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no-droids · 5 years ago

Text

Brown Eyes

Part Nine of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.1K dont. just dont

Warnings: Smut, AS ALWAYS. Canon typical violence, verbal references masochism/pain kink (NOT ACTUALLY EXPLORED IN THIS CHAPTER MY DUDES, JUST HINTED AT/DISCUSSED), slight degradation, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, a bit of ass play (!!!), FLUUUUFFFFFF

***

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s the hold up?”

“I’m just…” The helmet looks you up and down, considering. You scrunch your nose at him and rock back and forth on your feet impatiently as he sighs. “It’s going to be like teaching a foundling to read. I’m just trying to figure out where to even begin.”

“Because it’s so fucking pretty here, I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that,” you say pointedly, looking around at the vast field of flowing grass surrounding the two of you and breathing in the warm, fresh air into your lungs. “Your vibe is clashing, Din.”

“Because I don’t really know what that means, I’m also going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he returns, and the child’s giggles float up alongside the breeze as he chases after another, slightly smaller green reptile that you also currently have no name for. He tilts the beskar thoughtfully at you, and you squint against the way the sun catches the visor directly in your eyes from this angle. “What do you want to learn first?”

“I want to shoot a gun,” you blurt without thinking.

“Okay, hand-to-hand it is,” he nods firmly, and then pats his unarmored chest with one bare hand. “Hit me.”

You blink down at the dark fabric stretched across his left pectoral, and then back up at the metallic visor staring back at you.

“Hit me,” he says again in response to your silence. “Hard as you can. Right here.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, lifting your gaze up to him once more with a twist of your mouth, already out of your comfort zone. “What if I hurt you?”

“Are you fucking kidding?” He actually sounds… pissed off. “Hit me.”

You immediately shove your hand up against his chest in response to the sharp order, and your palm makes a quiet slapping sound as it collides with what feels like solid rock concealed underneath black fabric.

Din says absolutely nothing. Almost a… forced silence. Like what he wants to say will very likely be vaguely mean and dismissive of your feelings, so he’s keeping his mouth firmly shut under the helmet. He just pats his chest again, each one purposeful and distinct, easily making twice the amount of noise hitting himself as you did hitting him.

You ball your fist up this time and whack him with it, considerably harder this time and even making a solid thud against his pectoral, though he doesn’t even move a fraction under the blow.

“I am…” he tries to choose his words carefully after another moment of purposeful silence. “…insulted.”

You grit your teeth and raise your arm up and back, swinging it out at him as hard as you physically can, but then the curve of his broad shoulder suddenly jerks back just before you can touch him and your fist is caught from the side with a gentle grip.

“Better. You wound up that time, that gives you momentum. But never come at someone like this,” he tells you, lifting your arm back up to the way it was before and then slowly hinging it down again against his chest. “This is how you were going to hit. See how your pinkie is taking the brunt of the punch when you come down at it from an angle like this?” He pushes your fist against his chest a few times to demonstrate your pinkie squishing against the solid plane of muscle. “No matter how hard you hit me, your hand is going to take that much force, too. That attempt had about half the power you want, but you might’ve broken your finger if I let you make contact like that.”

“Half the power?” You narrow your eyebrows at him. “You’ll break my whole hand.”

Din angles your wrist straight and pushes your closed fist against his chest again, this time head-on instead of at a downward angle. “Always try to use these first two knuckles to reinforce against the impact, they’re the strongest and best aligned with the bones in your wrist. You should also physically brace yourself for it. Flex your arm—create as much rigidity around your joints as you can, keep your fist clenched tight to maintain integrity of the soft tissues in your hand, and your body should protect itself against the blowback as long as you land right. Try again.”

You diligently wind your fist up again and then go to snap your arm straight forward this time, but he steps up and catches your elbow before you can even move. “Wait. Look at this—see this chicken wing?” He flaps your elbow back and forth while his other hand holds your fist in place next to your head. “This is no good, this is where you’re losing half your power. And having your arm up like this is making you open to rib and kidney shots.”

You squirm to the side when he taps the bend of his knuckle against your kidney, and the vulnerable spot is tender even though he barely uses any force. “I’m winding up,” you inform him with a huff.

“You are,” Din acknowledges. “But your movement is limited like this. See where your elbow is compared to your center of gravity?” He flaps it again, and your shoulder pulls uncomfortably when he pushes it back just a bit too far. “You’re restricting yourself, look. Your shoulder is in the way, this is as far as your body will let you go. You’re also using up too much energy trying to swing your whole arm around just to make contact; it’s sloppy technique, it slows you down, and it’ll tire you out. But, if you wind up like this—” Din lowers your elbow until it rests flat against your side, and then hinges it backwards instead of up near your head, “—see how much further away your elbow is from your body now? Instead of swinging outwards, think of a slingshot forwards. Use explosive, forward momentum that you generate from your shoulder—you’re aiming for a sharp, streamlined jab. This way you conserve energy, produce twice as much power, and your arm now covers up all this important stuff under here,” he explains, trying to tap his knuckle against your side once more but being blocked by your forearm. “Good? Now go again.”

He lets you go and steps back, and this time you instinctually plant your foot behind you to give you a solid base foundation that’ll allow you more room to twist, your physics brain lighting up as soon as he said slingshot. His helmet quickly drops to your stance and then immediately lifts back up to your face again.

You do exactly as he said—you wind back, keeping your arm tucked tight to your side, and then explode forward with a sharp spin of your shoulder and snap of your elbow, colliding your clenched fist into his chest as hard as you possibly can.

He grunts and takes two steps back.

You howl.

“FUUUUUCK!” It gets lost in the giant field of grass as you clutch your fist, torn between cradling it to your chest like a baby and shaking it out violently at your side like… something distinctly not a baby. You settle for just bending over and holding it tightly to your stomach, eyes clamped shut and screeching with such fervor that the back of your throat stings sharp with it. “WHAT THE FUCKING—FUCKFUCKFUCK—!?”

“Good!” Din encourages over your wailing. “That was good! How’d that feel? Holy shit—that felt good.”

“What’s the point of hitting you when it hurts me and makes you feel good!?” You cry out over your shoulder, somewhere between genuine hatred and agony.

“That was perfect,” he tells you immediately, almost sounding vaguely… out of breath behind you? “Don’t change a thing—that’s how you punch every single time from now on, okay? That’s how hard you hit. Fuck, that felt fucking good.”

The… something in his voice is enough to take your mind off your throbbing hand for just a second, quickly snapping upright and whirling around to face him with your eyebrows very, very narrowed. He stands there in front of you and you continue to eye him with as much silent skepticism as you can express, until the both of you speak at the same time.

“What was that?”

“Let’s go again.”

Neither of you move, and you feel like your face is scrunched up as tiny as possible at him right now with dubiousness.

“Let’s go again,” Din suddenly grunts out, hooking an arm around your elbow and tugging you to face forward once more.

“Did that turn you on?” You ask him bluntly, your battle wound completely forgotten by your side.

“I swear if you don’t—”

“You get hard when you get hurt?” You ask dumbly, all sorts of lightbulbs suddenly illuminating in dusty, cobwebbed corners of your mind. Maker, that would explain so much. “Is that why you wanted a handjob immediately after I burned a knife wound shut on your back?”

“You wanna learn how to punch today or you wanna learn how to block?” Comes through the helmet, thoroughly unamused at your antics, but you just break into a mischievous little grin in response and push just one more button of his, knowing he’s only mostly joking.

“I’ll punch you,” you purr. “Hold your arms up, show me your ribs.”

There’s a split second of silence before he quickly snaps his fist to his chest once again, oh, but it’s enough. Your shoulders do a little victory shimmy and have to bite your lip to keep from beaming at him, so unbelievably proud of yourself for being able to read him this well without seeing his face.

But—for the very same reason, you also plant your foot behind you and wind your arm back once more, knowing you were already treading on thin ice.

“Am I gonna have to start calling you chicken wing?” Din suddenly barks out, a split second into your forward launch. You almost stumble into him with all the generated momentum and catch yourself just in time, eventually stepping back and resetting with a frustrated huff. Purposefully tucking your arm tight into your side, you pull back once more.

He mmphs when you make equally hard contact in the very same spot but he doesn’t move this time, and you somehow forgot how horribly painful it is to slam your clenched fist directly against a solid object with all your strength—much less, the second time around. You attempt to deaden your response as well, but he has the luxury of the helmet to shield his face. Silencing your scream just makes yours contort unattractively in front of him while your eyes clamp shut and you clutch your wrist, trying to bite back the crippling pain.

“Other hand—use the other hand instead,” he tells you quickly. “You have two of them.”

“I used to!” You snarl through the way you can’t even flex it anymore, how your muscles aren’t working through the angry sparks of acute sensation jumping down your fingers. “Your stupid fucking pecs just broke my good one!”

“Want me to kiss it?” Din asks—quickly, almost like he can’t help himself, and the snarky tone of it through the modulator coupled with the throbbing pain makes you grit your teeth.

“I used to love your body,” you lift your head and growl up at him while you cradle your swollen claw. “Why did you take that from me?”

“Give me your hand,” he says calmly, holding his palm out for you.

“No,” you spit, the pain making you stubborn and resistant to anything you don’t immediately offer yourself, but he’s not impressed. Din easily catches your elbow and brings it up, his other hand gently lacing through your fingers even as you try in vain to pull it away. “Stop it—”

He completely ignores you and looks back over his shoulder at the kid, dwarfed by the tall grass and continuing to hop around behind what will likely be his lunch, before the helmet turns back to you. “Eyes closed.”

“This isn’t fucking funn—”

“Close your eyes,” he tells you once more. “Don’t open them.”

You take a deep breath and grind your teeth, not wanting to be treated like a baby. It irks you that he’s dedicating so much time and effort into just infantilizing you and your very real pain. Though, the pain is so real that it makes it almost impossible to express the sentiment—it comes out sounding childishly short and bratty. “It hurts.”

“I know,” is all he says, soft and lilting and quite possibly as gentle as you’ve ever heard him. “Close your eyes, sweet girl.”

His tone of voice is the only thing that compels you to listen. You finally do as he says and flutter your eyes shut, overly aware of the hard grimace on your face now that you can’t see anything. One of his hands releases you while keeping your numb fingers laced between his, and then a few seconds pass, before you suddenly feel soft lips pressing against your knuckle.

You hiss and tighten up on instinct, more in fear of the pain than the pain itself, but he holds your hand steady as he carefully trails gentle presses of his lips against your knuckles. After a moment, you breathe out shakily, your eyebrows lifting just slightly at the sensation—before his mouth opens and his warm tongue glides delicately across your sensitive skin.

You gasp and your fingers twitch in between his, suddenly able to move again. They knock against cool metal as his tongue slowly drags down the valleys between your knuckles—but then Din abruptly drops your hand at the sudden sound of sunshine giggles coming from afar. Your eyes pop open just as his helmet is yanked down over his jaw once more.

“Let’s…” He clears his throat through the modulator, taking a small step back. “Let’s go again.”

***

You collapse down into a pitiful little pile on the grass, trying to catch your breath. This is ridiculous. You somehow have tender bruises all over your body and yet you’re the only one who’s done any sort of hitting whatsoever.

“That’s fine, we can take a break,” Din says gruffly from above you, but you’re too tired to even comment on the sarcasm. You just groan, flopping down flat on your back while he sits in the grass next to you and silently waits for you to start breathing normally again.

“I hate this,” you pant, resting your numb hands against your forehead and squinting against the late afternoon sun. “I don’t like this. My body hurts and I barely did anything.”

“You’re good at it,” Din is quick to respond, and the blunt sincerity in his voice takes you aback, making you glance over at him in shock. “I know,” he nods once the beskar turns and he sees the look on your face, “I didn’t expect it either.”

His tendency to compliment you while simultaneously insulting you doesn’t go unnoticed, but if anything, you decide to take it as a testament to his honesty and comfort in your presence. Clearly he’d have no issue telling you if you were terrible at this.

Instead of responding, you lace your fingers behind your head and continue to just lay there, closing your eyes against the warm sunshine. It’s gorgeous here, you get why this planet is renown throughout the galaxy. Perfect weather, stunningly green rolling hills for miles, the gentle breeze dancing through the tall grass, brilliant white clouds suspended against a beautiful blue backdrop. The only thing that’s missing is—

“When can we go see the ocean?” You blurt up at the sky, unable to stop the words before they’re out of your mouth.

“What ocean?” Comes tiredly through the modulator, monotone and filtered as he shuffles into a more comfortable position.

“Any of them,” you immediately respond, shrugging your shoulders against the grass. “The closest one. I’m not picky.”

“…Naboo doesn’t have any oceans,” Din tells you blankly.

You startle slightly, jerking your head over at him. “What? But—but I saw it through the transparisteel when we dropped. This whole planet is practically covered in water.”

“It is,” he agrees with a tilt of his helmet, following you with the visor as you finally scramble to sit yourself upright. “But it’s all one big… body of water. Locals call it the Abyss, it stretches across the entire planet through a system of underground caves and tunnels. It only surfaces as rivers and lakes and swamplands, though. No ocean. Not really.”

“Oh.” It’s blank, but it’s… lacking. The sun glinting against metal gives you an excuse to subtly turn your head away from him, and you hold back your sigh of disappointment.

“What’s the matter?” He grunts after a moment, somehow succeeding in sounding mildly disinterested while still bothering to ask. He props his knee upright to rest his elbow on it, apparently able to read you better than ever as well.

“Nothing,” you say on instinct and shake your head, already knowing it’s dumb. You’re being dumb, there’ll be other planets with oceans—you just haven’t had the opportunity to go to one yet.

