddle his thigh again and play with one of the releases on his chest plate.

“You’re being purposefully vague. What does taking care of me entail?” The impatience on his voice trails off as you start releasing his chestplate, finding the little locks, undoing them one by one. 

“Well… I just think that you like certain things, and I think you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“What things?” 

You click the last release and remove his chest plate, walking over to the dresser to set it down carefully before returning.

“You like that I baked for you.” You remove his gauntlets, setting them on his nightstand.

“Who wouldn’t like that?” You swear you almost hear him stutter. 

“Oh but I think you really like it. Because you know I did it just for you.” You remove his pauldrons and kneel between his legs to remove the pieces of armor on his thighs. “You like when I hold you, you like seeing me here, in your home, in your bed.” You slide his remaining armor down his legs, setting them aside before standing again and spreading his thighs with your knees to slot yourself between them, your hands grip the edges of his helmet. 

“Can I?” You whisper. 

After a moment's hesitation he nods. 

Your fingers snap the airlocks and you gently lift. 

Before closing your eyes you allow yourself one peek. 

You’re graced with a bashful smile, and you know that it’s okay, so you squeeze your eyes shut and completely remove the helmet, setting it on the bed beside him. Almost as if on instinct he leans forward and you feel his lips on yours as you gently push him back. 

“Let me do it, Din.” You laugh softly. “You don’t have to do everything.” You lean forward this time, hands on either side of his face, running your tongue over that bottom lip you wish you could see. “I’m going to take my dress off.” You mumble into his mouth before pulling back, you turn around and quickly slide your gown down your body, you grab the plate on his bedside table before closing your eyes and turning back around. His restrained hands play with the front of your nightie. 

“What are you-” His unfiltered voice is like warm honey, deep and raw, but you silence it by putting two fingers from your freehand to where you assume his mouth is. He starts to speak again so you gingerly slide your thumb between his lips and you hear any more questions he might have flicker out. 

“Can you go more than five minutes without asking me a question?” The moment you say it his lips purse like he’s going to ask again, you place your thumb over his tongue. Once you’re certain he isn’t going to interrupt your actions again you remove your hand from his face and tear a chunk of the cake off of the plate. “Open.” You laugh softly as you bring your hand towards his mouth, he immediately starts to protest again but you take the opportunity to stuff the pastry into his mouth, you get lucky and actually manage to get it in on the first try. 

If you’re being honest, you aren’t completely sure if this is going to work. You’re still acting on a hunch. A very presumptuous hunch, that deep down he wants nothing more than a quiet, soft life. 

A home. 

Unless of course you’re wrong. In that case you’re going to be rather embarrassed. Which is starting to be a worry as you realize he isn’t moving, two of your fingers just barely past his lips, he still hasn’t moved and you fell you nerves starting to get the best of you, just as you’re about to withdrawal and apologize for the entire silly affair, his lips close around your fingers. You can’t help but gasp at the feeling, accidentally taking a step back in surprise.    

His fingers immediately grasp at what fabric they can on your undergarments, trying to pull you closer again. You’re about to say something smug, along the lines of “I told you so.” But you’re stopped dead in your tracks.

Because Maker, he whimpers. 

You let him tug you back between his legs. The cold metal of the cuffs brushes against your thighs. 

You reach down and tear off another chunk of the cake, his bound hands guide you back to his mouth, which you're shocked to find is still open as you gently feed him. This time you don't flinch back, his lips close around your fingers and his tongue licks them clean.

This is the temptation he spoke of. 

You respect his creed. You’ve sort of taken your own creed, a vow to yourself not to look. But right now it takes all of your restraint to not look. Nothing could possibly make you happier than knowing what he must look like right now, lips wrapped around your fingers, trying to pull you closer. 

But just like him, you resist those temptations, finally pulling your hand away. 

“I told you I’d take care of you.” You whisper, a slight teasing edge to your voice.

“You’re a strange woman, sarad’ika.” He whispers back.

“So you don’t like this?” You tear off a piece for yourself, popping it into your mouth, feeling the icing coat your tongue. You bask in his silence before picking up the remaining pastry, gently feeding him, tossing the plate blindly onto the bed.

The only answer you need to your question is the way his tongue drags across your palm when he’s finished, you waste no time after that to push him down into the mattress. Letting your lips find his.

His mouth tastes just like it did the first time you kissed.

Vanilla. 

His arms go over your head, trapping you in his embrace. 

“Tell me I was right.” You pull back from him, grinning.

“I wouldn’t exactly go so far as to say that you were right.” His mouth latches to your chin, peppering a trail of kisses back up to your lips but you pull further back, as far as his arms will let you, eyes still shut.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that right? Because about thirty seconds ago you were quite literally eating out of the palm of my hand.” He continues trying to kiss you to silence you but you keep turning your head to the side, he settles on your jaw eventually. 

“That doesn’t prove anything, I’ve barely eaten anything today, maybe I was just hungry.” He mumbles against your skin. 

“Mhmm, sure. Are you sure you don’t like playing house? I think you like imagining me as Mrs. Djarin.”

Whoops. Where the hell did that come from? 

“Don’t say that.” His voice isn’t playful anymore as he sits up, keeping you in his lap. 

“Kriff, I’m sorry Din, that was too fa-” You hear a metal thud behind you on the floor and his hands are no longer cuffed, they hold your waist now. 

“If you don’t mean it, don't joke about that.” His breath is hot on your face and his grip on you tightens. 

If you don’t mean it. 

So you were right. 

Your mind screams at you to be rational. You have a husband, there are a million reasons to apologize and to move on from this. 

Stop using the husband that was forced upon you as an excuse.

You can’t keep holding back when it comes to Din. It isn’t fair to him. Not when he gives you everything. 

“If I do mean it, can I joke about it?” Your voice is the quietest it’s been all day. 

He takes your hands and brings them up to his face, so you can feel him nod. 

“I’ll keep joking about it if you tell me I’m right. I’ll joke all night long.” You laugh a little as he brings one of your hands to his mouth so he can kiss your wrist. 

“You’re right.”

You can’t help yourself.

“About?” 

“I like this.” He drags his lips down your arm before dropping it. “I like when you take care of me.” 

“Turn the lights off.” He doesn’t hesitate once you say it, the curtains are all already closed 

Once the lights are off he flips you onto your back, you hear everything on the bed clatter to the floor as he tosses it aside.

His bed is lower than yours so his hands grab you by your hips, lifting your bottom half into the air a little, making you squeak in surprise. 

“Tell me another joke.” He says under his breath as he spreads your legs so he can grind his still clothed erection against you. 

“I thought you were going to let me take care of you?” You scoff at him, hearing his zipper.

“I am,” You gasp as he drops you back down onto the mattress, climbing on top of you. “I’m letting you tell me jokes.” You can practically hear his grin as he guides the blunt head of his cock into your folds. Lazily rubbing it against your clit and leaning down to whisper to you. “You started this with all your talk, is that all it was? Talk? I thought you said you meant it?”  

You’re trying to remember how he got the upperhand so quickly but it’s hard to concentrate when he keeps nudging himself against your most sensitive spot.

Everything always happens so fast with him, just once you’d like to turn things around on him and have it work.

“I-I meant it.” Is all you really manage to get out, he brings his cock down a bit to tease your entrance, never actually pushing in. His voice has that condescending tone to it that tells you he’s willing to play this game for a while and you hadn’t really factored in just how aroused you’d get during your display a few minutes ago. You’re soaked and there’s a good chance he’s going to draw this out in retaliation. He swipes his tip back up to your clit, the both of you hiss in unison. 

You still have one ace up your sleeve as you recall your conversation from last night. 

“So you liked one of my offers?” 

“I might have been interested in one of them”

One thing you know he wants. 

“Come on, sarad’ika. Where are your jokes?” He chuckles against your skin as he kisses your shoulder. 

“I was just trying to think of a baking joke. Can you give me a second?” You gasp out as his free hand reaches underneath you to squeeze your ass before coming up to rest on your hip. 

“I know you can do better than a baking joke.” You can feel him grin against you now, his teeth lightly graze your shoulder.

“It’s a shame, you would have liked it.” He goes back to teasing your entrance, pressing himself into you just enough to make you squirm but not enough to actually be inside you. You try to shift your hips downwards but his hand keeps you pinned in place. 

“I liked your jokes about Mrs. Djarin.” 

It’s now or never.

“Well you liked my cooking as well, so I thought I’d make a joke about a bun in the oven, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Filling me u-”

His hips buck forward and his grip on you tightens to the point of a sharp pain. To seemingly both of your surprises, in an instant he’s buried nearly to the hilt in your heat. 

“Maker, Din!” You’re gonna have a brand new set of bruises tomorrow. 

“Sorry! I, fuck- sorry.” He’s grunting in your ear, not bothering with your shoulder anymore, burying his face into the pillow next to your head. 

“Dank farrik, Din…” You’re reeling from the sudden motion, your head tilted back into the mattress. You need to catch your breath but the muffled groans coming from him distract you. The sting from the sudden stretch you're experiencing is quickly fading and you bring your hands up to his head, one resting in his hair and the other at the nape of his neck. 

He wanted to make this a game so you’re going to play, and you’re going to win.

You’re still panting a little as you turn your head to the side so you can whisper into his ear. 

“Stars Din, it’s that easy to get you worked up, huh?” His breathing is starting to level out, his grip on you lightens up. “I thought I was easy to rile up but look at you, all this just at the thought of a bun in the oven.” 

He isn’t making noise anymore, he’s still against you, listening intently as you run a soothing hand down his spine and back up again. 

“I can’t imagine what you’re going to be like when you actually get me pregnant.” 

You’re surprised by your own words, like your brain is on auto-pilot and you can’t filter yourself but he fucking whines so you don’t care in the slightest. High pitched and needy, muffled by the pillow. His hips start slowly rocking into you and you bite back your moan, wanting to maintain your advantage. 

You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling his head out of the pillow, savoring the whimper that comes from his as you do.

“Oh come on, you can’t even  handle the thought of it?” You breathe out the words and his head falls downwards as you release him, he bites your shoulder. “What does it for you?” He unclenches his jaw, starting to bury his face back into the pillow but you pull him back up again.

“Is it just the idea of finishing in me?” 

He doesn’t answer, to be fair you’re barely holding it together either at this point.

“Or do you just want everyone to know I’m yours? Want everyone to see that you knocked me up?”  

You get your answer with that because he’s trying to bury his face back into the pillow. A low wail leaves his lips as he frantically ruts into you. How quickly everything’s escalated has you hurtling towards your climax and you can tell by the desperate whine that leaves his lips as he presses them into your collar bone that he won’t be far behind. 

“I know you can do better than that, Din.” You mock his tone from earlier but he’s unfazed, pounding into you until finally you can’t tease him anymore because he’s reduced you to gasps and moans.

It doesn’t take long after that. 

One after the other.

You first, when his hand travels downwards, it takes only a few precise circles rubbed into your clit and your grip tightens in his hair, your walls flutter around him.

Just like that he’s going over the edge with you.

He pulls out, finishing on your stomach. 

You shouldn’t feel upset but there's the tiniest bit of disappointment as you feel his cum against your skin. 

He collapses onto the bed next to you, pulling you into his arms.

“I love you.” He presses a kiss into your hair. 

“I know.” 

★

You sit in the quiet dark for a long while, until finally, you have to ask.

“Do you actually want kids someday?” Your voice breaks the silence of the pitch-black room. “Little Djarin’s running around?” 

He rolls over so he’s hovering above you now.

“Are you trying to start round two?” He chuckles, resting his forehead against yours, your nose bumps against his. “I’ll need a few more minutes before I can go again, sarad, but I can keep you occupied until then.” He kisses you quickly, already starting to move his mouth south but you stop him. 

It’s so effortless right now. To be happy with him, in the darkness, pushing away thoughts of royal responsibilities. Letting yourself be with just Din, even if it’s brief. 

“I’ll take that as a yes?” You ask.

“Yes. Someday.” He kisses your sternum, laying down on your chest.

“With me?” 

“No, with Elaine.” You smack the back of his head when he says it, he laughs against your skin. “Yes, with you.” 

You let him lay on top of you as you nod to yourself. 

“Is it weird that everytime we have sex it turns into a competition?” He starts to laugh once more as you say it.

“It’s weird that you keep losing.” 

You smack him again.

★

Your peaceful break from reality is brief, as always, as you sit up. 

“We have to go. I can’t be out all night.” The last thing you want to do is return to your room right now, you want to stay here, the cabin feels more like home than any room in the castle ever has. 

He seems as unhappy with this as you are. The two of you dress in silence once he flicks the lamp back on, you turn around until you hear him reattach his helmet. 

You hold his hand on the walk back. You don’t have much to say right now, you’re certain at this point that you’ve made it clear that you love him.

That you just aren’t ready to say it. 

And he doesn’t seem to mind. 

You’re ready to just sleep. Your blanket nest seems more and more inviting the closer you get to the castle. 

The two of you sneak in through the back entrance and as always the castle is quiet at night. You keep your hand in his as you make your way up the steps. 

It isn’t until you get to the hallway where your chambers are located that you hear it. 

A persistent banging sound and someone yelling incomprehensibly. 

Din immediately drops your hand. 

Neither of you speaks as you walk but he shifts himself so he’s walking ahead of you, as you get closer you recognize the distinct, nasally voice. 

In the dim light of the hall you see Kodo, banging on your bedroom door.

“Wife, come now, you can’t ignore me, I’m your husband.” He hisses, you can smell the alcohol on him from here.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Kodo, are you okay?” You plaster on a faux look of concern as you approach, Din tries to put his hand up to stop you but you ignore it. 

He turns to stare at you, his clothes are askew and he isn’t even wearing his crown. 

“Wife! Where have you been?” He slurs, leaning in for a kiss that you sidestep, he doesn’t seem bothered by your rejection. 

“I went on a walk.” You answer quickly and he takes hold of your waist, you try not to look too repulsed.

“You skipped dinner yesterday, dear wife.” He teeters a bit, leaning towards you as you again try to avoid his kiss but this time he holds you firmly in place, it’s sloppy and you have to wipe a bit of spit from your face after.  

“I did, I wasn’t feeling well.” Your voice is getting smaller and smaller as you feel fear bubbling in your chest.

“Where are your guards?” There’s no respect in Din’s voice, no “your highness” or “your grace.” No one speaks to Kodo that way, not even you, but he’s too drunk to even notice. 

“I dismissed them, as is customary when one is visiting his bride’s chambers.” Kodo lurches forward, his hands sloppily grope the fabric of your skirt and you make an audible groan of discomfort. 

“We should get you back to your own chambers, come now dear husband.” You try to sound patient, you know he’s capable of violence and you don’t want to push him in this state.

“Why would we do that, wife? Come now, tonight I shall join you in bed. I missed you last night.” He hisses the words and you know he didn’t miss you in the slightest, this is a punishment.

This is what you get for disobeying. 

For skipping your dinner with him.

This is the inevitable thing that has made you unable to tell Din you love him. This looming promise of Kodo.

There’s nothing you could possibly do right now to escape the fate before you. The fear you feel right now is certainly not the fear of love that Din described to you. 

But that quickly changes.

You don’t get a chance to react as Din takes a step between you and Kodo, he doesn’t even wind up, he just drives his fist forward and you hear the sickening crunch of your husband's nose just before he slumps to the floor. 

As you stare at Din, you know your fear has changed. His shoulders heaving, his rage fills the corridor as you listen to his ragged breaths through the modulator. He turns around to face you, but you just stare at his hand, where the evidence of this potentially deadly mistake is dripping down his fingertips. You have never been more terrified for another person's life the way you are right now for Din. 