Din doesn’t say anything after that, but he also keeps the helmet subtly turned towards you, like he’s just… waiting. The quiet almost doesn’t sound quiet anymore, not when there’s such a loud unspoken question still lingering in it.

“It’s just,” you say after a moment, trying to smile, but it doesn’t feel real. It’s nothing more than a movement your mouth makes and it feels at odds with the mild disappointment you’re trying to hide. “I used to be a moisture farmer. Back on Arvala-7, where we first met.”

His continued silence tells you nothing. You don’t know whether he’s confused and you should elaborate, whether he understands and doesn’t need an explanation, whether he’s interested or disinterested. Nothing. So after another few more seconds of nothing, you decide to keep going.

“There's something about water that just… hits different when you spend your entire life on a planet without any,” you say quietly, picking at a few blades of grass by your knees instead of looking at him. “When I was a little girl, I used to think it was as rare in the rest of the galaxy as it was where I was born. A limited resource you had to farm from the atmosphere to drink, because it didn’t occur naturally in liquid form. It was… valuable. Delicate. Crystal clear—never saw more than a few dozen gallons of it at a time. Something to be cherished. Something you’d never want to waste even just dipping your hand into, because the dirt on your skin would contaminate it.”

You smile once more, but this time it feels a little bit better. “You know… the first shower I took on the Crest the day I left that Maker-forsaken planet was the first time I ever felt my hair get wet. We only ever had sonic showers on Arvala-7.” And stars, the memory of it makes you want to shudder. Ultrasonic waves vibrating the dirt and sweat off your body sounds a lot more thorough than it actually is. You never felt truly clean until you were soaking wet on the Crest with shampoo in your hair, giggling like a child in the fresher while you made yourself a soapy little beard.

It springboards into another memory—the moment you first reached for a towel after showering, catching a glimpse of your hands and startling at the sight of your wrinkled, pruny fingertips. You’d never heard of such a phenomena before that point. You thought you’d asked Kuiil about everything, but to be entirely fair, he might not have even realized it happened, not from the leathery texture of his xenospecies’ skin. The questions he did answer for you were plenty though, and you suddenly remember something he said to you years ago that was so jarring and unexpected that it’s stuck with you to this day.

“Kuiil told me once that water was loud,” you suddenly hear yourself say, and though your soft laugh is nostalgic and sincere, you don’t know why, but you instantly tear up as soon as the words leave your mouth. “Loud. How could—could water be loud? What… what noise would it make?”

You sniff and continue to pick at the grass, a bit more vigorously this time, purposefully keeping your eyes down and blinking quickly. “He said… he said streams and brooks… b-bubble. They bubble. And rain… rain is like static—like white noise, but… natural. Not generated by a machine. He said the ocean is the loudest, though. It roars. It’s powerful.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat and glancing up, you try to distract yourself from the memory of your close friend by looking out at the wavy grass, trying to see if you can spot the kid being dwarfed by it. You can’t, not from this low angle, but you can still hear him playing happily in the distance.

“I’ve seen all the others now, thanks to you,” you confess quietly. “Rain, rivers, lakes—but I always wanted to see an ocean. A big, scary one, where the sound would just be… deafening. Water, tons of it, crashing up against rocks and filling the air with mist. Used to dream about them. Wanted to see something I used to think was rare fill my entire field of view. Wanted to see something I always thought was precious turn into something formidable.”

Din continues staring silently at you through your peripheral while you keep picking at the grass absently.

“I just—I don’t know.” You finally look over at him and sigh, smiling softly and shrugging your shoulders. “I just always dreamed of a place where I could go, a place where I could open my eyes and all I’d be able to see—all I could hear—was water.”

You stop talking after that, having run out of things to say and realizing you probably shared a little too much without ever being prompted. The sunlight is gentle and easy, however, and it encourages you to close your eyes and just breathe, letting silent, eternal gratitude to the man next to you fill you. You’d never know any sun that isn’t harsh, you’d never know the greenness of the tall grass in this sprawling field had he not found you, given you a chance to tag along the galaxy with him and his carnivorous little sidekick.

The sun begins making you sleepy the more you sit here in the middle of paradise, eyes closed and tasting the gorgeous air in your lungs. But eventually, Din stands up and steps in front of you, opening both of his bare palms towards the setting sky and bouncing them up and down a few times. “Up. Come on. I’ll teach you how to throw an uppercut before nightfall.”

You groan but lift your hands in his direction all the same, trying not to wince while you make grabby fingers at him, your knuckles slightly bruised and red. He sighs and wraps his hands purposefully around your elbows, urging you up as he takes a few steps backwards.

It’s awkward. You’re still feeling lazy and droopy-eyed, and the cool shadow he casts makes you even more sleepy. You think he’s going to help more than you have to pull yourself up, and he clearly thinks he’s there to be your platform instead of your forklift. What results is just you being dragged uselessly by your arms in front of him, until your torso and legs are stretched in an uncomfortable J-shape on the ground and your forehead bumps into his lower tummy.

He stops and holds you there, before grunting out, “Use your feet.”

“Just let me fall,” you tell him, your lips brushing against the dark fabric while your shoulders and spine pull tight at this angle. “Just leave me here like this.”

The sigh he makes above you feels like he puts his whole entire being into it. Din leaves you propped up against him for a second while he grumbles and readjusts his hold further up near your shoulders, before he maneuvers you until you’re gently settling down on your knees in the grass.

You think (hope) he’s going to release you and let you take a nap, but then you gasp when he shifts and the toe of his boot suddenly wedges itself between your closed thighs. He lifts up on your arms just slightly, enough to take the weight off your knees so he can swipe his foot out and kick one of them open, before plopping you back down again and letting you go.

Up until that point, you’d been good. You were content with being boneless for him and seeing how he’d deal, but then he gracefully crouches down in front of you and wraps one powerful arm around your back, hugging you tight to his chest. Din’s open thighs frame your kneeling figure and you can feel his cock pressed against your tummy from this angle, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

For some reason, he decides to take this next part slow. Maybe it’s because he can probably feel the way your heart is starting to kick up against his unarmored chest right now, but he drags it out. Broad shoulder dropping and his helmet finding a home in the crook of your neck, Din braces you to his chest with one arm while the other slithers down the curve of your ass and then under—his forearm pressing firmly between your cheeks and then his open palm flattening tight along the length of your pussy from behind.

You moan softly next to the helmet while he works the thick muscles in his thighs to gradually lift you both from the ground. Maker, the tips of his fingers are curved hard against your slit through your pants while he rises, pulling you up until gravity causes your thighs to slowly meet around his hand and your legs to dangle.

The feat of strength turns you on just as much as his choice of positioning does. Fuck, you know you’re not the lightest person in the galaxy, but Din carefully sets you down on your feet without even so much as a grunt of effort, his hand staying tucked tight between your legs for longer than necessary. Biting your lip and pressing your face into his shoulder does nothing to stop the quiet whimper you make when he decides to grind his strong fingers up into you just a bit.

“Din,” you whisper, wanting to melt into him, but then he’s instantly ripping his hand away and taking a step back.

You nearly fall over at the sudden lack of support after relying solely on him for it for so long, but you don’t even have enough time to open your mouth in upset. There’s just a split second before a green blur bursts through the tall grass with a squeal and trips over the baggy potato sack around his body.

It’s like it happens in slow motion. You both watch as he flies forward, skidding more than once on the ground and then landing face-down on your shoe, the little thump on your foot feeling so adorably anticlimactic after all the buildup.

Nobody moves for a second, except for the way your eyes flicker up at the visor currently tilted towards the ground. You can tell Din is just holding his breath, just waiting to see if—

A hiccup. You see broad shoulders tighten under the dark fabric, and then a sudden piercing wail is released against your shoe.

“Shit,” Din curses, already scooping the little thing up and bouncing him slightly to pacify him. You bite your lip against the way his ears flop from the movement and he screams even louder. “Hey hey hey, stop. Stop it. Stop crying.”

“Uh oh! Where’d your little friend go?” You ask while Din immediately turns the kid around to face you, your voice pitched soft and high in your register as you step closer. “Did you eat him already?”

He just shudders out a cry, probably an affirmative, his mouth dropping and his little teeth peeking through while he sobs and his giant eyes well with tears.

“Shit,” Din curses again, this time in defeat, but you won’t give up that easy.

“Hey—hey goose, wanna see me beat your daddy up?” You ask, lightly booping the little bump of his nose. “Huh? Wanna see me fight?” You pull your top lip up into a ridiculous little snarl and flex your arms threateningly, and the sobs suddenly stutter to a stop within a few breaths. “Op, yep. See—he knows I’ll kick your ass, Din, he just got scared.”

“Please,” the modulator pfftts quietly, but the kid just blinks at you while you keep growling.

“I’ll hurt him real bad,” you promise him, putting your fists up in front of you and bouncing your weight back and forth like a prized boxing champ. “I’ll, uh…” your list of trash talk repertoire is admittedly rather short, and both of them wait in silence for you to figure it out, the bigger one a lot less entertained than his miniature counterpart. “I’ll punch him just. So hard. So hard that… it’ll bruise. Yeah—I’ll make him bleed underneath his skin.”

“No, this is good, keep going,” Din encourages after a moment of awkward silence. “Maybe you’ll be able to find your way there at some point.”

You ignore him, bobbing and ducking and then popping him one good in the shoulder with an accompanying vocal sound effect—except you quickly jerk your hand away and shake your wrist out, staring up at the helmet like he deeply offended you and mouthing, “Ow.”

A smile. The smallest ghost of one, but you see it on the kid’s teeny green mouth when you flick your eyes down to him.

So, Din spends the rest of the lingering daylight teaching you the proper uppercut technique while he cradles an adorable little bug-eyed baby in one arm. You keep making faces at him while throwing your fist up against his dad’s extended, downturned palm, until he finally starts giggling again.

***

Whelp, turns out you’re a fucking idiot. Or maybe just a selfish bitch, either way. Not a good look.

You thought, from the way the lovely afternoon went, that you were getting better at reading Din. Knowing when to joke around, when to keep pushing, and when to stop talking, all from just his body posture and tone of voice alone. But you’re also an idiot, as you’ve already established.

As you three headed back to the Crest through the dusky twilight evening, you remember telling Din that if there weren’t any oceans on Naboo, then you’ll at least be able to sleep in a bed on this planet. A real one, one with a—oh stars, an actual mattress. The word alone sent shivers down your spine, and the baby cooed while blinking his eyes slowly, well on his way to being tuckered out from the long day outside.

You don’t remember Din directly responding, but then again, that isn’t really all that rare in the grand scheme. Granted, he was arguably more talkative today than ever before, and he did get a little bit quieter after that, but still, you couldn’t have known. Only an incredibly hyper-observant person would’ve noticed in the moment—you’re lucky you can even recall this much in hindsight.

Though, this next part should’ve been more of a direct giveaway. Once you were in the Crest, he put his armor back on.

You still didn’t think. It’s such a normal thing, the beskar fitting tight to magnetic plates around his shoulders, thighs, and chest. It’s normal, he wears it all the time. Having him walking around in broad daylight sans armor and gloves today was odd, that was the outlier.

He flew the vessel to the nearest town, a quaint little village on the edge of a gorgeously full forest. The ride was as gentle as possible—you were feeling soft and decided to hold the baby as he drifted off instead of placing him in the quiet darkness of his cradle. The ears tend to make things a bit awkward, but after months of practice with it, you’re now a pro at rocking the little guy to sleep in your arms.

Din’s continued silence didn’t bother you—or really even register, considering you were trying to be quiet as well. He slung your go-bag around his shoulder and pressed a few buttons on his vambrace to set the kid’s sphere protocols to follow behind him, before pressing a gloved palm to your lower back and leading you down the ramp, the sleepy baby tucked tight into your arms.

There were people in the village mingling while you three walked down the cobblestone path to the nearest inn, giving your ragtag group double-takes as you passed. The innkeeper, however, was blind. Not only did you not receive the same terrified courtesy the barkeep on Canto Bight had afforded you before, but he was clearly used to spotting and swindling newcomers, sightless or not.

“Only room left’s a suite,” he drawled, the cloudy whites of his pupils hovering just between your left shoulder and Mando’s right pauldron. “Five hundred credits a night.”

The color drained from your face, your heart doing a giant flip in your chest and completely fucking up the landing. You turned to Mando to reassure him that absolutely nothing about this was necessary, but he was already dropping the ridiculous amount of credits on the desk without a single word.

That should’ve been the nail in the coffin, to be honest. His immediate willingness to hand over that many credits without the slightest protest, grumble, or sigh was the kicker—that’s how you should’ve known something wasn’t right. He didn’t even allow you to split the cost when you offered to reimburse him on the way to the room.

But again. You’re an idiot, so.

At least the suite is gorgeous. Slightly old-fashioned and moonlit enough to skip even flicking the lights on, illuminated by large open windows with views of the village streets and sprawling mountains and forest beyond. Everything inside is either cream or white, so clean and soft, and being able to feel the breeze billowing through the gauzy curtains is just. After months of traveling in that enclosed ship, it’s restorative. Almost nothing in here is made of metal.

So it’s not until right now—almost immediately after you settled the kid down into the incredibly large guest bed and walked into the master bedroom to find Mando sitting perfectly still on the edge of the mattress—now something feels off. He looks so out of place as you quietly snap the door shut behind you. The enormous floor to ceiling window decorating the far side of the room bathes him in pale light, highlights the blaster marks and bits of dirt clinging to the beskar as he sits on the bed.