You’re mesmerized by the little speckles of your husband's blood, a stark contrast to the yellow fingertips of his gloves.

And suddenly it feels like all the air leaves the corridor as you finally look into his visor, you don’t see Din though, all you see is what they’re going to do to him for this.

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[beskarandblasters]

Me and My Husband

Chapter Four: Remember My Name

Married!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Synopsis: Din Djarin is doing what any typical Mandalorian would be doing after reclaiming Mandalore, finding a riduur and settling down. He’s still a member of the Guild on Nevarro, taking bounties here and there to support his new family. But when he meets you while you’re working the front desk at an inn on Naboo, he finds himself hooked, feeling like he’s found something new and exciting in his now mundane life. How long can he keep up appearances with his riduur? And how long can he keep his little secret with you?

Series warnings: reader is able-bodied, set post season 3, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), some liberties taken with Mandalorian culture/weddings/marriages, infidelity, eventual smut (chapter two!), switches between Reader and Din's POV, no use of y/n

Chapter summary: You and Din spend the day together on Naboo, connecting with one another.

Word count: 2.9k

Chapter warnings: name reveal, pet names, Mandalorian words/phrases (translations included after), descriptions of childhood trauma/abandonment, fingering, vaginal sex, semi public sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Din

Din wakes up the next morning lying on his back with an arm around you. He took off his weapons while he was waiting for you to get off of work last night. But he wasn’t exactly expecting to fall asleep with all of his armor on. Since getting married and having a safe place to sleep every night, he’s been going to bed in just his flight suit. He’s not complaining, though. You were both tired last night after fucking and something about falling asleep together immediately after was enticing. 

He looks down at you, naked and resting in the crook of his neck. And at that moment he decides that he’s going to stay and get to know you a bit more. He’ll head to the Razor Crest parked on the outskirts of Theed and send a transmission to May, making up some lie about how the bounty has proven to be more difficult than he anticipated. 

He lets out a sigh. He should probably go do that sooner rather than later. You stir beside him and poke your head up. 

“Good morning,” you say sweetly. 

“Good morning,” he responds. 

“Have you been up for a while?”

“No, not too long.”

Your eyes look past him for a second, glancing over at the clock on the nightstand. He turns his helmet to look at it before turning back to you. 

“What is it?”

“I have to go home and get ready for work,” you sigh, “I’ve got the morning shift today.”

“That’s okay. I have to send a transmission to the Guild.”

“Are you free later?”

“For you? Yes.”

You laugh, a sweet laugh that Din could get used to hearing for the rest of his life, watching the way your face lights up and breaks out into a smile. 

“Have you explored Naboo? I could show you around.”

“I’d like that.”

You sigh and get up, standing and stretching beside the bed, before putting on last night’s clothes. Din sits at the edge of the bed, watching you intently as you replace your clothing.

“Meet me at the front desk this afternoon?” you ask. 

He nods. “Okay. Bye Mando!” you call out over your shoulder. 

And now you’re gone and he’s left still reeling from the bliss from last night. He could spend the rest of his days here, at an inn on Theed, fucking you for eternity. How wonderful it would be. Just the two of you with no responsibilities or obligations or anyone but each other. 

What a fantasy that is. 

But real life smacks him across the face and he has to send a transmission to May. Sighing, he gets up and starts reattaching all of his weapons before leaving the inn and heading back to the Crest. On the walk there he plans out what he’s going to say. Maybe, 

Hello, May. I’m going to be gone longer than expected. This bounty is giving me some trouble and I need more time to track him down. I’ll send a transmission when I’m on the way home. 

It sounds good. But he should really add “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (I love you)”. He doesn’t want to… but he should. He should add it to make his lie more convincing. After all, he's worried that Bo-Katan is already suspicious of him. But why is he worried about what she thinks anyway? The transmission isn’t going to her. But he needs to sound normal to May in case Bo-Katan asks about him, right? Ah kriff, he’s spiraling now. He’s in his own head. Comes with the territory if you’re cheating on your riduur. 

He lowers the exit ramp to the Crest and heads inside, mentally going over what he’s deciding he’s going to say. He climbs the ladder up to the cockpit and presses the button to start recording a transmission. And just as he practiced in his head he recites, “Hello, May. I’m going to be gone longer than expected. This bounty is giving me some trouble and I need more time to track him down. I’ll send a transmission when I’m on the way home. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” 

And done. There, it’s finally over with. He bought himself some time and now he gets to frolic around Naboo with you, without a care in the world. A wave of relief washes over him as he sits down in the pilot seat and just breathes, willing any anxieties or doubts he has away. He thinks about you underneath him last night, moaning while taking his cock and suddenly he’s not so anxious anymore. 

He climbs down the ladder in the Crest and heads into his sleeping quarters, lying down on the cot. He places his hands behind his head and rests, daydreaming about bringing you here and taking you to other places. Before he knows it, he’s drifting off to sleep, head full of dreams of you. 

-

He pretty much slept through your whole shift. You never told him a specific time but it’s early afternoon now. So, when he wakes up and sees what time of day it is he hastily heads back to the Star-Lux. 

And there you are, patiently waiting for him outside. Your face lights up when you see him and it makes his heart melt a little. 

“Where to?”

“Out in the fields. There are some waterfalls, too. It’s a beautiful spot.”

“I’ll fly us there.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

And so he walks with you back to the Crest. At first, it’s sort of awkward. It’s the first time he’s spending quality time with you, other than being inside of you. His social skills aren’t the best and he’s worried you’ll realize this, that you’ll lose your attraction to him. 

But instead, you do the talking, making him feel at ease. Of course, you do. You’re warm and inviting, a stark contrast to his stoic nature. It disarms him in the best way. 

“So where’s your guild located?” you ask. 

“Nevarro. Have you ever been?”

“No, I’ve never left the planet,” you respond. 

“You haven’t?” 

“I’ve never really… gotten the chance.”

“Would you like to?” he asks, stopping and facing you in front of the Razor Crest. 

“I’d love to,” you say, looking into his visor. The eye contact (if you could call it that) is intense like you’re communicating something with your eyes. He’s not the best at reading people’s emotions or understanding their needs. But he thinks he can read you and he thinks this is your way of telling him you want to explore the galaxy. 

“This a Razor Crest?” you ask, turning and poking at the ship in front of you. 

“Mhm. How’d you know?”

“I told you I like to read,” you respond, eyes scanning up and down the ship. 

He lowers the exit ramp of the Crest, leading you inside. When you’re both inside he closes the ramp and asks, “So you like to read?”

“I love to read. I like learning about other places, other cultures or learning how things work.”

He likes that about you. It’s easy to get caught up in one’s own planet, culture, whatever directly affects them and only them. But with you, someone who’s never even left the planet, you’re interested in learning anything you can. 

He gestures to the ladder up to the cockpit and you climb up it, with him following behind. You sit in one of the passenger seats and he retreats to the pilot seat. It’ll only be a short flight to where you’re going and he’s excited to see more of the place you call home. 

After a short flight you’re in the fields of Naboo, surrounded by rolling hills and serene waterfalls. You were right, it’s a beautiful place indeed. 

He takes you by the hand and leads you outside. And now you take the lead, making your swag to the water’s edge. He expects to stand here with you, just listening to the running waters and admiring the scenery but you sit down, legs straight out and ankles crossed. The grass is tall, almost tall enough to cover you completely when sitting. And the field is peppered with wildflowers of the most vibrant hues. He sits down beside you, looking at your side profile while you look at the water, noticing the way the sun hits the high points of your face. He’s seen you in the dark alley and in the dim light of the room at the inn, but here, in the sunlight where it completely illuminates your features, is when he notices every detail about you. 

“Have you always lived here?” he asks. 

“Born and raised,” you nod. 

“Got any… family?”

“Nope,” you chuckle, “My mom died in childbirth and my dad was… a loser, pretty much left the planet right after I was born. I was lucky that the owner of the Star-Lux, Del, took me in when I aged out of the orphanage.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing to be sorry about. I never knew either of them,” you shrug.

“I lost my parents when I was young, too. Not as young as you. I can still sort of remember them. But the Mandalorians took me in.”

“I can see why it’s all important to you then,” you smile, “They helped you out when you needed it most.”

As if he needed more reasons to like you. Most of the women he’s been with always saw his way of life, his helmet, his creed, as a barrier. When really it’s the lens he looks at life through. 

“You don’t think it’s strange?”

“It’s your belief system. Who am I to judge?” you say, picking the flowers around you and collecting them into a small bouquet. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. 

“For what?” you ask, turning to look at him with the flowers in your hand. 

“For not judging me.”

“I would never,” you respond, turning so you’re completely facing him now. 

You scooch closer, resting your head on his shoulder. He lets out a sigh of relief and enjoys the silence with you, not feeling awkward anymore but feeling comfortable instead. 

The trust he feels for you is real, even after knowing you for only a short time. He decides he wants to give another part of him to you. He decides he’s going to tell you his name. 

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“My name is Din Djarin,” he says, words coming out soft and delicate. 

You pick your head up from his shoulder and face him, looking into his visor. He mentally braces himself again, waiting with bated breath for what you’re about to say. He doesn’t give his name to just anybody. 

“It suits you, Din,” you say. 

Maker, he could hear you say his name until the end of time. He never knew his name sounded so good when spoken until you said it. 

But that’s enough of being emotionally vulnerable for him for today. So, he lays down in the grass and you follow suit, resting side by side and watching the clouds above. 

He wants you again but he knows now isn’t necessarily the best time or place. But to his surprise you take the lead, moving to straddle him here in an open field in broad daylight. Dirty little thing you are. 

You grind against the bulge in his flight suit. If you’re going to do this here you need to be quick. You stand up quickly to slide off your panties from under your dress before crouching down to pull his cock from his flight suit. You take the tip of his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before taking his whole length (or as much as you can fit). You suck him just enough to get him wet and fully hard before straddling him again and sinking down onto his cock. Having sex in odd places must be a thing for you two; first the alley, then your place of work, and now this. 

It’s sort of exhilarating, knowing that someone or something could happen upon you at any moment. But the reality is your need and desire for each other outweighs any of that. 

Your hands rest on his breastplate while his cock hits the deepest angles inside you. You grind your hips against him and he leans back and watches. He watches the way you pleasure yourself on him, with the sun and sky behind you. You’re a whirlwind of firsts for him, because never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d be here on Naboo, getting his cock ridden in a field by the most gorgeous woman in the galaxy. It’s almost too much; almost sensory overload. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, not even realizing that the words are coming out. 

You smile and look away as if you’re embarrassed. 

“I mean it.”

You return your gaze back to him, staring directly in his visor. Kriff, if you keep looking at him like that he’s gonna bust soon. Your walls tense up around him and with one final grind of your hips, you’re coming around him. He cums, too, the head of his cock buried as deep as it’ll go while he releases his load inside you. You pull yourself off him and rest beside him. This time was sort of quicker than the other times but there’s an unspoken agreement that that’s how it was supposed to be… or so he hopes. 

“Was that… good enough, cyar’ika?”

“Of course, it was Din,” you hum happily beside him. 

And for the rest of the afternoon, you two stay like that, laying side by side in the field and watching the day pass by. You lay there until nightfall, watching the stars above. But he eventually realizes you shouldn’t stay out here too long, unaware of what sort of creatures could be lurking. 

“We should get back, ca’tra (night sky),” he says softly, the nickname rolling off his tongue naturally. When he thinks about it, he associates you with nighttime. And Maker, you just look so beautiful at night. He loved admiring you in the glistening sun but at night is when he found you on the street, when he had sex with you, when he made you cum for the first time. You’re like a precious secret to him, formed under the covert of night. But scattered across the dark sky are stars, stars that sprinkle the nighttime sky with their ethereal beauty. Hidden under this secret is something beautiful, and that's you, the feelings he has for you. 

“Night sky?” you ask. 

“It feels right.”

You smile and he takes you by the hand back to the Crest. You bring the small bouquet of flowers with you, leaving them on one of the passenger seats for him. 

He brings you back to Theed, parking outskirts like he did earlier. He doesn’t want to leave you but he doesn’t want to impose himself by asking him to stay with you. The question of whether or not to ask weighs heavily on his mind while he walks you home. But then he decides he’s just gonna do it right as you stop in front of your building.

“Need any company for tonight?”

“I would love some,” you laugh, “But my place is small and I have a roommate.”

“I see,” Din says. 

A thought pops into his head, a genius one at that. 

“Are you working tomorrow?” 

“Got the next three rotations off actually.”

“Come with me to Nevarro,” he blurts out. 

He wishes he could perfectly memorize the way your face lights up when says that. 

“Really?!” you ask.

“I have a house there. I keep it to stay there between jobs. Will you come with me?”

“I’d love to,” you respond with a giddy smile. 

“Great. We’ll leave in the morning,” he says, about to turn and leave. But you pull him in for a hug and he’s stunned. He’s not big on physical affection, especially not hugs. But this, being enveloped by you, is one of the best feelings in the galaxy. 

“Thank you, Din,” you whisper. 

“You’re welcome, ca’tra.”

You pull away and say, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” before giving his hand one last squeeze and heading into your building. 

He watches to make sure you get in safely and then turns to head back to the Crest. He’s got it bad. And he’s going down the path of no return. 

When he gets back he sends May another transmission, quickly thinking of another lie to explain his absence. 

“Hello, May. I’ve secured the bounty and I’ve collected the reward for it. But Karga’s got quite a few more so I’m taking another. I’m going to be gone a bit longer. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” he records. 

And then he sends it, sitting in the pilot’s seat and sighing. Truly despicable it is, telling his riduur he loves her, all while his cock is still wet from you. 

He’ll use the refresher in the morning. For now, he rests. 

Chapter Five

End note: The nickname 🥹🥹🥹

Also everyone thank @littlegrungegirlaf for telling me to post this a day early 😈

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[peppermint-toads]

din djarin asks you said?? what about a raging hurt comfort. like brink of death, Din is distraught at the thought of losing you type deal, maybe you’re tortured and he can’t get there in time and then you’re in and out of consciousness and he’s FREAKING tf out bc he thinks he’s going to lose you and it’s all his fault. basically some real dramatic shit?

an: i got carried away sorry hope you like it, pre-grogu btw

cw: actual torture, blood, be warned, 1.7k words

He prodded your stomach again with his blaster, holding it there so the metal barrel dug into your flesh.

“Where is he?”

“I told you,” you sputtered through a mixture of blood and saliva. “I don’t know.”

You wheezed, gulping down burning breaths through impacted lungs. You were suspended from the ceiling, durasteel binders held up with a chain that was bolted above you. Your feet dangled above the cold, concrete floor of the cell. You pointed your toes as best as you could to take some strain off your shoulders and wrists.

There were two stormtroopers in the small room and what looked like a lieutenant. It was hard to see the markings on his uniform with your blurry vision. The troopers had already battered your face and body, your under eyes starting to swell and bruise. Your lip was busted and you could taste the coppery fluid coating them.

A Galactic Empire general was on the run, seeking refuge with the rebels. Mando had picked up the fob and brought the two of you to some dingy casino on Nar Shaddaa. You were sitting next to one door, Mando at the other.

“Eyes?” He asked through the commlink.

“Yeah.” You confirmed, swirling your drink around with your straw. You were dressed in your best clothes and nicest makeup, Mando had told you it’d help distract the runaway general. You were bait, essentially.