“You’re going to get the sheets all dirty,” you, an idiot, tell him, your voice barely above a murmur. “Take off your—”

“I can’t,” he rushes, though he jumps up from the mattress all the same. You snap your mouth shut and freeze. “It’s safe here but it’s… it’s still not a good idea, not if I want to sleep. Not with people around, and all these… windows.”

The words send you reeling. You had no idea, you thought… “Oh. I’m sorry, that—”

You immediately go silent, feeling absolutely fucking awful. You didn’t think. All you could think about was that bed underneath you, and you maybe… blindfolded in some way? And then of course, him, in it—completely naked, helmet off, and laying next to you.

“You’re okay,” Mando tells you with a shrug, not sounding like… anything. He looks like he’s about to say something else—his chestplate lifts with an inhale as he turns to you, but then seems to stop right as he’s about to speak.

“Shit—please sit on the bed, I don’t care if you’re dirty,” you quickly say, just as he blurts out, “You can still take your clothes off though.”

You blink at him for a second, not sure you heard him right. “…What did y—”

“You can, uh.” His voice is soft. “I can… lay down. On top of the sheets. In my armor, just like this, and then you can take your clothes off and just. Rub up on me a little bit. If you want.”

A shudder quite suddenly rockets down your spine at the tone of his voice, the quiet, slightly hesitant murmur through the modulator. The gulp you take is audible through the room, the only other sound being the closest trees rustling in the breeze outside. The spread curtains dance with it, but they’re too sheer and light to make a noise. “O-Okay.”

“Yeah?” He asks lowly, and you quickly nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your body beginning to tingle, “sit—sit back down.”

He goes to move but then abruptly stops, and you hold your breath while you watch the visor jerk just a fraction to pin you in place. Something instantly feels… different about him, a silent shift taking place within just a singular moment. Like he all of a sudden realized that he didn’t actually like that very much.

Instead of acquiescing, Mando slowly steps in front of you, straightening up to his full height and absolutely dwarfing you with it, and your palms start to sweat. Maker, when he speaks, it sends shivers down your body and the last thing you hear in his voice is hesitation.

“Take off your clothes,” he tells you, a dangerous edge to his soft tone. The quiet dominance in it feels like the floor beneath you rumbles from it.

On instinct, your eyes flick over his shoulder to the open window and the village outside. It’s barely been a few hours since sundown—townspeople are strolling down winding streets in the distance, ghostly moonlight mixes with the warm glow from large oil lamps lining the pubs and street corners.

You look back at him barely a split second later as he stands there in front of you, waiting.

You startle and immediately move to grab at the hem of your shirt, and your fingers unintentionally tremble as they start to pull it up.

“Stop.”

His voice breaks through the silence, the modulated order halting your movements immediately. You blink up at him, letting your shirt drop back down again, and Mando takes a second to look back at you, studying you from under the beskar.

“Go stand by the window,” he suddenly says, lazily tilting the helmet to gesture at it.

Your blood pounds in your ears during the still moments following, the thrill of it making you nearly go deaf for a second. After you recover from the visceral heatwave that rockets through you, you slowly walk over to the window and then turn your back on the ballooning curtains to look at him. The beskar is still pinned to you over his shoulder, though the rest of his body hasn’t moved.

“Turn around,” he tells you, and you shakily do as he says, rotating to face the open window. You’re close enough to make out people’s expressions from here—friends mingling as they stroll down the sidewalk, their mouths moving but their voices and laughter muted at this distance. An outdoor restaurant serving local cuisine to patrons and out-of-towners, a violinist and cellist performing a silent duet on the street corner.

There’s shuffling behind you. The creak of the bedframe as he lowers himself on it and moves around, before eventually coming to a rest in what you assume is a comfortable position.

“You can keep going,” eventually comes his filtered voice from the bed.

Your eyelashes dip and flutter as more hot sparks of arousal kindle deep in your floor muscles. Lifting your shirt up over your head has never felt like such high stakes before, but even as the fabric falls to the ground, your gaze continuously searches for anyone outside who may catch a glimpse. Though, you’re not sure if it’s in dread or some kind of sick excitement.

The breeze hardens your nipples while you work at your pants, and the hair on your arms stands up when you remember who’s behind you, silently watching you get turned on by this. Along with your underwear, your pants are pushed down your thighs, but instead of moving back from the pool around your ankles, you take a purposeful step forward towards the open window.

“Fuck—you dirty little thing,” you hear him breathe out, and a shiver rolls through you. “Tell me how many people you can see right now, count them.”

You try your best, but give up halfway through and provide a rough estimate. “F-Fifteen.”

“Scanner says seventeen from here,” Mando challenges lowly. “Seventeen pairs of eyes that can look up any second and see your naked body. Stripped bare, shaking, vulnerable. Your gorgeous fucking tits.”

As hard as your teeth dig into your bottom lip at the rasp through the modulator, your nails dig into your palms even harder. Still, you don’t move, and the open drapes flick and brush against your thighs as you hold there, the gentle wind doing absolutely nothing to cool your flushed skin down.

And oh, he waits. He’s good about that, especially when he can probably read your infrared signature through the helmet right now. You’re surprised you haven’t outright blinded him by how white-hot your body feels. But after what feels like a small eternity, he eventually murmurs, “Come over here.”

Once you turn around and see the way he’s just laying back on the bed, relaxing and enchanted with the show, it’s a miracle you don’t trip on anything with how quickly you hurry towards him. You’re already standing next to the edge of the mattress by the time you even register his body is subtly tilted so that his boots are hanging purposefully off the side of it.

Regardless of the hard dominance he’s exhibiting, the symbolic gesture somehow feels like it flips a switch inside you and lights up pure, aching adoration for him. But against every instinct screaming at you to just scramble on top of him and show him how much you appreciate his thoughtfulness, you wait. You wait for him to tell you what to do.

His glove lifts, comes up to gently touch the side of your face and cradle your jaw, and you have to clamp your hands together to stop yourself from reaching for him.

“Are you wet?” Mando murmurs, sounding like his lips barely even brush against each other when they move under the beskar. You don’t trust yourself to say anything without it turning into a desperate plea, so you just close your eyes and jerk your head in a nod, feeling your cheek graze against the leather on his palm with the movement. It’s hard to swallow when your mouth feels so dry, and he lets you just suffer there and tremble for him a little while longer, letting out a quiet hum through the modulator as his thumb carefully rides the line of your cheekbone.

Maker, where does all this fucking patience come from? Under normal circumstances, Mando is probably one of the most impatient people you’ve ever met, and yet. It’s like he stores it all up. Hoards it and refuses to dip into it most of the time—perfectly content to have a quick temper in most interactions, if only so that he can keep it handy for moments like this. If only so he can have a seemingly endless supply of patience to sustain him while your average-sized stockpile is gradually and inevitably being depleted.

“You want to get up here with me?” He asks quietly, and stars, that’s still not a directive, no matter how much it could casually imply one. The ridiculous thing is—he never even told you this was expected of you. Not once did he tell you to follow his words like they're gospel, not once did he say there was something wrong with speaking directly to him without prompting, or acting without explicit instruction. He never even implied anything like that at all, but you still hold your body completely rigid as you jerk a nod against his palm once more.

Stars, it just isn’t fair. He doesn’t look any different from how he looks every single day—there’s no patch of golden skin to tease you, beskar is covering him head to toe, but you’re hotter for him than you think you’ve ever been. He’s stretched out long on the bed, a portion of him darkened by your silhouette but the rest bathed in gorgeous moonlight, breathing slow as he takes you in. You stare silently at the visor, and for some reason, you—you’re quite suddenly struck with how gorgeous he could secretly be under there and you’ll just… you’ll never know. You know his hair is thick and dark, you know the softness of his mouth, the sunkissed color of his skin, the prominent nose and straight teeth on the rare but blissful occasions he’d let you kiss him. His eyes, though. They could be any color. Your credits have been on brown for a while, but the thought of you not knowing for sure… the thought of you actually having to ask him something like that is just—it makes you ache to touch him even more. To give him something tangible at least, when you know the only way to ever have a true visual connection with him is with a dark visor between you.

You try to let the sentiment transfer through your needy expression, hoping he can read it from there. His cock is hard—you can see it in your peripheral, pressing up against the dark fabric of his pants, but it’s like you’re the only one who notices. He’s still admiring your face, or fuck, maybe he’s looking at your body—you can never tell for sure, but regardless, you stare purposefully at wherever you think his eyes ought to be, silently pleading with him and starting to get desperate.

Finally—fucking finally, the helmet rocks to the side just slightly, just the smallest tilt of his head towards his body, but the nonverbal invitation is enough. Air you didn’t realize was even in your lungs suddenly whooshes out of you as you all but launch forwards onto the mattress to try and climb on top of him.

—Except, then his hand quickly drops from your face to press firm against your thighs, blocking the way your far leg tries to lift to swing over him in a straddle. Disappointment crashes through you with an audible whimper and you start to panic a little bit as you shakily plant both knees back on the bed, wondering what you possibly did wrong. Was it because he didn’t specifically say it was okay? Was he just testing your obedience?

The beskar vambrace feels cool against your burning skin, and you try not to let the trembling of your body manifest itself in your breathing as Mando lazily drags his glove along your thighs. Neither one of you says anything as he eventually trails his hand back and around, leather fingers coming to a rest between your legs while his thumb rides high, just under the curve of your ass.

And then he slowly starts pulling, before he gradually leads the leg closest to him up and over his body instead, until you’re settling into a straddle on top of his hips. Backwards.

Everything in you shudders violently as both gloves gently trail up the length of your naked back, letting you brace your hands on the beskar strapped to his thighs and settle on top of him.

“Look at that,” he hums, letting his hands fall back down to the meat of your ass, grabbing handfuls of it and squeezing hard enough to make you bite back a gasp. “Fucking pretty. Pretty girl. Stars, I fucking love looking at you, know that?”

The praise makes you mewl quietly and spread your knees even further, dropping your hips down until the underside of his cock presses up tight into your aching pussy. You arch your back and walk your hands forward just a bit, just until you’re holding onto his knees and you have the right angle to start slowly rocking your body back and forth.

“Maker,” you whisper, your head tipping back while you drag your pussy against his pulsing erection, and his hands keep massaging your ass while the words start falling out of you now that you released the floodgate. “Maker, I love your body. So big, and—and strong. Fucking hard, thick cock. Fuck, I love your cock. I love how fucking hard you get—”

“Bend over,” Mando breathes out behind you, his hands suddenly releasing fistfuls of your ass to grab around your hips and bring you to a stop. “Fuck, keep talking like that, but show me your—just let me… let me look at it.”

Your heart slams against your sternum, your clit pulsing against the hard ridge of his cock, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. Slowly, you bend your upper body over until your tummy lays flat along the cool beskar shielding his thighs and your tits are pressed against his kneecaps. Your arms are long enough to rest your hands on his ankles like this, and your thighs are spread wide to keep your cunt pushed up against his cock. But stars, you know he has a perfect view right now. The slick lips of your pussy smearing against his dark pants, both holes on full display for him in the moonlight.

“Keep—Keep talking,” Mando reminds you after a moment, sounding painfully turned on while his cock jumps against your clit. “Keep going. Use it, get yourself off. Let me watch.”

“Fuck, I love your cock,” you hear yourself repeat, breathless and needy as your hips start grinding down against him once more, the words coming from you without giving them any thought whatsoever. He grunts and pushes it up for you, letting you get at it easier. “I think about it all the time. Think about the first time I felt it, how you were already rock fucking hard for me when I touched you. You came so quick, right in my hand, in your pants—it was so fucking hot.”

“I’d had—” he grits out in his defense, “—shit, I’d had a… a rough day, and your hands were. Fuck, s-soft, and—”

“Maybe,” you concede, biting your lip and closing your eyes against the swirling pleasure spreading hot through your body, the heat that burns you alive hearing the familiar warble through the modulator when he’s starting to lose himself in pleasure. “Or maybe it was because you were half-conscious with a brand new scar on your back.”

His filtered groan rolls down your spine and his cock pulses hard against your cunt through the fabric of his pants, making you spasm in delight. Fuck, your head drops down completely, just dragging yourself back and forth on top of him as you chase your orgasm like this. Shameless—your ass flexing in front of him with every roll of your hips, your lower muscles fluttering with every drag against his cock.

“Fuck—fuck, let me touch your asshole,” Mando whispers suddenly, lifting himself up on one elbow and dragging the other hand up the curve of your cheek. “Just—just a little bit, I won’t pu—”

“Oh stars above, fucking please,” you gasp against one of his legs, nearly jerking back against his hand as your pussy fucking leaks through his pants with it. “I’ll let you do anything you want, you can—can put your thumb inside it—”

His other hand leaves you for a split second, and you think he’s taking his glove off, except then it swings down to crack hard against your ass, making you gasp and instantly go still for him on his lap.

The smooth leather covering the pad of his thumb carefully glides down your crevice, and you hold your breath until it finally brushes over the tight ring of muscle flexing for him.

“That all you’ll let me put in here?” Mando asks quietly, and you let out a complete mess of a whimper, trying your best not to move under the bold touches.

You get another firm smack on the ass for being rendered mute for too long. “Tell me,” he growls, rubbing his thumb against the vulnerable entrance while his cock throbs against your cunt.

“I’ll—I’ll let you do anything you want,” you moan once more, and stars, you can’t help it. Your hips start to grind down against him even harder than before, and Mando curses as he slowly rides your movements with his hand.

“Dirty,” he grits out. “Dirty girl. You ever take it back here before?” And stars, the way his cock drags against your pussy starts to make you lightheaded, how casually he’s talking about this while starting to circle his thumb around it and press firm against it. Not hard enough to push inside, but enough to feel the natural resistance give just a bit.

“No,” you breathe, starting to pant while you work against him. “Boys have tried. But I’d let you.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, suddenly rocking his hips up against yours. You nearly choke and your legs start to lock up, making your movements stunted. “Fuck. I bet you’d let me do it right fucking now, wouldn’t you? Right here in front of this f-fucking window, where everyone can see? Let me flip you over and stretch you out, and then fuck your tight little—virgi—”

“Maker, get your cock out,” you gasp, heat burning at your center and beginning to spread outwards. It tingles hot through your lower abdomen and you start to get frantic, knowing you don’t have much time before your orgasm hits. “Please, just let me ride it, let me cum on it—”

“No,” Mando immediately grunts, and you make a small sound of distress that quickly turns into a high-pitched mewl against his leg when the very tip of his thumb just barely breaches the haloed entrance.

“But—but I’m so wet,” you whisper, “oh stars, can’t you see it? I’m dripping. You could just slide it right in right now, I’d take it so fucking easy—”

He rips his hand away just long enough to smack your ass once again, hard enough to ring through the room and make you gasp. “Quit. You’ll take whatever the fuck you’re given and you’ll endure,” he snaps. “Not here, not tonight.”

You bite back desperate protests. He’d fuck you in a dark alleyway on Canto Bight but not here? As if you haven’t already done so multiple times this evening, you immediately lament your stupid mouth and the thoughtless mattress comment. You wish you could take it all back—you don’t care how nice this bed is, you want to sleep in anything he’ll fuck you in. Nonetheless, your orgasm gallops forward and leaves your body struggling to keep up behind it—but Maker, you want so badly to feel him inside you when it finally hits. You want to sink down on him and feel him break you open just as you start to cum.

“Oh fuck, please give me it,” you whine, sounding on the edge of delirium, the words pressed high and unintentional as your hands clutch at his legs. “Oh Maker, please, please fuck me—fuck me in a real bed, please, just—fuck me right now and I swear I’ll sleep on fucking rocks for you every single night for the rest of m—”

A snarl rips through the modulator and he shoves your hips forward just enough, just enough to rip his waistband down—

You gasp in blinding relief and flip your head over your shoulder to watch, but then subtle movement catches in your peripheral. You glance up just in time to see the doorknob slowly turning.

Thank your lucky stars you react on instinct alone, squealing and jumping off him before quickly shuffling under the covers.

“What the fu—” comes an enraged, filtered growl, metal clanking with how quickly he flips over to reach for you, but then he cuts off and the helmet whips to the door as it unlatches and slowly creaks open.

The blankets are pulled tight under your chin as you shuffle down as far as possible, and though you can’t see the intruder from this angle, Mando is instantly reaching back to rip the pillow out from under the helmet and press it tight over his crotch, huffing out a sigh.

Soon, you’re able to spot one pointy little ear pop up, followed by the rest of the little gremlin scaling the treacherously tall comforter, pulling himself over the edge of the mattress with a determined three-finger hold and then doing a completely unnecessary little barrel roll once he’s on the level springtop. The fact that it’s so fucking adorable just serves to irk you even more, and both of you silently watch the kid push himself up on two feet and then waddle slowly in between you two.

He finds a pillow he likes—one that happens to be placed directly in between you and his dad, before he settles himself down on it like a small bed on top of a much larger one. The little stinker then flutters his abnormally giant eyes closed and seems to instantly fall back asleep.

There’s a few minutes where you just blink across from Mando, flicking your gaze between the chrome visor and the baby’s peaceful face. Is this… is he serious right now?

“Were we being too loud?” You eventually whisper, barely above a breath. “Or is he just being purposefully annoying?”

He doesn’t answer you. And, well, you suppose he has a point. Regardless of why, it appears he's here now.

You let out a slow breath and just try and relax, try and think beyond the flare of annoyance at the interruption, how close you were to feeling him fuck you into this mattress. He’d still have the armor and helmet on, of course, but it would be just domestic enough to ruin you.

But then again—you suppose this, if anything, is even more domestic. Doing your best to calm your racing thoughts so you can eventually fall asleep directly across from him with his mildly aggravating, heartstealing little adopted kid snoring quietly between you.

Quite a while passes before you feel your eyelids growing heavy. You spend almost the entire time studying every single inch of Mando while he faces you on the mattress. The sharp angles and smooth curves of his helmet, concave in places but convex in others. How fitting, you think. To cover a man with a helmet just like him—sharp, smooth, contrasting, and deflective enough about what lies underneath to be reflective.

Then you find yourself thinking about what he’s hiding under it. Once more. You try to picture him, but it’s… it’s difficult. You’re not used to translating things you’ve only touched into visual representations, it’s just not a skill you’ve ever needed to have handy. And what about all the things you can’t, or haven’t been able to feel? Freckles, or birthmarks? Dimples? Are his lashes long or short? Do they stick out in a fringe when he clamps his eyes shut? Does his nose scrunch up when he laughs? Do his ears stick out? Does he have wrinkles on his forehead, or around his eyes?

Maker, what color are they?

You continue to stare at the metal faceplate, blinking droopily at it but forcing yourself to stay awake just a bit longer. Enjoy the feeling of the soft mattress underneath you while you still can, relaxing into the cool sheets and delaying your inevitable descent into dreams. Savoring his extended presence here with you for as long as possible.

“Do you have brown eyes?” You hear yourself murmur to him through the quiet darkness, lips barely touching and the words slurred from exhaustion. You want to know. You want to be able to color in the last paint-by-number of his face before you begin your work on the finer details.

Again, he doesn’t answer, and you figure he’s probably asleep.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #reader insert #star wars #fanfic #no-droids

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kithtaehyung · 3 years ago

Note

3tan Yoongi gives Channing Tatum from Step Up vibes. Don't know why but he does. And since it's been implied that 3tan is set in the early 2000s I can safely assume the XXL shirt with the even bigger long sleeve underneath it is a Yoongi staple. Low-top, white Air Maxes and/or some white K-Swiss classics are the ideal shoe. Backward hats. We know he's a chain man already but is his watch game there, too? He gives off G-Shock energy. Thinks visors are DISGUSTING (as he should) but doesn't mind a puka shell necklace. BUMPS Timbaland. In Da Club makes him feel himself. Very early 2000s things lol

Lex

Oh my GOD. Lex!!😳 The imagery the fits the 00s vibes I’m crying the nostalgia hit so hard….😭 This is set in the present but I’ve just been saying that my overall music vibe for the series is 90s/00s hip-hop/rnb! Like that’s what 3tan yoongi and them listened to growing up. It’s set in present-day, though💕

But seriously I can definitely see Yoongi having a lot of these. His watch game is like.. sometimes? He’ll wear them if he wants, but he doesn’t wear them as much as bro does.

#the 3tan playlists align with this too!#i love this whole ask😭#Lex!#asks:3tan #3fan:yoongi #*ryenfictalk #mailbox💌

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theramseyloft · 4 years ago

Note

I love patch's purple iridescence and backwards visor head patch so much, he just vibes likes a early 2000s biker

He does!

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the-silentium · 4 years ago

Text

Home Sweet Home

Masterlist - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Fors is an Original planet. I do not give permission to people to use it for their own fics, the planet, the animals, the Nightmares, the lore or anything related to Fors. Thank you.

Pairing: Bad Batch x Reader

Words: 7569 words

Warnings: Angst, sexual innuendos.

A/N: Last “soft” chap before the action come back ~

**Words in bold are words said in French, which means the clones can’t understand it.**

Taglist: @clone-rambles / @mandaloriandin / @apathetic-catastrophie / @jenstar1992-2 / @haloangel391 / @lightning-wolffe / @cherrydemon5 / @and-claudia / @lackofhonor / @gaymasonjar / @depthsreturn / @koskareevesismyqueen / @leonidas-banana-phone

____________________

Nothing changed. Not the obnoxious people, not the earthy smells, nor the heavy atmosphere. The loud locks of the gates closing behind your group still resonated through your ears, sounding too much like the last nail sealing your coffin shut and not like a protecting device. Was it your instincts telling you that you made the wrong decision? Or was it just the dread of returning somewhere you never wanted to return? Either way, it was clear that you didn't feel any bits of nostalgia at being back between these rocky walls.

Hells, even the council's room was giving off unpleasant vibes with its tall bookcases carved directly into the walls that protected way too many old books that weren't all redacted in French nor in Basic. A map of the planet hung on the furthest wall of the room, the different villages identified with their respective symbol to help with trades, hunts, fights. Frabas' name crossed out in blood-red ink to remind everyone of the overnight genocide that happened there.

The lanterns were the only nice things in the room. The soft green and blue crystals contained within the glass enclosure bathed the whole room in their light. Maybe if you focussed on them long enough their glow would soothe your mind.

"Excuse me? You spit on it?" Tech's sudden high pitch tone was surprising enough to pass through your incessant flow of thoughts

"Yeah. Right there." He pointed at an intergrown knot close to the far extremity of the table where the heads usually sat. "What? Did you want me to piss on it? That's a bit too animalistic." Kayden added as soon as he noticed Tech's offended expression that quickly morphed into a disgusted one.

"Honestly, with you people, I wouldn't have been surprised." Crosshair's jeer traveled the room in a second. It took even less to drop Kayden's mood.

His hand tightened around yours and without losing a single second, you matched his grip to keep him from expressing his frustration through anything physical. Now wasn't the time to start a fight between your own team members when several other players might want to hurt you.

If tonight's bad luck could turn into good fortune at least once, now would be the time. The 'diplomats' were out of harm's way, Kayden had technically done what he was told and thus was not considered a traitor, leaving you alone on the spot.

"Look who just found his voice again." He caught your message and used his words instead. "I was sure you'd swallowed your tongue when you ran like a chicken back there."

"And who ran the fastest in the group eh?" The sniper walked to the table. His hands fell flat on the wood to support himself as he leaned forward, daring the brunette at your sides to make a move.

"The fastest is usually the one to survive." He pointed out as he scratched at his clothed chest with his free hand, his right one still prisoner of your grip.

"Crosshair." Hunter slightly pulled him backward by the pauldron and away from the incoming confrontation. "Enough." He added with a growl, clearly remembering how this wasn't his brother. Not fully.

Against all expectation, Crosshair did back off, although he quickly moved his animosity towards the new source of irritation, clear proof that this wasn't the man with whom Hunter had shared so many memories, good or bad. He was a total stranger that didn't respect him at all and lived to push his buttons. Why he stayed with you all was a mystery, although you weren't complaining. Keeping him restrained while in the jungle would have been a true challenge.

It was like waiting for a storm to explode. The dark grey clouds were there, the strong winds blew away everything in their wake, the thunder resonated in the distance, yet there wasn't any droplet of rain. The men faced each other just like in the cave, mere centimeters separated their chest plates and anytime now, the first blow would mark the start of a colossal downpour.

It was nerve-wracking. Even Wrecker and Tech were watching, clearly pondering if they should intervene or if by doing so they would aggravate the situation. You started getting up as the door opened and startled you into seating down again.

Never had you thought that seeing Arlan enter a room would make you feel relieved, yet, this was exactly how you felt at the moment. It seemed like the sudden entrance of an outsider was enough for Crosshair to back off. You subtly crossed your fingers that he wouldn't lash out at the leader even though the scene would very probably make you feel so much better. The consequences of going against Arlan just weren't worth it.

Before the dark-haired leader could notice it, you separated your hand from Kayden's, both your backs straightened and your unbothered masks came back on. Wearing the well-worn suit of this fake cocky personality was deeply uncomfortable but truly necessary. Over the years it became your best shield and Kayden your best ally.

"Take a seat." Arlan waved towards the table as he walked deeper into the room, passing Hunter and Crosshair like they weren't even there. It took years to be able to read the black-haired leader, but it definitely came in handy now.

His calm tone hid a deep irritation that showed through the tightness gripping the muscles around his eyes. He quickly tamed his features as he took place at the end of the table, his elbows immediately meeting the hardwood of the armchairs to allow his fingers to interlace before him.

Soon the 4 seats opposing you were occupied with rigid troopers. Their helmets still firmly on would have been seen as an enormous lack of respect if only Arlan's attention wasn't already focussed on two nasty boots dripping mud onto the piece of art that was the table.

Arlan only needed one look to communicate thoroughly his thoughts. The hard gaze that could easily be misinterpreted as a constipated one transpired enough threats that Kayden removed his boots without any further delay. The ultimatum was clear and you both knew that there was nothing Arlan despised more than repeating himself. Well, maybe you two were the firsts on his list, but that was especially because you loved to make him repeat himself.

If only he didn't look like there was an entire fire-ants colony in his pants, Kayden would have kept his feet up for a bit longer just to raise the man's blood pressure a little. You swore he got more grey hair each time he had to talk with the two of you.

The disapproving sigh accompanying the stormy grey hues boring deeply into yours was a true gift to Kayden whose smirk widened in consequence.

"Do you know why you're here?" The question resonated within the room with utmost seriousness, a seriousness that you forced yourself to shrug nonchalantly in response.

"Surely not because you missed me." You placed a smirk on your lips to copy your sidekick and complete the infernal duo act.

His dark-grey sleeves rode up his arms as he bent forward, his elbows now resting on the table, to get a closer look at you, 3 chairs away. Whilst being very tempting, flinching under his hard stare was out of the question. Four months in a medbay with kind people almost made you forget what the world was really made of; selfish people who always looked out for weaknesses to exploit and were eager to beat others down in hope to raise themselves up.