You spotted him, stocky build, stringy blond hair, droopy eyes completed with purple bags. You were ready to get it over with, tired and the constant clinking and whirring of slot machines was about to push you over the edge.

You definitely weren’t as sharp as usual. Mando had been running you around the galaxy for the past few days, which meant no sleep, little food, no showers. You could’ve collapsed face first onto the illuminated table if you wanted. But he had promised. As soon as the bounty was secured, you could return to the Crest and he would buy you colo claw fish, roasted porg, anything you could possibly want. So, you pushed through and did as he asked.

You guessed the Empire caught onto yours and Mando’s little sting operation and decided to interrupt. Blaster shots rang through the dimly lit casino and biotic grenades exploded the walls. Only one thought flashed through your mind: Mando.

You glanced around through smog and blaster smoke, searching for beskar. You saw him. There were four stormtroopers on him, he was struggling. You opened your mouth to scream for him, but the blunt end of a blaster was slammed into your temple, and you were crumpling to the floor. You had woken up in a fog hours later, curled up on a metal cot in a holding cell.

You barely had time to lift your head to your pulsing head before the trio was storming in and suspending you in the air.

“You don’t know?”

You shook your head, hair falling over your face.

The lieutenant glanced at one of the troopers and nodded his head toward you. They exchanged short, firm nods, and the trooper stepped closer to you. He pulled a black rod from his belt, and flipped a switch. You flinched as the end of it jolted to life with blue electricity.

It buzzed louder and louder as he got closer. You thrashed in your shackles, caving in your stomach as far away from him as you could. He pushed the prod onto your bare thigh and you yelped, nerve endings crackling and searing with white hot pain. You swung in the air until the other stormtrooper forcibly stabilized you.

“Where is the traitor?” The lieutenant’s tone was far more insistent now, he was growing impatient. There were so many things you wanted to say, tell him he was the one who scared him off in the first place, but you could barely even open your eyes.

The lieutenant nodded to the trooper again. This time, he shoved the prod onto your hip bone that was barely covered by your underclothes. Your throat strained with the high pitch screech you let out. The thin skin covering your bone was far more sensitive to the pain.

It went on like that for what had to have been hours, days even. The same questions, the same results.

Finally, the lieutenant signaled the trooper to release your binds, letting your wrists free. They had no reason to worry about you escaping, you were barely alive.

Your body smacked against the ground and you grunted. You lifted your hand to brush over your rib cage and winced. You definitely had a cracked rib or two.

You caught a glimpse of the rest of your body, hardly believing what you looked like. Each prod had left a red, blistering center with purple veins blossoming outward. You counted six, maybe seven of them.

You lie on the ground, staring at the grate on the floor that swallowed up your blood with a gross gurgle. Your eyes couldn’t keep up anymore, and the warmth of unconsciousness overtook your body, finally letting you relax.

You dreamt of fond things; finally getting the huge, warm meal Mando had promised, the safe whooshing of hyperspace passing you by on the crest, but most of all, Mando. You were running through a meadow on some sunny planet somewhere. He stood firmly planted in the tall grass that was swaying in the wind. He got closer, and closer, and closer. You could practically feel the warmth of his chest on yours until you were startled awake by the cell doors sliding open.

A stormtrooper was on you quickly, gripping your biceps and trying to pull you up.

“Get the fuck away from me! I already told you I don’t know where he is.” You spat, using the last of your energy to meekly flail and scream and kick against his white, plasticy shins.

“Mesh’la, it’s me. You are hurt.” You didn’t miss the way his hands trembled around you.

His voice sounded a little different through the helmet, but it was still his. The burst of adrenaline seeped from your body, and you slumped back against the floor, knowing you were safe again.

“You look fucking terrible in that.” You flashed him a weak, red-stained smile before your head thumped back against the concrete, and he fell to his knees.

He shook you, whispering your name, willing you to wake up. Your eyes rolled open for a second and you coughed his name back.

He flung you over his shoulder, and thankfully you couldn’t feel the way the plastic armor dug into your ribs and hips.

He carried you through the massive Empire ship. The hallways were all dark, and they all looked the exact same, but Mando managed to expertly navigate through them somehow.

You didn’t wake again until you were back on the Crest. You couldn’t really move. You stared straight up, met with the steel ceiling; you were on the floor. You turned your head, taking in a sharp breath as you did. Half of the med kit was strewn across the floor. You chuckled, it made sense. You were usually the one patching him up.

The bend of your elbow stung where he must’ve administered the bacta through an IV. The rest of your wounds were slathered with a layer of salve and covered with sloppy, rushed dressings.

You tried to sit up, but when your abdomen crunched you cried out. Mando had appeared by your side in an instant. He loomed over you, clad again in the beskar you were used to.

“You’re awake.” He stated, kneeling by your head.

“Thank you, for the,” you gestured towards your body, “patch up.”

“I used you as bait and you almost died. When I reached your cell, you were almost dead. If I had come one minute later, you would be dead.”

He said it like he was replaying the events in his head, confirming that he’d done what he’d done.

He’d like to believe he just didn’t want to be alone again after having you around for so long, that you were just another body aboard his ship. Really, though, the Mandalorian was growing to care for you, and it scared him.

“Mando it-it's not your fault.” You struggled to talk, still finding great difficulty in taking in a full breath. “I should’ve been more careful-”

“No.”

You recoiled at his tone.

“What did they do to you.” He demanded.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Can you be serious?” He begged.

That was the one time you felt like you needed to be strong for him, if you broke down, he would have lost it and you could feel it. You ignored your injuries as best you could, just talking to him, reminding him that you’re alive.

You shifted your weight to one elbow with a grimace, using your other hand to pull his bare hand close to your chest. Mando relaxed, feeling your warm skin and beating heart. You started to speak.

“After they left, the troopers and the lieutenant, I-I must’ve passed out. But, I saw you in my head, and I knew you were coming. I wasn’t scared for a second.” You smiled with fat tears welling in your eyes as you stared where you thought his eyes would be.

You pushed yourself to your knees, stopping midway to catch your breath. Mando had tried to help you up, but you pushed him off.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning awkwardly over his body. Slowly, he lifted his hands to wrap them around your back. You melted into him and he held you tighter. The stabbing pain in your ribs and stomach meant nothing because he was holding you so close. He cradled the back of your head and pressed your cheek into his shoulder.

“I thought I lost you.”

It was a choked whisper crackling through his vocoder.

“I can’t do it without you anymore. I need you here.” He admitted.

You thought for a moment, that you heard him choke down a sniffle. And out of the corner of your eye, you watched a salty tear roll down his neck and bleed onto his cowl.

“I’m not leaving, Mando.”

You’re not leaving.

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian angst #mandalorian hurt/comfort #mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin angst #din djarin hurt/comfort #din djarin fanfiction

[aplacetodoze]

A Little Gift

Note: A fluffy one shot for Mando, just as he deserve.

Humming your favorite song, you put the pieces you've prepared together, cut the extra thread, wrap the material in the right way, you're halfway there...

"What are you doing?" comes a cold modulated voice behind you.

Frighted by his sudden appearance, your whole body jerked but your hand was quick to dispose of your work and back into your bag. You turn to face him and smile nervously, hiding the mess you've left with your body. "I was just- working on some of my em, broken tools, clothes, and stuff." He tilted his head, a rather cute motion for someone as deadly as him. "Well, if you need new tools and clothing you could just ask me." You shake your head, mortified. "NO, it's fine, I'll just fix it." you couldn't waste his credits just because of your stupid lie. He observe you for a while, and you were sure he was about to call out your lie, he simply gave you an "Alright." before walking away. You exhale rather loudly, you swear having a deadly Mandalorian jump scare you on daily basis will give you a heart attack one day. You turn toward your temporary work desk, which is just a few crates you see around the ship, and put them together, especially those unused ones (why does he keep so much random stuff on the ship but never use it?) You sigh and massage your sore neck for looking down half your day, it's quite peaceful lately, Mando's work and all the running are finally slowing down for once since rescuing the baby, and most of the bounty he takes in now is just steady income, nothing too dangerous. And you, as his mechanic and nurse, finally have the time to settle down. And you thought it would be nice to take this time to do something special for him. Maybe this would help melt his icy personality then you could openly take care of and love the true Mando you've been craving for. You're halfway through your work, better finish it off before Mando runs himself into trouble again. You sit back down on the not-so-comfortable floor and swear to yourself you'll force him to get a carpet. (or you'll make it yourself.) Unknowingly to you, an watchful eyes were trained on you the whole time.

Mando forced himself to tear his eyes away, you were clearly lying to him but it is your privacy that he has no right to pry. Though he was wondering why you would hide from him but he'll leave it to you.  Mando went back to the cockpit to check the destination. He pull out a holo map to went through it again to make sure there was nothing dangerous on the planet that he didn't know of, but a three-finger tiny hand appear on his knee. He turned toward it and chuckled at the sight of the green child struggling to climb onto him. Mando picks him up and put him on his thigh, the child coo while looking up at him."You want to see this?" Mando gestures his hand toward the holo map, the child tilt his head and lets out a curious coo. Mando takes the map closer and shows it to him, "Alright, Udarvis, a water planet, peaceful with a popular civilization, I think you going to like it there."  The child cooed again to reply and let out a happy noise when Mando open a beautiful photo of the planet. Mando chuckled before switching to another planet.

FINALLY! You have finished it, a brand new scarf made in a material that would change the temperature in different environments, and a new set of warm clothes for Mando, the haunting experience of the ice planet still burn you. Plus a new improved bag for the baby to rest in while going out. Now, you don't know if Mando will like your work, it's not something he counts as efficient or needed, but you believe it would help. Maybe you would change your gift into something more weaponry if he doesn't like it. But to be honest, you were more concerned about his health more than anything. Climbing up a ladder with a handful of stuff isn't very pleasant, but is a skill you need to master. Your joy washes over the struggle as soon as you reach the top, you recheck your gift once more, suddenly feeling nervous.

You step closer to Mando, and he tilts his head toward you when you're standing right behind him. You were about to speak up when something hit the crest, the whole ship shook as you lose balance and slam into the wall. "Dank Farrick!" you heard Mando curse， taking hold of the crest again. You stumble toward him and hold on to his pilot chair to keep yourself upright.  "You're alright?" Mando asked as he check on the baby, you open your mouth to reply but you feel something drip down your cheek. Kniff you must have hit your head pretty badly, but it doesn't feel urgent. It might be just a scratch. You tumble backward a bit when Mando turns around, and you could hear his breath hitched as his eyes trained on the blood dripping down your face. You smile sheepily at him, "It's fine, Mando. It's just a scratch.“ You blink and he was in front of you, his helmet was inches away from your face. You feel a sudden heat rush toward your face, leaning back away from him on instinct but his hand stops you from moving further. His gloves hand brush over your hair to inspect your wound, you couldn't focus on anything other than how close Mando is, the pain is nothing compared to the way your heart was losing control. Mando leads back and lets out a sigh, "It's a surface wound but you still need bacta, come on." Mando takes hold of your wrist and gently guides you toward the seat. He did it so naturally like this is a normal interaction for the both of you but you can't help but linger on the way his hand fit so perfectly around your wrist. Mando left you on the seat and went down the deck to look for his med pack. You cling onto your gift waiting nervously for him to come back. Well, this isn't an ideal situation for your gift, but you suppose it helps you get his attention. Now you just need the courage.

Mando returns to you rather quickly and before you could form a word he kneels down to your eyes level. You watch him work in silence, heart skipping at his gentle touch. He'll stiff and hesitate to continue whenever you hiss and flinch away. Your heart melted by the time he finish, and your eyes flutter as he gently wiped the blood on your face away. You lead into his touch slightly, he tensed slightly but didn't comment on the action. You just wish he would treat himself just as tender as he does to you.

"It should heal in a few days." You open your eyes to watch him putting the med pack back together. Mando takes a step away and you dart out your arms to grad onto his wrist. “Wait!" He turns to you instantly, "Is something wrong?" the concern in his voice pulls at your heart-string, having you carving for more. "I have something for you!" you said cheerfully, giving him a big grin as if you didn't suffer a head injury. Mando picks it up wordlessly, inspecting the item intensely. "oh, the new scarf will change temperature due to the environment you're in to cooperate your body heat." He looks back at you, his silence is unsettling but you ignore it as best you can. “The clothes are more warm and comfortable, so they should help you on a cold planet and makes sleeping in your armor more comfortable." Mando put the scarf gently on his seat and palm the clothes even though he's wearing his glove. You wait until he put the clothes away with the scarf, leaving only the bag left. "That is for the baby! Now it's comfortable, and I've stuffed a little defense system in there too, so whenever a fight breaks off, a shield would appear and protect him." a happy squeak comes from the floor, and you look down to see the baby happily cooing at you. You giggle and pick him up, tickling him so you could hear his cute laugh. You hug the baby against you and look back at Mando.

Mando watches as you interact with the child, his clan happily together, safe. What you just did is too precious, the love he has carved for is being given right into his hands. He could feel the warmth in his chest bloom when you start explaining the meaning of every gift.

He has received a lot of  'gifts' in his past but never has someone gift him something made out of love.  The gift is small but it fills the biggest hole he has in his heart. He watches as you smile sweetly at the child, and the smile stays when you turn to face him, taking his breath away.  He slowly kneels down, putting his hands on your cheeks, "Mando?" He lean down and put his helmet against your forehead. He almost chuckled at the way your flutter, trying to jerk away. But he waits until you're calm enough to enjoy the moment. "Mando?" You repeat with a whisper, afraid to break the moment. "Din." "What?" "My name is Din." He watches your smile grow and his face under the helmet matches yours. "Din." he sighs contently, he will never get enough of your voice.

You lean closer to him, quietly asking the question you had in mind for a long while, "I love you, do you know that?" You heard Din inhale sharply, "Yes, I do. " He pauses and you wait patiently, knowing he's not used to being open about his emotion. "And I love you too, Cyar'ika." You smile again, this time with your heart full of love. "Good."

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misha_P/works

#the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #din djarin #reader insert #din and grogu #one shot #mandalorian fluff #mandalorian fanfic #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #slight blood and injury #new to writing

[dindjarinandlysakane]

The Sweetest Taste | Chapter 45 - I was never yours to lose

When Din Djarin meets a beautiful cake seller from Nevarro, do you think he’s just going to stand back and let her suffer at the hands of her abusive boyfriend? After a lifetime of heartache and pain, Lysa Kane realises she’s not on her own any more and finds an unlikely friend in the Mandalorian. And Din Djarin does not like men who treat women like that, not one tiny bit. Friendship/comfort and maybe something more…

Masterlist

Chapter 45 - I was never yours to lose

-----

Din had been to Nar Shaddaa more times than he could count.

It was a dark and dismal moon, and only the worst of the worst remained there long. The rest going for what they came for, and getting out as soon as they could.

Din had only been here perhaps an hour, and already he could feel the thick toxic smog settling over his lungs, despite having switched the seal on his helmet only ten minutes after arriving.

The tall Mandalorian stood now in a dingy little control room in the top of a tall black tower, which stood in the centre of the imports district, which welcomed thousands of shipments of all kinds of illegal goods a day. But Din was not here to cast judgement on how the criminals here made their money. Not today at least.

Right now Din was here for one thing and one thing alone.

“I shouldn't be doing this, y’know-” came the voice of an old acquaintance of Din’s.

Ghonda was a Mon Calamari who certainly owed Din more than one favour for sparing his life almost a decade ago, and then again three years later. Din had heard that Ghonda was working here a while back, and yet now after all this time, much to Ghonda’s surprise and dismay, Din needed to call in that favour.

“You owe me, Ghonda,” said Din in a low voice. “I could have killed you all those years ago…”

He disengaged the safety on the blaster in his hand with an audible click.

“...and I still can.”

Ghonda gave a visible gulp now, shaking his head. “Ok, ok, keep your beskar on, Mando. Let me just look see.”

Din Djarin was not in the mood to be messed with. He feared he had already delayed too long in getting here and finding wherever Crix may have taken Lysa. And so, with urgent adrenaline pumping through his veins, Din felt twitchy and keen to get out there and start searching for her.

Ghonda, who worked in the imports and cargo control tower, tapped ferociously on the terminal before him, before pausing.

“Ok, I’ve only got three ships on our list that arrived from Nevarro in the last twelve hours,” he said, sitting back a little in his seat, as Din leaned forward to look at them.

Placing his hands to the scroll button he looked at the ships one by one.

The first was a small modified gunner that Din knew would only have fitted a pilot inside, far too small for any men plus Lysa. And the second was a cargo vessel. This time too large to have fitted anywhere near to Jawa territory back on Naboo without being noticed by them.

But the third, which Din paused on, one hand on the dial, was a small-sized freight vessel. It was nothing special at all, but certainly large enough to fit several people inside.

“This one,” said Din in a husky voice. “Do you know where it docked?”

Ghonda tapped the terminal again before he brought up a set of coordinates.

“It’s a hanger bridge on the south-side of Nar Shaddaa,” he said promptly. “I’ll transfer them over to your wrist comm.”

The strap on Din’s wrist dinged a second later.

“So…we even then?” said Ghondu, swivelling in his chair and peering up at Mando.

But Din, eyeing the orange coordinate holo that streamed from his wrist, turned on his heel, not even giving Ghondu a final backwards glance.

“For now…” he murmured in a dark voice, as Ghonda gave a hard sigh, watching the Mandalorian as he left the control room.

----------------

“Where is he?” hissed Xi’an standing at the entrance to the hanger base, peering up at the cloudy night sky above illuminated with an orange light from various advertisement-holos that circled some of the surrounding buildings.

“He’ll be here,” said Ran smoothly. “He ain’t stupid. He’ll have tracked us by now. We left an easy enough trail.”

“I’m going to cut his throat for what he did to my brother,” the Twi’lek snarled.

“An’ my base,” said Ran with a huff. “Don’ you worry. Mando will get what’s comin’ to him.”

--------------

Lysa sat on the floor in a cold, damp side-room of the hanger. Nothing else inside but a thick black slime that seemed to coat the walls, and a high window, far too small for Lysa to have any chance of escaping through, which looked out onto the bridge they had arrived on. 

The ship they had landed in had been swiftly piloted away by the droid soon after Lysa had been taken inside.

Around the corner, Lysa could just about hear the distant voices of the crew that had brought her here. The man known as Ran and the Twi’lek Xi’an. But with the wind howling at this height, she had no chance of hearing what they were saying.

Xi’an, who had thrown her into this makeshift cell, had given a cackle and slammed the door tightly shut behind her, leaving Lysa alone, where she had been for the past hour.

It was cold up here, and Lysa cursed herself for deciding to wear just a long tunic dress this morning after she had left for work. The dress itself was now coated in blood from her blaster wound.

Lysa’s head still throbbed, as did her shoulder now, which had started to ache painfully once more and bleed a little, as the course of bacta spray began to wear off. 

“Come on, you son of a bantha!” Lysa muttered to herself in a desperate voice, as she struggled to free her hands from the wire tie that bound her wrists together.

She knew that escaping would be a fruitless task, being so far away from the safety of Nevarro. But if somehow she could just find her way to a comlink…

Lysa could feel the razor sharp wire cutting painfully into her skin, but she knew just an inch more and-

She gave a cry, gritting her teeth against the pain, but stopped suddenly as she heard the clunk of the door being unlocked, gazing up hurriedly as it slid open before her.

Crix strolled inside the room, a vile smirk plastered over his features. His outfit was all black, with a leather tunic buttoned up to his neck. His salt and pepper hair slicked back from his long tanned features.

“That bacta spray wearing off yet?” he said, rattling a canister in one hand, circling around her, as Lysa shuffled back, watching his every move with tired green eyes. But she didn't reply.

She hated Crix and feared him in equal measure. Only wishing that she hadn't missed when that blaster had been in her hand, all those weeks ago in Din’s cabin.

“Come on now, Lys’,” grinned Crix, crouching down in front of her and tugging her forwards sharply by her bonds. “No hard feelings, huh?”

Lysa before she could stop herself, bared her teeth at him. “I wish I’d killed you when I had the chance-”

But she was cut off by Crix grabbing her chin, and squeezing both cheeks hard with his fingers.

“Yeah but you didn't,” he said with a harsh laugh. “And now look where you are. Tied up and as useless as ever. We’re only keeping you alive long enough for him to watch you die. Like I said, none of this is even about you anymore. You’re just bait.”

He let go of her face, shaving her back a little as Lysa felt her lip tremble but she held it together. As Crix sprayed the bacta spray over Lysa’s blaster wound, sealing it over once more.

“You know when you an’ him left me for dead, I was in that kriffing desert for a day hiding from those Peacekeepers before I sneaked my way back into the city,” he uttered. “I stowed away onto the nearest ship bound for Corulag, and just happened to run into a couple of old friends of mine, who were mightily intrigued to hear about the Mandalorian. Turns out they were old pals of his who he’d double crossed a couple of years back.”

Lysa swallowed as she listened.

“Small world, huh?” continued Crix. “And well that's when we realised we all wanted the same thing. We all want to see the Mandalorian dead. Because of him, Ran lost his base, Xi’an lost her brother. And I lost you.”

Lysa scowled. “I was never yours to lose,” she snarled at him. “Real men don’t treat the women they love like you did-”

But Crix’s eyes seemed to flash at her words as he grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back as she let out a cry of pain. And Lysa could only watch as he bared his teeth close to her face, feeling his hot and foul breath on her cheek.

“I never loved you,” he spat. “You hear me? Why would anyone in their right mind love you, Lysa. Cause’ y’know what? A gal like you ain’t worth loving. And at the end of all this…my smilin’  face is the last thing you’re going to see when the light leaves your eyes.”

And with that, he gave her a hard shove backwards, as Lysa whimpered out involuntarily, watching as he rose to his feet and left the room…

…the door sliding shut behind him as he went.

-----------------------------------

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#the mandalorian #din djarin #din x oc #pedro pascal #din djarin oc #din djarin x oc #din djarin masterlist #din grogu #mando oc #din djarin fic #the mandalorion spoilers #the mandalorian fanfiction

[stellanslashgeode]

My ship didn’t get past the first round of the @sapphicstarwars rare pair voting but that’s okay. I’ve got a crack team of lawyers coming up with objections and am planning a rally (it will be wild) but until then I thought I would post a snippet from Sundari Accelerando.

It was the deepest sleep she had experienced since that terrible night of loss. Possibly since before Petranaki Arena. She felt a little warm, granted. But not uncomfortably so. No, it was more emotionally and physically spent. Oxidized serotonin sloshing around her nervous system. A patina of salt painted uneven across her bare skin. Her mind and body were like a landscape after a storm had passed someone would clean up the broken branches later. She smelled… chamomile and hair dye?

She opened here eyes and saw a head of messy purple hair. She had been sleeping on her side and Sergeant Rook of the Kyr’tsad was all snuggled up next to her like a nuzzle shrew in its cozy den. Her arm was tucked up under hers as if she were hugging it. Long, deep breaths. Legs tucked in and crossed. She seemed more at peace than Barriss.

She took great care to extricate her arm and gradually sit up without disturbing her. Her head felt a bit swimmy once she was upright. She swung her feet onto the floor, knocking over a foam container of instant blue noodles that one of them had prepared in the middle of the night.

She took a last look down at Kast before rising. She looked softer and more feminine in this pose, without the extra bulk of her armor. Barriss let out a deep breath and left to find where they tossed her clothes.

She put on her armor as well, maybe in a vain hope that the Karta Beksar would protect her heart for what was to come. She padded quietly, glad that her artificial foot had a rubberized sole, over to the cockpit to bring the ship out of low power mode.

“What are you doing?”

“Prepping the engines.”

“Another sensor sweep?”

“I need to get back to check on the wounded.”

“Oh…”

Kast joined her, going over to the navigation console and flipping some switches. Barriss looked over her shoulder. “Sergeant Rook, you are out of uniform.”

“In my defense, officer, it wasn’t my doing.”

She watched her for a moment, trying not to ogle. Quite a bit perplexed. Barriss always had a different posture, carried herself differently when nude. Hugging her chest, stooped. It was discordant to her seeing someone carry herself as comfortable as if fully clothed.

“Could you put something on? Please?”

Kast gestured with her palms turned upward. Barriss struggled to maintain eye contact and not to dwell on her toned belly, that muscle definition line running down from her hip bones to her thighs. “Why? Did we receive guests recently?”

Barriss turned her attention back to the flight controls. She heard an exasperated sigh behind her. “Fine!”

They called out their tasks to each other for their post-docking shutdown, then Barriss unbuckled her restraints and made her way out the cockpit.

“That’s it, you’re just going to leave?”

“I’ve got places do be. Why, should I stay so you can torment me more?”

“If that’s what you want to call it. It doesn’t matter, I’ve already won.”

“Pardon?”

“I defeated your Jetii inhibitions, inspired you to rut like a victorious Mando after conquest. Took less time than I had imagined.”

Barriss glared at her. “I’m sure you’re pretty pleased with yourself.”

Kast picked a strand of hair off her nightshirt. “When’s the next patrol?”

“I guess I’ll let you know.”

“You’ll be back. Now that you’ve had a taste you’ll be back for more.”

“Hardly. Goodbye!” She stormed away. Then somehow found herself back in the cockpit giving Kast another passionate kiss despite herself. She exhaled. Gave her one last peck. “Right.” Then departed.

Rook Kast watched the Jetii make her way across the docking bay. She took Barriss’ headband out of her pocket and felt the stretchy fabric between her fingers before making her way to the refresher to wash up.

#barriss offee #rook kast #kastoffee #star wars fanfiction #rare paring

[derpypotatoandlicilulu]

Do you want a series about Ahsokas life with the clones?

Is it just me or do you want a STTCW show with Ahsoka and all/most of the battalions? Well, I’m going to write a prompt!

Basically Ahsoka starts out with the 104th battalion, then the 212th thinks they’re getting her when she becomes a padawan. The 501st eventually gets her and now the battalions are jealous! They decide to share Ahsoka and make some videos, as she previously had talked to the younglings and learned about their worries about offending the Clones. Each episode teaches a different aspect of the clones culture, and all of them have different Battalions in them. There’s also some extras that have Ahsoka with the Coruscant Guard or on Kamino! For the last episode it would have TOTJ Ahsoka remembering extra scenes that aren’t in the episodes, she would look to a photo and smile. It would show a picture of Ahsoka with a bunch of the clones, and then one with S7 Ahsoka with Jesse and Rex. Ahsoka would take the photo with Jesse and Rex and leave, then it would show the same place really long after. Luke would come up into shot, look at the picture of her with the clones, and smile. Then it would end, during the credit scene it would show mishaps In the videos with funny context. Then it would end.

If there was a second season, I would be Ahsoka with a bunch of Rebels from when she joined the Rebellion to a little before Malachor. She would be making videos with all of the groups with different topics, like how to hijack a ty-fighter or how to shoot down an enemy. Maybe one on how to escape some pirates or how to fly through deep space. For the final episode, there would be a switch through a couple of videos. They would include Mando and Grogu, Old Rex, an Unseen video of Kanan and Ezra, and Boba Fett. There might be a snip bit of Luke in there too, then there would be a photo of an Old Ahsoka and a young Rey. It would be sat right against her grave, her lightsabers right next to the other two photos. There would be flowers colored, blue, gray, orange and red. The colors of her family, the episode would end with a new photo. It would show A now young Ahsoka with the battalions and her masters, then it would show all of the new additions in Ahsoka’s life. Including Padme, and the characters from TOTJ, and her parents too.

#happy times #Ahsoka and the Clones! #anakin and ahsoka #obi wan and ahsoka #Ahsoka family #Rey PALPATINE #luke skywalker #Mando #Ahsoka and grogu have the best relationship ever and Dave Filoni can pry that from my cold dead hands

[ravenalla]

I’ve said my complaints a lot without saying what I liked or what I would have done to improve it so I’ll do that now. This isn’t completely changing the events but rather what I would do to reorder them! Particularly switching up the ending and the beginning.

First, like always the concept art looks really cool! When you have these ideas displayed in a still 2d image it shows a lot of potential and creativity, but then when it comes to the actual execution not so much. To make the episode’s writing flow better with these concepts I would take out the covert stuff at the beginning, Din’s new quest was already established in tbobf you could’ve just included it in the recap at least and it wouldn’t leave us questioning how much time has passed for all these new mandos to be here. Have Din first be on the hunt for Bo-Katan, maybe a quick line to explain how he got a lead on finding her so we actually know why he knew where to go. Hell, you could’ve included a scene where we see Din actually finding the crystallized Mandalorian relic and he learns from the jawas or someone else in a market about information on Bo-Katan. Her scene plays out normally, you could have it cut to the title screen with that ominous ending line from her or him finding out where she is. 

Then we get the Nevarro stuff, it makes more sense why he would want a droid as a precaution after Bo insists it is impossible to go there now. Cute Din and Grogu moments are still perfect. The space pirates could still happen but extended with the extra time, have Greef tell Mando he’s been having problems with them and warn him about the captain and his crew lurking. Same with the stand-off, make it more intense and less random. Then after we could go ahead and learn Din is on his way to Tatooine next to get the droid part when the pirate captain intervenes and we end with the two getting away from that space battle. Maybe some extra dialogue from Din talking to Grogu and explaining why being a Mandalorian makes you hunter and prey like the Armorer did after that narrow escape. We could really take in a quiet moment dealing with how much he loves Grogu’s back with him. You could have him subtly reflect on how he’s longing to become one with the group again and feeling like he must make up for his dishonor, ending firm on what Din’s mindset and goal are at this start without having to add in a random repetitive covert scene. It would end kind of like The Sin, a hopeful yet dangerous path laid out for the two in a new adventure that we are about to experience.

Maybe later on in another episode he could learn about where his covert is and revisit them to tell them he is positively going to Mandalore for an attempt at redemption and be shocked to see all the Mandalorians there, fueling his need to belong again. Add in some quick dialogue where the Armorer mentions that Grogu has returned to Din (seriously why didn’t she question that)? You could have Din once again do the “it’s complicated” line so when he does eventually say “it’s because he is my son” it’ll hit so hard. You could also have him mention Bo to cause even bigger tension between him and the Armorer! We know they both would have negative opinions of one another. Then when she decides to trust him that he can pull it off, it holds way more weight that she is actively choosing to put her faith in Din when not only is he an apostate in her eyes but also because he is working with people she doesn’t deem worthy. This wouldn’t fix everything of course, but it’s my best attempt to reimagine a better and more cohesive premier. 

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian season 3 #the mandalorian season 3 spoilers #din djarin #grogu #Pedro Pascal #the mandalorian rewrite #mando critical

[cienie-isengardu]

My RepCom Musing: Etain, Kal and Vau in TZ

Some time ago I rambled a bit about the parallel between Triple Zero and Order 66 and how in both cases Vau’s accused Kal of going soft by not wanting Etain and Besany face the consequences of their doing even though he was the one responsible for putting both women on that course himself (respectively, interrogation and stealing important data). Walon’s passive-aggressive reaction makes sense because let’s face it, it is always him (and Ordo) doing the dirty work in such situations.