"We are here to talk relations between the Republic and your planet." Hunter sharply stated, cutting short the staring contest. "My team was sent in a preliminary manner to inform you of the Republic's intentions seeing as your representatives couldn't be reached through official channels. In the following days, two senators will be coming here with adequate troops to talk in the Senate's name."

How the room got hotter in a second was a mystery. All you knew was that even though his tone was borderline too crisp to be qualified as diplomatic, Hunter's words were so perfectly chosen that you wondered if he'd done this kind of job before.

As the silence following Hunter's declaration stretched, Arlan's gaze moved to the hard visor of the commando trooper. The intensity of his stare left you thinking that maybe he was able to see through the shade. Unfazed, Hunter stared right back as you did just moments prior.

You nearly missed it. If you hadn't been watching Arlan as intently as you were doing, the minuscule flash in his eye would have been overlooked. A muscle jumped in his jaw, filling you with dread. Something was wrong. Somehow he had the upper hand and he was internally relishing his win.

"A very well executed lie, but I am sorry to announce you that the Republic won't come here, Sergeant. Not after the Jedis signed a treaty to never come on this planet ever again." You were sure he paused just to get a reaction out of the commando. Hunter's helmet hid his expression perfectly. If he'd reacted or not was totally lost on everyone, unfortunately, it wasn't the same for Kayden whose eyes grew as big as saucers. "No Jedi, no clone, no senator, no Separatist, no outsider is welcome here."

Say what now? Never before had you ever heard of Jedis ever landing a foot on Fors, even less signing a treaty.

Hunter's helmet slightly dipped in your direction, surely to get some answers through your body language. Surely, he got the message when you gulped, wariness filling your eyes as you continued to stare at the man in his mid-50s. His message had been pretty clear from the very beginning. That he felt the need to add that the clones weren't welcome caused doubts in your village ethics to creep into your mind.

As far as you knew, no one had ever been executed in cold blood. Sure, you'd heard stories as a child about how people who were a tad bit too disturbing in the community would vanish overnight, obviously thrown out into the jungle to be feasted on by some hungry creature. Without knowing if they were true events or simply a way to make children behave, you took a habit of sticking with Kayden as soon as the firsts Furants that created their nests in the crooks of the walls circling the village entered the gates to hide, signaling that 7 pm had recently passed and the Nightmares would show up in under an hour. After all, there was no better nuisance in Alryan than the two of you.

Knowing that Arlan's smugness was carefully hidden under layers of practiced indifference, a very tantalizing urge to break your knuckles once again send tingles into your dominant hand. Breaking his nose for a second time would definitely help your mood as well as everyone else's in the room, you were sure of it.

"The- the Jedis? But they never-"

"It is not common knowledge." Arlan archly cut Kayden short and rolled his eyes with that very particular expression that made you feel like the stupidest idiot in the galaxy. In response, the tingles in your hand intensified. "This treaty is way older than me after all. We never needed the Republic's help in any way, not then and certainly not now." He at least had the decency to meet his eyes as he talked.

"And what do you think of the Nightmares? Frabas-" You piped up, the image of a traumatized red-head girl shaking in her bloody clothes popped in your mind. "They could've helped with that."

"They are protectors." He closed his eyes in exasperation and pinched his nose like he'd repeated the concept over and over again to a child that never retained anything.

"They don't protect shit! They kill us!"

Where had he been his whole life? Every night they came and howled, screeched, hissed, yapped and laughed on the other side of the gates in hope of having some juicy flesh and fresh blood to appease their hunger and thirst. Some even went as far as hitting the gates repeatedly in hope of breaking their way in. 10 hours per night, 368 nights a year, every year.

"They protect the Core that's in you--" He interrupted himself as soon as he noticed the irritation breaching his mask, allowing venom to drip through the closing cracks. His rage fit only lasted a second but it was a second too much. He gave you more than he wanted you to know.

"What do you mean? In me?" You could feel yourself starting to shake. In apprehension, anger or fear you couldn't tell. There was too much going on at the same time, assaulting your already tired mind.

"Nothing that you need to know." His tone was definitive, his grey eyes conveying the same message.

"Bullshit!" You jump to your feet just as he pushed his chair to get up. "If it's in me like you say, I deserve to know!"

Your yell must have triggered something, because as soon as the words flew from your mouth, Rhian and his troops entered the room, bows fully bent and ready to shoot in your direction. Elijah had his hammer in both hands, fully prepared to use it against a clone- your money went on Wrecker- if needed and Pete was ready to blow a tranquilizer- or it could easily be a fast-acting poison- into someone's neck.

The answer to the intrusion was immediate. Wrecker's chair went flying behind him at the impact of his legs when he followed his CO's movement. All four troopers stood on their side of the table, imposing and totally ready to enter a fight if need be. You and Kayden though? Totally not ready. You were unarmed and by the time you took hold of Kayden's bow, at least three arrows would have found their way into your body.

"All you really deserved was to die on Murphy Day." He snarled in your direction as his impatience once again showed through his slipping mask. "Throw them in the slammer."

That's it. Goodbye knuckles. Always the perceptive, Kayden grabbed your upper arm, right below the Algax's clean-cut, and pulled you back to his side even before you made the first step towards the bastard. Always there to keep you alive for another day. What a nice friend.

"Hands behind your head." Rhian barked as he approached you and Kayden from behind.

Doing as you were told, you noticed the troopers hesitating before doing as ordered when you nodded at them. Tech lifted his good hand, the other keeping hold of Crosshair's cage. One of the archers went to seize it, but a sudden shoulder to the sternum kept him away.

He's not just a nerd. You smirked as the archer stumbled.

"Let them keep it." Rhian waved off the fuming archer who definitely wanted to go back and win his fight. Too bad. "Walk ahead. You know the way." Rhian nodded towards the door after getting a hold of Kayden's bow and quiver, his very own bow aimed at the floor. The string was stretched just enough to cause serious damage if he needed to defend himself quickly, but he seemed to know that it wasn't needed.

Kayden led the way with you in tow, Elijah and Pete moved away from the door to let you pass at a safe distance. Out of the corner of your eyes, you noticed Rhian breaking formation to move up to Arlan, who surely waved him over.

You sighed as you remembered that he didn't even tell you why he wanted you here.

The clone's boots resonated against the rock floor at each of their steps, close enough to appease your mind.

"Do you know a way out of here?" Hunter's voice emanated softly within your ear.

You moved your shoulder blades in a circular motion as if you were stretching the muscles and nodded your head at the same time as to not look too suspicious to the archers escorting the group. Good thing that they didn't notice your earpiece yet.

Wrecker must have been the one right behind you because he relayed the message to Hunter through the private line.

"Now?" You rotated your head from side to side like when you needed to crack your neck.

"No." Came Wrecker's whisper.

"In the slammer?" A small nod.

"Yeah."

"Then we wait and we get out as soon as possible." Hunter told his half-plan to the Batch who hummed their approvals.

Once again the unusual parade that you formed along with the armored men attracted many curious eyes. Ignoring them was easier this time around, the familiarity of their chary gazes finally coming back to allow you to concentrate on something else.

This part of the village was carved so deeply into the mountain that even the occasional howls coming from the jungle couldn't be heard. There couldn't have been better protection for a population of more than 700 people than a natural barrier of rock. Sure, this very convenient refuge could easily become a tomb for a lot of villagers in the event of a breach, but several emergency tunnels were created for this very situation. They were maintained at a perfect condition in case a repeat of Frabas' catastrophe ever came to happen.

Every Alryan learned the location of every single tunnel at the youngest of age. They were only to be used in emergency cases and right now, it was an emergency. It all depended on the perspective.

"It never changed." You stated quietly as the slammer's entrance came into view, the dark purple glow emanating from its depths was a stark contrast to the lively colors of the main area.

Goosebumps rose on your arms as you followed Kayden down the tunnel. The nearby natural well raised the humidity in these parts of the mountain and thus caused the air to become colder. Just my luck, you thought as the fresh air infiltrated your clothes by the multiple tears in their fabric.

"In there." Rhian speed-walked to catch up with Kayden and direct him to a cell carved into the wall on his left.

You were locked up with him, Wrecker and Hunter got situated in the cell facing yours, Crosshair and Tech on the one right beside theirs.

Right as Tech got in after a growling Crosshair, Rhian took hold of the cage and kicked Tech inside who landed in a yelp. You weren't even gripping the bars yet that the heavy door closed behind the engineer.

"Give him back!"

"Sorry 'bout that." He threw the cage in the air twice, the flame within shaking frantically as it hit the bars. "Orders are orders." He ignored the yells of his name bouncing in the detention center and walked out unbothered, his men in tow.

"How quick can you get us out of here?" The urgency in Hunter's tone only added to your own raiding anxiety. What would Arlan do to Crosshair? He was totally defenseless.

"Couple of minutes. But we'll need Back-Up. I hope you have it." You turned to Kayden who scoffed in mocked offense.

"You have back-up?" Tech wondered out loud, tilting his head. "I thought no one would help you here."

"Jeez. Thanks for the vote of confidence." Kayden held his heart before reaching for his chest pocket. "Back-up is my Godot." He pulled a hand-sized lizard from his pocket to show the Batch.

The Godot's orange scales shone softly at Kayden's contact, their light reflecting onto the soft line of baby blue leaves growing on each side of its spine. Its three-fingered paws grabbed fingers and clothes to remain in place while two black eyes moved independently from one another to take in what was happening around. Its long tail wrapped around Kayden's wrist as he lifted it up to show off, the small leaves at its end shining brightly in surprise.

Wrecker gasped and lifted his helmet to get a better view of the animal. "That's what I saw the first time, Tech! It's the lizard that disappeared!"

"Nothing disappeared Wrecker. There was nothing there." Tech rebuked.

"Don’t be so sure about that! They can camouflage themselves, right Back-Up?" At the half-baked order, the tiny lizard shut off its light and changed its skin pigmentation to copy its environment to perfection.

"It disappeared Tech! See? That's what I saw and you didn't believe me!" Wrecker's tone raised as he pointed to Kayden's seemingly empty outstretched hand.

"Wrecke-" You tried to warn him to keep his voice down but heard steps coming your way.

"Back-up, go get the master key at home." Kayden hurriedly whispered to the Godot and quickly kneeled to allow it access to the ground so it could wander away and get the required object.

A guard appeared at the end of the corridor just as Kayden got up and threw himself onto the upper hammock fixed to the walls. He moved around to get comfortable and into the right position, hands under his head.

"So, I've heard that Stockholm syndrome was hard on you." Brett, a particularly annoying scout, mocked from behind his beard.

"Nope. Still don't like y'all." You replied nonchalantly despite the urge to punch him through the bars.

"I was talking about them." He pointed to the two cells containing the clones and you lifted a single eyebrow.

"Tech, definition of Stockholm syndrome please." You asked, maintaining eye contact during the whole process.

"Stockholm syndrome," You saw the genius perked up at your request. Sadly, he didn't lift a finger in the air while he recited the meaning of the word. "Is a psychological response wherein a captive begins to identify closely with his or her captors, as well as with their agenda and demands." He ended with a nod and the movement satisfied you enough to let the lack of a finger go.

"That means you dumbass." You spat as you crossed your arms over your chest. "I'm with them willingly."

"Get fucked!" Kayden shouted with a laugh that got half a smile out of you.

"You? Our captive? It sure felt like the other way around." He finally switched to basic and the hate coating his words told you that he wasn't talking about the pranks and snarky attitude, no, he was talking about something bigger than that.

"What are you talking about?" Maybe you could get more answers out of him than you did with Arlan.

He scoffed. "Stop trying to play the idiot. Between the two of you, Kayden's the best at it."

You ignored said idiot's thanks to press the matter. "Okay and let's imagine I really don't know what the hell you're talking about. What in the damn world did I do?" You remembered Arlan's word and almost added what is wrong with me? but Brett was already dropping the three medicine canisters to the ground, out of reach from either your cell or the clones' and went away.

"You live."

You sat on the ground, drained of every ounce of energy you once had. What was wrong with you? Why did everyone want you dead? The fear you felt at Arlan's words came back as you thought about what it could all mean. The Nightmares who stopped appearing when you left and came back when you did. Whatever the Core was that supposedly resided in you and the fact that the Lumsin knew what it was while you didn't. That the villagers never saw you as an annoying brat but a vile oppressor.

You faintly heard Kayden talking with Tech about Back-up, but couldn't make out the exact words, your own thoughts being way too loud for you to clearly hear anything outside your head.

"It's alright. Don't worry about it." An arm fell on your shoulders and pulled you into Kayden's side who now sat next to you on the ground, successfully pulling you out of your own mind. Yet, as comforting as his gesture was supposed to be, you only felt guiltier. Even when everyone else pointed their fingers at you, he was still there to keep yourself up even after you'd vanished on him.

Kayden scratched the clothes over his heart again and cut off your incoming guilty declaration.

"Question. If the half-skull one was to break my jaw or somethin' and that you didn't see it happen, would you believe me if I told you it was him?" Kayden asked, frowning too deeply for you to brush the question off as one of his stupid ones.

"Wha-?" Then it dawned on you. "Did you threaten him?" You asked Hunter, voice raising in octaves.

You knew Kayden probably deserved it, but he was your best friend. You've been helping each other for more than 15 years and there was no way you'd let him get beaten for a stupid jealousy tantrum.

An invisible hand squeezed your heart as you felt Kayden relaxing against your side. He doubted that you'd listen to him. More importantly, he doubted that you'd trust his word over someone else's. Sure it was Hunter's word, but you knew the Sergeant was not in his right mind and not only because of the irrational feeling.

"He wouldn't stop talking." The unbothered tone in which he answered shocked you.

"Yet you've never threatened Tech."

"That's not the same." Why must he sound like he truly believed that he did nothing wrong?

"You may not value his life and health, but I do. A lot." You emphasized the last word so he got the message. "And his word is the only single one in the galaxy that I never ever doubted."

Kayden's breath sharply filled his lungs and Hunter's fingers curled into fists. You still deeply loved the dark-haired Sergeant and seeing him frustrated at your words made a real number on your insides but that rational part of your brain told you that he would tire of you someday and would leave, whereas Kayden had shown countless of times that he'd be there to hold your hand, push your back and pull you up whenever needed.

"Good to know."

Why did his acknowledgment of your words make you sick? You'd said those words yourself and they were true, so how could they hurt that much? If it wasn't of the half-circles traced on the back of your right hand, you certainly would have had a physical reaction. It could have been hiding in your hammock or tears leaking from your eyes, you didn't know.

"You don't trust us?" Wrecker's hurt translated in his low, nearly inaudible tone if it wasn't of the earbud deeply pushed into your ear canal.

"I do Wrecker. I really do. It's me that I don't." Damn. For someone who wanted to avoid feelings-talks like the plague, you found yourself right in the middle of the deepest one ever.

"I don't understand." He admitted.

"I-" You sighed, trying to find the words that would explain something you didn't know how to explain. "I don't myself Wrecker. I make people despise me and-" The words escaped you. Out of exasperation, your free hand moved up to rub your closed eyelids and drag the pads of your fingers down your cheeks.

"When they don't you persuade yourself they do and you tell yourself that they'll give you up so you start to doubt them even when there's nothing to worry about." Kayden shrugged at your wide eyes looking at him. "Don't be surprised I know you better than yourself. You did the same shit with me but I didn't let you."

"Then why did you doubt yourself against Hunter?"

" 'cuz you love him." He answered in your native tongue and you were grateful for it. You weren't ready to say the words out loud and if Kayden, the person who just demonstrated that he knew you like the palm of his hand, said those words himself, then he'd throw your feelings out in the open and you couldn't have that. Not when your brain still expected the Bad Batch to get back to their ship and leave you on Fors, where you belonged.

"You were there longer."

"Yeah, but that was because you couldn't escape me. Give them their chance. You might be surprised." He patted your shoulder like an old man who gave advice to a youngster.

"We wouldn't give you up. You're our friend!" Wrecker added once the conversation in a foreign language died.

"If you still doubt our friendship, then you might want to remember that we passed hundreds of hours training you to be our pilot and that we lied to our superiors to keep you." Tech pointed out, this time with the finger in the air. It brought the tiniest of smiles to your lips.

"Or remember the moments shared." Hunter surprised you with his quiet words that Kayden definitely couldn't hear without a comm device. Had he realized that he was fighting a non-existent enemy? Or did he feel as bad as you following your exchange?

"Or you can remember that you're a freak." Tech slapped his lean brother's shoulder

"So I belong with you guys? Yeah, I'll- I'll do my best to remember all that." A chuckle escaped your lips. "Thanks." You added under your breath, to which the boys nodded and Wrecker smiled brightly.

"Is your chest okay?" Tech asked and pointed at Kayden who was still scratching his torso.

"Yeah, 's just itchy. I think Kerth put some poison Ivy in my clothes. I wouldn't be surprised." He pulled his shirt forward to look at his skin. He winced. "That does look like it."

"You never get tired of looking at yourself?" A soft feminine voice chuckled from down the hallway.

Soft brown eyes shone behind fiery red locks, their owner walking straight to your cell where she stopped to pass you a hot container. You'd recognize that smell everywhere and apparently so did your stomach who growled loudly in anticipation of receiving some soup.

"Good timing, I see." She chuckled, put her pack on the ground and offered you a container. "It's not poisoned, I promise. I did it myself." She assured in basic when you kept watching her hands without making any move towards the food.

Still unmoving, Kayden took it upon himself to grab two containers and let the redhead give the clones their servings.

"They wanted me to only feed the soldiers but I slipped some for you two as well. For all the spare crusts." She nodded at you, who kept watching her in silence. Before turning around to go back to where she came from, the woman had the kindness to grab the discarded medicine canisters and offer them to Kayden. "Take care."

Wait. You had to tell her. It was like your brain forgot how everything worked. Opening your mouth wasn't hard compared to finding what to say. Even then your throat constricted in an attempt to shut you up, but you couldn't let her go without telling her.

She deserved to know.

"Fleena." Was all you managed and it was enough to stop her in her tracks. When she turned, your hand was already fishing around in your pocket for the small piece of wood.

She came back as you brought your closed fist forward and dropped the dirty necklace on her open hand.

She stared at it, surprise taking over her soft features in a flash as soon as she recognized the symbol. She turned it to inspect the back and now was the right time for the earth to open beneath your ass and take you away.

"Where did you get that?" The tremors in her voice send a knife through your heart.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you made sure to choose your words better than with Hunter. "Nixon was a Wanderer."

"He-" She started with hope until she registered your sentence. "Was?"

There it was. The moment to own what you did finally arrived.

"What did you do?" She pressed as you kept silent, unable to say it out loud.

"It wasn't him anymore, Fleena. He hadn't grown up and kept walking in circles on his bleeding feet. He was tormented."

You freed him. You helped him. Now that her horrified hazel eyes bore into yours, Crosshair's words that were so helpful before held no sense.

"He was still my brother." She clutched the necklace to her chest, tears running down her cheeks.

"Nixon was gone."

"I don't expect you to understand. You don't know anything about having a sibling."

The silence following her retreating steps was even heavier than before. No. That wasn't true. The boys spoke in the background and in your ear, prompting you to remove the device to have some peace.

"You're right, I don't." You grumbled in your knees that were now up to your face to hide your features, your arms tightly wrapped around them to keep them close.

"That's the biggest bullshit that ever came out of your mouth." Kayden scoffed next to you. "What do you think I am then? Your friend?" He puffed like it was the stupidest joke he'd ever been told. "Fuck no. We've been family ever since your dad died so cut the crap or I'll hit you."

I should be punching you for saying such stupid stuff.

"For real. I'll hit you so hard you won't ignore me again." He shuffled around to better position himself, arm lifting-

"I've abandoned you." You spat more at you than at him.

"Siblings sucks but we love them anyway." He shrugged. "You're no exception."

Tears gathered in your eyes. Even after leaving him alone to fight for himself, Kayden still loved you as much as before and never once held a grudge against your actions. He was a true god-given gift and you'd treated him unfairly.

Pain exploded into your shoulder and you found yourself colliding with the ground.

"The fuck?" Four spots on your shoulder hurt so deeply that it didn't take long for you to realize that he'd hit you with his knuckles.

"My monthly quota was not yet achieved." He smirked, watching you massage the beaten skin.

"Don't you think I'm hurt enough already?"

"Stop whining, we have Biogel." He shook the metallic container before your face.

"That thing hurts like hell." You groaned, pushing his hand away to sit straight.

"When did you become such a baby?" You shot him the deadliest glare you had in reserve. "Hey. It's a very small price to pay for completely healed wounds in under 30 minutes."

"Completely healed?" Tech inquired, eying the matching container in his hands that Kayden pushed him.

"Yeah! One good layer and bye-bye! Works for sprained stuff too, just takes a little longer." Kayden answered as he helped you apply the cold sticky gel onto your arms. "Little tips: let someone else put it on you." He added as you hissed and groaned under the burning feeling that came with the product.

Your hands closed and opened repeatedly to keep from hitting Kayden in retaliation for the pain he was putting you through. The raging fire led to intense stinging that you could describe as white-hot needles poking your damaged skin.

"Please remember that you love me." Kayden said right before he dropped a huge blob of Biogel onto the hole in your leg. Had he not jumped away, your elbow would have connected with his chest at high speed. Instead, all that got injured were your nerves, your vocal cords and Hunter's head.

"I'll murder you if you do that again." You whimpered while clutching your upper thigh in hope of cutting every pain transmission from your leg to your brain.

"Good thing it was the last one!" He laughed from his side of the cell, Biogel discarded to the profit of the warm bowl of soup which he was already drinking like he'd been starved for a week.

Wrecker's gasp and groans filled the air. A quick glance his way showed Hunter applying a coat of the translucent substance on his burnt hands and neck as well as on the cuts on his arms. Then came Hunter's turn who covered some scratches from the Yappians and after some thought applied some of it on the side of his forehead. No sound escaped his throat, the only proof of the pain assaulting his nerves being the scrunching of his face, unlike Tech who yelped when Crosshair carelessly applied the gel on his wrist and arms. Then, like pain didn't affect him at all, he splattered some on his swollen ankle and it was done.

"I'm sure no one really wants to eat right now, but it'd be good to eat the food until Back-up comes back and we have to leave." Kayden reminded.

"What's that?" Crosshair asked, more worried about the soup than Wrecker was. The tank was already slurping the soup down, mindful of his sensible fingers.

"In basic I guess it translates as bone soup." Wrecker stopped abruptly, mouth still scotched to the bowl. He eyed you in distress, pondering if it was safe to swallow or not. "It's good, despite the name. Hunters usually eat that before a hunt to boost their systems, right Y/N?" Just for the sake of the game, you nodded. It was true anyway.

"And eh… what's in it?" Tech moved the container in small circles to try and identify what was floating in the light yellow liquid.

"Roots, meats, some veggies, guts and ground bones." You kept your poker face as Kayden enumerated the 'ingredients' and Wrecker lost all colors. "Where do you think the name comes from?"

Wrecker spat his enormous gulp and you laughed to the point of tears, soon joined by your best frie- brother.

"He's just fucking with y'all, Wreck. It's called bone soup because there's bone marrow in it to help with our joints. And there’s no guts. We're no savages." You did your best to control your laugh before digging into your soup eagerly. How Kayden always managed to get your mood up was a total mystery, but it always worked and you were grateful for it.

"Could've fooled me." Crosshair taunted.

"Ya can choke on it." You said at the same time Kayden did, getting a laugh out of it.

The delicious soup filled your stomach in less than 10 gulps and it wasn't until you put your bowl down that you realized how good it made you feel to fill that emptiness in you. The soup wasn't enough to make you sleepy after a nice meal and provided just enough nutrients for everyone to be able to face the fast-approaching escape without a problem. Mixed with the Biogel, you were back at the top of your games.

Arlan really made an error in taking care of the group.

"What now? What's your plan?" Hunter wondered, posing his container on the ground.

You met gaze with Kayden and he nodded confidently. "How well can you all swim in your armors?"

"In calm water, we are fine but slow. We can't go in strong water. The current will catch in the plastoid and will drag us down."

A hum resonated from within your throat and you pucker your lips. "You can't give them up. That scratch out the underground well and the waterfall." You taped your lips in thought. Watching Tech who still drank with only one hand, you knew that hiking wasn't an option as well. For now at least.

"Then it's the dark pit." Kayden pointed out.

It indeed was the last possible option. The other remaining one would be to use the front gates and it was the least possible one.

"Yeah. The other tunnels would take too long to get out and then we'd lose too much time walking back at the Old Man's cave." You recalled from your mental map of the jungle. "I'm fairly sure we have two hours until dawn. The Old Man's Cave is 15 minutes away from here if we run."

"Then we run." Hunter agreed.

"Now, to get out… Hey, big guy." Kayden called. "What's the name?"

"Wrecker." He answered proudly, almost puffing his chest out.

Kayden scoffed. "Obviously. Should'a figured." He turned to you. "Is it too late to change my name?"

The moron was too far for a shoulder slap, so you showed your exasperation with a roll of your eyes. "Stop screwing around and tell us your idea."

"Yeah yeah." The childish tone wasn't surprising on his part. He turned his attention back to the tall clone. "So, Wrecker, I bet you're experienced with big shafts so how good are you with pulse-hammers?" In a flash, you threw your empty container at his head with utmost precision that you knew Crosshair would be proud. The flying object was as unexpected for him as the inappropriate sentence was for you and hit him square on the forehead.

"I'll strangle you." You threatened.

"Kinky." He winked while nursing his forehead.

"With what?" Wrecker inquired, too focussed on the unknown term to pick up at the dirty joke.

"Her han-"

"Not that, morron." You cut him off. "The big hammer that exploded that tree back at the pit." You clarified for Wrecker.

"Oh! I've never used one before, but I'm sure it can't be that hard!" Excitement glimmered in his eyes at the perspective of using the powerful weapon.

"Oh believe me it's hard." Kayden smirked way too smugly for your taste.

"Okay. Time out. Planning is paused." You poked the palm of your hand with the fingertips of your other hand. "I call pervert veto card." You deadpanned.

"Oh hell no you can't!" Was there panic in his voice? Yes. Definitely.

"Oh heck yes I can! Once a year for 24 hours and I'm using it now." Thank the gods you'd not used it before.

"But-!"

"No but or butts. No sexual reference in any form, implied or not. 24 hours starting now." He glared at you from his spot two meters away. You could have laughed at his face that perfectly mirrored a kid who just got his Christmas gift stolen directly from its small weak hands.

"You're fucking me in the ass." He grumbled like an overgrown petulant child.

You lifted an eyebrow. "Try again. You can do it."

"Party pooper."

"There you go." As you turned to the rest of them, a laugh escaped your lips at the clones’ expressions.

Crosshair, despite his feelings blockade, was covering his mouth, Wrecker was laughing his ass off, Tech looked relieved behind his horrified eyes and Hunter chuckled. He appeared to be pleased and somewhat totally used to the situation, which grabbed your curiosity.

Later. You forced a cough to get everyone's attention. "Let's continue. To answer your question, Wrecker, handling a pulse-hammer is not hard. Only remember to not touch the head," You had to stop to point at Kayden in a threatening manner when you sensed a perverted comment about to escape his idiotic mouth despite the veto card being used. "And hit with the glowing side. If you hit with the other side, you'll damage the hammer and it'll be useless."

"I can do that!" Wrecker enthusiastically nodded.

"So we plan into exploding our way out of here? What do we do about Cross?" Tech pointed out what he thought was a flaw in your plan.

Right at this moment, Back-Up appeared before Kayden, its fluffy leaves puffing out in pride as Kayden removed the Master key from its belly pouch. What a marvelous creature they were. Being able to fit your own size in an extensible pouch that covered your body from your collarbone to your pelvis was truly amazing and more than practical.

"We'll split. Kayden will guide you guys to the emergency tunnel and I'll go get Cross. I'll meet you all as soon as I can."

You nearly hadn't finished that Hunter inevitably rejected your plan. "No. We stay together."

"We can't. You guys will be the decoy I need to sneak around and find him and having one of you with me will catch attention and slow me down." You cut Hunter as he still looked like he was about to be opposed. "I still have my comms and earbud. I'll contact you every 5 minutes." You offered in an attempt to compromise.

Silence stretched and you got up, already ready to depart. The tingling in your arms and leg had subsided some time ago and to your sweet surprise, applying weight on your leg didn't hurt as much as before.

Kayden unlocked the cells and a hand softly grabbed your forearm. "Fine. You comm every 5 minutes and you take this." He moved to Tech to rummage through his belt and hand you a pistol. "Use it if needed."

You took the pistol with a steady grip despite the uncertainty shaking your guts. It was the very first blaster you've ever had in your hand and it was heavier than you thought. "Don't worry. I will." You assured him, voice strong and unwavering.

But… could you really?

#bad batch x reader #hunter x reader #tech x reader #wrecker x reader #crosshair x reader #tcw #star wars #clone force 99 #sergeant hunter #clone trooper tech #clone trooper wrecker #clone trooper hunter #clone trooper crosshair #Good Night Good Luck

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whenimaunicorn · 5 years ago

Text

Training Exercise

The Mandalorian x female Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian is testing you. Again. This time you hit him with a strategy he doesn’t expect, and he comes back with an equally unexpected response.

Content Tags: Explicit, roleplay, dom/sub vibes, dirty talk, bondage, armor kink (I didn’t think I meant to do that but damn if it isn’t all over this fic), slight gunplay, slight breathplay, rough sex

Cold metal cuffs slam around your wrists, the sound of the locking mechanism a loud, ominous snick.

“What the fuck, Mando?” you sputter, dropping your spoon into the bowl in front of you.

“How would you get out of this?”

Stars. Another test. You push down your rising irritation with a deep inhale, sitting up straight and letting your imprisoned forearms rest on the edge of the table down in the hold of the Razor Crest. “So I’ve been captured?” you ask, probing for the parameters of the exercise he has in mind.

“Yes.” He stands a few feet away from you, leaning against the bulkhead, settling in to observe. “Now you’re in a holding cell. One guard.”

You smirk at him. “You’re the guard?”

His helmet inclines a few inches. “What’s your play?”

The question is delivered evenly, soft and simple, with only the tiniest note of challenge. He still doesn’t believe you can handle yourself as well as you say you can. The reminder gets your hackles up. “I’m not really in the mood for this.”

“You think I care if you’re in the mood?” The modulator does little to smooth the harshness with which he barks the statement.

You try not to flinch. Getting into his role already; at least, you try to tell yourself that’s all his change in tone means. Plus, it’s kind of hot when he yells at you. Not that you’d let him know that.

You sigh, and prop your elbows up on the table, examining the cuffs. They are a solid piece, two inches thick in a figure eight shape with a seam in the clasp so flush that it’s almost invisible. There’s an interface on it above your wrists, placed where your own fingers couldn’t possibly reach but would be convenient to your captors. You know enough about this model to know there’s a way to hack the lock, but not enough to actually be able to do it.

You look over at the Mandalorian. He’s facing you squarely now, thumbs resting in his utility belt, the helmet’s eye slit angled like he’s watching you closely. He doesn’t move a muscle, just waiting to see what you’ll do.

You do your best to ignore the tingling feeling his intimidation sends washing through your body. You feel the weight of his gaze like the heat of a sun against the cheek and shoulder that are angled toward him as you look back down at the cuff around your wrists.

What’s your play? he had asked. You arch your back a little more, giving the Mandalorian a better view of your body. You’ve got tricks he can’t teach you, and your irritation has turned into an overwhelming urge to rub that in, now. You sit poised like a pin-up girl as you pick up the spoon from your abandoned meal and stick it backwards into your mouth, then use the chisel-shaped back end of it to probe clumsily at the locking mechanism.

Mando shifts in the corner of your vision, moving just a little bit closer. “You know I can see you, right?” The edge of derision in his voice only spurs you on.

You look up at him, shifting the spoon in your mouth so he has to watch your pink tongue lick out along the edge of it. His upper body pulls back with a start. “I know.” You smile lasciviously around the stick of metal. “If I was alone with one guard, I’d convince him to step closer to me.”

The lower edge of his helmet drops in acknowledgement, and then his blaster clears its holster, in his hand and pointed straight at you faster than you can blink. “Cut that out. Drop the spoon.”

You turn in your chair, knees spread just a little immodestly, so the bottom edge of your tunic creates an intriguing little darkness between your legs for your “guard” to ponder. It’s hard to decide if the man behind the helmet is taking the bait, but you’re going to carry on your demonstration as best you can. You hold the spoon between your teeth and then relax your jaw, turning your lips into a pouty little ‘o’ as the spoon falls straight down into your lap. You suck in a big breath that makes your breasts swell as you look down at it, nestled between your thighs. “Come and get it.”

The Mandalorian seems to hesitate. “Is this really your best strategy?”

“You’d be surprised how often it works.”

His visor is angled just a little too low for you to think he’s looking at your face. He could, of course, take the exercise in any direction that he wants. He could play a guard that’s smarter than his libido right now, or one that doesn’t find you attractive at all. So maybe it means something when he chooses to relax his grip on the blaster, and steps closer, playing along. “It’s no use trying to escape,” he intones, resuming the game as he looms over you, blaster still pointed at your head, though at a lazier angle.

It shouldn’t be as hot is it, to stare up at the enigmatic Mandalorian warrior from your helpless position like this. Though the warm, prickling feeling that spreads through your lower body only makes the game easier. You form your lips into a little pout. “I’ve got to do something to pass the time.” You extend one foot, ankle making contact with the inside of his knee, then slide it up between his legs, past the defense of the metal plates on his thighs. You stare at his eye slit the whole time, tongue peeking out to play at the bottom of your teeth. “You want to put something else in my mouth?”

You feel him flinch. But to his credit, he leans into his discomfort, and into your personal space. “You’d like that.” His words come out in that flat, measured way he has, but the underlying tone is somewhere between brusque and incredulous.

You’re not sure if you’re freaking him out or turning him on, but a heady rush of excitement propels you forward. You give him a slow, sultry shrug as you stare up at him. “Maybe I’ve got a thing for being tied up.” You rock your ankle back and forth against his inner thigh.

The Mandalorian stares down at you, maddeningly still. His body language only shifts when he finally speaks. “Did I mention the guard is a Gamorrean? A particularly ugly one.”

He’s teasing you. You can just imagine a shit-eating grin extending behind his beskar mask. You reach your cuffed arms up, refusing to back down. “Then I’d be sure to stroke a finger down his tusk.” His helmet is cold under your fingertip as you dare to mime the action, sliding your touch down the groove of his iron cheek.

The blaster pointed vaguely at your temple never wavers. You’re close enough now to see that it’s not currently armed, though that information does little to dampen the chill of having a weapon aimed at your head, in a hand that has never hesitated to kill. Mando leans in and presses his other hand between your legs, retrieving the spoon. He takes his time about it, just as a big ugly half-seduced guard would do, digging his fingers unnecessarily into your soft thighs and dragging his knuckles against the sensitive spot between.

Your breath catches. You had been bluffing; you wouldn’t actually enjoy this if he had been a real guard of any species, but when Mando is the one groping between your legs you can’t help but spread them a little wider.

His head is only inches from yours. You stare into the eye slit of his helmet, knowing that somewhere behind there he’s staring right back at you. The shape of the beskar knows only one emotion: menace. You have no fucking idea what expression lies behind the mask.

His knuckle rolls again, right over your clit, making hot arousal bloom so hard and fast that your muscles turn to jelly.

His helmet tilts, and he speaks in his quiet voice again. “You’re not making your move now?”

It takes a second for your brain to catch up. Mando assumed you were luring the guard inside your reach so you could whip out some kind of flashy combat skills and disable him. Of course he did. That’s what he would do.

Evidently, you take too long to respond. He removes your opportunity to act. “Get up!” The Mandalorian grabs at the cuff around your wrists, yanking you to your feet. He holsters the blaster as he crowds your body, backing you up into the wall. Cold beskar presses between your thighs, making sure your legs stay open as you slam back against the bulkhead.

You resist a little on instinct, your mind now torn between winning the game and just enjoying the feeling of his body against yours. He overpowers you easily, forcing your hands up over your head. There’s a clicking sound, and then both of Mando’s gloved palms are running down your arms, though they’re still locked in place. He’s magnetized the wrist cuff to the bulkhead. Fuck. You didn’t know it could do that.

His beskar face looms just inches above your own. His grip doesn’t flinch as his hands run down from your arms to your flanks, feeling along your ribs in a touch that’s more sexually charged than you’d thought him capable of. “You’ve chosen a strategy that can get you in over your head, fast.” His voice sounds a little tight behind the modulator. His hands slide down to grip your waist. “Would you really let it get this far?” You can hear him breathing now, fast and hard. His fingers knead at the tops of your hips. “Dirty yourself, letting a filthy guard touch you this way?” There’s a hint of a whine under his accusatory tone, and you start to think the Mandalorian might be even more turned on by this game than you are.

You don’t answer, not sure what to say that wouldn’t ruin whatever’s starting to happen. Mando’s hands travel up your body, thumbs daring to skim underneath your breasts.

“No play yet?” he challenges, voice sounding a little lower, a little rougher. “Still not ready to make your move? This is only going to get worse for you.” His palms skim over your tits, but he seems to be holding himself back, barely making contact. “Better do something before he starts taking off your clothes.”

Absolutely you want him to start taking off your clothes. But this is just a training exercise, isn’t it? You’ll probably just make things awkward if you delay any longer, sitting here enjoying an excuse to get groped by the Mandalorian. Time to make your next play. “Okay big boy,” you purr, barely keeping a straight face as you try to imagine seducing a giant pig-man, “let me make you feel really good.” You slide your cheek against Mando’s helmet, dropping your voice into a throaty half-whisper above where his ear would be. “Give me one of my hands free, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

He pulls the pressure of his body off yours, just a little. Considering. You writhe against him, whispering ‘please’ and dragging your knee up the inside of his leg to show him where your hand would want to go. Before you can make contact with your target, Mando reaches up and presses a button on the cuff. “That… that would probably work on a big, dumb guard. I’ll give you that.” His voice sounds a little breathy, but he’s rallying himself. “Let’s see what you can accomplish with only one hand.”

The steel around one of your wrists retreats. The other one remains locked to the wall. “Oh, I can do plenty,” you say, bringing your palm down to the cloth-covered opening between his helmet and pauldron. It’s hard to grope a man wearing full body armor; all you can do is massage at that firm muscle that connects his shoulder and neck, hoping that the pressure feels nice through the canvas-like fabric that covers his skin here.

His fingers flex where they span your waist, a sudden dig that seems involuntary. He can’t be used to even such a blunted touch as this one, you suppose. He turns his gesture into a more obscene caress, sliding down your hips, grinding your pelvis tighter against the beskar thigh thrust between your legs. You don’t have to fake the moan that falls from your throat.

“Definitely a dirty girl,” he says, and squeezes your ass with both hands. Now you’re really not sure if he’s speaking as the guard or himself. His voice has dropped low and the modulator can’t smooth out the pleasure that’s thickening it. “Offering yourself up like this…” His cold helmet presses against your temple as the Mandalorian brings his whole body closer, nestling his head between your cheek and your upraised arm, the one that’s still locked to wall of the ship above your head. He grunts as he digs his fingers into the widest part of your bottom, and you groan. “You like it rough?”

“Yeah,” you moan, not sure if you’re playing your character anymore either, afraid to say anything that might make him stop. You abandon his neck to slide your free hand down past the beskar chestplate, seeking warmth in the space at his flank where something approaching soft and human is accessible to your touch. You can feel him breathing here, fast and deep. His hips writhe, pressing that solid flesh above his lower ribs more firmly into your palm.

“So pliant. So soft.” His tone has gone softer, appreciative. One hand stays on your ass while the other travels up your back, scooping you closer to him, until your chest is flattened by solid metal as he all but dry humps you against the wall.

Your fingers tease at his belt line, searching for entrance. A splash of nerves cools your belly at this point; you’ve never seen the Mandalorian undressed in any way, and you worry how he might react to you trying to get under his clothes. There’s always the chance you’re mis-reading this situation horribly. He’ll stop you if you cross a line, you’re certain, but you want to go slowly enough to make sure the sin is not too egregious.

Mando seems to sense your hesitation, slowing down too. “If you’re thinking about going for my gun,” he says, “you’re telegraphing.”

Apparently, he still thinks you’re thinking about the training exercise. He hasn’t lifted his head from where it’s nestled into your shoulder, however. His hands have slowed but they’re still cupping you.

“Not going for your gun.” Your fingers skim along his lower belly, finding the buckle of his belt.

“No?” Mando breathes.

You squeeze the clasp, releasing it with a click that seems way louder than it should be in the empty galley of the ship. His exhale carries just enough vocalization for the modulator to pick it up, sounding akin to and yet wholly different from the heavy sighs that escape him when you or the child are being frustrating. He gives you no other reaction but that.

You dare to stick one finger down inside his waistband. His heavy shirt is tucked in and so you still haven’t contacted any skin. You can’t even pretend to try to read his face, with the front of his helmet still pressed into the crook of your neck. Your finger tugs at his clothes and his body shifts against you but you can’t tell if he’s pulling away or shifting to give you better access.

You lose your nerve. “And then I would,” you narrate, stopping yourself, “you know…” Your finger points down toward his cock, trying not to think about what it would feel like to scoop your hand over it, wondering if you would find it hard or soft…

He lifts his head, only far enough to stare into your face through that shielded slit in his helmet. After a short, measured silence, he speaks. “Go ahead.”

Somehow you can’t wrap your head around the statement. “Um, what?” You feel your hand curling up, starting to withdraw in an awkward defensive reflex, though one finger is still stuck inside his waistband.

He cocks his head, and you can just feel him taking your measure. His open hands caress up and down your back, and your body responds, curling into the touch. You realize your mouth is hanging open as you continue to meet his impenetrable beskar gaze.

“Don’t you want to see if your plan is going to work? I know I do.”

Well, fuck. You rotate your wrist and press your whole palm into his lower belly, fingers pointing down. You can actually feel his warmth here, and the way his breathing speeds up as you slide your hand lower against him. When your fingertips reach bare skin he moans. It sounds like he tried to keep it in but it just slipped out anyway. He clutches you closer to him again as you skim down along course hairs and hot skin.

What is happening here? Does he really want you to wrap your fingers around his cock, like you’re so close to doing right now? His whole body is tense, you realize, and his fingers are digging into your skin almost painfully.

You slow your approach, not wanting him to snap under that tension. Or for him to snap you. You scratch your fingertips softly into the trail of hairs you feel leading you toward your prize.

“Fuck,” he groans, and pushes his whole body against you, all but crushing you against the bulkhead.

Now you can’t move your hand. But in the midst of all the hard edges of his armor, you can feel one thing poking into you that definitely isn’t beskar.

So the Mandalorian does want you. His helmet presses into the crook of your neck; you just know that if it weren’t in the way he’d be mouthing open kisses all over your throat. He keeps your hand trapped between the press of your bodies, the other still cuffed up to the wall, while his roam freely all over you. This time when he reaches your breasts he lets himself feel, scooping over your pillowy flesh and trapping a nipple between his thumb and the side of his hand.

The pressure is just short of pain and you mewl at the pleasure and desire it sends blooming up through your core. Your reaction encourages him and he tears at the opening in the front of your tunic, struggling to get at your bare flesh.

The savagery pulls a gasp from your throat, and that sound makes him pause. “I said this strategy was a dangerous game.” His helmet shifts so he can get a better look at your face. “Do you want to keep going?”

You nod. “I like this game.”

His real voice, not the aggressive character, slides out soft and even from the modulator. “I like it too.”

You press your hand harder, down where it’s trapped between your bellies, tickling your fingers toward his root. “Then let’s keep playing.”

The groan that reaches your ears through his modulator might be the most delicious sound you’ve ever heard, as he changes the angle of his hips and gives you room to reach him. Well, it was the most delicious sound, until you hear the next one to come out of his mouth, even deeper, even longer, as you find his thick shaft and curl your fingers eagerly around it.

His length had been stuck a little down one pant leg. He gives a pleasured hiss as you free him from the confinement, scooping him in your palm to point straight up between your bodies. One of his hands leaves your waist just so he can hold himself up against the wall; you must have made him go a little weak in the knees. You purr a little “mmm” in the back of your throat in satisfaction, to see the Mandalorian in such a state. His cock is thick and velvety smooth and already twitching in your palm as you give him a few slow, steady pumps.

His noise of pleasure is almost a wail, and without warning he slams a palm into the center of your chest, pushing you back into the bulkhead again. His fingers slide up to bridge your throat, exerting just enough pressure to set warning bells off in your head, and to slow your hand.

“Fu-uck,” is all he says by way of explaining himself. Then he uses both hands to pull your tunic up your body, exposing everything above your leggings to the cool air jetting from the ship’s recyclers all at once. “Off,” he growls as he tugs the fabric against your armpits, forcing you to let go of his glorious cock and let him pull the tunic off over your arm and head.

With your left arm still cuffed to the wall, the shirt has to just kind of hang there on one shoulder, but Mando has succeeded in freeing the soft flesh of your neck, your chest, and your belly. He gazes down at you for an endless moment, then begins to assault everything he has exposed with hands covered in gloves and arms coated in steel.

You know that his gloves are augmented with some kind of sensors that transmit more information than the leather look of them would imply. You wonder what your pebbled nipples and rarely-bared skin feel like to him. He certainly has the touch of someone with perfect sensitivity as he sculpts and squeezes you; he plays with your nipples and adores the rest of your flesh until you’re panting for him.

You shove your hand back into his pants. You have to make him feel how he’s making you feel, to return this sweet torture. He moans again, and thrusts himself into your hand.

You strain against the wrist that’s cuffed to the wall. If only—of course. The plan hits you all at once. While you’re dying to explore these unexpected sexytimes with Mando, your pride is still itching at you to try and win the game.

“I-I want you, babe,” you say, making the sound of the words bottom out in your throat. “Want you in my mouth.” You squeeze him from root to tip and try to drop down in front of him, dangling off the cuff like you’ve lost all control. “Please let me—let me get on my knees for you.”

Mando curses through his teeth and presses the button to release your wrist without even hesitating. As your arm falls you lean into him, feigning like you’re going to do just as you said. Then you square your stance and twist, shoving him toward the wall, using your grip on his cock like a handle. In a real fight you would have hurt him bad right there, but this is just practice, just training. Just an exercise. You don’t squeeze him hard enough to do any damage.

And as soon as you’ve twisted his momentum to the side, you’re pushing off the wall, sprinting for the hatch out of the hold, and sweet, sweet victory.

A hand like iron clamps onto your shoulder; something catches your leg, and then you’re falling, with a heavy body riding you down. You twist into the fall so it’s not ugly, absorbing the impact with thigh and forearms. Then the Mandalorian is pressing your bare chest into the decking.

“Don’t think you got away with anything, there,” he says as he climbs more firmly on top of you. You turn your head to see his beskar face looming near your cheek. “I knew what you were up to.”

“Then why did it work?”

“I just wanted to feel you run.” He presses his body over yours, armor plates grinding into your thighs and back, shoving your hips flat against the deck too so you have no leverage to try and escape. “Now. What were you saying about your mouth?” His hand leaves your shoulder to grab up a section of your hair, tugging tight at the back of your head, forcing your face up toward him. “Ready to make good on that promise?”

You nod, frantically, but as much as you’d love to suck him down, the feeling of his whole body grinding you into the deck is driving you crazy. You curl your ass up against him, with the tiny amount of movement his pressure will allow. You want more than anything else for him to just fuck you through the floor right here.

Mando’s hand runs down your naked side, pushing at the waistband of your leggings when he reaches them. “Or maybe I’ll just—”

“Yes!” you cry, “oh please,” arching your back, scrambling to help him get your clothes out of the way.

His answering growl roars wild and alien through the modulator right beside your ear. You take more of his weight as his chest presses against your upper body so he can use both hands to clear all the barriers below your waists. You can choose to help him with your hands too, or you can hold yourself up with your forearms so you have room to actually breathe under his crushing weight.

You choose to sacrifice your breath. Your bare chest crushes into the cold decking as you shove your leggings down past your ass, and spit into your fingers so you can lubricate his path. That thick cock of his might have a hard time getting in, in a position like this, but it’s going to be so worth it.

Cool beskar gauntlets slide against your lower back and ass as Mando’s hands work at his own trousers in the small space between your bodies. His panting breath crackles through the modulator above your ear, sounding even louder since you can barely suck a breath in yourself under his weight. He moans when he notices you stroking your own slit, readying the way for him. You’ve worked your hand under one hip so you can reach yourself even as he’s crushing you. You’re already wetter than you expected, but you make sure to drag that moisture all over your sensitive folds.

As soon as he’s gotten himself free you feel his fat head probing at you. Some of the pressure comes off your chest as he slams his other hand against the deck near your face, holding himself up so he has a little more control. You think at first that he’s lining himself up, as Mando swirls himself around your entrance, and so you arch your back, present your hips as much as you can for him. As he keeps moving you realize he’s playing; savoring, scooping that moisture all over his tip before finally deciding to press inside.

The stretch is intense, and it just keeps coming. Now you have another reason not to be able to breathe. The pleasure in that invasion is white-hot and overwhelming, and he feels impossibly long, impossibly deep as he flattens you into the floor like this. You relax everything and focus on just taking it, on taking him.

Finally, finally, the timeless plunge reaches its end, as his hips come to rest against your bottom. He stays there, arms scooping around your shoulders, helmet pressed against your cheek, and lets out a long, shuddering exhale. Then he starts pumping. Long, measured, relentless thrusts drill into you, each one as deep and overwhelming as the first. The pleasure rips through you like a wildfire, melting and invigorating your limbs both at once.

And in this position you don’t have to do anything. Just lay there and take it, let Mando claim you, press further and further until you feel like your entire being is nothing but the cunt he’s hammering into, a vessel for pleasure as he grunts and curses above you, losing himself just the same in the meeting of your bodies.

Your pleasure builds, clamoring for release. You realize one of your hands is still trapped under your body, and with the small movement your current state will allow you to make, you get your finger onto your clit.

It doesn’t take much, just the slightest targeted pressure, to harness the wild ecstasy that’s been building in your core. Your muscles lock, your body clamps, and all that needy pleasure spirals so intense that you hear a rushing in your ears.

“Oh, fuck, are you coming?” Mando groans, his modulated voice so close and yet a million miles away. He presses deeper, more eagerly at the very idea, and that pushes you right over the edge. You wail like an animal and curl up under him, except you can’t, the floor’s too solid, he’s too solid, and you cum with every muscle in your body straining against a steel prison that keeps you flat and helpless.

He rides you through it all, pumping faster, harder, grunting with the effort and making your orgasm feel like it’s never going to end under the relentless way he fucks you. Even when the crest passes and your body goes limp, he keeps going, driving himself like your lives depend on it, as relentless as you’ve seen him in battle. Tears form in your eyes as his cock won’t let your body come down. You feel everything inside you tensing up for another orgasm by the time his breathing goes ragged and you know he’s close too.

When the Mandalorian comes he finally lets it all go, burying himself in you to the hilt and wailing with a sound so raw it makes your heart crack and your body clench around him. Your second orgasm makes the tears fall from your eyes; all your limbs collapse together as your cunt milks every last drop of his release out of him.

The first one to move after the rush fades is him; his helmet comes into view from where you lay with your cheek pressed against the deck. His leather-tipped finger soaks up the tear that was threatening to fall over the bridge of your nose. “Was—” his voice is thick and he has to clear his throat before he can continue, “—was I too rough?”

You make a reassuring sound, the closest you can get to words for a moment. You shake your head, just a little. “Fuck. No. Loved that.”

You wonder if that makes him smile behind the mask. Your voice came out raspy, made you both conscious of the fact that most of the weight of a seasoned warrior, plus a hell of a lot of solid beskar, still lies squarely on top of you. While the sensation was a turn-on, you still make a little sound of relief when he rolls off you, laying on his back by your side.

His helmeted head rolls to face you. You’re sure you look like a hot mess, laying there mostly naked, ass up, with your face in the deck, but you feel amazing. Mando reaches up one gloved hand and presses two fingertips lightly to your lips. It feels like a kiss, so you purse your lips and kiss back, keeping your eyes locked on his eye slit. He lifts his hand to your temple, brushing his fingers through your mussed hair.

“I guess you showed me.”

It takes you a second to realize he’s referring to the training exercise. “I thought you said it didn’t work on you.”

His helmet inclines. “It worked.”

You smile. Maybe you preen, just a little. “Satisfied, then, that I can handle myself?”

“Definitely not.”

He just lays there while you pout at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He lifts his arm, beckoning you to peel yourself off the floor and come cuddle against him. You pull your tunic back on before you comply; bare skin against beskar doesn’t sound quite as appealing now that the heat of passion has fled.

You cuddle into the crook of his arm, finding a decent enough pillow on the inside of his bicep. Only once he’s got you curled against him to his liking, does he explain himself. “You are not going to be fucking your way out of trouble while you’re with me,” he says matter-of-factly. “I forbid it.”

You try not to let him feel you shiver at what his tone does to you. “Is that so.”

“It is.”

“If you don’t respect my skills—”

“I do,” he cuts you off. “But they’re only for me, now.” His body shifts where you’re curled against him, his hand clutching against your back. “We can play this game again, as often as you like, but..” he reaches over and slaps your ass hard enough to sting, “now I’ve also got to start teaching you how to actually fight.”

My Mando Smut Masterlist

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#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandowhorians

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