But what I find also interesting in regard to Etain, is how both Mandalorians tried to spare her some unpleasant stuff and how differently she was treated.

I mean, Kal brought Etain to interrogation only partially to help Vau get the needed information as fast as possible. The other reason was to test her, not really the skills alone but if the team can count on her during the black op mission (“But the girl's got an edge to her. Let's see if she'll put pragmatism above principle.", as he said to Ordo). And yet, when Etain cracked up the prisoner’s resolution, Kal did not let her finish the job, leaving the worst for Vau:

So that was what she was doing. Skirata had wondered if she was using her Force powers to cause real physical pain. But she had cut to the chase and re-created the stuff that pain did to you anyway: it made you fear for your sanity long before your life.

    He had to hand it to her. It was nonlethal and not that far beyond the usual mind influence. Maybe she was struggling to find an ethical limit in her own mind. Maybe it was her own nightmare, the worst thing she could conceive.

    She kept it up for an hour. He had no idea whether she was suggesting terrible images and consequences in his mind, or if she was simply flooding him with adrenaline against his wishes, but whatever it was it was exhausting him and her with it. Eventually Orjul broke down sobbing, and Etain shuddered and looked disoriented as if coming out of a trance.

    Skirata grabbed Vau's shoulder and shook him awake. "Get in there. She's broken him down enough for you to finish the job."

    Vau looked at his chrono. "Not bad. What's up? Don't want to let her face the real consequences?"

    "Just do it, will you?"

    [...]

    Skirata caught Etain's elbow. He wasn't used to grabbing small people: his lads were solid muscle, bigger and stronger than Etain. He felt as if he were clutching a kid's arm. He sat her down on the little bench at the back of the landing platform and took out his comlink to call for transport.

    "No, I'm going back in," said Etain.

    "Only if Vau calls us back."

    "Kal ..."

    "Only if he really needs you. Okay?"

    They were still waiting for Ordo to collect them when Etain flinched and then looked back at the lobby doors.

    They opened and Vau wandered out, rubbing his eyes. There was a distinctive tang of ozone clinging to him, like a discharged blaster.

  [...]

    Skirata sniffed the ozonic scent again and switched to Mando 'a, although he was sure Etain had flinched because she had sensed what had happened.

[...]

    Orjul would be dead sooner or later anyway. No prisoners: not on this run. It was amazing how many people overlooked the inevitable while hoping for a way out.

    Etain said nothing. She almost bolted for the speeder when Ordo settled it down on the platform. Skirata settled beside her. She simply seemed subdued.

Etain felt really bad after this scene to the point she even started questioning her view of Jedi and the Dark Side (“She vomited until she was convulsed by dry heaves. Then she filled the basin with cold water and plunged her head into it. When she straightened up and her vision cleared, she looked into a face she recognized. But it wasn't hers: it was the hard, long face of Walon Vau. Everything I've been taught is wrong.)

Kal spared her a great deal of worse guilt if she stayed with Vau and actually saw the mandalorian brutality but important is this: Etain wanted to finish the assigned job and Kal did not allow that. He decided when to pull her out and let Vau step in, to do the dirty work.

Vau’s jab at Skirata for being soft is nothing new. Surprisingly when he and Etain were hunting for the run away terrorist that managed got past Skirata & commandos “cleaning” the enemy warehouse, Vau also was ready to spare Etain some potentially nasty action:

    Mird shot past her. She could feel the disturbance in the Force, and their respective instincts took them both to the 134th floor. Mird snuffled along the passage and came to a halt outside an apartment door, settled on its haunches, and stared intently at the door panel.

    Vau put a restraining hand on her arm. "I know a Mandalorian regards a female warrior as his equal, my dear, but I feel I should offer to do this job myself."

    "I'll do it," she said. She had to.

    Vau disrupted the lock. The strill ran into the hallway, almost flat to the floor, and Etain followed it, drawing both lightsabers.

    It occurred to her that she might have stumbled upon a family here, and then been presented with a dilemma: a Jedi with two drawn lightsabers, a room full of witnesses, and a cowering terrorist. What would I do? What will I do? But she sensed that would not be the case. It was just another fear of how far she might be prepared to go.

Vau was willing to do the dirty job himself (including the possibility of eliminating unwanted witnesses?) and offered Etain a way out of this situation that could force her going against her Jedi principles. The same as the last time, Etain felt she should finish the job by herself  but in contrast to Skirata, Walon accepted her choice and in result, did not sheltered her from facing the responsibility of her action. She didn’t feel that much guilty for eliminating the terrorist with may means the last experienced hardened her (or just the narrative did not focus much on the afterwards). 

Of course, killing a person you consider a terrorist in action is a vasty different experience that being part of process meant to break imprisoned person’s resolution and spirit, but I think these two parallel scenes speaks a lot about Skirata and Vau, two hardened Mandalorian veterans who were willing to spare a young Jedi some crushing feel of guilt but who also had a different approach to making the decision for Etain, who tried very hard to prove herself useful and reliable on this black op mission. Once Kal decided it was time to pull Etain from the job, he was the one calling a shot while Walon accepted Etain’s decision (need?) to be the one killing terrorist. 

Etain as a Jedi and “not part of their family” yet may be seen as a special case, however the conflict of Kal “I know better so I make hard decisions for others in my care” and Vau “let them make a choice and deal with the consequence for everyone is adult and should be treated like that” seems to be constant part of the whole book series.

A little explanation: not all of Kal's decisions about his family were actually correct, and neither were all of them with negative consequences. It is more about the fact that Kal often makes very important decisions based on what he personally believes is the best solution. Just to be clear.

#star wars #republic commando #etain tur mukan #walon vau #kal skirata #my repcom musing #i think kal did the right thing by not letting etain be part of the interrogation to the end mainly because she tried too hard to be #part od the team to please kal and darman #but he was the one putting her there in the first place so it is questionable matter to judge i guess? #and then vau just let her in into room where they could be innocent people #yeah etain felt in force it was just the terrorist but vau did not know that #and respecting she wanted be on the jobs whatever the consequences could be #relative speaking mando morality is far from ours #but i like that vau respected etain and her decision to finish the job #despite being younger inexperienced jedi #and ironic he talk how skirata was soft but was willing (again) do the dirty job himself #also the talk about clones making the decisions despite what mando sarges may want is pretty often mentioned in regard to kal and vau

[welikethoseoddslove]

Adventure (A Din x reader story pt.5)

Warnings: Okay I KNOW what I said before but trust me I've got a treat coming with the next one. Good quality spicy time on the way but not in this one. Just genre-typical injuries and language. Some pining Mando Also gif not mine.

Pairing: Mando x reader

Previous Ch. Summary: In an attempt to stop the Mandalorian from harming the Child, you fight, he knocks you unconcious. Realizing why you were trying to stop him after finding the Child, he carries you back to Kuiil. But all you know is you wake up on a strange ship, in a strange bed, with a Mandalorian standing over you.

You open your eyes and you’re staring at a metal ceiling. Your memories failing to come back to you right away you try and get your bearings. A prison? No…you check yourself for restraints but there are none. Instead you find a soft blanket and some ointment on the bruises littering your limbs. You hear a hiss of a ramp door being opened. Oh that sound was so familiar to you, from your days before the valley.

You were on a ship.

You almost let out a shriek as the Mandalorian appears in the doorway. The memory of the fight comes back to you.

You were on his ship. You jump to stand but your head spins, you fall back, sitting on the bed.

“Why am I here?” You ask, as demandingly as you can while still grimacing at your pounding head.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. We’re still in the valley. You had been unconscious for hours…and Kuiil was getting worried. We decided to move you up here where the ship could keep track of your vitals.”

“Why are you helping me? I attacked you.”

“I know.” He answered simply…you could have sworn you heard a smile in his voice.

“So? What happened?”

“I found the Child. I know you just wanted to protect him.”

“He’s alive?” You said, maybe it was whatever was in this ointment but you felt like you could cry.

“I won’t harm him, but I do have a job to do.”

“I won’t let you take him!” You said weakly. He didn’t answer but you imagined he was raising his eyebrows at you. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway, watching as you stood, woozy and unbalanced to look him in the eyes.

“Fine. I can’t stop you from taking him to whoever paid you…obviously,” you gestured to your many injuries, he tilted his helmet, listening,

“But I won’t leave his side.”

You thought he would protest. Escort you off the ship. But he said nothing.

“I don’t have an extra bed. You’ll have to sleep on the floor of the cockpit.” He said as he turned to walk away.

Your eyes went wide. Were you really going out into the world again? After all this time? But what other choice did you have?

You packed your things with Kuiil, explaining everything to him. After a teary goodbye (in private, of course, there was no way you would let that stoic metal-man see you like this), you left the lovely and now peaceful valley, and boarded the Razor Crest.

You dropped your bag on an empty looking corner and followed the pilot into the cockpit. Wordless, he situated the Child on one passenger seat and you took the other, he sat, expertly flipped some switches and without warning launched into space, looked between the two:

The sleeping child and the man who barely said a word.

This was going to be interesting.

------------------------ He didn’t speak to you except for basic commands, “Don’t sleep there.” “Get the Child.” “Time to land.” The Mandalorian had dropped the Child off with the buyer, taken the reward, you were furious, you had insisted you stay behind.

The buyer agreed but as soon as the towering soldier had left, Storm Troopers threw you out of the building. You were no match for them.

You banged on the door desperate to be let in for hours into the night. You were so tired, and all you wanted was to know if the kid was alright.

That’s when he came back. Slumped against the door you had just been thrown out of, nursing your most likely broken rib, eyes…just giving up on staying open…you felt strong arms wrap around you.

One arm under your knees, the other supporting your head…you remembered the feeling of his leather gloves digging in to your skin when he had been sitting behind you on the blurrg-mount. In your delirium you sighed, feeling, somehow, so utterly protected.

He gingerly placed you down in his bed. “Stay here.” He whispered softly to your sleeping form. “I’ll get the kid, then let’s get out of here.”

He pulled the blankets over you and shut the door.

You had fallen into a much-needed sleep. You hadn’t slept since being unconscious and that was what? Four days ago? The ship was monitoring your vitals and would alert The Mandalorian if anything went bad while he was out.

He returned with the Child and took off. The Razor Crest now in space, and any ship tailing them having been long since blown out of the sky, he felt safe enough to go back to check on you.

Of course he didn’t need to. He could pull up all your vitals on his comm or his ship or even his helmet…but…he wanted to.

He didn’t want to admit it, but your sleeping form was such a sight. Your hair and how it draped over your strong shoulders, the curve of your chest as you breathed long and slow, how your lips parted slightly when your face was this relaxed…

He shuddered with a sharp intake of breath as he leaned against the doorway, looking down at you. The sound of his metal pauldron hitting the door frame made you stir.

You moved for the first time in hours, and yelped at the sharp pain in your side. Your rib. Oh you had forgotten!

“My side” you got out through breaths of pain.

He sprung into action going to get some bacta ointment from his first aid kit he kept…somewhere. He rummaged through things.

“Mandalorian?” He heard you call meekly from around the corner. He realized he hadn’t said what he was doing. “Here!” he called back. He would have to work on that. He was so used to being on his own, never having to explain what he was doing, in most cases, he was safter when he didn’t explain what he was up to. “I’m just getting you some bacta cream, it will absorb into the skin quickly. It’s like a-“

“Heh I know what Bacta is, Mandalorian.” You almost laugh from the other room, but it’s too painful.

“You know what Bacta is?” He appears in the doorway once again, repeating your words back to you. Wondering how a girl of your age seemed so comfortable with military-grade first aid.

“mhmm” you answer. You could tell he was intrigued, but you’d leave that for another time. He bent down on a knee at your bedside.

You liked him curious.

The next chapter gets spiiiiicy, wanna read it?

#mando s2 #the mandalorian #mando x you #mando season 2 #mando x reader #mando x y/n #din x reader #din djaren #din djarin #din djaren x reader #grogu #mando the himbo #the mandalorian x you #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian fanart #mando and grogu #din the daddy

[tuxxer]

Connecting the dots on Sabine

So the show is over and we are waiting on the second season, be it S2 of Ahsoka or does it blend into one of the shows that are supposed to be coming out.

So lets look back at Season 5 of rebels, or as some people like to call it, Season 1 of Ahsoka. All of the characters and even Zeb in Mando seem to be more or less on point. New Characters like Baylon (rip) and Shin brought the spicy meat balls to the show and universe.

So who got ripped off, Yup, Sabine. If your a reb fan, one of things that i felt aggrieved over was that Sabine had her agency stolen. If anyone could go toe to toe with a jedi and win, its our girl. Bring out the guns and the jetpack and let her go to town.

Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuut nooooooooooo, they give our girl a pig sticker and turn her into a bumbling idiot no different than Dinesh on Obi Wan. So how do we deconstruct the reasoning behind this decision.

Ahsoka is around 35 to 40 years old and has been classically trained by the jedi temple. One would assume that she knows force users, beyond someone of Han Solo's ability. We then find out from huyang that they split right after the empire glassed mandalore and Ahsoka's Jedi bullshit did not quite sit right with Sabine.

So the band gets back together and eventually goes on a road trip to Peridea. So Sabine meets up with Ezra and feels like the coyote when he finally catches the road runner, for some reason the reality does not meet the dream.

Ahsoka finally catches up after catching the uber whale and has to dial in Sabine with the force, hmmm curiouser and curiouser. So lets maybe take a leap of faith and assume that Sabine is a trainable user, but Ahsoka not wanting to train a weapon of mass destruction (see Mandalore getting glassed and Sabines family getting blown to component atoms.) flips Sabines switch that turns off or makes her forget to access her jedi powers.

One has to assume that the Jedi temple had to have a way of dealing with knights that have gone astray and making them safe, seems reasonable. So once she dialed in Sabine with the force, Ahsoka flipped the switch again, and now she magically has powers.

Bottom line is that a few well placed lines from the writers may have been able to explain Sabine's magical transformation a lot better

#sabine wren

[bylightofdawn]

WIP Sunday

I'm sorry to say that today hasn't been a very fruitful writing day. But I did get a scene with Tyvokka and Jaster written down. Pretty much, the only context needed is Tyvokka comes to Jaster to warn him about a Force vision he's seen with the warning that you shouldn't take it as a forgone conclusion and there's always a choice or a path that will bring that particular future about. So you know, your basic Jedi nonsense which Mando soooooo love to hear. I quickly debated Tyvokka giving Jaster the ol' shovel talk but truthfully? I kinda hate them. It usually comes across kinda possessive of the person you're trying to warn the party off of them. Not to mention taking way their agency and right to make their own choices. It’s got this icky connotation that the one giving the shove talk doesn’t trust the person to be an adult etc. Maybe they don’t want you to fight their own battles for them and wow welcome to my anti-shovel talk Ted Talk.

I DID think about doing a reverse shovel talk and having Jaster go in expecting the 'Don't you hurt my son' talk. And thought instead. "Be careful that my son does not hurt you. He's a Jedi and he will always choose his duties over you' sorta speech. Cause I love my expectation subversion. Not too sold on this but we'll see. As always, super rough draft, no editing blah blah blah. I might end up switching up the quotation marks on Tyvokka's speech to the same « » thingies they use in the comics. Though I feel like that is just them translating Shyriiwook. We'll see. I'm not completely in love with this scene and may end up re-doing it. Tyvokka seems remarkable chill over Plo kinda skating the edge of acceptable Jedi behavior in having a regular romantic partner.

I might have him give him a come to Jesus speech, I don't know. Again ugh I hate it and it's kinda troperiffic too. But I figure from the Jedi side of things the person who would totally be able to read through Jaster and Plo's super bad attempts at hiding their relationship would be Tyvokka. So we'll see, I suppose? Also wow El how many times can you say we'll see I suppose in the span of two paragraphs? A shit ton, I suppose.

“You are talking like this is some holonovel where good defeats evil and everyone lives happily ever after. But real life isn’t like that, Mandalorian. It isn’t that neat or tidy.” Tyvokka didn’t mince words and while it was strange hearing the crisp Core-worlds Coruscanti accent try to convey the same level of gruff harshness that he could hear in the Wookie’s actual tone of voice. 

But honestly, Jaster could appreciate that brutal honesty. 

“Alright, fine, I will try not to let my hatred for Tor make me stupid.” 

“Good. There is one other thing, this was much more....nebulous. I think there may be a traitor in your camp. Or at least one who has ill intentions. I could not see that detail very clearly, but some kind of betrayal is what will set you on the path toward the destruction that I foresaw.”

“That’s not saying a lot, I’m sorry to say. Half of them barely want to be here and are probably secretly hoping this whole affair crashes and burns.” Jaster felt awful that when he said that, his mind immediately went to Montross and the sort of cold war the two’s once strong partnership had devolved into. 

“That division in your ranks might explain what I was sensing, but I suspect there is more to it. I will meditate on this.” 

“I won’t lie, it all sounds a little far-fetched to me but I have spent enough time around Plo Koon to know that the Force <I>osik</I> you Jedi get up to is real enough. And I am man enough to admit that I don’t know or am capable of understanding the many and varied workings of the universe around me.”

Tyvokka eyed the Mandalorian curiously and with piercing golden eyes. He’d heard enough false modesty to recognize when someone was putting on a facade and Jaster Mereel was not. It didn’t exactly fit with the image he had of what a Mandalorian would be. 

At first, when he’d heard of the strange friendship between Plo and this Mandalorian, it had sounded like one of the most bizarre things he’d heard in his many centuries of living. 

He’d long suspected there might be more to that friendship and while as a Jedi, he did not wish to see Plo Koon come to a point where he might have to choose between his duties as a Jedi and his curious choice of lovers. 

The part of him that had nurtured and cared for the boy like he was his own wanted to see him happy. And this man seemed to make him happy so really, what more could he ask for? 

“You’re looking at me like you’re considering which kind of wine my liver would best pair with again.” The human joked and Tyvokka snorted inelegantly. 

“I was never fond of liver anyway. Now kidneys on the other hand. And humans have two, right? Even better.” 

He half expected the man to wince or cringe back, but the Mandalorian was made of sterner stuff and just laughed sharply. 

“Hands off my kidneys and my liver. I’m using them.”

“You’re the one who keeps mentioning me eating them. How was I to know you were not making me some strange Mandalorian offering?”

“I know we have a reputation for being rough and uncivilized but even we don’t participate in cannibalism.” Jaster snorted and climbed to his feet carefully. “I appreciate the heads up though. Seriously. Stars know when it comes to Tor Vizsla, I tend to get tunnel vision.”

“You must learn to let that anger and hate go, Mandalorian. That is the path to the Dark side. You may not be a Jedi but it can still taint your heart and poison your mind.”

“Easier said than done, I am afraid.”

“Anything worth doing is never easy. Even we Jedi struggle with our own inner demons and temptations from the Dark side. Anger and hatred are uncomplicated emotions, but ultimately, they are hollow and leave you feeling unsatisfying. That is what makes them so dangerous.” 

The dark-haired human had a strange look on his face, one that Tyvokka couldn’t quite parse out despite his centuries of dealing with his kind. 

“Some interesting food for thought.” 

#wip sunday #el writes #seeds for the future fic #tyvokka #jaster mereel

[lcstskywalkerarc]

@akasupergirl​​ sent Kara smiled, "I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me Ben?  I know it's been a rough few weeks I made a picnic dinner and I thought we could ride out a bit and watch the rhino herds.  I thought maybe you'd like to see some of the animals of our world."

He’d been absently messing with the newest (and last) bandage on his arm. Shuri swore it was the last time she’d draw his blood, claiming it was for research purposes. He wasn’t quite worried about them trying to recreate the Force, but the idea of other people having something close to lightsabers was a little concerning. They were rather civilized, but having seen the other weapons in the world, he knew it would also have an unfortunate downside. He remembered hearing stories during the Jedi-Mando wars, when the Mandalorians switched weaponry that the Jedi couldn’t deflect.

Ben perks up at the question and gives a nod, smiling at Kara as he adjusts his thoughts. “I would love that. We have similar lumbering herds, but they’re called banthas. Banthas are a little more stout, but they’re covered in fur and have horns.” He’s not going to mention the fact he had a stuffed bantha when he was younger, although he knows his mother has it framed somewhere.

#akasupergirl #v; escaping snoke

[beckleboo]

AND THEN I WAS TOLD I WAS UNREASONABLE...

“Gamora just started behaving like a grownup.. and you want another puppy?!?”

“It’s a little unreasonable to have 3 dogs under the age of two”

But this cute baby needs a home!

But guys... I’m gonna try to convince him!!!!!

Wish me luck!

I need alllllll the dogs!!!

#me #personal business #personal #text post #texts #baby dog #baby golden #pack of goldens #gamora #drax #quil #groot #rocket #hell #maybe I would switch it up and go with mando #puppy #dog #puppies #I love puppies #I love dogs #gimme all the puppies #gimme all the dogs

[pedros-mustache]

nighthawks (9)

series masterlist || previous chapter

word count: ~8.3k+

warnings: smut (18+ only): piv sex (surprisingly, that’s it this time). also: slight angst, language, x fem!reader

a/n: i’m probably breaking some unwritten sw fanfic law with this chapter but it’s my fic and i’ll party how i want to 🔪 thank you as always to @pleasedin​ for being a fabulous beta and putting up with my perfectionism, but also @babydarkstar​ and @silksaddle​ for being extra extra eyes on a chapter that would not cooperate. 💛

(gif by @bestintheparsec​)

DAY THIRTY-ONE—COURSE SET: UNDISCLOSED JEDI TRAINING CAMP

It is well into the morning when you finally slide from bed— 

Bed. Gods, you’d almost forgotten: Mando gave you a bed.

You do not pause and consider the implication of his offering the only other bed in the Sunder to the likes of you. It does not matter. You will accept—No, you must accept the gift without second thought lest you become tangled in the mire of… What? The possibility of Metal Man caring for you? The idea alone sends a nervous clench to your stomach. 

Still, the ache at the base of your spine—the place where the steel floor once scraped your bones night after night—feels… lighter somehow. Perhaps it was the bonafide pillow which cradled your head rather than the crumpled sweater. Or maybe it was the sateen sheets which slipped over your bare legs like water. 

Or maybe it was the nightmare, the one which dragged you from sleep, brow drenched in sweat, mind weary and reeling. You’d collapsed in an exhausted heap once you realized you sat alone in your room, uninjured, nothing but the sound of your labored breath a companion. 

You rise from the edge of your bed with a rough shake of your head. A new day, a fresh start. The dream can haunt you no longer if you refuse to allow it access, and you’ve slammed the open door shut. 

You dress, scrounge together a measly cup of caf and protein bar, and meander through the annex to the cockpit. Mando does not turn from the pilot’s chair when you drop to the leather couch on the far side of the room and tuck your legs beneath your backside. He continues course, brilliant streaks of white starlight reflecting in the polished chrome of his helm. Though his silence is customary, as much as part of himself as his armor, this morning you yearn for something familiar. No, familial, tender and warm. But it is foolish to want; he cannot offer you that—and it is just as well too. He cannot offer a warmth he is incapable of producing, and you much prefer his cool exterior. It’s safer that way.

Unbidden, a sigh parts your lips. 

His chin angles to his shoulder at the sound. “Sleep better after that dream?”

“What?” You lift your face from the dark liquid in your mug. “How did you know about that?”

“You don’t remember?” Mando removes his hands from the flight controls and rotates in his seat. The chair squeaks as it moves on new hinges. “I was there when you—” He stops short, and you feel more than see his eyes drift from your face to the viewport over your shoulder. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

Something in the tight hold of his shoulders warns against pressing the issue. 

He is tense this morning, more so than usual. It saturates his every movement: the forceful push of the ship’s joystick; the grumble under his breath as he flicks a switch upwards; the flex of his hand at his side, as though he wished he could rub his palm over weary eyes. Anxiety radiates from his person in undulating waves, forcing you back against the couch in search of shelter, and you frown as you withdraw. 

Dipping your pointer finger in your caf, you swirl your soaked fingertip over the rim of your mug. You calculate your tone and the tilt of your head as your hesitance gives way to intrigue. The unspoken looms over the ship like a spectre, and you will not ignore it as he may wish. 

His son—you’re going to see his son.

You take a sip of your lukewarm caf. “So, where exactly are we going?”

“To visit my kid,” he says, words rote, clipped.

“Yeah, I know that.” You set your mug to the side and lean forward in a futile attempt to catch his wandering attention. “But where is he? What’s his name?”

Mando shifts in the pilot’s chair, his armor snagging on new leather. “He’s with the Jedi. Training with them.”

“The Jedi?” Your brows arch in surprise as you rise from the couch. Stepping closer, you lean against the flight deck, hands behind your hips. The Mandalorian tosses you a quick look, one you are familiar with but often ignore: Don’t push me. “I thought they were extinct.”

“Apparently not. He left with them a year ago.”

“And you haven’t seen him since?” In lieu of a verbal response, Mando merely shakes his head. You swallow a sudden lump that clogs your throat. “You must… miss him.”

With a sigh, he reaches for a metal ball, barely the size of his palm, positioned between the Sunder’s flight controls. He rolls the object between his fingers. “Every day.” After a moment, he returns the ball to its spot and sits straight in his chair, cocking his head in the direction of the couch. “Take a seat. We’ll be there soon.”

Ignoring him, questions pour from your mouth in rapid succession. Stars, you want to know it all—every sordid detail. It still boggles your mind that Mando, your Mando, has a child. Was the boy an accident? A product of a drunken roll in the hay? Or somewhere in the galaxy is there a woman, a creature with whom he willingly created life? A muscle in your chest burns at the mere idea. 

“Does he know you’re coming? What does he look like? And what about his mother? What is—“

“Scout.” Your mouth snaps shut at the moniker spoken through gritted teeth. Some baser part of you clenches at the husky sound. “Drop it.”

“I’m just trying to show interest.”

“And I’m only going to give you one chance before I leave you on the ship all day. Drop the subject.”

Rolling your tongue over your teeth, you grab your caf mug from its place on a narrow side table. “I thought you said I wasn’t a dog. Did you change your mind overnight?”

Helmet falling against the back of the pilot’s chair, Mando groans. “For fuck’s sake, girl.”

“No. Don’t toy with me. I’m only trying to make conversation, get to know you a little bit, and—”

Mando lurches from his seat with a muttered curse and grabs your arm before you can consider your exit strategy. He digs his gloved fingers into the meat of your bicep, enough to pinch tender flesh, enough to make you wince. When you jerk against his hold, he tightens his grip. He looms over you, a hard, silver giant before an insignificant roadblock. Despite it all, you tilt your head back and seal your gaze to his visor. He must know by now: you won’t back down from a fight.

“I don’t want to see him.”

Your shoulders slump in surprise as the fight fizzles from your veins. You exhale a single word: “What?”

“The Jedi sent me a message and offered the chance to come see him before he goes deeper in his training. I’d be stupid not to take the opportunity but I don’t want to see him. I’m afraid when I do…” He shakes his head. “I’m just trying to get through the day in one piece. So, I need you to cooperate with me. Please.”

You hesitate, brow furrowing. “Cooperate?”

It is impossible to ignore the hint of a smile in Mando’s voice when his grip eases on your arm and he says, “Try and be less of a pain in the ass today. If that’s even possible.”

Oh. You suppose… Well, you don’t exactly make this arrangement easy on him, do you? It’s so much safer to hate, to bark and snarl, to bite the hand that feeds you. For so long—ten long years—you have known nothing else.

Can you cooperate, even for a day? Will you allow him that much?

Your gaze drops to the ground as embarrassment warms your cheeks. Your mother taught you better. Jeelia taught you better.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I can do that. For today.”

Mando nudges your chin with the crook of his forefinger, and you flick your eyes upward to meet his helm. “Okay.” His thumb smooths over the curve of your jaw. “Thank you.”

His touch a ghost upon your face, you nod as he gently ushers you back to the couch. You drop to your seat, and he returns to the pilot’s chair. He inhales, the sound sliding through his voice coder. Sealing his grip around the flight controls, he angles the Sunder downward.

“We’ve entered orbit. Strap in. The landing might get a bit bumpy.”

/

The Sunder makes bed on a rocky patch of land surrounded by a grove of ancient trees, each appearing more rotted than the last. Dead leaves blanket the ground, and tan boulders—or are those ruins?—circle the landing patch in an uneven spiral. The sky is dark, heavy with bloated, grey clouds, and the atmosphere swirls with something potent, something alive. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you can taste it, like electricity on your tongue.

You peer out of the open loading dock as Mando removes his bandolier and the assortment of weapons strapped to his body. “Looks like rain,” you say, sliding your hands over your bare arms as a cool wind whips through the ship’s hull.

Mando pauses in his work, lifts his head, and nods. “Guess so.” 

He hangs his tac belt on a hook in the weapons cabinet then reaches up and unwinds the dark fabric from his neck. You still, eyes rooted to the flash of golden brown skin that peeks through the gap between his helm and flight suit. It’s only a sliver of skin—barely an inch what with the way he has the neck of his flight suit hiked as high as it will stretch—but it is enough to set your heart pounding in your chest. Your mouth waters, and a low thump ignites in your gut. God, all it takes is the sleek line of his neck, a glimpse of tattooed flesh at his hip—any hint of the human lurking beneath the costume—to make you wet between the legs.

He twists at the waist to hand you his cowl. “Here. Put this on.”

You balk at the gesture. “Mando, that’s yours. I can’t—”

“I told you that outfit was ridiculous,” he bites, thrusting the fabric forward. “You’re going to freeze without some kind of covering. Take it.”

Cooperate, he’d asked, pleading in a single moment of vulnerability. You clench your jaw as you accept the cowl. How can you deny him? Cooperate.

Swinging the cloak around your neck, it drapes over your body like an itchy poncho. Warmth floods your icy skin, and you tug the ragged edges closer, leaning into the fabric. Spiced cologne and musk fills your nose, a potent combination which sends a chill of a new kind down your spine. 

For the second time in two days, you thank the Mandalorian for his kindness. He just nods and steps around you, descending the loading dock with anxious purpose. You follow close behind. 

The ground crunches beneath your boots as you leave the Sunder and trudge into the open wilderness. Narrowing your eyes against the wind, you lower your chin behind the fold of Mando’s cowl. Even with the added warmth of the cloak, you shiver against frigid, bitter air. Wherever you are, it’s cold. 

“When do you think your son will come find us? Or when will we find him?” 

“Soon.”

You sigh. A puff of frosted air expels from your mouth. “Maybe I should go to the galley and make us some caf.” Glancing over your shoulder, you catch a glimpse of the Sunder shrinking in the distance. “If I run, I can still catch up.”

“No. We’re fine.” He throws you a haphazard glance. “I’d rather not do this alone.”

“Oh.” You pull the cowl over your head, smoothing back errant strands of hair as you consider his confession. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

You follow Mando through the rocky wasteland until your fingertips tingle with frost beneath your arms. Your teeth chatter in your skull, knocking hard against one another in a fruitless battle to keep warm. Wind-blown cheeks burning, you lower your face, following the thud of Mando’s plodding stride. You bite back the complaints growing on your tongue like a sour fungus.

One foot after the other. For him, for his son.

Without warning, you stumble over a rock, vision gone blurry with stinging moisture. You lurch forward with a curse. “Fuck!” 

You catch Mando’s elbow as you fall, but before you can hit the ground, he swings his arm around your waist. He drops his opposite palm to the curve of your ribcage and hauls upward, lifting your shivering body from its weary hunch. You fold against his side. Though everything in your mind screams for you to push him away, you soak in his warmth and flick the warnings aside. It is ludicrous—the heat he exudes in such a cold space. Like a hot summer’s afternoon, spread out under the sun, bubbly wine on your tongue and freshly baked bread in your stomach. 

“It’s those pants,” he mutters. “Nice to look at but thin as paper. You really are an idiot.” 

You smirk and push your face nearer his chest. “Fuck you.”

“Come on. We should be—”

“Mandalorian!” 

You lift your head at the same time as Mando. The steady beat of his heart quickens under your ear. 

A figure robed in black strolls over a nearby incline. He walks alone, no child trailing behind him in the cold, but he wears a smile and a young face and a brown satchel over his chest. He quickens his pace when Mando straightens to his full height, and when you try to move out of his hold, the Mandalorian fists his hand in the back of your shirt.

“Stay still,” he growls.

The robed figure closes the remaining distance between you, and his smile falters as he runs his gaze from Mando to you and back. “I didn’t know you’d be bringing company.”

“Don’t worry,” Mando says. “She doesn’t know where we are.”

“It’s true.” You run a hand under your dripping nose. “I don’t even know who you are. I’m just here ‘cause he doesn’t trust me on the ship alone.”

Extending a hand, you mumble your name into the fabric around your neck. The man shakes your hand, his grip gentle. He introduces himself—Luke Skywalker, Master Jedi of the training school he built on this remote planet. He holds himself tall despite a smaller stature, chin lifted, gaze pointed. His hand hovers by the pouch over his chest.

“So, where’s the kid?” You glance between Mando and Luke, brows raised in question. “Did he stay behind at the school or something? I mean, it’s fuckin’ cold out here. I don’t blame him.”

Luke smirks, and his eyes slide to Mando, who kicks a nearby pebble with the toe of his boot. “No. No, he’s here. He’s been a bundle of energy all morning—excited to see you—but I think the walk lulled him to sleep.”

You frown as confusion blooms and squeezes around your mind like a vine. “I don’t see a kid. What are you talking about?”

“Mando?” Luke untangles the pouch strap from around his shoulder and holds the heavy bag outward. “Would you like to wake him?”

Mando’s hesitation stretches taut, a fraying rope on its last brittle thread. His hands twitch at his sides. Obstinate, headstrong man. Huffing, you nudge his back with your arm, and he clears his throat.

“Yeah… I would.” 

Like the afternoon sky, time freezes, holds its breath, peers close, and watches. You watch too, mouth agape, as Mando takes the bundle from Luke’s arms. He holds it against his chest and pushes the opening aside, his touch soft, polite. Fatherly. You inch closer, peeking over Mando’s forearm to see—

Okay, that’s not a human child.

Green, wrinkled skin. A bald head with fuzzy white hair. Long, pointed ears that fold against the sides of the bag. Black, glittering eyes that peel open to rest on Mando’s face. The child coos, revealing stubby teeth. He stretches out a stubby arm.

“Patu,” he gurgles.

The side of your mouth quirks upward. Oh fuck, he’s cute.

All of your questions and assumptions come crashing down in a marvelous tumble, scattering to dust at your feet. There was no drunken roll in the hay; no woman with whom Mando created this child. You have seen enough of him—felt enough of him inside of you—to know he is human, and his child is surely not. But the boy is Mando’s child all the same. As the Mandalorian strokes his finger over the green baby’s cheek, you know it without question. Father and son; family—together again. Your chest lurches, a toxic combination of yearning and jealousy twisting the muscles of your stomach.

Luke says your name. You look up. You forgot all about him. 

“Why don’t you come and walk with me?”

You glance at Mando for some indication of his wishes, but he is caught by the liquid black gaze of his son. The baby has his hand wrapped tight around Mando’s finger, and the two stare at one another, saying nothing yet everything in the narrow space between their bodies.

You fall into step by the Jedi, throwing one last look over your shoulder as Mando lifts the edge of his helmet. Heart skidding, you look away. No, that isn’t for you.

Luke leads you over a small rise to a slab of rock, flat on the surface, chiseled to perfection on all sides. He lowers himself to one edge, keeping his back to the sweet reunion. You follow suit, but struggle against the urge to return to Mando’s side. You’ve never seen him so pliant, and the opportunity to watch him bend before his child strikes you as a valuable moment worth studying.

The Jedi breaks the clouded silence. “Who are you? To the Mandalorian, I mean.”

You look away from the rocky soil, turning to meet Luke’s inquisitive stare. “I’m his… apprentice,” you say. 

You hesitate before turning your chin to your shoulder. You can’t see anything from your vantage point below the small hill, but you left your concentration where Mando stood, wrapped around his body like a shroud. What is he feeling right now? Thinking as he holds his son in his arms again after a year? How did their unlikely pair come to be?

Luke breaks through your thoughts with a chuckle. “So the Mandalorian has a padawan.”

“Um, sure?” You offer the Jedi a shrug, mouth pulled in an apologetic smile. “Whatever that is.”

“Grogu is a padawan. He is learning the ways of the Force under my teaching. In time, he will master his skills and use his powers for good.”

“I didn’t know there were any Jedi left. I thought the Empire wiped them all out.”

“No, there aren’t many of us, not anymore. But we’re not all gone.”

“So, your school—you’re trying to… what? Build an army or something?”

Laughing, Luke shakes his head. “Maker, no! We’re simply raising the next generation. You’ll have to forgive me for not taking you on a tour. The younglings can’t afford to be distracted if it can be helped.”

“But Mando—”

“Is an exception to the rule.”

“Oh.” You drop your gaze to your tangled fingers then say, “My father used to talk about the rebellion, but I rarely listened. I knew something was happening—all the adults in my village were on edge—but I wasn’t smart enough to understand. I was young, naive, an idiot too focused on my own affairs. That’s what my sister said anyway.”

Luke studies your profile. Something about his gaze—perhaps the openness with which he inspects you, brazen in intensity—makes you squirm. You feel like a pig roasting over a scalding flame, the layers of your person peeled back for a stranger to consume. 

“Don’t punish yourself over the past.”

The air in your chest stills, and you lift your face to glare at him, wide eyed and stiff muscled. “What?”

He does not shrink under your burgeoning bluster which contorts your brow to a frown and your mouth to a grimace. He maintains course, steering himself into the storm cloud gathering around shoulders. “Leave the past where it belongs and focus on the future. It will ease your mind.”

Rising from the slab, you fist your hands at your sides. “You can’t say that. You don’t know anything about me!”

Untroubled by your response, Luke simply blinks. “No, but I sense much conflict in you.”

“Conflict?” You snort, rolling your eyes. “What is that supposed to mean? I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Luke angles his head, gaze softening. “You seem—”

“I don’t care what I seem like to you.” You step back with a shake of your head. “You don’t know me. You don’t know my past.”

Luke stands and folds his arms in the wide sleeves of his robe. “Someone should.”

“What is it with men and riddles? You, Karga, Mando. Say what you mean for Maker’s sake.” 

Turning away, you face the murky horizon. The Jedi—whoever he is; friend or foe you do not know—is too close to scratching the scab from your biggest wound. Should he succeed, you would bleed from your heart and wither to a husk, drained of the one thing that keeps you alive: regret. If you soften your grip on the memory of your misdeeds, you will cease to exist. Of that you are sure. There is nothing for you without the pain. No mother to fold you in her warm embrace; no father to tug on your braid; no sister to confine in. If you release the past—if you forgive yourself—what is left for you but a passive life, alone and tethered to nothing but your own whims? That is no life for you. You have tasted goodness—family, companionship, love; you do not want to live without it. But at least bitter regret fills your mouth now, replacing the sweet comfort of the good. It stains your teeth and rots your tongue—that slimy hatred and inner turmoil—but it is sustenance all the same. You will not release it to be given nothing in return.

Luke says your name as though prepared to continue picking around your wound, but you brush him off with a hurried nod to the left. “Look. They’re coming.”

Materializing over the hill, Mando strides toward you, helmet once again obscuring the features he hides from all save the boy in his arms. His child—Grogu—rests comfortably against his chest, and his impressive ears bounce to the rate of Mando’s descent down the slope. He clutches something between his three fingers, and as Mando draws nearer, you recognize the glint of the washed-out sun on silver metal. That ball, the one from the cockpit; Grogu holds it in his hand. 

Mando stops walking at the edge of the rock slab. He drops the empty satchel to the table with one hand and shifts Grogu in his arms with the other. Such an unnatural pair yet the bond between them shines in the cloudy afternoon. Mando looks at ease for once, you think: relaxed posture, unclenched fists, a comfortable air to his stance. It suits him. 

“This is him?” You reach for the fringes of the child’s sack-like covering. “Your son?”

“Grogu,” Mando says, tilting his visor down. Grogu peers up with a wet-mouth noise at the sound of his name. 

Broadening your smile, you offer a finger for the baby to inspect. “Nice to meet you, Grogu.”

/

You spend the afternoon gathered around the rock bench. Despite the cold, the warmth of Mando and Grogu’s reunion permeates the small clearing, shrouding your huddled group in a quilt of conviviality. You soak in the feeling, allow it to drench your lovelorn soul. Maker knows when you will be around family—any family—again. 

Luke guides Mando to the side where the two fall into deep conversation. Their voices carry away on the wind, but it’s of no consequence to you. Grogu keeps you entertained. He waddles back and forth across the stone slab, presenting you with small gift offerings he finds scattered along the rock. A pebble here, a twig there, a broken and dried flower. 

You laugh as he scurries back and forth. “You know, you remind me of someone. I had a cousin. He was very small like you, always running from one place to another. He got in so much trouble. Well, we got into a lot of trouble. You look like you could get into trouble too.”

Grogu pauses, tilting his head to the side with a squeak.

“Yeah, I know your game, Mr. Mando’s Son.” You gently prod his chest. “You sucker everyone in with those big, black eyes and then”—you snatch him close, tickling your fingers under his arms; he peels with laughter—“you wreak havoc!”

Squirming away from your arms, Grogu topples over the side of the stone slab. Your heart drops, and you curse, reaching out in vain to catch him. But it’s fine; it’s fine. Mando is there in an instant, and he catches Grogu before he can hit the ground. He more than catches his son, though. He sweeps him into his arms, tossing him high into the air before catching him again. The child shrieks with glee, stubby teeth gleaming behind his smile, and your knees wobble when Mando turns his gaze to you. You can see his grin beneath the helmet. 

Oh. Fuck.

There is a man beneath the beskar. You can no longer ignore it. He is human—all of him—tender flesh and blood and bone after all.

/

“Show me what you can do, kid.” 

Mando grabs your arm and pulls you away from the stone slab where you’d been squeezing your knees to your chest for warmth. A few hours in this frigid air and your throat aches, but the excitement with which Mando drags you to the center of the patchy clearing dulls the pain. You’ve never seen him like this. Happy.

“Watch this,” he murmurs, one hand pressed to your hip, the other gesturing to Grogu sitting on the other side of the clearing. He withdrawals the silver ball from his pocket and holds it outward. Grogu’s head tilts to the side—so much like his father in that regard—when he recognizes the toy. “Take it,” Mando says. “Use your powers. Show Scout what you can do.”

You flick your gaze to Mando, study the enthusiastic rise and fall of his chest, then focus on Grogu. He extends his short arm, closes his eyes, and—

The ball whizzes across the clearing like a bullet. It slaps the center of Grogu’s palm, and he opens his eyes with a content warble before bringing the ball to his face.

You gape. “What in the—”

From the sidelines, Luke smiles, nodding in approval. “He has grown a lot since you last saw him.”

Mando puts his hands on his hips. “I can tell.” A proud grin infects his voice.

“Would you like to see him do something else?”

You answer before Mando gets the chance: “Yes!” The Mandalorian turns to look at you, and you return his stare with a shrug and a laugh. “What? I’ve never seen a green baby who can move things with his mind before!”

Luke moves to crouch beside Grogu. He touches the child’s back, and the pair stares at one another, eyes focused and sharp. They seem to communicate through sight alone because when Luke stands and moves to the side, he nods to Grogu, who blinks at him in question.

“Like we’ve practiced,” Luke says.

Grogu pushes off of the ground with his palms and toddles on unsteady feet to a small pile of brush. He pokes at a thin twig, kicks a pebble into the mess with his foot, wanders around the brush pile as though inspecting for imperfections. He’s dawdling; you know avoidance when you see it. You’ve done it in the presence of Mando tens of times in the beginning stages of your training, and it appears his son is no stranger to stage fright.

You elbow the tyke’s father. “Encourage him,” you whisper.

“Huh?” Mando tears his gaze away from Grogu and stares at you. “He doesn’t—”

You shake your head. “Encourage him, Mando. Trust me.”

Mando leans forward, hands still braced on his hips. “Go on, kid.” Grogu turns to look at his father. “I want to see what you’ve learned. Please.”

Bolstered by his father’s motivation, a determined furrow falls over Grogu’s brow. He holds out both hands and closes his eyes. His mouth rolls into a tight line. His hands tremble, vibrating with some unseen energy or spirit, and he dips his head as the shaking in his arms increases. Beside you, Mando stiffens in concern, but his concern is without cause. 

An orange flame sparks in the center of the brush pile, a weak flare but present nonetheless. It builds as Grogu maintains his hold over the assortment of twigs and dried grasses, and a wispy line of smoke curls over his head. 

Mando claps his hands together, closing the distance between himself and his son in one long stride. “Dank farrik!” He drops to a squat before the open flame, rubbing his son’s back in a proud circle. “Good job, kid!” He glances over his shoulder. “Did you see that?”

Grinning, you nod. “Yeah, I did. Quite the party trick.”

Mando points to Luke. “Did you teach him that?”

“Yes, I did.”

Rising, Mando brings Grogu with him, perching the boy on his hip. “I didn’t know he could do that.”

“There is much he has yet to learn. But he will—in time.”

As you watch Din adjust the fold of Grogu’s robes, his armor shining with pride and paternal devotion, your heart thumps to a steady beat, one word reverberating through your chest: human, human, human.

/

When day gives way to dusk, Luke presents thermoses of boiling soup, which Mando declines, but you sit with Grogu in your lap, sipping from your canteen as the child does. He giggles when a tear-drop of soup slides from your chin to the top of his head, and he lifts his short arm to swat away the liquid. 

“Sorry, little buddy,” you say. “Your dad doesn’t give me food like this. I guess I got a bit too eager.”

Reclining across the slab, Mando scoffs through his helm. “You act like I don’t feed you at all.”

Your eyes, sardonic, glide over Grogu’s head to land on Mando. “Do rehydrated powder packets count as food?”

“Well, it’s not nothing.”

“Well, it’s barely something.”

“Patu.” Without warning, Grogu leans across the divide and rests his hand on Mando’s knee. You curve a hand around his stomach to keep him from falling over, and Mando grabs the boy’s arm to steady his wobbly form. Grogu looks up at Mando and repeats himself in earnest: “Patu.”

Luke finishes screwing the lid of his thermos with a chuckle then motions to the child with the container. “He wants you to stop fighting.”

“Fighting?” Your brow tightens, and you glance at Mando, shaking your head. “We aren’t fighting.”

Grogu leans back and twists to lay his bottomless eyes on you. He touches your ribcage with a coo. You swallow hard, caught by the baby’s unfathomable gaze. Similar to Luke’s stare, you are certain the child is sifting through your mind, pushing through the weeds and searching, searching, for something specific. He toddles through your senses, pulling you forward by an invisible string. You hunch, lowering your face to meet his. He puts his hand on your cheek and emits a low whine, one that twists your stomach to a tight knot. Tears spring to your eyes in response, but… why the fuck are you crying?

“Hey.” Mando touches Grogu’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“He wants her to stop fighting.”

You look up, head swiveling in time with Mando’s to stare at Luke. Sniffing hard, you frown. “I just said we aren’t fighting. You’d know if we were fighting. It’s not pretty.”

“No. He wants you to stop fighting with yourself. Both of you. It will bring you both peace if you simply accept change as it comes.”

You turn your eyes to Mando and find his visor already pinned to you. A jolt of energy carves through your chest, hot like a freshly forged sword, and you force the side of your mouth into a weak smile. Though your hands tremble around Grogu’s body, you force your voice to remain even. 

“I didn’t realize you brought me out here for a mind reading, Mando. You’ve done this against my will.”

He snorts in amusement, and your pride buoys. “Yeah… me neither.”

Luke stands and reaches for the child. “It’s time for us to return to the school.”

A pang sours the soup in your stomach. “Oh. So soon?”

“A padawan’s training never stops. We’ve lost enough time as it is.” 

“That’s fine. We need to get moving anyway. Can I?” Mando stands and takes Grogu from your arms. He brushes his thumb over his son’s cheek. You avoid the intimate moment by stepping back, but Mando’s quiet rumble still reaches your ears. “Bye, buddy. I’ll see you later.”

You offer Grogu a small wave, which he returns, as he is passed from father to teacher. “See ya,” you say, surprised at the emotion clogging your throat. You doubt you will see him again before your year with Mando has ended, but you’re glad you’ve had this time now, if only so he could introduce you to the delicate parts of his father, the ones nestled beneath his armor.

Mando exchanges a few words with the Jedi before retreating with a nod. He falls alongside you, and the comfortable air of moments before builds, brick by brick, around his person. You glance at him and wish for all the world that you could smash that wall to pieces. The monster you once knew—the man who shoved you against the galley wall, his blaster against your spine—is a falsehood, a costume. Perhaps the girl who pushed him—who shot his shoulder and insulted his creed—is a falsehood, too.

As soon as they came, the Jedi and his trainee disappear over the hill. A harsh wind freezes the moisture pricking your eyes, and you clear your throat, tugging Mando’s cowl closer.

“He was the one you lost,” you whisper.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry—I didn’t know.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“No, I—I judged you harshly. I thought whatever it was you lost must be inconsequential compared to my own losses. I was wrong.”

Mando releases a heavy sigh and turns on his boot. He grabs the silver ball from its place on the rock slab, forgotten in the Jedi’s hasty retreat. “This is a lonely life,” he says. “You should know that before you commit to it.”

Something in your chest unfurls like a perennial rose budding beneath the summer sun. 

“Maybe it doesn’t need to be. For either of us.”

/

DAY THIRTY-TWO—MIDNIGHT

You can’t sleep. Though no nightmare plagues the darkness of your room and your stomach sits heavy with a good meal, sleep falls through your fingers like mist. Try as you might, you cannot grasp the elusive thing, and you’re sick of trying. You can only toss and turn so much before your efforts will drive you to the brisk of insanity. Some nights, sleep is but a dream.

Before you can think better of it, you leave your room and the wasted promise of rest behind.

Tiptoeing through the gravely quiet annex, you find Mando in the cockpit where you left him after returning to the Sunder. He needed a moment alone after leaving Grogu—you could tell—but one moment became several hours when the question of What now? became a clanging gong in your head. The picture you once created of the Mandalorian no longer remains. Grogu tore it to shreds with his capable, tender hands, and you are left with the fragmented pieces, uncertain of how to rebuild. 

You cannot hate him after today. You cannot hate a man who loves his child fiercely enough to let him go. 

You cannot like him either. You cannot like a man who so easily grinds you beneath the heel of his boot.

Though, the bedroom…  the cloak and the way he’d stroked your jaw… admitting his reluctance to reunite with Grogu… Maybe his portrait of you—a brat, a good-for-nothing leech, a hellcat—no longer remains, either.

Mando sits on the settee to the left of the pneumatic doors. He’s stripped himself of his armor, but his helmet and gloves remain, and you wonder if he suspected you might wander into the cockpit. (Or if he hoped you might appear. You don’t dwell on it.) One ankle crossed over the opposite knee, he balances a datapad on his thigh. You drop to the couch on the opposite side of the room and cross your legs beneath you. You’re in no hurry, and Mando’s silence does not bother you as it once did. You drag your nail over the leather arm, watching stars hurtle over the aircraft canopy.

“Do you need something?” There’s a slight edge to his voice, a note of frustration underlying the question, but you push forward anyway.

You shake your head, moving to fold your hands in your lap. “No. I couldn’t sleep is all.”

“Bed too comfortable for you?” Mando tosses his datapad to the side, uncrosses his legs, and folds his arms. Sarcasm drips from his tongue. For once, you don’t take the bait. 

“The bed is great. I guess I just have a lot of thoughts. You know, after today.”

He lowers his elbows to his knees and the forehead of his helm to his palm. “I know what you mean.” 

“How do you feel? Now that you’ve seen him.”

Mando lifts his head to peer at you through his visor. “Fine. I—”

“You’re not fine.” You stand and cross the cockpit, planting yourself before him like a scolding mother. Hands on your hips and eyebrow arched, you prod his chest. “It’s okay if you’re not fine.”

He pushes your hand away with a limp palm. “Scout…” 

“No, don’t Scout me. Come on, Mando. You haven’t seen your son for a year and when you do, you find out he’s growing up. He’s getting older and wiser and more talented at whatever the fuck he can do and—”

Mando rises to his feet fast enough you fall backwards in surprise. “Okay, I get it!” He turns his back, bracing both hands on the back of the pilot’s chair. Dropping his head between his shoulders, he sighs. The jagged outer shell—protective yet impenetrable—crumbles around his feet. 

You blink, waiting… waiting… 

“I didn’t—” He sucks in a breath and straightens his hunched spine. Though he keeps his back to you, you watch his reflection in the viewport. His fist flexes on the chairback. “I didn’t think it would be so bittersweet. I’m proud of him, but…”

“But you want to keep him.”

He looks over his shoulder, and you imagine his face twisting in a forlorn grimace. “Yeah. I wanted to keep him.”

A light on the control panel blinks red, a steady beep, beep, beep keeping track of the seconds that tick by in silence. You hold Mando’s stare, unwavering.

“Mando?”

“Yeah?”

You aren’t sure what possesses you, what changes in the moment between confession and silence. You could blame your restless mind or your tense muscles or the lack of touch you’ve received in the past few days. You could blame those things, but you don’t. You know what compels you to ask him: desire and desire alone. He is no longer a monster, and you are no longer his prey. You stand on equal ground at last and still, you want him. So—

You ask.

“Do you want me?”

His response is quick, rolling off the tongue as though practiced. “Yes, but I shouldn’t.”

You take a step forward, close enough your exhale fogs the silver plating at his chin. You reach for his elbow and stroke your finger over the ribbed material of his flight suit; his muscles tense as you trace your nail over his forearm. “Do you want me?” you ask again.

He hesitates for one breathless moment. “Yes.”

“Then have me.”

Pulling you flush to his chest by the hips, he grumbles under his breath, “Maker help me.”

You wind your arms around his shoulders, smoothing your hands down the broad expanse of his back. “The Maker isn’t here right now. Just me.”

Mando huffs and shuffles to the settee. You shed your tunic as you fall to straddle his waist, revealing your naked flesh to the stars and the man weaseling his way into the cracked and ruined crevices of your heart. He hums in appreciation, gliding his hand—gloved, always gloved—in the valley between your breasts. 

“They taste better than they look,” you whisper, pushing your chest forward. 

Mando all but groans. Squeezing your breasts together, he rubs his thumbs over both nipples until they pebble under his touch. “I’m sure they do.”

You drag your palm from the top of his helm to the back of his neck. Without his cowl, you find silky strands of hair poking out from beneath the helmet, and you run your nails through the treasure. Soft, surprisingly soft. 

“What do you want from me, Mando?”

He stills, looking up at your round, open gaze. “I want—” He sucks in a gulp of air. “Ride me.”

You smirk and grind your pelvis against his. His hardening member jumps against your core. “Gladly.”

For a moment longer, you drag your throbbing cunt against Mando’s bulge. There is no rush, no frenzied push and pull. You reveal the feel of him beneath you, and you drop your cheek to his shoulder, humming in pleasure as your pussy grows moist and warm against his cock. He wraps his fist around your hair and bucks his hips upwards. Your gasp devolves into a giggle.

“Do it again,” you say. He complies, and you lift your head from his shoulder to stare into his visor. “Again.” Another buck of his hips, and the arch of his cock nudges your clit; you bite down on your lower lip. “Mmm, again.” Once more, and you moan.

“Shit,” he whispers. “Pull my cock out. I want to feel you, girl.”

Grinning, you stand long enough to tear at the ties of Mando’s trousers. You move to straddle his waist again when he unsheathes his cock, but he holds you back with a palm to the stomach. With his opposite hand, he tears off his pants completely. You cunt spasms, throat gone dry.

The tattoo on his hip. Black ink spreads from right hip bone to the inside of his thigh in a wide arch. The art appears tribal in nature, descendant of some ancient and proud clan. Jagged and pointed at the edges, it curls inward and outward in no specific order, and a thin line sketches the border of the thicker, filled designs.

Your eyes flick to his helm. “Mando—”

“Come here.” He beckons you forward, ignoring your reaction to his tattoo. “Sit on my cock like you promised.”

He grabs your hand, wrenching you over his hips, before you can drink in the sight of his tattoo, his skin, for too long. Holding the base of his cock, Mando stares up at you as he rubs his tip through your folds.

“You want me?” he asks. “You want this?”

You press your hands to his shoulders, curling your fists in the material. “Yes. Please.”

His cock stretches your cunt as you slide over his length. He is always a stretch but it seems he pushes against your sensitive walls more tonight. You close your eyes, return your cheek to his shoulder, and slide through the pinch of pain until he bottoms out. The stretch of him forces your eyes to roll heavenward, drunk on his rigidness. When the stretch fades to a dull buzz, you pull your hips backwards then angle up on your return. 

“Oh fuck,” you grunt. “That’s it.”

Mando fists his hands in your hair as you ride his cock. Slowly—back and forth, back and forth, enough that your wetness smears against the hair at his pubic bone and your clit catches on his flesh. Divine pleasure radiates from your core, and you toss your head back on a heady moan when Mando bucks his hips as he did before. His cock nudges the secret spot inside of you.

You fuck him as if time no longer exists, as if you and he and the cockpit of the Sunder are the only inhabitants of the galaxy. His hands on your hips pushing you up and down on his cock as you ride him forward and backward propels you into another plane of existence where pleasure and warmth is all that matters.

He tugs on your hair, angling your head toward the ceiling. “Close your eyes,” he grits, grunting through clenched teeth when you swivel your hips in a slow circle. 

You obey without question.

A clang upon the floor then something wet, something warm, descends upon your throat. It takes every ounce of self-control you possess to keep your eyes closed when you realize Mando is licking across your neck with his mouth. You shudder in response, moaning into the lust-thick air. His tongue carves over your skin, his mouth pulling at whatever flesh he can find as he maintains a slow rhythm in your pussy. You gush around him, walls seizing as this previously unknown sensation melts your mind to goo.

You pick up the pace in response. Jerking your hips against his, you writhe against his length, his thrusts no longer thrusts but mere presses of his cock within your core. The pleasure mounts in your gut, but it’s not enough to tip you over the edge. Despite his mouth drawing near your breasts and his hot, human breath against your skin and his cock in your cunt, you aren’t there yet.

Neither is he.

“Eyes closed.”

“Fuck,” you breathe. His unmodulated voice—as rough and raw and sexy as what leaves his helmet day in and day out—flutters through your entire body. 

With a hard push, he drags you from his cock and forces you onto your side, pressing you into the hard leather of the settee. He drops behind your back, lifts your leg, and pulls it over his hip. Angling himself at your entrance, he returns his hand to the crevice between your breasts and his mouth to the space between your shoulder and your neck. Then he thrusts.

An unrelenting drive into your cunt, so different from the slow pace of seconds before. You are trapped against his firm chest. His balls slap against your ass, and your mouth hangs open as he spears into you with everything he has. He grunts in your ear, and you squeak, eyelids wrinkling as you struggle to keep them shut.

“Feel so fucking good, sweet girl.”

You sob in pleasure as he pounds his length into you, burying whatever regrets and wishes he has about his life into your body. You let him; you open yourself to him like freshly tilled earth. He is the planter and you are the ripe soil. 

“Fuck—fuck—fuck,” you chant.

Mando mouths over the top of your back. A drop of sweat falls from his hair to trace the stack of your spine. “Gonna—make me cum.”

“Oh please.” You reach backward to fist your hand in his hair; his thrusts stutter. “Please cum.”

“You close?”

“Mhmm.” You nod because yes, you are. So close.

“Touch yourself.”

You remove your hand from Mando’s hair to rub your fingers over your swollen clit. As his thrusts continue, shattering you to pieces, you find your orgasm. You release over him, drenching his cock in your warm, sticky juices as blinding light bursts behind your eyes. Your muscles quake, your back arches, head tilting back against his neck as you tremble.

He wraps his hand around your throat, pressing the crown of your head against his neck. “Eyes closed.”

You nod as best you can. “Uh-huh.”

Four more thrusts and he rips his cock from your cunt, releasing your throat so he can wrap a fist around his length and pump himself to completion. His seed splatters over your thigh and the settee. His breath shudders in your ear, hot and heavy.

In the sweaty afterglow, he presses his forehead to the back of your neck. The warm skin of his legs brands itself against your flesh, and you resist the urge to reach back and feel the muscles of his thighs. You remain still, an angel frozen above a grave. 

That was… different. Raw and unfiltered, made up of the baser parts of yourselves and desires you’d kept hidden for so long. You aren’t sure what to say. Aren’t sure if there is anything to say. You keep your mouth shut and wait for him to break the silence.

He doesn’t say anything. He sits up and crawls over your prone form. Cold recycled air replaces his body heat, and you shiver.

“Can I open my eyes?”

“No. Wait until I’m gone.” You hear the sound of fabric against fabric and then the return of his modulated voice. “It’s all I have left.”

Sitting up, you nod, though in all truth you do not understand. Still, Mando presses your tunic to your open hands. He runs his palm over your head before nudging your chin upwards with his forefinger. 

“Get some sleep, pretty girl. Back to work tomorrow.”

NEXT CHAPTER 

#din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut