#He's gonna catch those Beskar-lined hands

[aliorsboxostuff]

So how about sub din who is just started to date Dom reader and hasn't taken his helmet off yet. So things are getting steamy with them both and is din sitting on readers lap grinding on him and reader asks if he wants to take a step further and din nods yes. And reader makes sure that din is comfortable and says to leave the helmet on for din and doesn't want to rush him. And leads to din first time with reader and is riding him in the control room in the razor crest. I hope you are doing good and really glad that you are taking mandalorian requests.-🐸

A/N Oh 🐸, you with your amazing ideas, and always so descriptive! Though I gotta change the 'Started dating reader' part because the Din in my heart is a socially awkward mf that needs at LEAST 6 months of relationship development before holding hands. I also hope you are doing well! Yall gotta bear with me here this is gonna be my FIRST take on a star wars fic, let alone a Mandalorian fic, so if I do make any mistakes while writing some Mando'a words here, feel free to DM me or reply so I can fix where I wrote it wrong! As always, apologies for some mistakes, english is my 2nd language, and enjoy dear Readers! <3

Ner Din'ika 

Tags: Din Djarin x m!Reader, Grogu, Luke Skywalker, he's there as Grogus's teacher tho lmao, Mando'a words (Translation at the end), Bottom!Din, soft!Din, Keldabe kiss, First Kiss, Riding, Pet names, touch-starved!Din, fluff, fluff and smut, aftercare.

Din's first time with you is—as expected—filled with yearning and want and scalding touches and a kiss? 

[Takes place around the time frame of Grogus training in Book of Boba Fett, but i refuse to let The Razor Crest explode so here we are]

You stand at the mouth of The Razor Crest, watching as Din supervised Grogu’s latest training with Luke. The kid has flown a total of five little pebbles and an even more impressive number of bigger boulders, seven now counting. Din, worry and protectiveness practically oozing from his armor, stands off to the side, just near the tree lines, eyes watchful of his foundling as Luke, yet again, lets the little boy fly over his head. You’d deem it dangerous, stars, maybe irresponsible. But what do you know about Jedi training?

Instead, your eyes follow the line of Din's stature. His arms are crossed, leaning against some of the bamboos. Clearly trying to resemble a sort of relaxed stance, but you can see the tension, feel it even. Comes with being a Mandalorian’s boyfriend, you chuckle. Those broad shoulders lean back, Beskar reflecting the shining light of the growing evening, slowly he turns his head to glance at you sitting on the Crest’s mouth. You meet his visor, grinning, before he curtly turns back to where he was watching his kid. Your smile widens.

You met him through Cara Dune. She’s a good friend of yours, the one who pulled you out of your boring everyday life on Sorgan, used to fish the little morsels from your villages ponds, to hanging around her and earned her respect. Until that Beskar donned man and his little green kid came. Thought he wanted to take in Cara and you were ready to step in his way, but after they dueled, they came to a truce and started their alliance. He helped the villagers fight off the raiders that once terrorized the place, and once that's done he opted to leave, not before you hitched a ride to Nevarro with Cara.

It had to be admitted, the kid did catch your heart and held on to it, so you offered to help him and Grogu find his kind. Cycles after your initial meeting, you’ve grown close with both Din and Grogu, curious at the man’s past and equally drawn to him. Then that imperial bastard, Moff Gideon, had to up and steal the kid. So you, Cara, Bo-Katan and Hell, Boba Fett himself, joined forces to save him. 

The universe truly is bountiful to its protector, because you didn't take into account that saving The Mandalorians kid would give you the honor of learning his name and, by stars, becoming his boyfriend. Remembering back to those months, you still think you're the luckiest warrior in the whole galaxy to be blessed with such an amazing and loving clan of three. 

Reeling back to reality, far into the field, you see Grogu has gone tired and Luke has halted their training for the day, the little green guy already slumping into the dirt below and curling in on himself. You sigh fondly, walking down the ramp and jogging to wear Grogus doe eyes are already half lidded, and he yawns. 

“Come here kiddo,” You coo as you pick up his little body, cradling him in your arms. You see Luke talking to Din, too far away for you to catch, but you could see him nodding to Lukes animated chatter. You smile, glancing back down to Grogus little head burying himself deeper into your warmth, he’s already pawing at the jacket you're wearing, which makes you giggle and pull it around his little body. 

Luke walks over to where you’re standing, smiling as he sees Grogu already bundled up by you. “We should have dinner first before we sleep, right Grogu?”

Now that made his floppy ears perk. Grogu immediately turns from where you were hugging him, making grabby hands and incoherent words at the idea of food, which you smile at before handing him to Lukes waiting arms. 

“We’ll join you in a bit,” You said, and Luke nodded, already turning back into the direction of his temple. 

On cue, Din approaches you and slides an arm around your middle, pulling you to him at which you welcome the tug. With a steady hand on the cool Beskar chest plate, the two of you watch as Grogu flails his arms around, undoubtedly talking about something that only Luke could understand, the serenity of the fields surrounding you lulls you into a sense of peace. You turn to meet Dins visor, directed at Luke and Grogu, before it slowly turns to you, making you smile softly. Slowly, you bring your hand to caress the side of his helmet, fingers edging slightly under it, taking in the feeling of that powerful metal that has saved your boyfriend countless times. His gloved hand holds your wrist, not tugging away, just an anchor, a testament to his trust in you to know you’ll never take off his helmet, to know you’re patient to let Din take his own pace. 

The hand holding his helmet pulls slightly, and Din comes with. Your eyes flutter close as you feel the cold Beskar touch your crown, sighing when a shaky hand cups your jaw, bringing you closer. Despite the gap the armor creates, you’re never tired of feeling Dins hand on your nape, heavy over your pulse, burning even through his gloves. You smile, pulling back slightly, before you press a kiss to where his cheeks would be. “Let’s eat, cyar’ika,” You whisper, and you feel him nod.

You smile when he pulls back, arm still securely on your hips while the other smoothes over your jaw. You chuckle, pulling him to the smell of dinner being prepared by Luke, tugging him by his hand.

— 

After dinner is done and cleaned, Din has given Grogu his nightly bath and the kid is ready to pass out at any moment. Luke has taken him to his quarters and settled the little one on his own bed, just on the other side of his room. The bots have yet to make more sleeping quarters, still focusing on more classes and storage area, so the only available bed room would be Lukes, where Grogu is also staying. 

You and Din have known this from your last visits, opting to sleep in the privacy of the Crest instead. So you and Din bid the two a good night, and trek up the clearing where the ship is docked. 

Din’s arm never left your side, holding and pressing slightly, making you arch a brow at him. He only stares at you, undoubtedly false innocent eyes inside that helmet. You scoff, nudging him aside before pressing the button to close the ramp, submerging the two of you in the darkness of the Crest, shards of the twin moons the only thing leading you and Din up into the hull of the ship. 

His hands now roam around your body, pushing you slightly until your back hits the wall, you return his desperate touch with the same fervor. Finding the sliver of body suit on his hip not covered by his armor, you snake insistent fingers into the fabric and squeeze, his helmet not able to hide his groan.

“Easy dearest,” You smooth your hand over the area, other hand holding the side of his neck, thumb drawing soothing circles. “Let's take these off, alright?” He nods shakily.

You lead him to the compartment next to the sleeping pod, the table there clean of clutter and made to store Dins armor. Piece by piece, starting with his shoulder pauldrons, each part eased off with care, pressing a kiss to the Mudhorn signet, you can hear Dins stuttered breath. Then down to his vambraces, littering kisses from his shoulder and leading a path down to his forearm, then hands as you carefully pry off those thick gloves. You push Din slightly so his waist hits the edge of the table, pressing another kiss to the bare skin of his hand, half lidded eyes meets his visor at which you hear him exhale a ragged breath. 

Carefully unbuckling the belts around his breastplate, setting it on the table before you pull off the breastplate, the bodystocking stretches over his broad chest deliciously. As you put the armor piece aside, your hand smoothes over the fabric, pressing slightly where you know Din is sensitive the most, watching him inhale sharply before you smirk, littering kisses on your way down. As you crouch, you move to take off each leg piece, first tigh guards, pressing light kisses on the exposed fabric, then shin guards and the belts on top of it, then finally the knee-pads and his heavy boots. Gentle hands stoke up slightly, pushing the end of his pants up until you feel the tickle of leg hair, Din visibly shaking on top of you, gripping the table behind him until his scarred knuckles turn white. 

You smile, languidly making your way up his body, unwrapping his cape and setting it aside. The final divide between you and your boyfriend. His last brick, and the wall crumbles down. 

Shaking hands clasps at your back as you press kisses on his still covered clavicle, making the fabric damp and warm as he squirms. You hear his breath grow ragged, then you bite down, just enough to hear him groan and drop his head to your shoulder, his hands holding onto you like a lifeline. 

“Sleeping pod or-” 

“T-the cockpit…” He falters as you press another kiss nearing his neck. “Please,” 

You hum, nodding against his neck before leading him by the hand, careful touches along his hips as you usher him up the stairs. You follow suit, not forgetting to grab the lube from the compartment on the wall. 

When your feet touch the cockpits floor, Din impatiently pulls you up, hands stroking over your chest, down to your hips at which he breathes raggedly under your chin. You chuckle, moving him back until he feels the control panel. He almost jumps to sit on it, but you sit back on the captain's chair, you pull him towards you, making him stumble into your lap. His whine reverberates through his helmet's modulator adding a static edge to it. You made sure he’s comfortable before sliding your hands to his back, reaching to tug the zipper down. 

The zippers opens his backside into the night's cold air, making him arch into your warm touch, pressing his clothed cock to your lap. He whines from the movement, holding on to your shoulders, almost crushing them. With each skin slowly being revealed into the night's air, you press your lips against it, reveling in each whine and ragged breath you got out of Din. With every part of the suit being peeled, Din’s tanned skin is shown, bathed under the light of the moons and stars. Scars on his body paint an infinite constellation, your eyes following each one, from the deep ones to those that have grown lighter than Dins expanse of skin. 

Finally, he pulls at the tight bodysuit, discarding it somewhere on the floor, and his hands paws at your jacket, labored breath impatiently prying it off of your figure. You grin, shrugging the article off, followed by your shirt, leaving the both of you shirtless and breathless. Dins shaking hand strokes down your shoulder, to your arms, before he arches into you when your languid fingers trace his sensitive back, sending jolts rippling through his body. 

“Please…” Despite his helmet still perfectly secured on his head, you could feel his warmth ghosting at your neck. It truly has been a while since you and Din shared some privacy, always jumping from planet to planet, looking for more Mandalorians to repair broken bonds and doing favors that benefit Din’s covert. Only now did you and your boyfriend get to breathe in the warm embrace of peace within this planet, so you're not surprised just how sensitive Din has gotten.

“What do you need kar’ta?” Your hand holds Dins hip, no doubt leaving marks to be cherished in the morning, letting him grind himself on your thigh, broken moans and breath singing into your ears. You pride yourself for learning bits of Mando’a if only to hear his gasps each time you use it. “Hm? What do you want?” 

“I- ugh,” Din grunts as he feels one hand snakes into his trousers, stroking him steadily, his precum easing the movement. You smirk, other hand tweaking one of his perked nipples, bumping your head against his, making sure the amber in your eyes burns through his visor. The need melts into his skin. 

You’ve never gone past reverent touches and helping each other get off by hand, you haven't even gotten the pleasure of seeing Din fall apart by your mouth, but from the way he grinds into your touch, broken moans filling the room, his desperation leaks into your body. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Stars- Yes.” He moans when you tighten your hand just so. You nod, easing your hand away from his cock which makes him whine, until you begin to help him out of his pants.

“Okay, alright,” Your breath stutters when Din grinds over your cock, already tenting in the confines of your pants. Between you and Din’s relationship, the both of you haven't truly moved on from scalding touches and helping each other get off by hand. This is a new territory for Din, and you have to make sure he feels safe and comfortable in your embrace. 

You carefully slide him out of his trousers along with his briefs and discard it with the same pile as his top, feeling his strong thighs shake underneath your touch. Fumbling for the bottle of lube, you pour just enough on your hand and warm it up a bit, before following Din’s tailbone down to the top of his arse. He shivers, whining into your shoulder as he feels your digits ghosts over his hole, already squirming in your hold. 

“Come on, please,” He begs, nails scratching at your back. You slowly insert one finger, the tip first, letting the Din situate himself to the foreign feeling. He groans, burying himself deeper between the crook of your neck, his mandibles digging slightly at your jaw. The lube easies your finger to push more, deeper, until you hear his high pitch, broken moan, then slowly push in another. At that, he jerks his head to the side, chest still flushed with yours. 

When you begin scissoring, Din throws his head back, arches into your touch, which beckons you to chase him, biting at the now exposed column of his neck, making sure to leave marks no one but you know and Din could feel. Din feels delirious, deeply intoxicated from both your fingers and the feeling of your warm mouth pressing over sensitive skin and old scars, jolting each time you bite down or kiss longer to leave darker spots. He scarcely remembers moaning out broken syllables that should form your name, making your hold on his hips tighten, squeezing the scarred skin. 

After deeming it enough prep, you carefully pull your fingers out, pressing kisses on the planes of your boyfriend's chest, feeling him take ragged breaths, a steady hue of red throughout his body. You shuffle to discard your pants, hissing when you feel the cold air hit your heated skin. You could feel Din growing impatient, if the way he squirms could be interpreted as that, so you tug your pants off and align yourself under Din. 

“Slowly baby, slowly,” You remind him, his thigh shaking with anticipation. Hands holding under his thigh, making sure gravity doesn't take hold, you lower Din’s shivering body, inch by inch. The tight heat of his hole almost stutters your hold, making you groan, feeling the head of your cock inside him. You can feel Dins graps digs into your shoulders as he gasps.

Finally, your thighs are flushed with Dins, feeling the man shudder above you as you try to regain some sort of composure, breathing in shaking breaths. Din claws his way from your pellicals to your chest, making red rivers across your chest. You groan, pushing into his touch, which in turn shifts where you sat, enough to make your boyfriend shiver.

"M-move." He manages. "Move, please." 

"Anything for you mesh'la," You say as your teeth dangerously ghosts over his pulse. 

Planting your feet on the metal floor, you suppress the cold that shoots up your bones and instead focus on holding Din upright, thrusting into him with each movement. His arms shakes, moves back to grip the control panel, his scarred knuckles a hue lighter. A deep growl rumbles through you when you feel Din’s hole clenching around you, raking blunt teeth across his chest. You trail reverent kisses across a deep scar that runs from his left clavicle to just under his abdomen, Din shivers. In a more tender moment, slowed down after release with the two of you tangled together, you would've asked what those scars meant, wondering about the stories of your boyfriend's life. Maybe later, much later in the night.

When you hear a mewl, almost a hurt sound coming from the man currently flushed on top of you, your lips curls into a sharp grin, before hauling Din from gripping at the ships console to fall into your grasp, his arms immediately around your neck with a choked gasp from the sudden change. With the chair supporting both of your weight, you have the advantage to claw at Din’s hips, digging calloused fingers into his skin, using your strength to push Din up and down.   

You feel yourself nearing the edge, with Din clenching around you it’s hard to keep up the pace. The side of his helmet would leave an angry mark on your shoulder, making you grunt when Din lets out a broken whimper and buries his head to the crook of your neck. “C-close, baby,”

“Me too…” He lets out a breathy moan when your hand finds his dick, pumping it hastily, pushing him to his limit.

“Stars i-” You stutter when Din clenches around you. “Fuck- Wish i can kiss you,” 

Slip of a tongue. Shit. 

Your movement falters, a shiver shoots up when Din pulls his head back, dark visors looking straight to you, assessing you. 

"Din i-" But before you could sputter out a reason, an apology for forsaking the trust he gave you, darkness suddenly envelops your vision, rendering you blind. Dins hand covers your eyes, you could feel his calluses over your skin.

Then, as if a searing star itself break the atmosphere, you feel slightly chapped lips against yours, a tickle of stubble and- Is that a mustache? 

Din grunts into your mouth, realizing you still have one hand wrapped around him. He moans, moving with your thrusts, his kiss devouring your gasps as you push at him, deepening it. His tongue traces yours and confidently moves in, effectively rendering your brain into a short-circuit. Your mind briefly wonders how such a reserved man has this much skill in kissing, he’s no virgin but surely he hasn't kissed anyone beside you. Then he bites at your lower lip before bringing you deeper again with a hand on your nape, and all hell breaks loose.

You growl into the kiss, basking in the whimper he lets out as your hand moves faster and thrust grows sloppier, but definitely still hitting that spot that makes Din scream. He pulls back, inhaling sharply when you bite lightly on his jaw, feeling the hair that decorate it. Oh you’d worship him just to see his debauched face without being blind, and the thought is enough to make you cum. 

You feel yourself release inside Din’s warmth, making him shiver and let out a broken moan of your name. With your hand jerking him off, he follows suit, throwing his head back, painting his chest with strings of pearly cum. Once spent, he slumps into your embrace, helmet already in place and breathing raggedly next to your ear. You pry his hand off your eyes and press a kiss to the sliver of neck you could reach. 

Blinking away the little dots from your eyes being closed and pressed by his hand, you slowly steady your breath as you rub circles on Dins pelicals and lower back, feeling him sigh and melt at your touch. You can't help to let out a chuckle, which earns you a questioning sound from your boyfriend. 

“Nothing, just…” You smile, licking at your lips, trying to savor Din’s taste. “Best kiss I've ever had.”

That made him chuckle, nuzzling the cool helmet against the side of your neck. “Me too.”

Your smile widens, closing your eyes and simply letting the warmth of after-sex wafts through the cockpit. Speaking of which, you should probably clean up and sleep in the proper sleeping pod. The seat, plush as it is, won't do your back any good. So you reach for your scattered pants, looking for the fabric you always keep in your back pocket. When you finally find it, you shift Din a bit to clean up the mess that went up to both his and your chest, then carefully pull out of the man, making you groan as he shivers, wiping down what leaks out of him and the remaining lube around your length. 

Standing up and making your way down takes another effort, but nothing you can't do for Din, sleepy and content Din in your arms. Pushing the button to open the sleeping pod, you set him down on the edge of it before handing him a bottle of water.

“Drink, love,” You grin, before busying yourself on the table where another water bottle is kept and downing it. You hear the hushed shh of Dins helmet as it’s being taken off, then the cap of the water bottle turning. You swallow another gulp of water, before flashes of earliers heated kiss shocks you and makes you choke on the water slightly. You cough, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before closing the bottle and setting it back. 

“You uh… Done?” You clear your throat.

“Yeah,” You nod, turning back to see Dins helmet back on and him extending his arm, returning the bottle to you. You set it on the table and push him back to lie down in the pod. It’s always been a tight fit with both you and your boyfriend sleeping in it, but you make do.

When the doors are shut and the lights turned off, another hiss of Dins helmet makes your heart thump harder, but he shifts to place it on a small compartment off to the side and lays his head on your chest, one arm around you. You hook your arm around him, the other playfully raking through his curls. You could tell just from how it coils around your fingers, Din practically purring into your touch like a Loth Cat. You grin, pressing a kiss to his forehead before shifting to get comfortably on the pillow. 

“Good night, Din'ika,”

“Good night, Cyar’ika,” 

Cyar'ika: Darling, beloved, sweetheart 

Kar'ta: Heart

Mesh'la: beautiful

Requests are open! 

[kaptainbradukk]

(SPOILER) Prevision for Mandalorian S3

Aunt Armorer : Alright, kiddo. What's the deal with that Bo-Kat...

Djin : I unmasked.

Aunt Armorer :

[galacticgraffiti]

HI GALA I WOULD LOVE SOME MORE DADDY DIN PLEASE AND THANK YOU !!!

I LIVE FOR YOUR AGGRESSIVE ALL CAPS MESSAGES and you know i'm always done for some daddy!din, eri my love ♡

Warnings: daddy kink, first time exploring said kink, slip up and short awkwardness follows, general roughness (pushing around, choking), PiV sex, tiny bit of praise, smallest bit of cumplay

!!! NSFW/18+ !!!

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Din slams you against the metal wall of the ship, his chestplate pressed against your back. One of his hands is steadying him against the wall, caging you in, while the other grabs your wrists, holding them together behind your back.

That simple action is enough to make your whole body tingle - just one of his hands to hold both of yours in place, strong fingers wrapped around your wrists with a force that you know will bruise you. And you like it.

Din knows you like it, too- the two of you have been fucking long enough that he has found out things about you you never thought you would tell anyone. And he is certain you know that if you told him to stop, to be gentler, he would. But you don't and so he presses his armoured thigh between your legs until you spread them further apart, sighing when you finally get much needed friction from the contact of the cold beskar with your cunt.

"I missed you," you whisper, and his hand vanishes from your field of vision to wrap around your throat.

"Don't speak." His voice is rough, he has been gone for days and you don't know what has him so riled up- the bounty is in carbonite, the Child is safe, back at Mos Eisley with Peli. But something happened.

No matter, though, not when he presses his leg into you and you can feel him bruising your arms, your throat. Not when his cock is pressed against your ass and the sweet promise of him filling you lingers in the air.

You whine and grind your hips down against his cuisse, eagerly searching for relief, but Din digs his fingers into your neck to keep you still.

"Didn't say you could move. Ask me nicely for what you want and maybe I'll give it to you." He releases your throat from his death grip and you gasp for air. You can feel yourself soaking your panties as his strong hand grabs your tits instead, stroking one gloved thumb over your sensitive nipple.

"That were you want my hands, sweet girl?"

"No," you mumble, "don't want your hands, I want your cock, d- Din."

You catch yourself just in time, head swimming. You should control yourself better, but when you took care of yourself while he was gone, it was not his name you were crying out. And now the thought lingers, it pushes against your mind, wanting to break out, but you hold your tongue.

"Ah, is that all you missed me for?" Din's chuckle is dry when he slides his fingers from your breasts down your stomach to slip into your panties. "Sure seems like it, fuck, look- look at you, sweetheart, you're fucking dripping for me."

"Hmhm," you moan and rock your hips back, "please fuck me, I missed you so much... need your cock."

"I know, I know you do, sweet girl... Keep those hands right there," Din grunts and lets go of your wrists. You hear the rustling of fabric as he pulls his cock out of his trousers and a fresh wave of arousal sweeps through you, your cunt pulsing with need.

"Gonna fill up your pretty pussy if you need it so bad," Din groans and your last line of defence breaks when he pushes inside you. You can feel every ridge and vein of his deliciously thick cock as he stretches you open, your slick cunt taking him not without strain but easily enough that the pleasure makes your brain go fuzzy. Words spill from your lips, words you can't control anymore and-

"Yes, f-fucking fill me up daddy-"

There is a silence, a freezing of movement, a quiet in which you could hear a needle drop. Din doesn't move, his cock still seated deep inside you. You hold your breath and just... wait. Because what else is there to do?

The silence stretches on for so long you nearly expect him to pull away and tell you to get off his ship. But then...

"Oh, you like that?" Din's hips are still, and his tone indicates a sincere question more than it does a rhetorical one.

"Y-yes?," you press out, cheeks flushed, fingers cramping, your answer sounding like a question as well. Din's voice is lower, huskier than you have ever heard it when he answers.

"You want daddy to fill you up, sweet girl?"

"Oh fuck," you moan, your cunt clenching around him. Din chuckles darkly and starts moving again, hips slamming into you as he grabs your wrists again, his other hand sneaking around your body to grab at your tits, caressing the flesh, rolling and pinching your nipples. You gasp and arch into his touch, chasing the sensation, chasing his words, confirmation that he wants this as much as you do-

"Oh, you really like this, don't you." You can hear his smirk from under the helmet and a smile tugs on the corner of your lips before his cock hits something deep inside you that eclipses all thoughts except one:

"Yes, daddy," you whimper and now it's his turn to curse, hips moving faster, deeper, harder. He completely ruins you, cock splitting you open as you gasp and pant and beg for more.

"Please daddy, more, need your cock- want you to come inside me, feel all of you, you feel so good, so fucking good..."

Din's beskar digs into your back and the bruises on your arms will most certainly stay for days, but you don't care. It's all out now, no more secrets, no shame, your head swimming, happiness flooding you as you realise that he likes it too.

"Osik," Din groans, "fuck- I'm not gonna- your pussy feels so good, can fucking feel how tight you get for me- gonna make daddy come inside you, fill you up until you're dripping, sweet girl-"

"Yes, gods, fuck yes Din, I want that-"

A sharp smack on your ass makes you pause and you shiver when Din brings the cheek of his helmet to your ear.

"What did you just call me?"

"I'm sorry," you cry, "I'm sorry daddy, I just held back for so long-"

"It's okay, you can let go now... good girl, never gonna let you call me anything else again, fuck," he groans, and his hand leaves your wrists to grab onto your hips, pulling you back against him and down on his cock as he fucks up into you.

"Gods, fuck, so good, you feel so good inside me, daddy... want you to come, please, let me feel- feel how you fill me up," you moan. Din pushes impossibly deeper, setting your mind aflame with desire.

"Gonna let me ruin your perfect pussy? Make a mess out of you, fucking destroy you and then let daddy take care of you, sweetheart?"

His cock drags against your clenching walls and it's all so much- his words touch something that was hidden deep inside you and pull it to the surface, and your mind just explodes, pleasure shooting through your veins like liquid fire as you come, drenching him in your release.

He chokes, tensing up behind you before your hazy mind registers the warmth spilling inside your fucked out cunt. Thick fingers dig into your flesh, keeping you upright as he shallowly fucks into you through his orgasm, filthy wet sounds and slapping skin filling the room. Din finally pulls back, panting hard and you nearly collapse when his steadying hands leave you and the comforting presence of his broad, beskar-clad chest vanishes.

You have to steady yourself, leaning your forehead against the wall to catch your breath. Joints crack behind you and before you can turn around to see what's going on, strong hands pull your ass cheeks apart. You can feel a blush rising to your face again, thinking of the view Din must have- kneeling behind you, spreading you wide open with his hands, looking at your gaping cunt. You tremble when he runs the rough pad of his finger along the sensitive inside of your thighs, gathering up his release that is seeping out of you, trickling down your thighs, and gently pushes it back inside your fluttering pussy.

"That's it," he mumbles soothingly. "You did so well for me, daddy's good girl. Now, let me clean you up."

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I am unwell. Daddy Din does things to me.

@ethenae @adancedivasmom @kakashibabe02 @kik51199 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @asaucecoveredsomething @book-of-baba-fett @mando-amando @gotomarvelgal @muffledgorillaviolence @goddessofsprings @elegantduckturtle @samanthacookieone @imalovernotahater @corrabell @nomercyforthewarrior @msfett @ashotofspotchka @milf-obi-wan-kenobi @hayley-the-comet @ladykatakuri @deewithani @meabravo @fivesarctrooper @rowansparrow @sithdjarins @daore @spacehooters @perpetual-fangirl900 @clonecyare @amcheeken @pinkiemme @echoskama @ittybittykylo @rintheemolion @stardust-galaxies @tuskens-mando

[pascalpanic]

Sweet Talk (Din Djarin x afab!Reader)

Summary: Din can’t hold back anymore, and decides to start flirting with you. Too bad he’s awful at it.

W/C: 3.5K

Warnings: lots of flirting, lots of innuendos, SMUT 18+, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it before you tap it, kiddos), fingering, squirting, cream pie... language? yeah uh there’s a lot. Reader is afab but no pronouns or gendered pet names are used. lots of dirty talk.

A/N: AAAAAAAA this was a request for @notabotiswear!! I hope you guys all like it, this is my first Din smut and I was rlly nervous bc uh Din smut is obviously something big in this fandom and I wasn’t sure if I’d characterize it properly. but here we are!

You don’t know what Din looks like under his helmet, but you think he must be smirking. There’s no way the man wouldn’t be, not with the words he just said to you.

You’ve been travelling with Din and his little green son for a while now. You’d brought everything good to the beskar man’s life the moment you met. You made him eat more, drink more water. The presence of another human on the ship encouraged Din to bathe more and to keep the ship tidier. All in all, things had massively improved when you entered Din Djarin’s life.

One specific perk brought relief: you were extremely in touch with The Force. So was the tiny little green bean. From you, Din had finally learned his son’s name. He didn’t really like the way Grogu rolled off the tongue, however, so he generally stuck to calling him what he had before. Your ability to communicate with Grogu made things like bedtime and baths much easier, and everything went smoother.

Yes, you were a Force user. Ever since you were a child, you’d had a special sensitivity to that force that flowed all around you. Even though Din was not aware of The Force, nor was he able to use it or speak with it, the energy of The Force made the man practically glow. You understood why Grogu liked him so much. The man radiated it, warm energy that seemed unnatural for a bounty hunter. Once you got to know him, it all made sense. His aura was indescribable, really, but it was fitting. He was a good man at his core. He was kind and even funny sometimes.

Let’s return to the present: Din Djarin just pulled a cheesy pickup line on you, and it made you stare at him with an expression of sheer confusion, even though you could feel your cheeks warm from his words. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” You ask, placing your hands on your hips.

He looks up at you and cocks his head to the side. “I said that I may not be able to feel the Force, but I wish I could feel you.”

Your mouth hangs open, trying to press down a giggle that rises in your throat. “Din, what the fuck?” You finally laugh, grinning. “That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard. No wonder you’re single,” you shake your head. “Where is this coming from?”

Din’s last reserve has broken. He’s been planning this for days, planning the way he’d finally tell you everything he thinks. “Just… I wasn’t listening to you at all. Was looking at your face. You’re gorgeous, you know that?” He asks you, the black T-visor staring you down.

You frown as you see your own reflection in the shining beskar. “I wish I could say the same about you,” you tease and tap your fingers on the metal helmet he wears. “What do you look like under there? Can you tell me?”

“Why, so you can make fun of it?” Din rolls his eyes.

“No, so I can finally put a face to the man I think about at night,” you tease, leaning in closer. It’s instinctual, like you’re leaning in so he can kiss you. He obviously can’t, not with that damn helmet on his head that you know isn’t coming off any time soon.

Din’s breath catches in his throat. “Oh come on,” you smirk at him. “Two can play at that game, Din. What do you look like?” You ask, tracing your fingers across the indents of his helmet and down to his neck. “Can I see your skin?” You ask in a low, quiet voice.

Din nods. You pull the neck of his clothing down to reveal a patch of gorgeous, caramelly skin. “Oh,” you mumble before you can stop yourself. “I bet you have brown eyes, don’t you? With brown hair too, since your skin is this dark. Am I right?”

His breath is heavy now. “Yeah,” he rasps out through the modulator. You press a soft kiss to his skin, feeling how warm and soft it is.

A shiver runs through his body, making the skin prick up beneath your lips. “Oh. So you meant it when you were flirting,” you giggle, sitting back upright and looking at him. “Well, you’re gonna have to win me over the hard way, Mando. Flirting is how people usually do it, I’ve heard,” you tease and pat his helmet as you stand and make your way out of the cockpit.

His aura has changed. It radiates further, sucks in more energy and pushes more out, all at a quicker speed. If it had a color, it would be a deep pink. “You want me too, don’t you, cyare?” Din asks, voice low and husky.

“You’ll have to figure that out yourself, Din,” you laugh and make your way over to your little green child to wake him from his nap.

“Grogu,” you sing softly, and the little thing stirs beneath his absurd amount of blankets. Those big eyes blink open and he makes a little grunt of effort. “I know, baby boy. So sleepy,” you coo and lift him from his cradle. He cuddles into your chest contentedly. “Good morning, snugglebug,” you mumble and press a kiss to his head.

Your back is to the ladder, but you can hear Din climbing down. His feet hit the floor. “I’ve been thinking about you for so long,” he tells you. His voice is even deeper, raspier than the modulator makes it sound. “That body… you don’t know what you’ve unleashed by saying tha-”

You turn, holding Grogu in your arms. Din’s demeanor shifts. “Oh. Uh, hi buddy. Can he understand me?” he asks. He knows sometimes the child can, but not always. Not when he uses different words.

You shake your head, reading the baby’s energy. He’s too sleepy to comprehend anything. “No, he can’t. But really, is that so?” You ask, popping a hip and resting a hand on it.

Din nods. “I’ve always loved the color of your eyes. Have I mentioned that?” You shake your head. “Really, they’re so beautiful.”

That makes you genuinely smile up at him. “Din,” you coo and place a hand on one of the indents of his helmet. “Is there a way you can remove the helmet and I can’t see it that’s legal with The Creed? Like, if my eyes were closed, could you do it?”

He nods. “Yes. As long as you don’t see my face.”

You smile a little. “Good to know,” you nod and walk away, the baby in your arms.

-

The day continues like that, the two of you trading compliments and pick up lines, shamelessly flirting around the Crest. You cook dinner and Din comments that it smells nearly as good as you. Din fixes something mechanical and you comment that those fingers would feel really good somewhere else.

There’s a palpable tension between the two of you for the rest of the night. You and Din dance around each other, sneaking touches of the other’s arm or hand or back. He compliments you and you flirt right back.

When Grogu finally yawns, it’s like the Maker themself sent it. Din hurriedly puts the baby to bed, and finds you in the cockpit after, sitting in his chair. The pilot’s chair. “Din,” you sing-song to grab his attention.

“What?”

You look at him with purpose for a second, then close your eyes. Sitting up a little. Referring to what you said earlier- Din can remove his helmet if you can’t see his face. He can kiss you. You can touch his face, feel him. “I promise they’ll stay closed,” you tell him.

You can hear him breathe through the modulator of his helmet for a moment, then there’s a soft sound of the helmet being removed. Finally, there’s a clank of the helmet being set on the floor. When it’s just your little family of three on the ship, Din omits the full beskar regalia. Nevertheless, you can hear the soft noise of his knees hitting the floor. In front of you. “Can I kiss you?” He asks.

His real voice is like a song. It’s nowhere near as low, though it’s still a bit deep, a bit raspy. It’s beautiful, so quintessentially Din, and you nod with a small smile. “That’s why they’re closed, stupid,” you tease.

One of Din’s calloused hands finds the side of your face. He pulls it down a little, for his kneeling height, and kisses you. Slowly. His lips are warm and soft, surprisingly soft, against your own. You break away from him for a second, your eyes still squeezed tightly shut as if you may accidentally open them. “Can I touch your head?” You ask.

In response, Din takes your hands and puts them on either side of his face. It allows you to feel the stubble beneath your fingertips, the warm skin. “You have a beard,” you giggle softly.

“All the better if my face is between your legs, right?” He chuckles. It’s just so fucking perfect and real, the way his laugh sounds without the helmet. As much as you’re enjoying the sound, the words that his voice formulates make you gasp a little and shudder. “You want that?” He asks you, lips finding your neck and kissing it slowly.

“Goddamn,” you mumble. “No, Din, I wanna fuck you tonight. Can we? Will you keep your helmet off if I promise not to look?” You ask, voice desperate. You clutch the back of his head, digging your fingers into the thick hair there- it’s wavy, you can tell. “Maker, I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.”

Din makes a little noise of affirmation into your neck. “Yeah,” he nods. “Even better, just wait,” he says, pulling away and putting the helmet back on. “You can look again.”

You do, seeing just your reflection in his helmet. “Where do you want me, baby?” You murmur to him, a hand on the side of his helmet.

Baby. No one has ever called Din that before. He’s heard it a million times, in crowded cantinas, between lovers. Between two people who cared for each other. You two cared for each other, he supposes. Obviously, or you wouldn’t be in this situation. The thought of the word makes Din pause for a moment.

“Hello? Din, what’s in there?” you tease and rap on the helmet with a fist.

You can’t see it but he’s absolutely beaming beneath his helmet, overjoyed. “Where do you want me? In the bunk? In the chair?”

You lean in and smirk, your eyes reflected in the black visor. “Where have you dreamed of having me most?” You whisper, and you swear you can see the beskar-clad man shudder.

“My bunk. Get undressed and lie down for me,” he tells you, already climbing down from the cockpit and motioning with his head for you to follow. You nod excitedly and climb down after him.

Din is looking for something, though you’re unsure of exactly what. You remove your top and pants, and start to move to remove your breastband before two large hands find your bare sides.

Din has returned, and he turns you around. He looks down at you with a long and thin strip of dark fabric in his hand, and you shudder. “Is that what I think it is?” You ask, hands finding the sides of his breastplate.

As you start unlatching his armor, Din nods. “You can undress me, then I’ll put it on and remove my helmet,” he tells you.

You smile a little as you start removing his beskar, tossing it to the side onto a discarded cape. It still makes a soft clunk, but it’s not enough to wake Grogu, thank the Maker. Once the metal is gone, your hands run over his flight suit, allowing you to feel the strong muscles beneath them.

“Din,” you murmur, unzipping the front. It exposes his bare chest, his tan skin with dark hair across it. He’s muscular, of course; as a bounty hunter must be. His arms are just as strong as you push the sleeves off of his shoulders, then push the waist down.

He doesn’t wear underwear. Of course he doesn’t, it would be impractical you suppose, but it exposes Din’s surprisingly large dick. You bite your lip as you look down at it, at how hard and needy it already is. You give it a slow stroke and Din groans. “Alright mesh’la. Let’s get that off of you,” he says and lifts your arms, pulling off the breastband.

After that, he shoves your underwear down and you step out of them, kicking them to the side. “Fuck,” he grunts at how beautiful you look, naked before him. Din pushes you back until your ass meets the end of his bunk and he lifts you to sit on the edge.

He spreads your legs and stands between them, his cock pressing against your dripping folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet, and it’s for me?” He chuckles with hardly any air in his lungs.

“Of course I am. So fucking sexy,” you murmur as you let your face fall forward into his chest, kissing at the skin and working a mark into his pec. You pull away and sit back, giving him a little room. “Okay, put it on me. Please. I just wanna kiss you,” you admit, closing your eyes preemptively.

He nods and wraps the cloth around your eyes, using his deft fingers to knot it behind your head. It’s snug, but not too tight. “You do this often?” You tease, resting your hands on his wrists.

He shakes his head. “Never have. Always kept the helmet on. You’re just…” he pauses as he removes his helmet, “something special,” he sighs, finally kissing you again.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him tight against you, wrapping your legs around his waist as well. “Din… should’ve said something sooner. Would’ve done anything for you,” you sigh as his lips find your jaw and then your neck, slowly tracing his tongue across your collarbone.

He makes a little grunt. “Sorry,” he chuckles. “Let me make it up to you,” he mumbles as he cups your face and kisses you again, his tongue running along the seam of your lips. “Can I do this, baby? Will you let me fuck you?”

The word again. Baby. It slipped from Din’s lips this time, before he could stop himself. He really really likes you, so much so that he can hardly contain it. He’s never been one for names in bed, degrading or praising, but he’s never going to stop calling you his, his baby.

You whine softly and break the kiss. “Please, Din. Fuck me, wreck me,” you nod before reaching out to where you find his face.

While you trace the stubble of his jaw, one of Din’s thick fingers slips into your folds. He shudders at how wet you are, tracing a finger up and down through the wet skin. “Mm, fuck,” he groans softly as the pad of his middle finger masterfully finds your clit. He rubs small circles into it, causing your head to fall forward into his shoulder.

“Please, please,” you whine, your walls clenching around nothing. “Fuck me already, baby,” you plead with Din, gripping his hips now.

“Relax, cyare,” he murmurs and kisses your neck. With the helmet on, he rarely gets to experience anything pleasurable with his mouth. Your skin is so soft and warm beneath his lips, his tongue, and he just has to bite at it. Din nibbles at your earlobe, feeling himself grow harder. “Let me take my time with you.”

“I’ve waited so long for you, Din. Please don’t make me wait,” you beg, slowly stroking his cock. A bead of precum forms on the tip and you swirl it around the head with the pad of your thumb.

Din can’t hold back anymore. He pushes your hand away and lines himself up to you with the free hand, two fingers circling your clit now. “You ready for me?” He groans.

“Yes, just fuck me,” you whimper and grab both sides of his head, pulling him to kiss you. It’s deep and hot and it grows sloppy as Din pushes into you, splitting you open on his deliciously thick cock. “Fuck,” you cry out at the sensation.

“You think you feel good?” He shivers and barely breathes out. “Feel so fuckin’ good around me, so hot and wet,” he shudders.

Din’s still standing, and he has more leverage as he thrusts all the way in, then pulls nearly all the way out. “Lay back,” he orders you, and you comply.

His second thrust is even deeper than the first as he pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, allowing him to already hit the deep spot inside of you. You whine and he smirks. “There we go. Good job, baby, keep making those noises for me,” he insists as he starts thrusting in and out of you.

He’s fucking good at this. It’s no surprise really, the way he knows your body masterfully. It’s almost as if you’re using The Force to guide him, but he’s just that fucking skilled. His tip drags against that sweet spot against you with every thrust, and Din pulls your hips to his with one hard thrust.

It’s so hot, the sound of Din’s skin slapping into yours, the way the skin of his thigh drags against yours. “Fuck,” you cry out as he presses his fingers a little harder against your clit, making the circles he draws slower and more deliberate.

“Knew you’d sound so good,” he grunts. “Knew you’d love it when I’m fucking you. When I get to take you like this. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you nod frantically. “I wish I could see you.”

“I know, cyare,” Din assures, even though his voice is breathless and strained. “Come on, baby, you feel so close, don’t you? I can feel it, the way your walls are getting tighter around me. You gonna be good and cum on me? I think you can.”

His words are just as arousing as his actions. “I will, please, I can feel it, just keep going and don’t stop,” you whimper. You take one of his hands, lacing his fingers through yours.

Din smiles at the gesture. It’s soft, intimate. He likes it as much as he loves the way you call him baby. “That’s my good baby,” he nods and pulls your hips a little off of the bunk, so that anything that spills from you will collect on the metal floor instead of the mattress.

It grows and grows in the pit of your stomach, and you can feel it. It’s coming and it’s coming hard. “Din, Din please,” you whine, one leg wrapping tight around his hip. “Fuck, I’m gonna,” your voice barely manages out before it washes over you, the feeling flowing through your body like a high in your veins. “Din,” you cry out as you cum, toes curling from the intensity. It spills from you, all over Din’s cock, dripping onto the floor.

“Oh, good job, cyare, fuckin’ Maker, you feel so good,” he groans. “I’m not gonna last much longer. Can I cum in you?” He asks, still checking up on you.

You nod. “Please, please baby,” you groan and squeeze the hand you’re holding tight. “Need to feel it.”

He nods too, though you can’t see it. “Okay, okay, I-“ a strangled cry comes from deep within his throat as he finally lets go, his cum pushing deep inside of you. “Fuck,” he murmurs, interjected by shouts of your name.

The both of you come down later, panting and covered in sweat. Din pulls out and a little bit of his cum drips from you, joining your own release on the floor. It’s so fucking hot that Din nearly cums again. “Stay right there,” he tells you, gently stroking your hip. “Don’t take the blindfold off.”

He comes back a few moments later with a damp rag, cleaning you up before cleaning up the mess the two of you made on the floor. He puts it with the laundry then climbs into the bed next to you, cuddling into your side. “Fuck, Din,” you giggle and press a kiss to whatever skin is in front of your face- his jaw. “You’re good at that.”

“Just felt so good,” he chuckles too. “You’re fantastic. I like it when you call me baby,” he admits.

You grin. “Then I’ll have to call you it all the time, baby,” you chuckle and kiss his lips softly. “Din?”

“Yes, ner k’arta?”

“Can we sleep like this?” You ask. “I promise I won’t look at your face or sneak anything, I mean it.”

Din chuckles quietly. “Of course we can. I trust you.”

You give a happy little noise and cuddle into his warm body, his strong arms surrounding you. “I like this. You’re so cuddly,” you admit with a small laugh.

“We can do this anytime you like,” he laughs too, kissing your forehead. “Whenever, wherever. If it’s with you, I’ll do anything.”

-

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867

[arduadastra]

69’ing with din but with him on top??? Yes??

This ran away with me because, this prompt? DELICIOUS. It starts real smutty but it ended softly. I have no regrets. It's been a while since I wrote smut so enjoy my filth fest!

Warnings: Slight Dom/Sub, Oral (F and M receiving) swearing, reader being bratty and after sex fluff.

Want something? Ask me here! I write Din, Javi, Ezra, Max P, Frankie, Oberyn and Whiskey.

1.6K - I mean...who knew I was such a hoe for dom Din?

MAJOR NSFW

What an awful fucking day.

Din had sent you out to the local market to pick up food for the next hyperspace jump and somehow you had come back with less than you started with.

When you got there, which took an hour because your speeder had broken down, you realised you had half the credits you actually needed because the other half was still on the ship.

To make matters worse, some twi'lek asshole decided to run into you which made you drop half the fruit you had bought and smash it on the ground below.

As you trekked back, indignant and defeated, you were seething. How can one person royally fuck up that bad? At a simple task nonetheless?

God, Mando was gonna be pissed.

As the ramp lowered you stood, shouldering the few remaining items you could actually buy and you see him waiting for you. He’s got the child cradled in one arm and another on his hip.

You’d almost laugh at the posture if you weren’t so pissed off.

“What took you so long?”

You laughed humourlessly and shoved past him, he grunts and plants his feet, “Hey!”

You swing around, dropping your bag on the floor and point at him, finger hitting his chest plate, “It’s your fault! You said you’d fixed the speeder.”

He says nothing, just drops the child to the ground and stands up straight. “It fucking broke within ten minutes, I had to walk the rest of the way.” You continue, voice rising, “THEN this asshole ran into me and I dropped everything. Didn’t even get much in the first place because I left half the fucking credits here!”

You curse and tug at your hair, walking away from him now, “Fuck, I didn’t even get those cookies you wanted!" You kicked the crest wall and winced at the pain that shot up your leg.

Mando, as always, was a silent observer of your meltdown. He never spoke unless he had to and in all the years you had known him, you’re not sure he’s ever witnessed an outburst from you.

It had just been a shitty day.

“And!” You continue, pointing at him, “You decided that landing on a planet that’s 1000 degrees in the shade was somehow a good plan. I could barely breathe out there, you didn’t think to check the ground temperature, idiot?!”

That got his attention. Immediately you knew you’d fucked up. 

It’s one thing to yell at him but to insult his planning skills? His intelligence? Yeah, that’s game over.

He tilts his head slightly before pressing his vambrace, closing the ramp. He then takes three very measured steps towards you as you back away, your legs hitting the bunk. He stares at you for a long time. His chest barely moves and you suddenly understand why so many cower in the face of him.

His voice is deadly, “Is that anyway to speak to me, adika?”

You sit, “No.” You don’t apologise though, you won’t give him the satisfaction.

He nods once, noting your lack of apology. He is a wall of beskar and silent rage. His voice continues, deeper even through the helmet’s filter “You think I can’t fix a speeder?"

You shake your head.

He crosses his arms, even from a distance he’s an imposing force and you feel yourself heat at the display of dominance, “You think can speak to me like that? Call me an idiot?”

You look down, loving the heat of his gaze on you. You squeeze your thighs together “I was angry. I didn’t mean it."

He leans in at that, a hand bracing on the bed beside you and another coming up to rest at the back of your neck, tilting it and baring you to him. 

He rumbles in your ear, “So how are you gonna make it up to me?"

You whimper and grab at his bicep, “Anything, I’ll do anything. I’ll be good.”

You hear him chuckle darkly, “You better be.”

You lie back, hair fanning across the bed as you undo your shirt and drop it to the floor. You see his helmet tilt down at your exposed breasts and you groan, “Touch me, please.” Your hands reach for him but he shakes his head, his eyes still focused on your chest. “That would be rewarding you Mesh'la, you haven’t earn't me yet.”

He does begin to take off his beskar though, standing above you as he slowly strips and helpless to do anything but watch. He removes the lower half of his flight suit and you feel yourself flood at the sight of his hard cock.

He takes himself in his hand and groans, tilting his head back and exposing the olive-skinned line of his throat. You can’t help but move your hand downwards at the sight but he catches you.

Quickly, he grips your hand and pins it above your head, the other still running against his dick, “uh uh…good girls listen to orders. So strip, but don’t you dare touch yourself.” 

Maker, you loved it when he told you what to do. 

You pulled down the rest of your clothing and couldn’t help the shiver that ran up your spine as you saw his cock glisten at the action.

“Please, please let me-“

“What? What do you want?”

You whine, “Your cock, please Mando.”

He stops, and brackets himself above you, hand hovering on the light switch, “Say my name.”

You moan, “Din.” 

He clicks the switch.

You gasp at the sudden loss of sight and feel Din moving above you. You also hear the familiar hiss of a helmet being removed and you crane yourself upwards for a kiss. You feel him graze his stubbled jaw across your face, you ache to feel his lips. Din kissed like a man crazed and you needed it.

It never comes.

Instead, you feel him smile against your cheek before flipping himself over, his cock suddenly slipping between your lips. You groan as he thrusts downwards and you suck hard, “You said you wanted my cock mesh’la.”

You feel his hair fall forward against your mound and you whimper around the thickness in your mouth. You feel his hot breath fan your wet clit and you rise your hips to feel more but he lifts away. You grip his waist.

He pushes further into your mouth and you exhale harshly as he starts his rhythm. It's punishing and bruising and you feel him in your throat. You’re powerless below him.

You love it. 

And you know he does too.

He grunts above you, hand fisting in the sheets while the other runs up your thigh, he teases the apex and you kick your leg out.

He grips your ankle with a firm hand and groans as you swirl your tongue around his head, precum bursting out as you do, “Maker. Good girl, such a good girl for me.”

His finger enters you suddenly and you release him from your mouth with a cry, absolutely soaking his fingers in the process. You hear him suck on them when he takes them out and you moan at the image. 

It’s moments like this you wished you could see his face. You wonder what he would look like with your arousal all over his chin, how his eyes would darken as he entered you. You imagine him with dark eyes, there’s no way a man like Din doesn’t have dark eyes. You run your hands up and down his chest, flight suit still covering most of him but your feel the hard planes of muscle under your fingertips and you just wish he would fucking touch you already.

No sooner did you think that he speaks roughly, “I think you’ve apologised enough Cyar’ika.” and spears your pussy with his tongue.

You cry again and he thrusts his cock in your mouth to shut you up. Din is relentless, all those years with a helmet would make you think he would be timid when it came to eating you out.

You couldn’t be more wrong. He was a man possessed as he gripped your thighs and spread you below him and you feel the heat sear in your gut at the hungry display.

He turns his head and sucks a bruise into your thigh, nose brushing your folds and you whine at the burn of his moustache against your sensitive core, “that’s it, cum for me. Cum for your riduur.”

You hadn’t heard that last word before but it sets you off as he laps at your release, moaning around his cock in the process.

“Shit, Shit I-I” Din gasps and you feel his own orgasm fill your mouth, swallowing it down and letting him go with a loud 'pop.’

You gasp and hear him flop next to you, head still down by your feet. After a few minutes catching your breath you lean up on your forearms, looking down at where you assume his face to be, “What did that mean?”

Din stays silent a fraction too long and you raise an eyebrow, “Din?”

“Mhmm.”

You roll your eyes and prod him in the leg, “That word! What did it mean?”

You hear him shuffle around and soon his head is next to yours. While you can’t see him you can tell he’s stalling, “Means a lot of things.”

You wait, turning your head ever so slightly towards him and you feel his breath fan your face, “tell me.”

His hand comes up and grazes your cheek as he softly presses a kiss to your lips and murmurs, “it can mean partner but...” He kisses you again, “I’d like it to mean spouse .”

Your heart soars, “As in?”

“Husband and wife. If you’d like that.”

You kiss him back, hard and press him onto his back, “I’d definitely like that. Riduur”

Din smiles.

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

Tagged: @evyiione

[winchesterxxi]

For the Best (Din Djarin x Reader) | PART 1

PART 2 ⇒

Rating: G (General Audience)

Type: Angst

Summary: Din has put his life at risk one too many times in order to protect Y/N. But how much is too much?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: CHAPTERS 14 & 15 SPOILERS

A/N: this a long one, so strap in. and fun fact, that’s my favorite gif of din, ever. something about the ruffled hair, the worried eyes and the facial hair just hit the spot. (UPDATE: Hi so apparently people want this to be a series??? So part 2 is in the works but because this was intended to be a one shot apologies if it seems rushed)

MASTERPOST | REQUEST HERE | KO-FI

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

Din would give his life to protect the ones he loved. It wasn’t just a case of honor and duty anymore but rather of pure unfiltered love, which he’d never admit out loud or phantom of letting you know. Most of the times he’d do it so unconsciously that it was as if a primal instinct took over him when it came to protecting either of you. Sure you were a grown woman, with amazing hunter skills but for him, you were something that he had to protect, without making it too knowledgeable to the people around him.

That is why he was quite reluctant to take you along with Mayfield to the hidden Imperial rhydonium refinery on Morak to get Moff Gideon's ship coordinates.

“Din, I’ll be fine.”

“What if-”

“No discussions. I’m going.”

And he just silently nodded his helmet in a yes ma’am manner that made the whole crew on the back of The Slave side eye each other.

Once inside the officer's mess hall, where the terminal Mayfield needed is in, he notices his former commanding officer, Valin Hess, and fears being recognized, refusing to step into the hall.

“This is your part of the job. You go in there and you get the bloody coordinates.” you hiss at him through your own helmet.

“My part of the job? I drove us here while under attack and saved our asses, and you have the nerve to say this is my part of the job? No way I’m going in there.” he looks between you and Din.

“I’ll do it then.” you say decidedly, but before you could take a single step into the hall, Din grabs your upper arm.

“No.”

“What do you mean no? He won’t do it and you’ have to take your helmet off which is not happening.”

“Why would I have to take my helmet off?” he questions through his modulated voice.

“All the terminals in this refinery can only be accessed after a facial recognition scan. I noticed it while we were making our way through the halls.” you explain causing Mayfield to throuw an impressed look in your direction.

All three of you fall in silence for a few seconds, considering how you would go about reaching the terminal and before you could say another word, Din steps away from you and Mayfield not even giving you time to process what was happening or try to stop him.

With just a few strides he was standing in front of the target terminal pressing a few buttons and for two times getting an automated voice stating facial scan required. Sensing his distress, you try to walk to him only to have Mayfield’s hand forcefully grabbing you and pulling you back to where you were standing.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he whisper-yells, scolding you.

“I’m trying to help.” you answer with the same voice tone, releasing your arm from his grasp.

“He can take care of himself.” you don’t say anything but instead turn your head in Din’s direction, just like Mayfield as you hear the facial recognition being asked for a third time, initiating a countdown.

Din reaches for his helmet and you cut your own breathing. and there’s a slight buzz in your ears. The world stops spinning when your eyes catch the back of his head and the curling of his brown hair strands there resting. You can’t believe what he just did, exposing himself like that and introducing his face to virtually every security control in the galaxy. 

Even though his back was still facing you, there was almost a sense of disrespect in looking at him, almost as if you’d caught him undressing. 

Then, from the corner of your eye you can see Hess approaching him. 

“Trooper!” Hess shouted to him. “Hey, trooper!”

Din turned his head in Hess’s direction and as soon as your eyes caught a glimpse of his skin, you looked away - this didn’t feel right. He didn’t have a say on whether or not he’d want you to look at him and you didn’t want him to be even more uncomfortable than what he already was.

“Pay attention when a superior addresses you. What’s your designation?” 

“Transport crew,” he said. No helmet modulator whatsoever and his honey like voice slipped so easily into your ears. 

“What?”

“My designation is Transport Copilot.” his voice said again and you could hear to slight tremble in his statement.

“No, son. What’s your TK number?” Hess insisted

“My TK number... is...” he tried but nothing comes out, and you know that this might be the moment that gets all three of you killed. That is until Mayfield steps in front of you and quickly strides to Din’s side.

“This is my Commanding Officer TK-593, sir,” Mayfield quickly says, and gave Din a look of reassurance before turning in your direction and motioning with his head for you to come closer. Slowly, with the riffle still under your harm you approach the three men all looking at you. “And this is my First Lieutenant TK-234. I’m Imperial Combat Assault Transport Lieutenant TK-111, and Sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to speak up to him a little bit, since his vessel lost pressure in Taanab.”

You are standing next to Din and you now realize how he was only a few inches taller than you without the beskar armor, his chin just little above your eye line. For a moment you imagine how enjoyable it would be to lay your head against his shoulder or nuzzle against his neck, heights perfectly matching.

“What’s your name, Officer?”

“We just call him Brown Eyes,” said Mayfield with a mocking undertone in his voice “Isn’t that right, Officer?”

Brow eyes you thought. Brown eyes... that suits him.

With your peripheral vision you can see Din slightly nodding with his head. You still din’t dare to look at him.

“C’mon, let’s go fill out those TPS reports, so we can go recharge the power coils-” Mayfield started, trying to get done and over with this situation 

 “You’re not dismissed.” you all froze. 

“You the tank troopers that delivered the shipment of rhydonium?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Yes, sir” Din was the last to answer and you could feel the vibrations of his voice next to you.

“Well, you three managed to be the only transport today to deliver their shipment. Come with me, hmn? Let’s get a drink... Brown Eyes.”

As soon as he turns his back Mayfied follows suit and you can see Din looking at you, once again, through the corner of your eyes, but you look straight ahead and walk behind Mayfield.

What you didn’t see is that you left a hurt man behind, one that wished for you to be the first person to look him in the eyes but that now thought that he was so hideous that you couldn’t even bear the sight of him.

Sitting down on a nearby table, Mayfield took the seat in front of Commander Hess and you to his right, leaving the seat in front of you free for Din to take his place at the table.

“So,” said Hess, “What shall we toast to, boys, and girl? I can blather on, about ‘to health’ or ‘to success’, but... I’d like to do something a little less rote.” he turns to Din “Where you from, Brown Eyes?”

“How ‘bout a toast to Operation Cinder,” Mayfield intervenes.

“Now,” says Hess “That’s what I’m talking about.”

“No,” Mayfield continues. “No, you don’t get it - I lived it. I was in Burnin Konn.”

“Burnin Konn?” “Mm.”

“That was a hard day. I had to make many... unpleasant decisions.”

An exchange between the two men initiates but all you’re focusing on is keeping your eyes looking down at either the table or your drink avoiding Din at all costs. But then, feeling his eyes practically burning a hole in your forehead you realize how much of an asshole you are acting like right now.

This man trusts you with his life. And you with his. You both had made sure to make that known a few weeks ago when you almost got killed by this enormous Ice Spider in Maldo Kreis and he told you to instead of running away from the spider to try and run into and under it.

“Are you crazy?” you cried out

“Do you trust me?” he asked

“With my life.”

“Me too. Then do it.”

And so, your eyes start to trail their way across the table. To his chest plate. To his neck. To the bottom of his face, noticing his light stubble and mustache. To his eyes. And then, just like that, wind knocked out off you. 

Your furrowed and anxious brows soften and your teeth release you lips, that you were biting trying to not think too much. Your whole body softens and as you look at him in adoration.

And he is looking at you. Adoringly. These two people that have known each other for so long, longed for each other for so long are finally meeting each other, actually seeing each other for the first time. For him, it’s the first time he sees the true color of the flush of you skin or how blood tinted your lips are as he doesn’t have the slight darkness of his helmet distorting them.

He wants to kiss you, so bad.

“You see, kids,” Hess says snapping you both from that moment “Everybody thinks they want freedom, but what they really want... is order. And when they realize that, they’re gonna welcome us back with open arms.”

He lifted his glass, and Mayfield chuckles. Both you and Din look worriedly at him knowing how he is about to go out of his mind

“To the Empire.” He drank and Mayfield fires.

You and Din look shocked at each other before turning to Mayfield.

“What the hell?!” you scold him.

Suddenly, stormtroopers appeared from all sides, and the three of you grabbed your weapons, starting to shoot everyone on sight, Din in front of you. Eventually, they were all down and there were just the three of you standing in the room.

Mayfield jaunts ahead “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Turning back to Din, you meet him looking down at you, his expression soft again. You reach for his helmet, pressing it against his chest.

“You did what you had to do. I never saw your face.” He looked back at you.

“Y/N...”

“It’s okay. If there is a next time that I can look at you, I want it to be out of want. Not out of need.”

He looks at you, actually thinking about whether or not he’d go back to hiding himself from you but ending up nodding and putting it back on.

“Thank you.” he says voice muffled by the helmet.

“You’d do the same for me.”

Yes he’d do.

You sat in the main chamber of the Slave next to Mayfield as the rest of the crew conversed in the upper room trying to come up with the next part of the rescue plan.

“You’re going to get him killed.” your head turns in his direction. 

“What?” you question not sure of what you heard.

“You’re going to get him killed. Today, that man went to the terminal to prevent you from going. He put himself in front of you, shooting at a whole battalion of stormtroopers. He stayed behind so that you could be the first to climb into this very ship.” 

You look down, remembering today’s events.

“He just did that for you, and Cara told me that yesterday he almost made a roast of himself when he thought you were on the Razor Crest when it got blown up. He was actually going to walk up into a ball of fire because he thought you were there. Don’t you get it? He might be one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy but that man goes completely irrational when it comes to you.”

“What are you trying to say?” you asked confused and trying to mask the hurt in your voice.

“I know this is going to hurt to hear but... maybe you should go away. At least until he gets the kid back so that he can concentrate only on that.”

“Are you saying that I’m a distraction?”

“Your not a distraction to him. You’re his priority. And that has proved itself to be beyond dangerous.”

He stands up without another word and climbs to the room above, letting you to sit with your thoughts, going over the exchange that just happened.

Boba had stationed the ship on some random planet for the night and while everyone was sound asleep, preparing for what they had to face the next day, you spent the past hours pacing in your room, Mayfield’s words still echoing in your head.

That’s why you were now standing next to your bed, a bag with all of your belongings on top of it. This is for the Best. If I stay he’ll probably get killed. You repeat over and over, recalling all the times that Din risked himself for you, the ones that no one but the both of you knew because they weren’t there to witness them.

This is for the Best.

Decidedly, you sling the bag over and across your shoulders, silently opening the door to the outside of your chamber and sliding it close. It’s better this way: to leave without saying goodbye, during the dark of the galactic night. A goodbye will wreck you and a goodbye would make you stay.

This is for the Best.

You repeat one last time, once you step out of the ship into the frosty night air, taking one last look back, before walking away, wishing that the next morning people wouldn’t panic and rather understand your decision; wishing that Din would some day forgive you.

This is for the Best

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

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[pedrosbish]

the beauty of silence

warnings: star wars bad language??, bit of fluff but add a lil bit of ✨spice✨, angst if you really squint rubbish

word count: 1.1k

He hasn't uttered a word.

Not one word and it's been kriffing hours.

You were not built for silence. Living back on your home planet, there was always someone to talk to - the lady at the market that sold the freshest fruits, the lovely old man that used to give you plants for free, hell even the Loth-cat at the local canteen.

However, now on the Razor Crest? You had to keep silent. Well, it's not like you had to but you're somewhat afraid of him.

The Mandolorian. One of the most feared and respected bounty hunters in the whole galaxy. Now, that's a man (or thing - you're pretty sure that the bounty hunter is a human man though) that was built for silence. You could probably count the number of words he's said to you on your fingers.

The child's gurgles wake you from your reverie and you gently take his rubbery green ear between your fingers, gently stroking it between your fingers.

"You hungry, little guy?"

He climbs onto your lap and presses his little hands to your cheeks, squishing them together which causes a giggle to come out of his mouth. Gently scooping him up you get up and walk to the ladder, straining your ears for any hint of life in the cockpit. As always, there is none. Only complete silence that feels suffocating.

Once the child has been fed and put to bed - it took two stories and some coaxing just to get his eyes to close - you hesitantly climb the ladder up to the cockpit.

The first thing you notice are the gentle streaks of light going past, the way that they play over the surfaces of the cockpit catching your eye. Every time you come up here, your breath is taken away - the idea that you're so far from home makes your heart leap up. You had always wanted to travel the galaxy.

And you have that thanks to the bounty hunter sitting in the captain's chair.

Your eyes land on the top of the helmet, the stars streaking on the shiny surface, the silence radiating off of him in waves. Being in his presence makes your heart leap into your throat and a stone set in your lower stomach (because of fear?). Quietly moving to the spare chair, you watch him for a few moments.

"The little womp rat went to bed with a fight," you attempt with a chuckle. "I think he's antsy because of all the things he's eaten today. Never seen a kid eat that much."

Silence. Well, you think you hear a small crackle from his modulator - a laugh perhaps?

You really shouldn't have expected anything but you can't deny the way your heart drops for a moment, having expected more of a response - at least a form of acknowledgement. You can't help the way your throat constricts and your eyes tear up a bit.

You could probably count the number of times that you had a real conversation with the mandalorian and each time it had mainly been you contributing to them the most.

"Mando? Do you- do you not like me? Cause you never really speak to me and I just get the feeling that you don't like having me here. I get that I talk a lot- and I mean a lot- but you never talk to me."

In the time you and been rambling, the beskar clad bounty hunter had turned to look at you in his captain's chair, the T of his visor trained on you and only you.

"I'm sorry. I'm just rambling here- just ignore me. I'll- I'll stop bothering you-."

"You done?"

Heat blossoms from your chest up to your face and you stare, unblinking at the T of his visor, trying to place where his eyes are more likely to be. "Excuse me?"

He sighs, "I said are you done?"

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you avert your gaze and move to get up. Get up and get out of the cockpit and away from the mandalorian.

"I'm just gonna go now..."

However, before you can press the button to open the door, you feel a presence behind you. An arm turns you around and all of a sudden you're backed into the metal door, the coldness of it and the man before you making you shiver.

All you can do is keep still and stare up at the visor of his helmet with bated breath. You're extremely aware of the closeness between you two, your chest only a breath away from touching his beskar suit and of the arm caging you in.

"I don't hate you." It's a faint whisper but it's something you've wanted to hear for awhile now. "I am just- not as good with words as you are."

His gloved hand drops down to cradle your cheek and your breath hitches as his thumb strokes back and forth.

"Dank farrick," his hand drops a fraction bit more and his thumb catches on your bottom lip, gently pressing down until your mouth opens. "Cya'rika, how can I speak to you when everything that comes out of those pretty lips sounds like poetry?"

Your breath hitches and your eyes fall closed for a second, allowing you to soak in his words and the closeness between you - the closest you've ever been to him. Your eyes snap open when his hand- his warm, rough hand- disappears from your face and instead falls onto your hip. His thumb continues its ministrations and your tunic rides up, the pad of his thumb touching your very warm skin.

He inches closer to you, invading your space until all you can see and feel is the beskar clad man before you. Your knees buckling when his hips press to yours and a small whimper escapes your lips. You look up to see his visor focussed on the bare skin that has been exposed.

"So soft," he whispers into the air between you and your head clunks onto the metal door behind you.

"Mando..."

For the first time in awhile you wish that you had kept your mouth shut.

He snatches his bare hand away, quickly putting his glove back on and taking a step away from you. Retreating back to his pilot's seat, he leaves you, your chest heaving and cheeks burning. Your skin tingles from his touch, fire burning in the path his hands took and settling in your belly.

"We're coming up on Tatooine. I suggest you go wake the kid." His voice is rough, the only indication that he is as affected as you are by his own actions.

You nod your head, not trusting your own voice and you leave the cockpit. A small smile plays at your lips when you gently touch them, the memory of his finger making you flush harder.

You finally cracked your mandalorian's silence.

[egotheplanet]

One Soul (Din Djarin x Reader)

Summary: Finally married, Din can remove his helmet to show his face to Y/N. (Based on this post by me)

Word Count: 3.2k

Part Two

The sound of their heartbeats resonate almost as loud as the crowd cheering around them. Despite the horrendous purge dwindling their numbers and forcing them into hiding, this joyous unity of two souls is reason for applause and celebration by the Mandalorians.

A wedding ceremony between the famous Mandalorian, Din Djarin and his new bride, Y/N. They’re beyond famous in these parts and others for their skill and close relationship. A noble foe against any who try them.

Their hands clasp together tight as they run side by side down the tunnel. The sides of it are lined shoulder to shoulder with Mandalorians.

Behind his helmet, Din smiles. A real genuine smile that he couldn’t control, not that he wanted to. Happy moments like this are fleeting but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to relish this while it lasted.

Up ahead lay the ship, prepped with gifts and money alike for their post-ceremony vacation. They’re finally going to spend quality time together without needing a job or worrying about the other while being separated.

Y/N nearly trips up on her ceremonial dress as she struggles to keep up with her new husband.

‘He’s my husband..’ She thinks to herself and feels her heart swell as the sudden realization hits her.

He glances down, her glossy eyes and adoring features shining back at herself in the reflection of his helmet.

He notices her trip, and stops walking all together to bend and help her gather up the dress in his arms.

“You okay? Are you getting overwhelmed?” His concerned voice barely registers over the clapping.

“I’m alright, your legs are just a bit long.” She teases and tries not to blush at his close proximity to her hips.

“I’m sorry, I’ll slow down for you.” He rises once again with the flowing train in his arms.

He keeps his word and slows his pace. And it doesn’t go unappreciated by Y/N.

With her legs in view now, including her garter belt, it opens up for some hollers from the raunchier and more confident men.

“Congrats Djarin, what a catch!”

“That belt won’t be the only thing coming off tonight!” This particular call warrants a larger response from the Mandalorians in the tunnel than the previous one. They cheer and high five one another at the apparent inside-joke.

Y/N felt confused but didn’t say anything, continuing to keep up with Din.

“I can’t believe we’re actually married.” His voice modulator doesn’t mask his happiness.

“I know what you mean, time really flies when you’re having fun.” Her smile is wide as she reaches up to squeeze his bicep in reassurance.

Finally, they break the end of the tunnel. Light floods in and she shields her eyes for a moment before becoming accustomed once again.

There, just ahead, their ship waits alongside the rest of their shared life.

They both exchange a sigh of relief and continue to the ship. Climbing aboard and closing the ramp, the air inside is stunningly silent in comparison to the outside.

The Mandalorians boots stomp against the floor and ladder as he climbs up to start the ship.

The lack of windows below deck offer privacy to Y/N. She begins unzipping and dropping clothes, sashes and any other ceremonial garb.

The mandalorian leans back in his pilots seat to glance through the hole to steal a look at his almost naked new bride.

“I know you’re watching me and not taking off.” She shoots up at him as she pulls her gray working shirt over her head. It’s a nice change of pace from the lacy pinching dress.

“I can multitask.” He smirks, not that she could see but could hear it in his voice. Leaning forward again he flips a few more switches. “Taking off. Hold onto something for a few seconds.”

Doing as she’s advised, she leans against the ladder and grips onto it. The ship jerks and sways as it lifts into the air.

They have a long way to go before they make their destination. A honeymoon fit for a couple of bounty hunters is a place that’s remote, sunny and cheap.

Y/N didn’t care where they went, so long as they were together. If Din had his way, they wouldn’t even take a vacation. They’d go on a bounty as celebration of their nuptials.

‘The man is as married to his work as he is to me now.’ She laughed to herself as she thought about how stubborn her husband is.

She continues to laugh to herself as she reminisces all their previous talks about what they thought married life would be like. Y/N climbs the ladder to sit in the passenger seat beside Din.

She calls it the co-pilots seat even though she doesn’t need to pilot anything. Din glances over at her to acknowledge her presence beside him.

“What’s so funny?” He asks.

“Do you remember that time those Jawas took my engagement ring and tried to make you buy it back? And you said..” she clicks her teeth trying to remember. “What was it you said?”

He clearly doesn’t love the memory as much as her. She finds it hilarious and loved the little creatures whereas Din found them bitter little pestilences. He’s got to admit just a little though, this memory was one of the better ones to look back on.

“I said ‘Dank Farrik! I already bought the damn thing. I’ll scorch any little womp-rat that tries to make me buy it again.’ And they handed it back along with some of the ships landing gear that I never even noticed they had taken.” His voice was annoyed at first by the memory but quickly turned amused at his own heroics.

“You’re probably a household name in the Jawa-sphere. You terrorize those poor little things.”

“They’re thieves!” He says exasperated.

She just responds with more laughter and patting his shoulder.

“Okay, okay relax. They aren’t gonna get you out here, don’t worry.” She teases lovingly.

There’s a comfortable silence as he continues to flip switches, steering expertly while she watches him navigate the empty air ahead.

“You were quick to change out of your dress.” He quips, knowing how much she disliked such a fluffy gown.

“It was heavy and I kept tripping on it! You got to wear your beskar which you’re used to. I prefer my cargo pants and long sleeved shirt thank you.” She crossed her arms and leaned back into her chair.

The Mandalorian from the tunnel who said ‘That belt won’t be the only thing coming off tonight!’ returns to her memory.

“Hey, Din?”

He mumbles a ‘hmm?’

“What did that guy mean when he said ‘That belt won’t be the only thing coming off tonight’? That’s just, like, a sex thing? Right?” Her voice was curious and she tried to maintain a tone of nonchalance. But she could tell it was more of an insiders-league thing— and she wanted in.

He tensed up slightly, weighing the options of lying or telling the truth. He quickly came to the decision of telling the truth. Din didn’t want to start off a lifetime of happiness with lies. Even for something as important to him as this.

He stayed silent for a few moments as he flipped switches and transitioned the ship into autopilot. After successfully doing so, he swiveled his chair around to look at her fully. As fully as he could through a helmet, that is.

His gloved hands came out to take in her smaller unclothed ones.

She laughs slightly, nerves bleeding through it.

“Is everything alright..?” She raises an eyebrow at his sudden excess attention.

“Since we’re married now.. it means we’re connected. Two souls in one.” He starts softly. “This means that I can take my helmet off when I’m around you. In a private area when it’s just you and I, I won’t have to wear my helmet.”

Her jaw drops and she takes a deep breath to steady herself.

“You’re serious? You’re gonna take your helmet off for me?” Her voice is growing more excited by the second and she can’t help it. This triggers rapidly growing anxiety in the beskar adorned man.

Having the knowledge her husband, who she’s known for years but never ever truly seen, is going to take off his helmet so she can properly meet him is exciting. It’s incredible! It’s unbelievable! It’s—

“I will. But.. Not yet. I’m not ready.” His voice is monotone and she can’t read any emotion whatsoever.

‘He’s too good at that.’ She thinks as her happiness melts and drips through the airlock into space.

“You’re not.. ready for me to see you?” She can’t hide her sadness.

“It’s not that I.. I’m just not ready.” His tone is regretful and guilty.

Those are the last things she ever wants to hear him express. Regret and guilt.

“No.. Hey, don’t be that way. It’s alright. You can have as much time as you need. I’ll still be your wife tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that too.” Her soft hands squeeze his. She could barely feel the callouses beneath the gloves.

He can’t believe he got to marry this woman before someone else. The armorer was right, he is lucky.

“Can I ask.. Why? Why you don’t feel ready?” Her voice is gentle and she doesn’t sound like she’s prying for an answer.

“I’m worried you won’t like what you see.” His voice is almost rough as he struggles to keep emotion out of it. “That you’ll regret our ceremony and want to leave me.”

Her blood runs cold and her heart skips four beats.

“Honey.. Why would you ever think that?” Her hand reaches up to cup his cheek. Well.. the cheek of the helmet at least.

Din shakes his head as if to say ‘I don’t know.’

“I would never leave you. I love you. The ceremony was proof of that. And I’ll continue to prove it to you every day for the rest of our lives until you see. Until you’re ready to share this part of yourself with me, Din.” Her smile comes back and her hand travels down to lovingly squeeze his shoulder.

He didn’t think his heart could swell any more than it was now.

He was too close to crying to let out a response. Din didn’t want to worry her or upset her any further than he thought he had. So instead of thanking her or nodding, he turned his chair around and resumed the controls. He didn’t want to cry or even choke up in front of her and look weak.

Y/N sat there in confusion for a second before realizing he was shutting her out to collect his thoughts.

Din wasn’t the type to say whatever came to his mind. He was calculating and constantly weighing all his options to get the desired outcome.

“Right.. Well.” She stood and dusted her lap off. “If you need me or want to spend some time with your wife, I’ll be in the living area resting. Join me if you like.” She makes her way to the ladder and starts climbing down. Just before she makes it out of the cockpit she says; “Or don’t.”

Dropping down to the flooring, she feels guilty for being short with him.

Both parties feeling guilty in their own way, they curse the self induced silence surrounding them.

She walks to the bed and kicks off her shoes before climbing beneath the covers and hugging Dins pillow.

They never got to sleep beside one another, as someone was always needed on controls or to watch a bounty. The very few times they did, he wore the helmet and slept very stiff. She doubts he slept at all when they were together.

She wondered if he ever slept without the helmet on. Surely he had to? At least once with her up above on the controls. He had to trust her at least that much.. right?

Y/N was a faithful companion who never betrayed his trust nor would she. She would never try to steal a glance or take off his helmet.

At the same time, she almost felt as though she deserved to see him. The man she fell in love with and married. The least she was owed was his face.

But just as quickly as she thought of that, she pushed it from her mind.

She didn’t fall in love with him to see him without the armor. She fell in love with him because he’s a generous, rugged and maybe even a little dirty smelling space cowboy.

He loved her with no end. The second he met her, he knew he was going to be stuck with a bright eyed, stubborn, maybe even a little over talkative hunter by the name of Y/N. She worked her way onto his ship and into his heart.

Cheesy but true.

He wouldn’t deny it even back then. He fell in love with her almost immediately. Her sharp shooting alone saved his life.

And maybe even gave him a semi but that he would never admit to her.

He knows by now she’s fallen asleep. Almost three hours have passed where he’s mindlessly steering toward their honeymoon and his brain has been stirring with abstraction.

She doesn’t snore.. that much. But he can tell the difference in her breathing now. Hearing someones sleep patterns after a few years trains you to tell the difference between resting and dead asleep.

He feels himself exhaustedly set the ship on autopilot once more.

He barely registers his body moving and going down the ladder towards the living space.

He feels numb as he removes the beskar, save for the helmet which remains on his head.

His shoes are neatly put away and his gloves rest on a smooth surface.

He relishes the soft bedding against his fingers as his wife subconsciously moves closer to him.

He smiles to himself as he looks down at her.

‘Enough room on this bed for a mudhorn and she still spreads out as much as possible.’ He lovingly brushes hair out of her eyes.

She rustles slightly and his heart tenses. He knows what he’s about to do for her. How huge it is.

He knows she could never truly grasp the severity of showing another soul your face for the first time in decades. But he also knew he could never hold something like that against her. Besides, she wasn’t another soul now. Because of their ceremony, they were one.

One soul between the both of them because they’re connected.

His voice is gentle but urgent.

“Hey, wake up. I need you to wake up for me, Y/N.”

She lets out a deep breath and sucks another in just as deep while she comes to terms with being awake.

Her arms stretch and flex as she wiggles slightly, her shirt riding up her abdomen.

‘What a sight for sore eyes.’ He thinks as his eyes drink her body in.

“Wh-What’s going on? Is everything okay?” She’s confused and adorable when she’s half asleep.

“Everything’s fine. I just..” he takes a breath and caresses her face with the back of his knuckles.

He can’t believe she’s so soft and beautiful in this lighting. He should to watch her sleep more often.

‘That’s kind of creepy so maybe not.’ His internal monologue warns.

“I’m ready.” His voice is strong and smooth. He is confident and honest and sitting up even straighter than before. “I’m ready to take off my helmet for you.”

She darts up in bed quickly. If Mando hadn’t jumped with her, she would have surely bumped her head against the helmet.

“Are you sure? This is a big deal, Din. I want you to be positive.” She grips his shirt with one hand while the other holds his hand.

He nodded and sat up straight, his legs comfortably resting beneath him.

“I’m sure.” He sighs out in anticipation.

She sits up along with him, mirroring his posture in front of him with her legs folded beneath her. Face to helmet.

‘Soon to be face to face.’ She thinks to herself.

His hands reach up to the helmet. It hisses and clicks in response to his actions.

“Wait wait wait wait waitwaitwait—“ Her voice startles him and he jolts slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Let me close my eyes so when I open them, you’re ready.” She closes her eyes and her hands rest atop the shut lids. Double measures.

He smiles slightly at the sense of her nerves.

‘Mine dissolve just as hers appear.’

The room is tense and they’re sure they can hear one another’s hearts beating erratically.

He lifts the helmet upward and off of his head. The Mandalorians eyes adjust to the light as he sits the helmet beside her lap.

Her chest shudders as she feels the cold from the helmet seep through her pants and onto her flesh.

He lets out a nervous sigh and chuckle.

Her heart leaps at hearing him breathe without the modulator.

‘Dins helmet really is off.’ Her brain, heart and soul are doing backflips at the realization.

“Okay. I’m ready, you can open your eyes now.” His hands come up to pull hers away from her eyes.

He’s suddenly nervous again. Her eyes remain closed. He pushes the nerves deep down. The only thing keeping him going now is the knowledge that she loves him unconditionally and will continue to do so after this.

Her lashes flutter apart slowly and his heart stops as her irises dart around his features. Her face is incredibly hard to read as she takes it all in.

“Din..” her voice is wavering and he can tell tears are close to follow.

“Is everything okay?”

Suddenly he’s pushed onto his back as she lays on top of him. They’re chest to chest as she plants soft, wet kisses all over his face and neck.

His cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead, and his nose especially! The corners of his lips, jawline, ears, and chin.

“Din you’re beautiful.”

He looks at her through his peripheral vision and whenever she comes into focus, laughing softly in disbelief.

“Are.. Are you joking?” His voice is nervous but hopeful.

Her arms hug around his neck and his hands grip her waist, holding on tight because he thinks he’s dreaming.

“I’m not joking! You don’t know how gorgeous you are? You’re like a statue. You should be a statue.” The kisses don’t cease but they slow down. Her adoration permeates through every kiss into his skin. His surprisingly soft skin.

“You still want to be married to me?”

“If I could double marry you Din, believe me, I would.”

A smile erupts onto his face and her eyes completely pool up at the sight.

“Even your smile could start a war.” Her hand brushes through his hair.

“A war? Wouldn’t that be bad?”

“The war is to win you.” The kisses have finally stopped but she’s laying with her cheek pressed up against his. “Obviously I would win so it’s fine.”

He’s relishing it. The feeling of her face being smushed against his. He never knew something could be so soft. He never wants to put on his helmet again. If he had known being married to such a creature was this amazing, he would have done it the second he met her.

He pushes her back up for a second, their eyes locking. He looks into her eyes intensely.

“What’s with that look, weirdo-“

He cuts her off with their first real kiss. No helmets, no blindfolds, nothing in their way. She melts instantly into his arms and he rolls over so he’s on top of her. They spend the next hour breaking in the bed and consecrating their marriage.

What a way to start their lives together.

[captainkappa]

42 + 94 with dinluke? 🥺🥺🥺

Oooo ok so 42. The Big Damn Kiss and 94. Hair Brushing/Braiding

[Fanfic Trope Mash-Up]

-

I'm gonna make it "the Big Damn Keldabe Kiss" and make it a royalty AU bc Luke & Leia Naberrie get me feeling a special kind of way. The Jedi are around in some capacity, probably at least a little changed from how they were in the Clone Wars. I'll be honest, I just want the twins to be able to get at least a little bit of Jedi training, if not outright be Jedi knights in this AU

Anyway, onto the actual romance. It's not an arranged marriage, but both the prince of Naboo and the Mand'alor keep bumping into each other at these political events. Din is all quiet because he doesn't want to be there, but Luke keeps worming his way in because who doesn't want to know about the mysterious new Mand'alor? So they keep talking at these events and growing closer as they find themselves sharing more and more of their lives and maybe catching feelings? But both of them brush it off as not possible for one way or another

Cut to a new political event that for one reason or another, involves kids. Like, the senate passed a new bill to protect the galaxy's kids and there's a kid's choir there or something along those lines that Din and Luke would attend. And Din is of course in full Dad Mode which Luke finds entirely endearing.

But then there's an assassination attempt on people at the party and whatever Jedi training Luke has comes to the forefront and he’s there protecting people including Din, who’s more focused on getting the kids to safety than his own safety so he’s being a lil sloppy. At least one point where Luke actively saves Din’s ass 

And Luke’s more of a prince than anything in this world. He’s trained in the Force but he’s not as intimate with violence as he is in canon, so the combination of having to fight and the fact that he was the only thing between Din and a blaster bolt to the leg, has him really shaken even after the party, so he's brushing his hair before bed but his hands keep shaking and he’s crying for some reason even though no one was severely injured

And Din comes up to his rooms to thank him because usually he’s more on top of his game but his focus was entirely on the children and not himself, even with the beskar, he wouldve been pretty fucked up if Luke hadn’t had his back. Which is why he’s here at who knows how late at Luke’s door (Han let him in to the Naberrie wing or where ever. He’s tired of Luke talking about Din bc then Leia talks about Luke not admitting his feelings to Din and Han just wants a nap).

And he knocks and Luke opens the door, hair still a mess and eyes a little red. Luke lets him in even though Din said he just wanted to stop for a second. He thanks Luke and then notices his shaky hands and his hair and out of no where offers to brush his hair. Luke eventually accepts

Din brushes his hair and Luke is so full of emotion and the Intimacy of Brushing Hair, Luke starts to cry and feelings Luke’s not even really sure about come tumbling out, and Din brings him in for a keldabe kiss and then there’s even More emotion and they share the bed in a cuddling kinda way

And the next day they TALK like ADULTS and give dating a try (it works out very well)

[crimson-dxwn]

AT ODDS 6 (Kal Skirata x F!OC)

Summary: Tea gets spilled at Kyrimorut. Ordo gets involved. Ori makes a choice and a new enemy.

Warnings: Mando profanity, pregnancy, SPOILERS for Republic Commando books (all but the last one), medical shit, surgery, fucking SADS

As always, so many thanks to @detroitbydark who lets me screech about my weird fic and Kal and Ori! Also this is barely edited be kind, I’m on my psych rotation and barely scraping by. 

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

Kal realizes he’s slipped the figurine into the pocket of his bodysuit semi-consciously in his hasty retreat from the apartment. Knotted Jonah wood whittled smooth forms two stylized figures, one large and one small, their hands joined between them. 

He barely registers the ride back home and comming Mij. They need a plan, and they need one fast if they are going to find her. He knows little about how the Empire treats their prisoners compared to the late Republic, but he isn’t about to have any illusions of honor or fair play. After all, he doesn’t play fair himself. But there’s a hydrospanner thrown into the mix. What he doesn’t know is how the Imps treat prisoners with … unique health conditions. Or if they even give half a bantha’s shebs. Odds are they send men and women alike to those osik’la camps he’s gotten word of. Yeah, the Empire was equal opportunity like that. 

If Mereel can’t slice into the system remotely, they were going to have to do an old-fashioned infiltration. He’d ask his ad’ike if they were up to task, there’s no way he could ask to put them in danger, not after the entirety of their lives being war. It hurts him to even think about asking. But he has to do this, even if it’s just his sorry shebs. 

He tries to put on a good Sabaac face when he’s back in the karyai, discreetly gathering up all the surplus weapons they have that he finds might be useful for an infiltration into a heavily armed and fortified position. 

Mereel of course, catches on within minutes. 

“You’re going to find her,” Mereel interrupts. Kal yanks his head up out of the gun locker to look at his son. “And you didn’t even think to ask for backup?”

His son’s tone is accusing, edging on hurt. That he did not expect.

“It’s my fuckup, son,” he replies, “I’m the one who needs to fix it. I can’t ask you to do this.”

“What’s so special about this doctor?” Mereel slams the door of the locker shut. It’s obvious his ad’ika is protective. They all are. 

“She delivered your ba’vodu’ad, Mereel. I’m pretty sure she saved Parja’s life.” Kal says, keeping his eyes on his work, cleaning the weapons, arranging the ammo he needs. Sharpening his father’s three-sided knife. 

“And that’s enough to go up against the Empire? ”

He’s going to have to spit it out. Mereel is looking at him expectantly, sure that he’s going to change his mind, see reason. 

“She’s pregnant, son.” Mereel, who has been away for the events of the last few months, just stares back at him in a puzzled fashion, brows slightly furrowed. Looking at him like he’s lost his damn mind. Maybe he has. 

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

In comes a second voice, and the accusatory tone startles him enough that, when added to his baseline urgency and anxiety, causes his hand to slip and nick itself as he sharpens his knife. 

“Osik,” he hisses, holding pressure to the cut as blood wells, looking up to the figure in the doorway. Ordo. Mereel stares at his brother, unsure whether he is joking. Kal sighs. He should know better, trying to keep things from them. The last time he was successful at that was when they were four. 

“Does it matter?” 

“Maybe,” Ordo replies, just this edge of indignant, “is she carrying my vod?” 

A strange and protective piece of him flares at Ordo’s tone and Kal stands, still holding the cloth to his cut hand. 

“Most likely.”

“Then we need to get her back.” Ordo meets his eye finally and Kal nods, satisfied, and starts gathering ammo from the safes. This time Mereel moves to help, still in a rare state of stunned silence. 

By the time they’ve gathered what they need and loaded it into aayhan, Mereel has a willing team assembled and what they know of the building schematics up on a datapad in the karyai. Fortunately for them, the team won’t be breaking into any prison blocks, which are bound to be heavily guarded. 

“All we have to do is get into the information security room that houses the main terminal,” Mereel starts confidently. “We can stay far away from the security blocks and the bucketheads.” 

“Though it would be fun to bust some vode out of there,” Scorch adds. 

“Not our mission,” says Mereel, regret plain in his voice, “we’ll have to get them another time.” The realization that they were leaving prisoners at the mercy of the empire sobers the group even more. It was becoming more and more apparent that more planning was needed before they could root out the Empire on Mandalore. Meanwhile, Kal had set Uthan to the task of trying desperately to make their own homebrew vaccine. 

---

It’s been many many years since he’s fastroped. Lately, he has been finding that it’s been years since he’s done many things. Fastroping, underwater diving...fathering kriffing kids. He swallows, hard and regroups himself. Every single one of them needs to be focused if they’re gonna pull this job off. 

Yes, he’s fast roped before. But he’s never liked it. Where his sons get twitchy when confined to tight spaces, he finds himself sweating more than usual under his beskar the more stories they climb. Right now, they’re about ten stories up, far above the sensors of the garrison and way above his tolerance for heights. They have about a minute to pull this off before the Imps realize this transport is lingering too long in their airspace. 

Mereel, Sev, Scorch, and Kal are in Aayhan, hovering silently above the Keldabe imperial garrison in the inky black late summer night. The humidity sticks his tactical garments to his skin, making it itch and crawl in addition to his surging adrenaline. That was one thing that never changed, no matter how old he got, no matter how many missions he’s finished - that nauseating spike of pure fear and bliss. 

He gives the signal to move move move and soon he’s roping down, strong north Mandalorian wind whipping around him, soaking through his underlayer. The four of them land silently on the roof of the compound, and Scorch starts laying a strip charge along the floor to create a hole leading below, straight into the admin offices. Four sets of Mando armor gleam lowly in the moonlight. It’s a perfect night for an op like this, whipping wind obscuring any slight noise they did make and the faint whine of aayhan’s engines. The charges detonate with a controlled bang and flash of bright light that briefly blinds his HUD. Kal switches to night vision.

*His child*. It’s barely a concrete concept in his mind yet, but an instinctual piece of him knows the truth. The timing is too perfect for him to be wrong. The way Orla had looked at him in the med center…

The stakes are too high to fail, and distracting thoughts get men killed. Mereel leads the way through the door, rifle at the ready, and Kal banishes his musings to the back of his mind, pushed away by a fresh rush of adrenaline. It’s a stealth mission, and they navigate by night vision, as silently as their boots will allow. 

They stalk through dark quiet hallways lined with innocuous office doors until they reach the end, what is presumably the CO’s office, with its durasteel double doors and obviously larger size. 

Mereel starts in on slicing the door panel while Sev shoots out the camera in the hallway corner while the rest of them listen for any approaching patrols. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed they were there, whether it was the hole in the roof or the blacked out camera. The double doors open quietly and they head inside. Vau’s boys guard the door while he and Mereel crowd the desk in the middle of the room. 

“I need a few minutes to get into this,” Mereel says, eyes locked onto the screen before him. One of his slicing tools is between his teeth.

“You’ll get it, son. We’ll take care of anything that tries to get in our way.” 

So far it looks like no one has noticed them. The imps must really be confident in the plan to neutralize Mandalore with so few guards and patrols. Sweat drops trickle down the back of his neck and into his bodysuit.

Mereel studies the datapad stripping the system for a few more moments and turns it towards Kal. There’s a concerned look stretched across his handsome face. Together the watch the recorded scene on the screen before them. 

There’s Orla, still in her work clothes, talking with an Imp who’s behind this very desk, flanked by two stormtroopers. He knows those gestures - she’s spitting mad, barely containing the fury that was directed toward the man behind the desk. Without audio he can only guess as to the contents of their conversation. The Imp behind the desk gives a short reply and nods curtly to the right-hand trooper who, without hesitation, raises his blaster rifle and cracks her across the face with the butt end. She doesn’t even see it coming. Even in the shades of blue from the holoprojector the blood is obvious, trickling down the side of her face. 

Kal is livid, trembling so finely it’s barely visible, and he almost forgets where they are for a moment. Deep in enemy territory, with hostiles incoming any minute. 

Mereel makes a disgusted noise from deep in his chest as they watch her be pushed to the ground. They follow the video feed where she’s led to a cell. His breath catches. There’s a chance she’s still here. His hope is tempered, however, when an alarm starts to sound from within the garrison. A patrol must have finally found their breach point.

“Sarge?” warns a voice from outside the door. It’s Sev, by the gravelly tone. 

“Almost finished,” he shouts, over the screeching din. Mereel continues to work furiously, his bulk hunched over the console. He’s able to parse through incredible amounts of data with immense precision; Kal can practically feel the concentration rolling off him. 

“Wait,” Mereel says. Kal looks over at the screen. They’re centered on a video feed again, this time outside. The sheer amount of prisoners in line for the transport is shocking enough, but the fact that none of them are in armor is even more appalling. The Imps are slowly stripping their culture away, plate by plate. 

“She’s not on the manifest for this transport, even though the records say she leaves.” 

It doesn’t make sense. Unless… Kal knows Mereel must be thinking the same as him. Judging by the brutality of the footage they’ve watched, the stories from around the planet, he wouldn’t put it past the Empire to take care of a pesky problem in the easiest way they knew how. It wasn’t something that supposedly peaceful, orderly governments liked to keep records of. His dread and guilt intensifies, leadening his limbs already weighed down by heavy beskar. 

He chokes the words out. He has to know. “Is there any footage of…” Kal can’t bring himself to say them. It doesn’t need to be said, Mereel knows what he’s looking for. He’s been in a war zone long enough to know that armies aren’t sentimental. 

“No, no footage. Just them leading her away.” The alarm continues to blare. It could be minutes, seconds before they have to blast their way out. 

“Here.”

Kal steels himself to watch. It’s his fault, he reminds himself again. Two more fresh marks in his ledger. His arm reaches automatically to his son’s to steady himself. He feels Mereel’s slump ever so slightly, whether it’s in relief or defeat, he can’t tell. 

“I have what I need,” he says, “time to go. Debrief can wait for later.” Distant footsteps start to echo towards them, modulated shouts following close behind. They were about to be grossly outnumbered, by the sound of it. Kal shoves his helmet back on, heading through the doorway and signaling Sev and Scorch to follow. 

They wind through the garrison, avoiding both patrols and squads of stormtroopers sweeping the building. It’s laughably easy compared some of the other heists they’ve pulled - except he speaks too soon. As they make their way out of the back door of the garrison onto the Keldabe streets, one squad catches up to them. Ordo has aayhan back at Kyrimorut - earlier they had decided it was too risky for the four of them to fly home and possibly expose the homestead. So instead their plan was to run the winding streets and strategically borrow a transport. The problem is that Kal is pushing sixty and the other men are - physiologically at least - still in their early twenties. They’re a lot kriffing faster than him, even with his ankle fixed. 

The streets and alleys twist and turn, switching from ancient cobbles to smooth duracrete without warning. Easy enough to get lost if you’re a local, they are impossible to navigate as aruettiise. Soon the four are panting, ducked into an alcove off a cobbled alley. Finally, it seems they’ve dodged the patrol. Only time will tell if they were recognized. Kal finds he doesn’t much mind if they know his face. In fact, he hopes they do. He wants to meet that garrison officer. 

-------

Imperial Rehabilitation Center

Weeks later

19 BBY

Life isn’t all doom and gloom. They are kept...occupied. Like rats in a maze. Ori shares a bunk with another Mandalorian, the only other there. Taren is a kid really, small and slight except for her distended belly. It’s obvious she’s used to wearing armor by the way she walks, how upright she holds herself, arms swaying slightly away from her body. And how she closes in on herself when she realizes it’s not there, when it’s nighttime in their room and thinks Ori can’t hear her sob breathlessly into her pillow every night. 

It’s almost childish, the way they’re herded from room to room. Chaperoned and on a schedule, like one would handle a naughty child needing extra discipline. It was how she imagines Coruscanti boarding schools some of her medical school classmates attended - polished stone floors and crisp uniforms, all strict routines and synchronized repetition. It’s meant to numb the mind, making days run into weeks. She suspects they’re kept intentionally disoriented. After all, most of them are still political prisoners, and many she’s found have important connections on their respective homeworlds. 

They’re at lunch, scattered around their assigned tables. Generously, they are allowed to converse during meals, though their seats remain assigned. The ‘rehab center’ has proven to be much more expansive than she expected - some rooms are swallowingly large, like the one she is in now, and some are as small as a broom closet, connected by narrow winding hallways. The building itself could have been any number of things in a past life - a school, factory, or prison. She supposes it doesn’t matter much now. Today there’s a newcomer, sitting quiet and sullen at a back table with the Corellians. Time would tell if she was one of them or if she hailed from a different world. 

An arm jostles her, hitting her square in the ribs. It successfully knocks her out of her analysis of the newcomer. 

“-did you hear what I just said?” Taren says, mouth full of tasteless nutritional paste. It’s far from delicious, but you ate what they give out and she is hungry *all the time* nowadays. A fleck lands on Ori’s face and she wipes it away with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, al’verde.” Commander. Her eyes roll automatically. She knows she doesn’t deserve the title. Discreetly, Ori shushes the younger woman - they’re lucky the stormtroopers here don’t understand Mando’a. 

They put together kit for new stormtroopers, morning and night. It’s another endurable humiliation. She stabs at the cubes bitterly with her spoon, scattering crumbs across the table. They’re not allowed forks or knives, not after Taren’s first week. A tiny smile flits across her face as she thinks on the memory. 

 Ori feels like a geriatric compared to the spry warrior, though they’re less than ten years apart in age. She’s seen things in that time, lost people, buried dreams. Though Taren is looking older and older by the day, cooped up in this place. 

“Theera is gone,” Taren says, “she wasn’t at breakfast either.” 

Looking around and finding no sign of the woman, Ori hums an agreement. She’ll be gone for good soon, and her baby as well. Every time someone delivers it sends a sense of unshakeable dread down her spine and into the pit of her stomach. All of them are marching slowly towards that finish line. 

The artificial hierarchy into which they are forced has made the two Mandalorians de facto leaders, despite Ori being one of the newer inmates and to cement her as *alverde*; her medical expertise makes her invaluable. 

The room hushes as Dr. Loesch sweeps down to the cafeteria, all business in crisp grey scrubs, so confident in his admiration. He insists they call him ‘Doctor L’ like he’s a popular lecturer at a university. He’s the worst kind of hut’uun, just as bad as the rest of the Imps she’s met here. Loesch is in charge of their medical care, all 100-some of them, including herself. Loesch towers over most of them, even herself. 

As a physician, Ori is personally insulted at his complacency, the fact that he is perfectly content in his post and cemented in his belief that what he was doing is just, his complicity. She stabs at her cubes some more to try and make herself feel better. 

As a woman, she’s decidedly less surprised. Men like him are everywhere, tall and handsome, handed success on a silver platter, born into families of privilege and power. Taking and taking with no thought of the carnage they leave behind. 

He saunters his way over to their table and sits with a charming smile. 

“Beviin,” he starts, “I heard through the gossip chain that you were an obstetrician before you came here?”

It’s physically painful to keep her retort in hand. She’s been here long enough to see women sent to solitary. And to see them come back, changed indefinitely. 

“Mmm,” she mumbles affirmatively through a mouthful of cubes. She swallows. “Yes.” Keep it simple, that’s easy enough. 

He smiles sardonically. “How ironic,” he adds, obviously pleased with the revelation. Expectantly, he looks around the table to gauge his joke, and they catch on, laughing softly, nervously, afraid of what might happen if they don’t. Even Ori joins in, the butt of the low blow, though her simmering rage ratchets up another level.

They finish the rest of their lunch largely in silence and Loesch pulls her away when she files out with the others. 

“Ms. Beviin,” he says conspiratorially, “I know it must be difficult for you to be here.” 

The man over her, face too close for comfort, his voice deep and low. Alarm fills her as the other people in the room dwindle until it’s just the two of them and the scattered troopers on the upper level. All Ori can think about is where the nearest exit is located when she realizes he’s still speaking to her. 

“...what do you think?” He waits patiently, a benevolent expression in his face. He blinks too little, she thinks, and his eyes are devoid of expression, shining with an amused sort of malevolence. They’re a strange shade of brown...no, green? The little noise he makes in the back of his throat brings her back to their conversation.

“Ah...sure?” she replies weakly, stunned and frozen.

“That’ll be nice for the other inmates,” he says. Incredibly white, straight teeth flash as he smiles down at her. “I think it will give them comfort to have you there. I’ll have the guards collect you when it’s time.” 

——

Three nurses eye her from across the suite. They wear sweet matching hospital uniforms, in the same soft fabric as hers except in a delicate petal pink. With a pang, she misses her fellow nurses and doctors on Mandalore. Who knows how many had fallen ill? Been arrested? The way they clustered in a little group reminded her of her schoolmates, when they found out she didn’t like fighting, whispering rumors from across the room. That she thought she was better than them, that weird girl who was more concerned with grades than winning fights and impressing boys. Now they stand across the room from her like a little bunch of flowers in their coordinated outfits, identical and perfect. She’s an other in their world, someone to be feared and hated, pitied at best. 

Orla stands awkwardly, waiting for the show to start when her stomach flips. The scrub top she has on stretches across her middle awkwardly, pulling at the seams and the soft shoes that cover her feet are obscured by her bump. The strange sensation returns, a little differently this time, just the barest flutter, deeper down than that nervous feeling. Her baby. She lays a gentle palm over the swell, as discreetly as she can, still feeling the scrutinizing looks of the women across the room.

Another nurse wheels a bed into the room, complete with Theera shivering atop it, her hair and gown drenched in sweat. Orla rushes to the head of the bed as she’s prepped for the operation. Theera is dazed, too exhausted to make much sense of anything right now, glassy eyes focused on the ceiling. She smoothes back the sweaty hair from Theera’s forehead. 

“Hey cyar’ika. It’s Ori,” she says softly. The woman’s eyes focus a little, just enough to meet hers. She bumps their foreheads together. It was as much to comfort herself as much as the other woman. Non-mandos typically didn’t understand the meaning behind the gesture. She can’t squeeze her hand like she wants to - it’s being hooked up to IV tubing.

“I’m cold,” she mumbles. Some of it is adrenaline, some from fear, and the rest from the icy operating room temperature to keep the surgeons comfortable. Drenched as she is, it’s no wonder Theera is shivering. 

Ori asks the wary tech for a warm blanket, terrified of overstepping and getting her shebs kicked out of the operating room. She’s promptly ignored in favor of his work. Dr. Loesch enters the room and the nurses titter around him while he ensures everything is prepped to his liking. Ori settles for as much skin to skin contact as she can get with Theera, trying to warm her, mumbling comforting nonsense into her ear as Loesch starts to work. A warming bassinet waits ominously against the wall for its prize. 

A thin cry interrupts their mumbling and Theera’s eyes sharpen at the noise. Loesch holds the little thing over the curtain separating them indulgently, just for a moment. A boy, he says, and she and Theera find themselves mesmerized by the bloody little thing and his tiny squished face and flailing arms, already so angry at the world. He’s held up for a second, allowing Theera a cursory glance and then whisked away by the nurses to the bassinet. His mother is still paralyzed on the table and it makes it all the more unjust that she isn’t even allowed to touch her son, see him up close. The nurses at the bassinet laugh and coo, oblivious to Theera, who starts weeping pitifully. Fat tears slide down the side of her face, wetting the starched white sheet beneath her head.

Ori is in the middle of the absolute emotional chaos around her. Theera crying, Dr. Loesch talking with his assistant about weekend plans, and the nurses with the baby, who have turned back at the sound of crying to glare at them judgementally. She can practically hear them now. Serves her right, their looks say. She deserves it. The rage congeals around Ori, settling itself in her throat. This feeling is exactly what had put her in this place to begin with and she knows she has to control it, use it somehow. She watches them place a little bracelet around the infant’s ankle and scan it into a datapad. They don’t bother with Theera. It dawns on her then that if she’s lucky - incredibly lucky - she can use the Empire’s obsession with order against them. 

She makes her way over to the bassinet under the ruse of joining the indulgent cooing that is going on, trying not to throw elbows before she’s kicked out of the room. The little boy’s leg is caught for a heel stick an she gets her chance. The number on the leg band is just visible, only for a second. She sends a prayer up to the Manda that she gets it right. 

Taglist

@clonewarslover55 @simping-for-fives @808tsuika @jedi-mando @cherry-cokes-world @nelba @fractiouskat @passionofthesith 

[oloreaa]

Vencuyanir Ch. 6 - The Departure

Summary: Elana runs out of time to protect Bean as they depart Arvala-7

Words: 6.2k

Warnings: References to canon-typical violence, hints of unresolved trauma, discussion of grief, worry about the safety/future of own children, anxiety/mental breakdown

Notes: Hello there :) big thanks to both @mndalorians and @teaofpeach for looking over the first and second draft respectively, I love you both so much and thank you for all your help!! 

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After a short period where Elana and Bean delved into their bond, simply feeling the other's presence after nothing but silence for so long, Bean started to become fussy. He wanted to move around, to make up for the days of lying still in the pram, and started to become a little bright bundle of energy that Elana sat down on the ground. She watched him like a hawk as he took off, stumbling and heading towards some rocks, picking them up, throwing them, running some. Repeat. 

Squeaking as some mudjumpers started to appear, he began to chase after them, giggling happily. He played for several hours, always under the watchful gaze of his caretaker, catching up on movement he had missed the last few days, brimming with energy.

Elana leant against a rock and simply rested, feeling completely at peace for the first time since the Mandalorian appeared in their lives.

Speak of the devil.

"He's all right?" the Mandalorian suddenly asked and she flinched, not having seen him coming. Automatically tensing up, her heart started to race, fear paralysing her limbs, and dug her nails into her palm, the sting sharp. She turned her head, and saw that his gaze was fixed on the child, his shoulders relaxed.

"Seems that way," she chose to reply carefully, barely hiding the tremble in her voice, "He worked up quite an appetite."

"Won't he choke on the mudjumper?"

"He has done it often enough. Also, I fed him a few hours ago, he is probably only playing with them."

The Mandalorian scoffed, shaking his head slightly. There was a silence between them, and in that moment, between the sun setting, casting long shadows that contrasted with the beautiful sky and the rugged mountain line, it was almost comfortable. It was a pity, Elana thought. The Mandalorian seemed like a decent person half the time. 

Decent enough for a bounty hunter, at least.

"We're going to Nevarro, right?" Elana asked, almost absentmindedly. He turned his helmet towards her, and gave a sharp nod without saying anything. "You'll get your reward, and they'll get Bean," she continued, not really looking at anything, "Do you know what will happen to me?"

It was a genuine question. Would she go with Bean? Would they even let her stay? Would she be stranded on Nevarro? Would the Mandalorian keep her? Elana felt a shiver run down her back at the last thought, and she barely resisted the urge to scoot away from him.

"I don't know," he said haltingly, "You're not the bounty."

She did not know how to respond to that, so she settled on watching Bean, exhaling slowly. He did the same, and again Elana got the feeling that he could actually be rather nice to be around if he was not a bounty hunter. But what did it matter? Her thoughts were running at hyper speed levels, and every possible scenario played out in her head. He could help them escape. That was unlikely though, since he had gone through all that trouble to secure them. The Mandalorian cleared his throat after a while, and straightened, taking a step away from her.

"The Crest will be finished soon," he said, "We will depart tomorrow."

"All right," she said, fighting to keep the emotion out of her voice. The sun was disappearing behind the rough mountain ranges, and dusk started to settle in.

"I'm glad Bean woke up," he then added in a low voice as he started to walk away, "I'm sorry about the Mudhorn."

Elana stared after him as he made his way to Kuiil, something like hope starting to bloom in her chest.

Bean. 

He used Bean's name. 

Not quarry, not it, not the baby.

Bean.

Maybe, just maybe... the Mandalorian was starting to become attached to them.

Elana picked Bean up, who did a great job at protesting, wanting to chase some more mudjumpers, and tilted him onto her chest. "We'll go to them, all right?" Elana murmured to him, bopping Bean once, a giggle escaping him at the movement, "It's gonna be really dark soon."

The sun was setting on Arvala-7, the scorching heat dissipating, and the unexpectedly cold breeze made goosebumps appear on her skin. Suppressing a shiver and the urge to rub at her arms, Elana straightened her posture even more, pushing her shoulders back as she sat down near Kuiil's heater, where a pot of stew was currently being warmed up on a portable stove.

The Ugnaught gave her and Bean a smile, as he slowly stirred, reaching for a small shaker and adding a few dried herbs to it. Looking up into the night sky, she soaked in the view, knowing that it was probably the last night she would be on Arvala-7. The galaxy above them was becoming more and more visible, so clear that it seemed as if the atmosphere around the desert planet did not even exist. With no clouds on the horizon and no light pollution from the inhabitants there was nothing that inhibited the view of the star-speckled sky.

It was weird, Elana thought. To think that she would leave the planet she had been trapped on for so many months. But each time she had thought it would be different. She always thought that she could maybe save enough of the meagre wage the Niktos gave her. That she would be able to convince someone to help her and Bean get off the planet. Or an elaborate escape plan, something that included taming a wild blurrg and heading to the first settlement she found, like those old Empire-approved holomovies she and her friends used to go to cinemas to watch, celebrating another week of school finished.

But it was nothing like that. Her departure from Arvala-7 would be unceremonious and undignified, and the fact that she could not know how long Bean would still be with her left a bitter taste in her mouth. Elana held the baby a bit closer at that thought, a shiver running down her back.

Should she be counting the days she still had with him? 

Should she be hugging him at every chance, feeling the comforting weight of the baby in her arms, relishing in the way he snuggled up to her, the tickling fuzz on his head, his soft ears? Bean's sweet noises when he was happy, the way his eyes would light up, a smile on his chubby face? Elana felt tears starting to rise as she thought about how she might very soon not be able to hear Bean wheezing softly and snoring at night, lying peacefully on his back, tiny hand wrapped around the soft blanket he adored. Blinking fast, and tilting her head upwards, she pretended to be watching the stars as Kuiil hummed and stirred the stew.

If she had to be honest, she was not in the mood for any company that night. She had not been ever since the Mandalorian appeared in their lives but in that moment, especially that night, Elana wanted nothing more than to be able to lock herself into a closed room, Bean safe in his pram and just give herself time to grieve for what was about to come.

Even if she was starting to feel the freezing cold of the night, she did not want to move closer to the heater, did not want to feel obligated to say anything in company. Bean made a small distressed noise, and looked up at her. His dark eyes were wide and he started to point at the heater.

The mental impression of warmth pressed against her, and a fuzzy picture of him and her near the device was clumsily put into her mind. Elana frowned and told him no quietly. 

I don't want to talk to them, she sent as an explanation, I'm unhappy with them, I don't want to be here.

Bean's ears drooped, and he frowned right back. An image slammed into her mind, of her from his point of view, hunched into herself, shivering. Elana stared at him, eyes wide. He wants me to be warm, she realised, and could not help the touched smile that flitted across her face.

"All right", she murmured, an arm snaking under the little bottom of the child, holding him securely, and scooted closer. 

Settling down near the others, Elana ignored how the helmet of the Mandalorian turned towards her, the beskar reflecting the light. Kuiil was gazing at her kindly, and smiled. "Do you want something to eat?" Kuiil asked.

She accepted quietly with a nod, and smiled back. A small bowl with the stew was given to her, a spoon already sticking in it, and Elana blew on it carefully before tasting it.

It was fine enough, so she blew some more and fed it to Bean. He chomped down on the spoon with a loud click of his teeth, making her chuckle at that. Sharing the meal between them, it did not take long until the stew was finished.

The Mandalorian was fiddling with his vambrace, seemingly fixing some of the wiring in the low light, probably waiting for them to be done so he could eat himself. Maybe her nagging had gone through his thick skull. Elana still does not know why she cared so much, but out here? Other than Kuill? He was their enemy and safest ally at the same time, and the logistics made her head hurt the longer she thought about it. Elana wondered why he did not just go into the almost finished ship, but figured that it was purely his business and it was not as if it was important to her.

Bean babbled happily to himself, his little claws scratching at her arms in a gentle manner, and she pressed a kiss onto the top of his head, soaking up the warmth the little child has to offer, feeling pure love across the bond with a soft sigh. The cold was starting to become uncomfortable at this point, but she felt too self-conscious to try to scoot even closer to the device.

Bean started to squeak at her, almost indignantly, before he stilled. Turning his head towards her, eyes wide, he gave an almost comical shiver. Elana squinted down at him, the corner of her mouth curving up.

He shivered again, holding eye contact, eyes big and watery. "Are you for real?" Elana asked, highly suspicious, a smile creeping on her face.

Bean basically started to vibrate, ears flopping up and down while shivering as dramatically as possible. She could not help the quiet laughter that escaped her. "All right, sweetpea," she told him, giggling while stroking his cheek affectionately, "You're a good actor, I know."

His eyes started to shine, and a low "aaah" escaped him, clearly happy that his plan is working. Elana scooted closer to the fire, still smiling, not missing how the two others have their heads turned towards her, clearly having been watching them both.

"The child is cunning for his young age," the Ugnaught said, voice level, kind eyes twinkling at her.

"I think he is cold," she replied, her smile almost playful, and nudged the little one, who gave a coo.

The Ugnaught nodded, and looked at the green child. "You are a smart one," he told Bean, "Able to recognize what others need." Bean cooed and tilted his head at Kuiil, ears held up high, before snuggling into Elana's chest again.

You're the sweetest, best behaving, most wonderful baby ever, Elana thought at Bean, scratching his back in a circular motion, and it was not long before the combination of having a full belly and being held by her lulled him to sleep. Even though there were not many words exchanged, the atmosphere was almost comfortable, no tension in the air.

"I will return to my home now," Kuiil said after a while, and stood up with a grunt, "I have spoken." Raising a hand in a wave, he gathered what he needed, and mounted the blurrg that had been tied to a rock formation. As he patted the side of the blurrg several times, he called out: "I bid you all goodnight."

The Mandalorian nodded, and she did the same as well. "Do you want to eat the rest?" Elana asked after a while, pointing at the leftover stew. 

"Later.”

Elana raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'll go into the Crest," he said, almost defensively.

"Do it before the stew turns cold," Elana told him, adjusting Bean on her lap, his limbs akimbo while he cooed in his sleep.

The Mandalorian just sighed, before helping himself to the food. With a full bowl in his hand, he turned, gave her a nod which she chose to interpret as thankfulness, and started to walk towards the Razor Crest.

Gathering one of the blankets and the sleeping roll that Kuiil had left for them, Elana made herself comfortable on the ground, the motion practised after a few nights out there. There was no one out here other than blurrgs and lizards, and they had stayed away the last few nights, so she figured that it would not change. Putting Bean into his pram, maneuvering her roll close to him, she lied down and stared at the lamp in the middle of the camping site.

Elana did not know how much time passed before the Mandalorian's steps sounded again, but she closed her eyes and pretended that she was asleep. She heard him getting closer to them, and he stopped at Bean's pram. After a while, he pressed the button, and the pod slid shut.

Not knowing what to think of it, it took a while until Elana could fall asleep.

  The next morning, they readied everything for departure. 

With an approving nod, Kuiil declared the Razor Crest safe for deep space and hyperspeed. The Mandalorian gave a relieved sigh at those words, and it was only a reminder of how time was running out, how it would not be long until he would hand them over to his client.

The bounty hunter cuffed Elana to the pram for the first time in days when he and Kuiil went into the ship for a final inspection before takeoff. Fuming on the ramp of the Razor Crest, worry and fear churning in her stomach, she stared hard at the horizon, trying to take in the way Arvala-7 looked like. It was unlikely that she would ever return again, and even if she did not always enjoy life here, she would not have met Bean without landing on this planet. Bean was the most important thing for Elana right now, and she would do everything for him, anything, trying to keep him safe. 

He was still snoring, the golden light of the sunrise illuminating his face gently, and she hoped that he would not wake up until they are in space, wanting to avoid him being fussy during takeoff, since it could irritate the Mandalorian. Elana would not take any chances.

"I can't thank you enough," she heard him say to Kuiil, "Please allow me to give you a portion of the reward."

Crinkling her nose at those words, she scoffed lightly, nails digging into her palms.

"I cannot accept," Kuiil said, and it did not surprise her. He had helped them for free the entire time, wanting nothing more than to bring peace to his valley. His next words only worsened the sour taste in her mouth. "You are my guest, and I am therefore in your service."

The Mandalorian was quiet for a while, before speaking up again. "I could use a crew member of your ability. And I can pay handsomely," he offered.

"I am honoured. But I have worked a lifetime to finally be free of servitude."

Blinking away furious tears, she stared hard at the ground. If Kuiil can understand the worth of a life free of it, why was he... simply giving Bean up like that? Surrendering an innocent child, just like that?

"I understand," the Mandalorian said, "Then... all I can offer is my thanks."

"And I offer mine."

The Ugnaught was quiet for a few moments, and she felt his gaze on her back, but she refused to turn around. Elana simply straightened, taking a look at the sleeping Bean in his pram.

"Thank you for bringing peace to my valley." It almost sounded as if he was talking to the Mandalorian and her at the same time, and if she pondered on his tone, she thought that she could find a hint of regret in his words. But what did it matter?

Heavy steps sounded as Kuiil descended the ramp, and she stood up the best she could, facing him. "And good luck with the Child," the Ugnaught called from on top of his blurrg, "May it survive and bring you a handsome reward."

The Mandalorian nodded at him, and Kuiil raided a hand in goodbye, old, wise eyes on her, meeting her gaze.

"I have spoken."

Elana clenched her jaw, frown on her face as the ramp raised, cutting off her view from the planet.

"Get up," the Mandalorian said, took off her binders, and pointed towards the ladder. Elana winced at the air that brushed the sensitive ring around her wrists, the skin feeling raw. She climbed, head tucked in low with the new environment, not wanting to bang her body against something, and when Elana arrived in what looked like the cockpit, she quietly inched to the side, letting the Mandalorian step into it as well.

He walked past her, used his vambrace to gently nudge the pram to the right of him, onto a co-pilot's seat. As Elana looked around, there was a symmetrical seat on the left side as well. Sitting down into it, hands in her lap, she watched the Mandalorian as he started to prepare the Razor Crest for takeoff.

Ignoring the whirr of the engine as the ship raised into the sky, and ascended in the atmosphere, she tried to calm her pounding heart and the sinking feeling in her chest. When the ship arrived into orbit of the planet, the warm glow of it slowly fading into the cold and infinite space, Bean woke up. Pushing himself up, and cooing loudly, both adults turned to look at him.

"Morning, Bean," she whispered, and gave him a shaky smile. His eyes went huge as he took in the viewport speckled with stars.

The Mandalorian shifted in his seat, pulled at a lever, and they entered hyperspace. Elana stared at the tunnel of swirling lights, heart beating fast in her chest. It had been so long since she had last seen this...

Bean made a loud squeak, eyes bright as he took in the new sight. Pointing excitedly at the lights, she felt a Pretty! coming from him. 

The Mandalorian turned around, took a look at the babbling baby, and gave something like a huff of amusement. Bean squealed happily, and made grabby hands towards the blue swirling tunnel, little body wriggling as his ears were raised high. Smiling at the sight, Elana subtly took a deep breath, feeling the claw around her heart easing slightly. Only slightly, though.

  They stayed in the cockpit for a few hours, not a word passing between them, the only noises coming from Bean.

Elana wondered whether the Mandalorian would play music, or put on a podcast, or watch a holomovie, anything that she herself would have probably done, but he just stared into the hyperspace tunnel, not moving an inch, with no indicator that he would do anything else.

Maybe he's meditating. Elana tried to find an explanation for why someone would choose to pass the time in hyperspace like that. Or he is sleeping, resting his eyes, whatever.

Because there was no way the Mandalorian simply stared into space for hours at an end without doing anything.

... right?

At some point, the Mandalorian started to fiddle with the sleep cycle on the console of the ship.

"You and the baby can go down for rations," he said. Flinching at the first words that were spoken in hours, she had to calm her fast beating heart. He’s just saying something normal. Not threatening, Elana told herself, and offered a quiet "okay" in response.

Looking over to Bean, she saw that he was chewing on his blanket, and she stood up and gently took it out of his mouth. "Come on," she told him, "We're gonna eat."

Scooping him up, ignoring the slight pang her wrists gave, the skin red and raw after many days of constantly wearing the cuffs, Elana turned to the Mandalorian. "Do you want something as well?"

He was quiet, before saying: "I'll be fine."

Elana blinked in confusion, but walked towards the closed door of the cockpit. It suddenly opened with a hiss, making her jump. When she turned her head to shoot a glare at the Mandalorian, his helmet was still in the same position, the blue light of hyperspace reflecting off it.

He did that on purpose, that bastard, she thought viciously, hiding a grimace.

Setting Bean down, before climbing halfway into the hull, Elana propped her upper body against the ladder so she could grab the baby, nestling him against her shoulder. 

With a slight struggle, she got both of them down safely, and looked around the hull, her wrists burned fiercely. Spotting a cabinet on the side where there could be rations, she pressed the button next to the ladder.

When it opened to a drawer full of weapons, she could not help but sneer. He seemed to be a tough enough adversary without all those ridiculous guns he had organised so neatly inside the drawer.

What was it again? He's a Mandalorian, weapons are part of his religion. Elana scoffed quietly, and muttered "Nutjob" under her breath. Bean cooed curiously, reaching a hand out to the drawer. She balked at that. "Don't even think about it, honey," she scolded him, and quickly pressed the same button so the door would shut, "You're too young for this violent nonsense, you hear me?" 

Pressing another button after carefully inspecting it, it seemed to be the right one, filled with packaged ration bars organised in some compartments. With a raised brow, she took in the contents, and started mentally filing away the different types of bars he seemed to have. Apparently he cared enough to upkeep a variety of selection, and with a smile she saw with a smile that he had those that the encampment had as well, those that Bean loved.

She fished that bar out, and showed it to the baby, who made a happy noise as he recognised the packaging. Bean promptly pointed at in expectantly, waiting for her to open the bar for him.

Elana nuzzled the side of his head with a fond smile. "Yeah, honey, give me a moment," she said, before taking out two random ration bars, and closing the closet. 

Seeing an open cubicle, she sat Bean into it, and pointed at him sternly. "You stay here, I'll be back in a minute, okay?" Bean just looked up at her with big dark eyes, and gave her a gummy smile.

Opening the packet for him so he could chew on it, she left the little one in the cubicle, and pulled herself up into the upper level of the Razor Crest. Clenching the ration bar in her hand, she entered the cockpit, and put it onto the console. “Here,” she said quietly.

The Mandalorian's helmet snapped to her. "Thank you," he said hesitantly, "That's... very thoughtful of you."

Elana clenched her jaw and looked down, already regretting this. "You're welcome," she whispered, before turning, preparing to leave.

"Why are you like this?" the Mandalorian suddenly asked.

She did not turn around, her nails digging into her palms, it hurt, but she could not bring herself to unclench her fist.

"Why are you so…" kind? Was that what he wanted to say?

The Mandalorian never finished the sentence, but the question lingered in the air. She felt her ribcage pressing in, her breath escaping her, heart thrumming against her sternum, and did not know how to respond. The words bubbled up and pressed against her throat, almost painful, and even as she swallowed, the pressure did not disappear, continued to hurt as she stared at him with burning eyes.

Because the universe has not been kind to me. 

Because even though she had lived a fairly privileged life, she had to see her planet's destruction on a newscast. Because she had lost everyone she ever knew in a blink of an eye, stranded on a foreign planet where no one showed her kindness when she needed it.

She wanted to say everything and some more.

Because no matter what, kindness costs nothing and is worth everything. Because even though you're our captor, you are decent enough for not hurting Bean, for not doing worse to me.

"I don't know," was the only thing she could manage, staring into the blank visor, feeling everything and nothing at the same time, body numb. She took a step back, then another, before fleeing the cockpit, feeling her eyes burn fiercely as his gaze lingered on her, almost intense enough to scorch. 

Dropping down into the hull again, choking down her heavy breaths from the confrontation, hands shaking and limbs trembling, she was greeted with the sight of Bean standing in front of the open weapon drawer. A ration bar was in his hand as he chewed slowly.

"Bean!" Elana admonished, hands on her hips as she watched him turn around slowly, ears flattening against his head as he realised that he had been caught.

He gave a coo at her, his dark eyes wide as if trying to appeal at her maternal instincts with acting cute. And damn it, it is working.

"You're in big trouble if I see you doing that again, you understand?" Elana told him sternly, trying to get her emotions under control, "It's dangerous! Those are not toys, those can hurt you if you touch the wrong parts."

His lower lip wobbled, and he looked up at her, eyes heartbroken. She scooped him up, and stepped closer to the drawer. Pointing to the various things mounted in there, she explained. "Those are blasters, they'll shoot a laser bolt out of the parts there, you see? It hurts a lot when you're shot with it, so stay away from them, okay?"

Bean blinked up at her again, and then ate the last bite of the ration bar, gurgling. Elana sighed, before closing the drawer. Taking a look around the hull, she sighed again. "Now, where are we supposed to sleep? You don't suppose on the floor, right?" Elana asked Bean, who did not give an answer. Not that she expected him to. 

She started to carefully explore the ship to avoid thinking of the bounty hunter, holding Bean tightly so he would not even get the idea of going off on his own again. Elana took note of the different crates, the nets hanging above holding various tools. The location of the standard issue medicine cabinet that was well stocked, and the carbonite freezers in the back.

Elana stared at them, feeling her heart drop. 

She had only heard horror stories about them, how the frozen person would still be completely aware of their surroundings the whole time they were in. How it would hurt to get frozen and that they would be sick for a long time after they were released from the device. Was it that there was a sixty percent probability of survival? Or was it lower? How did the Mandalorian even get his hands on these?

Suddenly she realised how lucky she had been to not be slabbed by the bounty hunter, how he had tolerated every time she had snapped back. Did he only slab dangerous quarries or did he refrain from doing it to her because he would have to look after Bean without help?

Elana did not know the answer to that, but one thing she was certain of. She was running out of time with which she could escape. Bean gurgled at her, and she could do nothing but sigh. What a mess. What an absolute, horrible mess.

Turning away from the carbonite freezer, she settled down onto the floor of the hull, ignoring the biting cold of the metal. >"You're not going anywhere near there, all right?" Elana told Bean in a stern voice, "It's dangerous, okay? In fact, everything on this ship is very, very dangerous."

She pointed a finger at him, and Bean lowered his ears, mouth down turned.

"No."

He whined loudly, and raised his hands up at her. Elana sighed, and pulled him onto her lap, holding him close.

"Oh, honey," she whispered, and pressed a kiss onto his forehead, "What have we gotten ourselves in?"

He seemed to understand the weight of the question, and did nothing but coo and nuzzle her skin, ears hanging low.

How do we get away now?

It was long until she was able to settle down, from pacing along the hull of the ship, trying to work out some of her nervous energy. She was quietly panicking until Bean had fallen asleep on her shoulder and is currently snoring quietly while his warm breath puffed against where his little face was. Then, she had carefully lowered herself onto the ground, back leaning against the hull, giving Bean the opportunity to snooze some without her pacing like a nervous Mid Rim chicken. As his breaths deepened, she started to quietly hum a song, letting the melody soothe both her and the baby.

He snuggled into her chest even more, and she carefully traced a finger over his cheek, looking down at him with the utmost devotion. There is nothing she would not do for Bean. Her scalp hurt, so she reached up, taking care not to disturb the baby, and started to methodically loosen her braids, sighed in relief as the tension lessened, massaging the ache away.

The little lump on her chest gave out a little coo and sighed contentedly, nose twitching slightly. She stroked the soft ear, tracing the shell of it with her fingers, and started the song from the beginning again. She was close to falling asleep herself, she noticed, but was so tired that she actually did not care. 

She will deal with it tomorrow.

Elana jerked up, wide awake once more, the panic swelling up again. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow Bean will be delivered to the client. She exhaled shakily, feeling her heart beat fast.

She propped herself up a bit, looking up and saw the Mandalorian watching her. She did not know how long he had been standing there, but she definitely had not heard him. They stared at each other for a few seconds, Elana's eyes wide, and his visor trained on her. Who knew what kind of face he had underneath the helmet. Who knew if he was sneering at her or mocking her.

Bean let out a yawn that cracked his face wide open, and then pressed his face into her shirt, little legs scooting up froggy style, straddling her stomach. She automatically moved her arm under his little bum, supporting the child, and looked down at the green baby.

His face was squished into her, head turned slightly upwards, button nose twitching. He started to snore softly, and Elana felt her heart break.

That was what the Empire wanted to destroy, that little, wonderful, precious creature, her child. They would take his innocence away, and she would probably never see him again. For the rest of his life, he would be experimented on, he would never have a childhood, he would never have friends, he would only know the hands of uncaring scientists that would toss him away as soon as they finished their examinations.

Hate welled up in her, white hot anger, pure despair and helplessness swirling inside her as her eyes started to burn. 

The Empire would take her child away and give him a horrible life. They would take Bean away and there was nothing she could do. The only thing that could happen is that the Mandalorian changes his mind, but that was unlikely. If he did not want to turn them in, he would have left them on Arvala-7. Elana felt wetness on her cheeks, her vision of Bean blurring more and more. Careful so her tears would not drop on the sleeping child, she tilted her head back and stared hard at the ceiling. 

"Could you move the pram to me, please?" Elana could not recognize her voice, hoarse and meek. 

The Mandalorian just nodded in her peripheral vision, pushed a button on his vambrace, and the pram floated to her, nearly at ground level. Setting the sleeping Bean into it, she was glad he did not wake up when she shifted him.

As soon as the lid of the pram closed with a slight hiss, she clenched her eyes shut and inhaled deeply, making no noise other than slightly hitched breaths. She did not shift in her seat, did not move or change position. Elana just could not stop crying. The tears rolled down her cheeks without her consent, and she did not bother to wipe them away, her limbs not cooperating anyways.

Elana couldn't fight against the Empire. She was not able to when they destroyed her planet. She would not be able to save her baby as well. She could not fight against a Mandalorian. 

I hate you, she thought at him, jaw clenched tight.

She saw how the Mandalorian's helmet tilted in her direction, observing her. Her vision blurred some more, new tears welling up.

I hate you, Elana thought again, heart aching, choking on a sob that caught in her throat. I hate you so much.

The Mandalorian just kept watching her, not moving an inch. She finally looked back, tears obscuring her vision but she gave him the fiercest glare she could manage. Pushing herself up from the ground, away from the pram, she knew that she looked exactly into his eyes.

Elana stepped closer to the Mandalorian, and he straightened. Leaning into the Mandalorian's personal space, getting into his face, she wanted nothing more than just stab him in the neck. Never before had she felt such hatred towards anyone. 

He is the one who will give my child to the Empire.

"Go to hell," Elana heard herself say, her voice barely above a whisper, breaking on the last word. Before he could say anything, she pushed past him, and disappeared into the tiny fresher, slamming the door shut. Back leaning against the door, she slid down to the ground, biting her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood.

Never before had she felt such loathing. She hated him. And that was apparently all that was needed for her to completely break down. Burying her face into her hands, she sobbed, shoulders shaking under the strain of keeping quiet.

It did not matter to her anymore. The notion that she had to maintain the stoic facade in front of the Mandalorian had gone up in smoke, she did not care at all if he found her pathetic. Let him mock her for all she cared, let him laugh himself stupid at the sight of her tears, reduced to rubble under his silent judgement.

She felt like a complete fraud, everything she did before to protect Bean? It was worth nothing, because he would give them up anyway. She could have tried to kill him before they left Arvala-7, but she did not. Never mind what would have happened, she could have killed him, stabbed him in his sleep while they were repairing the Razor Crest. She and Bean could have stayed at Kuiil's place until they would have to leave again, seeking shelter somewhere else. If she had done that, Bean would not face capture tomorrow. If.

Elana cried until she was trembling, every single one of her limbs shaking uncontrollably. She cried until there were no tears left, and then some more, until exhaustion took over her and she fell asleep on the floor, against the door of the fresher, heart aching too much for her to handle. 

If. Oh, only if.

……………

Thank you for reading!!

[hannagoldworthy]

Renegade 3

(Mostly set-up for later plot points, I'm not gonna lie. Darth Gravid makes his first appearance in this story, however, so this chapter's worth reading for him.)

Barriss awoke the next morning to a nudge on her left arm and an exasperated voice in her ears. “Kind of a heavy sleeper, aren’tcha?” Her eyes blinked open to behold the green-eyed Convor woman staring down at her, unimpressed.

“My apologies,” she replied, stretching idly. “What time is it?”

“0800…you’ve been sleeping soundly since 2300.” The redhead shrugged. “I guess people from your planet sleep more, having longer nights and all.”

That was the furthest thing from the truth; her people averaged seven hours of sleep, normally snatched two to three hours at a time while on watch against nocturnal predators, while Barriss herself normally awoke with nightmares about her time on the front lines. The fact that she had managed nearly nine hours of sleep was unusual, but not impossible – she had some rest to catch up on, after all, and Maul had managed to interrupt her for about a half hour the previous night. But, obviously, he had been quiet enough not to tip off their oh-so-discreet guards, and she was not about to say anything that would rouse their suspicions, so she shrugged wordlessly and let the other woman draw her own conclusions.

“Here.” A bundle of cloth dropped on Barriss’s lap. “You’ve only had the one dress for a long time, right? We ladies found a few things that might fit you; nightgowns, day dresses, even a few head-scarves. You can change into those and let us launder the other one, if you want.”

Barriss lifted an eyebrow, and sorted through the bundle; there were a lot of blues and blacks, naturally, but there was a pink bantha-flannel nightgown and a yellow headdress with a paisley pattern for variety. “You just had these lying around?”

“We’re a nomadic militia; there’s not too much opportunity to wear long skirts when we have to be ready to take off at any moment.”

“You have scarves, though.”

“Yeah, well, we might not observe traditional Mirialan customs of modesty, but scarves are good for tying long or curly hair back under a helmet. Not that Ireally have that problem,” she fluffed at her ginger bob with pretended vanity, grinned, and nodded significantly at the bundle. “Go ahead and get dressed. I’m here so that no nasty male-folk offend your sensibilities.”

Barriss felt a smile cross her face that was more a baring of teeth than anything else. “It’s less a custom of modesty than of temperance and humility. We photosynthesize, so keeping ourselves covered prevents us from ‘eating’ too much, and we accumulate markings as our skillset grows, so exposing those unnecessarily can be seen as showing off.”

“Huh…learn something new every day.”

“Indeed. Could you please turn away? I’m nervous about changing in front of anyone, not just men.”

The Mandalorian held her gaze for a moment, testing to see if Barriss was trying to trick her. Then, she turned and faced the two doorways of the small lean-to built into the medbay tent, setting her hands on her hips. “Anyone else who comes in will walk away when they see me.”

Barriss got to her feet, wincing slightly as she stood; the cramps had died down a little, but her uterus was very much still trying to remind her of its existence.

“You all right?”

“Just some issues with my cycle.” Barriss saw an opportunity to needle the Convor Woman’s conscience about the weight comment she’d made the previous day, and took it. “I can get rather bloated; I’m afraid some of these dresses won’t fit me until it dies down.”

The barb hit true; even through beskar, Barriss could sense the rush of guilt. “That sounds like it sucks.”

Barriss chose a navy blue dress, and slipped into it quickly. “It’s actually not so bad this time; last month was pretty harsh,” though that had mostly been the fault of it happening on a Sith Homeworld, in front of two men she didn’t really know all that well yet, with a dwindling supply of painkiller hypos. She’d been able to cope pretty well, and she doubted Savage or Maul had really noticed, but Korriban was not an experience she wished to repeat any time soon for multiple reasons.

“Yeah, I hate that. Like, are you going to punch me in the stomach or not? Make up your mind.” After a few seconds of listening to Barriss button herself up, the woman scratched the back of her neck. “My name’s Bo-Katan, by the way. Bo, if you don’t like the mouthful.”

As she looked over the headdresses, Barriss debated trying a false name, before deciding against it. “Barriss,” she said – it was a common name and Mandalorians obviously did not keep up with Jedi gossip or they would have known about Savage by now, at least, so she doubted they’d know about a relatively minor Jedi General. “But I respond to Doc in medical settings.” The yellow scarf would do for a change of pace, she decided.

“Sounds good, Doc.” Bo-Katan received Barriss’s dirty laundry with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Do you want me to show you around?”

***

Maul was embroiled in some strategy talk with the Death Watch leader when Barriss and Bo-Katan returned to the medical tent after about a half-hour. The conversation came to a brief halt as the two men looked up to acknowledge them, to which Bo snorted. “Don’t stop on my account, fellas. What’s the plan going into this den of filth?”

The man lying in a cot with a bandage over the left side of his face smirked flirtatiously at Bo. “Mostly, just walk up like we have a right to be there and ask nicely for their assistance.”

“And if we say no?” Bo asked with a playful pout; obviously, these two were involved and not afraid to show it. And that was good, because Maul had been given a new wardrobe as well, and his shirt was open almost to his navel; Barriss had to fight not to be distracted.

“Ask less nicely,” Maul concluded. “But, my siblings and I will tend to that more than you will, so you needn’t worry too much. In the meantime, the doctor has arrived to tend to your wounded.” He looked Barriss over subtly enough that their oblivious hosts would not perceive it, his pupils dilated in a way that made her stomach flutter. “So, my authority is overruled for the time being. I’ll see you at lunch, Viszla?”

The blond man frowned good-naturedly. “If I’m not poked and prodded into indigestion,” he replied. Maul gave him a formal bow and left, studiously avoiding eye contact with Barriss; Bo-Katan winked, and sauntered after him. Viszla watched her go with devoted attention, which gave time for Barriss to quietly collect her thoughts before approaching his bedside.

“If I may?”

Viszla rolled his eyes. “Fine, but no bacta.”

Barriss peered underneath the bandage at the obvious lightsaber burn. “Are you certain? I’m pretty sure that will scar up visibly even with the bacta.” It reminded her of Anakin Skywalker’s facial scar, actually; dark makashi practitioners liked to leave cuts like this near the eye to showcase their skill with the blade.

“Oral antibiotics only,” Viszla reiterated. “I want my enemies to know that I went up against Dooku himself and survived.”

She shook her head; he was very much like Anakin in more ways than one, it seemed. Anakin had bragged for weeks about killing Asajj Ventress, flaunting his injury enough that they had to retreat him several times. He’d been down in the mouth when, like the stubborn Dathomirian that she was, Ventress popped up again, very much alive, in a diplomatic mission to recruit Toydaria to her cause. No doubt Viszla would be just charmed when he realized that, to a trained eye, the scar would out him as someone who had run from a confrontation with Dooku.

But then, saying that would reveal that she had been a Jedi, and that would raise far too many questions. So, Barriss let the boast hang in the air, and began to study Viszla’s chart.

“You’re far from home,” he said after a minute, peering at her with his uncovered eye.

She nodded absently, flipping a flimsi-page. “And looking to get further away, as you have no doubt been informed.”

“Right…you were on your way to Chandrila.” A pause. “Do you want us to drop you off there? We aren’t at war with the Republic; we could sneak you over there, and you wouldn’t have to bother with this little detour.”

Barriss thought quickly; Maul was so much better at coming up with cover stories than she was. “It’s a tempting offer, but I’m afraid I have to refuse. I made a sacred oath when I received these,” she said, holding up her hand to showcase the healer marks once more. “And part of that oath entailed never abandoning a patient unless there is another healer who can continue their care.”

Viszla regarded her placidly. “And I have my medical droids.”

“But Feral does not; he is still recovering from a grievous injury, and still requires physical therapy. And frankly, sir, I do not trust droids in those matters.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I like a person with their own mind,” he said. “But, I want to be open with you; we will be fighting, a great deal. And, well, no offense, but you really don’t look like a warrior.”

Barriss had never been more grateful for her body’s tendency to gather a little extra weight around the waist. “None taken, for I am not a warrior,” not willingly, anyway, “but I’m a decent doctor. And I wouldn’t mind tagging along for the detour, if you don’t mind my patching up your soldiers after the fights.”

Viszla smiled. “Then it is agreed, Doctor…”

Barriss was sorely tempted to give the last name of Coffee, but she knew it could put Maul into hysterical laughter if he heard. “Just Barriss,” she said. “I haven’t a last name.”

“Doctor Barriss,” he said. “Welcome to the company.”

***

They were… peculiar, these “Mandalorians.” They gave the Dathomirians a tent of their own, with four tiny cots they were expected to sleep upon; and when Savage carefully pushed his and Feral’s beds together so they could sleep in a pile as was the custom between Brothers who were blood relatives, there was a reaction. Not a violent reaction, thankfully, but the masked warriors acted embarrassed around them, and it was weird enough that Feral risked asking one of their assigned watchers about it.

“Oh, that?” Tall, dark, and sharp of features, Rook Kast did not seem the sort of woman who blushed easily, but blush she did. “Well, we uh…we didn’t realize you and Savage were riduure. Otherwise, we would have found a double-wide cot for you.”

Feral blinked. “What is this word, ‘riduure’? I’ve never heard it before.”

She gnawed on one dark blue lip in discomfort; Feral thought it might be painted, but for what reason he could not fathom. “You know…spouses? Husbands?”

He blinked. “You think Savage and I have Chosen each other?”

“Is that what you call it?” Rook shrugged. “I mean, the two of you are very good parents to Merrin, and you make a cute couple…what’s so funny?”

Feral was trying not to laugh too hard, but it wasn’t easy. “We’re brothers. Literally brothers; we are related by blood. He practically raised me.”

Her face scrunched up in confusion. “And you…share a bed?”

“Yes, Nightbrothers do that. We’re not allowed too many pillows or blankets, so it helps us stay warm and cushion each other’s heads with our arms. Frankly, it’s a little lonely with just Savage and me; before everything that happened on Dathomir, we also had our uncle and about a half dozen cousins each night.”

“So, you’re both single then?”

Feral wasn’t sure if he liked the look on her face. “Uh…what does that mean?”

“You’re not romantically involved with anyone currently?”

“…No?”

Rook grinned viciously. “HEEEEY SAXON! HE’S SINGLE!”

“WHY DON’T YOU YELL MY BUSINESS A LITTLE LOUDER, KAST? THEY DIDN’T QUITE HEAR YOU ON KALEVALA!”

The female Mandalorian patted Feral on the cheek. “He’s been wanting to ask your brother out since he laid eyes on him. Would you mind putting in a good word?”

“…Um…?”

***

On their third day with the Mandalorians, the camp was packed up; the fleet was continuing on to their more permanent base on Zanbar.

Maul was allowed to retrieve the turtle tanker, along with an armed ‘escort’ of six Mandalorians. The others were scattered throughout the other Death Watch ships – Feral, at least, could stay in the medbay with Barriss, but Savage had been placed with Saxon’s detachment, and Merrin was under the watchful eye of Kryze’s Nite Owls. They were aiming for the old trick of division and conquest; Death Watch did not trust them, no matter how obsequiously Viszla acted or how valuable their information proved to be. And that was acceptable, for now; Maul had known he was playing the defensive side of this little dejarik game from the start, and he was still in a good position to win it, even if it irritated him to no end.

I’m going to go out on a limb and assume the honeymoon was cut short.

Maul glanced over his shoulder at his fearsome escort; the girl was playing some sort of holo-game on her communicator, and from the looks of things she was having a rough time of it. She would not notice him typing to a ghost on his datapad.

Where the hell have you been for the past two weeks, Gravid?

Oh…around. I didn’t want to disturb anyone, so I spent my time training the mimic butterflies around here to say swear words. The Lurmen were so scandalized.

You could have warned us about the extremist Mandalorian faction camped at our doorstep.

And deprive you of an opportunity to rule the world? My boy, I may have died on the Light Side, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still a Sith. Maul could almost hear the fussy little sniff the ghost gave before continuing. I think, on Mandalore, you have a real chance to influence this war for the better. But you’re going to have to be careful. Lord Tyranus already passed up this same arrangement with Death Watch for a reason.

So Dooku’s Sith name was Tyranus? Subtle. The decrepit old usurper is incompetent. We already knew that.

No, he was ordered to end this in the way he did, just as he was ordered to shoot down a perfectly serviceable apprentice. Darth Tyranus is beholden to someone else, Maul, and I think you know exactly who that is.

Maul’s blood ran cold. Sidious...

Yes. We’ll need to be cautious, here; it’s very likely he left this loose end untied specifically to entice you into a trap. But, if we play our cards right, we can spring that trap.

***

Pre and Bo-Katan picked a tree near their favored clearing on Zanbar, watching silently as their commandos bustled about in the various tasks of pitching camp. Their guests were similarly occupied, the Mirialan with the medical staff and the Dathomirians with their own concerns; Pre saw the large yellow guy smack the orange guy upside the head and begin some sort of petty argument.

“That’ll be about Saxon,” Bo muttered over their private comm channel. “He’s a little enamored, and Kast isn’t a subtle matchmaker.”

He tilted his head fondly at her. “You sound like you have some opinions.”

“Well, you know me.”

“All too well; go ahead and speak your mind.”

She sighed. “They are barbarians.”

“Maul sounds like he’s got a decent education.”

“Educating a barbarian only produces an educated barbarian, Pre. Maul can spout pretty words all he likes, but at the end of the day he’d gladly tear your throat out with his teeth, and his brothers would mindlessly follow his direction.” The convor face turned to survey the medtent, where the Mirialan girl was listening calmly to their medic’s instructions. “And the greenie is very uppity for a released Trade Federation slave.”

“She’s a doctor; she probably got better treatment than most.”

“She was spoiled, you mean. She acts like she’s better than me…”

“She’s not your sister, Bo.”

“She’s two-faced enough that she’d get along well with her. I don’t trust her, Pre.”

“Well, we don’t need to trust any of them. We just need them to get results for us. Then, we execute them and go on with our lives at the head of a unified and strengthened Mandalore.”

The convor face of her helmet stared blankly at him for a few heartbeats before she shrugged and turned to survey the encampment. “I hope you’re right.”

“Have I ever steered you wrong before?”

“Do you want an honest answer to that question?”

“…No.”

“Merrick’s gamble…Concord Dawn…Carlac…”

“I said I didn’t want an answer.”

“Didn’t you say you could fight Dooku with one hand behind your back?”

“I never said I would win…”

[spc4eva]

Star-Burned: Chapter Four

Wordcount: 10,570

Rating: M (18+) for smut

Masterlist

Crossposted on AO3

They were burning it. They were burning your farm. 

Bound and gagged, you had to watch as the two generations of work was being obliterated at the hands of the Empire. Tears ran down your nose, not noise escaping you as you shook on the ground, heat curling off the back of your neck, sweltering and making you swoon. Sorrow, fear, misery, agony. Your greenhouse, the water vaporators -- so much wasted. What was the point? Why would they just burn it? Destroying evidence. Smoting your existence as if it'd never been there, as if you'd never made memories here and grown up in that house. You didn't have much, but all your holobooks, your stupid rock collection, and your clothes were in there. Most of the clothes were just coveralls, but they were still yours. 

It wasn't the material things you sobbed over. No, it was deeper than that. You'd done so many things here and it was all you'd ever known. Now it was ash in the wind, nothing going to remain other than the steel that wasn't burned out, standing as a gloomy sentinel to hint at the atrocity committed. And why? Because you had been kind to someone, healed them, taken care of them... and where was he? He'd said he would be right behind you and now you were beginning to doubt that. What if he'd seen the mess and decided that you weren't worth it? He was still hurt, so you didn't blame him for not wanting to fight five people at once.

Your heart ached, because you thought that... with all that you'd shared, the fact that he'd taken his helmet off... maybe it wasn't that special. Who cared about you? He knew that you were alone and you'd fixed his ship up for him. He was gonna leave and you'd fallen for all his sweet words. Mandalorians killed for a living, he wasn't going to care if you were just another amongst his tally. You had probably been the biggest sucker of them all. Healing him, feeding him, helping him to the fresher, giving him everything you had --- even your body, maybe even a little bit of your heart too. And for what? Fire and death?

"Ready to tell us where he is?" the death trooper bent down in front of you as you wept in the dirt. 

"Fuck you," you sniveled. Everything was gone. You gained nothing out of turning him in. 

"Maybe later," he stood back up and you shuddered at the thought. 

"Hey, looks like we've got movement up ahead."

You jerked your head up, neck aching and cheeks definitely bruised from where you'd been slapped. Narrowing your watering eyes through the smoke you thought you saw... a dewback? What the kriff. The creature rumbled, upset by the fire and smoke, threatening to charge. 

"What do we do?" the white stormtroopers were looking for direction.

"Well shoot it!" the black one exclaimed as if it were obvious.

You got to see the truly unimpressive shooting ability of stormtroopers in action. Dewbacks had thick skin, so all they were doing was agitating it. And then -- fire was returned. What!? How was a dewback shooting? How -- oh, it wasn't the dewback. Even through the haze, the opponent shot back with stellar precision, striking down the two troopers to the left before the dewback reared and charged. Trundling forward, the death trooper tried to square off with it before leaping out of the way. White hot flames ignited, followed by a hissing wine as the death trooper was flung several feet back. The dewback hadn't hit it, but someone else had. 

Flames beating high behind you, so searing that you thought you were being burned by the inferno, the dark blue armor appeared almost black in the manic illumination. The trooper was back on their feet, blaster in hand as they began pacing circles with the opposing Mandalorian. You were mildly delirious and uncertain if what you saw was actually happening pace for pace. 

This wasn’t a normal death trooper. Paz knew it as he matched the strides, ignoring the other two stormtroopers who were trying to deal with the rampaging dewback. He’d heard of this from his sister, that there were Mandalorians who had switched to the Empire’s side to be paid for their work, despite the fact that the Empire had gutted Mandalore and slaughtered many vod. Now, in the feral line of his opponent, he knew instantly that this masked fiend had once been a vod in the precise manner they moved. But he was in dark plastoid, not beskar’gam. And Paz still overstepped him by more than a head. 

The smoke continued to churn forward in a dark cloud and he was wasting time while you choked on the ground. He drove forward, the death trooper knocking aside the muzzle of the rifle before it could find him. The pistol flashed in the mad light of the fire, but Paz’s left hand snapped out gripping the arm of the trooper as he fired, the bolt pinging uselessly off his armor. Had he been a second later, it might’ve struck between the protection of his beskar. Before the trooper could disengage with a well planted kick, Paz twisted, the dominant hand of the Imp making a sickening crack. Dancing backward, the trooper grunted and gripped the broken wrist, blaster having fallen from his fingers in the scuffle.

Ripping a vibro-blade out, his bad wrist was pinned to his chest as he levied it. “Are you ready to go to Manda?” the trooper taunted. 

Even between the curling fronds of his fury, Paz managed to laugh spitefully. “At least I’ll be going there one day. You’ll never walk amongst those halls, dar’manda. Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur.” Any Mandalorian who’d chosen the Empire over their own was weak. Paz thought the man in front of him was chuckle worthy as he leveled a blade, as if he’d have the skill to plant it before he was gunned down. He only knew one person who could pose such a threat to him and she loathed the Empire. 

The two clashed, your eyes widening as you couldn’t make out between the smoke and carnage. But as you blinked through the bleary wet tears, eyes burning. A blaster bolt went off and you shifted, waiting for the haze to clear just as the other two stormtroopers broke around the edge of the dewback that had started its descent back into the canyon. Stepping through the haze was the dark, non reflective glare of beskar. You were already crying, but the tears were now of unadulterated relief that Paz had won the fight and not the death trooper. With your mouth gagged, you couldn’t warn him about the stormtroopers that were now lining up, taking a knee to begin firing at him.

Only one blaster bolt hit him and it bounced right off of his armor. Turning around, he gave them an unimpressed tilt of his helmet before leveling his pistol. The troopers tried again, but were taken down in a laughable fashion, as if they were stationary targets. Once he gave the scene another hard survey, Paz hurried over to you. "We have to go, Tranyc. We have to go-" he cut the bindings on your wrist and pulled the gag down. You were covered in dirt and soot, tear lines running gashes through the darkness on your face. "Stars, what did they do to you?"

You started crying again as his glove met the side of your sore face. "I-I wouldn't t-tell them-" you sobbed hoarsely. "I-I-I'm scared."

"Shh," he scooped underneath your arms. "Hold on tight. Close your eyes if you need to, but you have to hold on." Pressing you to his chest, you wrapped your arms around his neck and clung as best you could, hooking legs to his hips despite the uncomfortable seat of his utility belt. His jetpack ignited again, the source of the white flames you'd seen through the smoke.  The ground was spiraling away, your eyes dropping and you felt... nothing. Just watching the farm become a quavering light in the night, like a single candle's flame across a remote landscape. 

He landed by the Kote, your limbs shaking from exhaustion and being utterly overwhelmed by the most action you'd ever seen in your decades. Wrapping both arms around you, he hurried into the ship, didn't deposit you, but took you up into the cockpit before starting the ship. Flipping switches, the engines starting, and continuing his ministrations as you pressed your face into the cowl of his cloak, trying to dab your tears that kept coming. He had come for you. All that doubt and he had come to save you. You didn't know if you should be happy or upset. He'd come too late to save your home, but he'd come. 

Paz guided the ship out of the canyons and upward, breaking atmo without an afterthought. His skin was hot, rolling with primal fury as you clung to him, crying softly into the fabric of his flight suit. You'd done nothing to deserve this. But he couldn't stop right now. Not until the two of you were in hyperspace. It had taken the Empire weeks to catch up with him, but they'd managed to do it. Fuel was low, he'd need to make a pitstop and Tatooine was grudgingly close. Maker dammit, that was the last place he wanted to go. He charted the navigation and punched the hyperdrive. Fuel was fuel. That's all he'd stop for.

"Tranyc?" he entreated gently, prying you off enough that he could get a look at your soot stained face. He tried to rub some off, which made you flinch. No, that wasn't soot -- deep purple bruises were on your cheeks from where you'd been struck repeatedly. Your eyes were wet and red, but you had a thousand yard stare, the shock of what had occurred glazing you over completely. "Darling, look at me."

You finally blinked, a few tear drops cascading as you glanced up toward his visor. The troopers had done this to you because of him. There was no other reason they would’ve bothered a farmer or beaten them. Not without orders to conduct interrogations. And you had defended him. People’s resolve crumbled for less, especially when their entire livelihood was on the line. Paz already hated the Empire for everything they’d taken, but the fire was rekindled anew. He was livid, looking down at your wet, bruised face, shame and guilt overwhelming him as he hadn’t gotten there soon enough to protect you. Just after promising you that you were safe with him, he’d let you walk into a den of wolves.

"I'm so sorry. I should have been there sooner-"

"Where were you? I-I thought you weren't coming," your voice broke and your lips trembled. "I thought you'd left."

Hearing those words broke his heart, but how could he blame you? Paz hadn't realized anything was wrong, never thought it until he'd spent the better part of his day picking up around the ship, taking a shower, and running a few checks on the engine before stepping outside and noticing a hellish glow emanating from the upper echelons of the canyon. Smoothing your curls, he shook his head. "I'm sorry. I thought I'd lost them, I never thought they'd find me out here, let alone go after you. I should have been there. I should have never left you." 

You nodded slowly and pressed your cheek against the beskar chestplate, the cold metal soothing to your ailing skin. What were you going to do now? Everything you'd owned was gone. "Why were they following you? You never gave me a straight answer, but I didn't think to go poking around..."

"The Imps attacked my covert after I helped one of my brothers escape with a baby that they wanted. Don't know much other than that, but I was one of few who escaped and they must think I know where said brother is," Paz explained. "Whatever they want with that child, it's part of something much bigger than I ever thought."

"One of those troopers... the black one... he said he was Mandalorian. But... he doesn't look like you," you pointed out. 

"He was dar'manda. Maybe he was Mandalorian, raised that way, but he forsook his people to become a death trooper. Many death troopers are dar'manda. Looking for the easiest path with the least resistance, betraying our ways to make credits and be on the right side of the law."

"It's not the right side anyone. The New Republic rules now."

"Where was the New Republic when the Imps attacked you?"

You didn't have an answer, instead you sighed and closed your eyes. "It's all gone," you warbled miserably. Even innocent Jumbles was gone. "W-where do I even begin? I don't know anything about the galaxy. Just home. How to farm and stuff-" Your chest felt as if you'd taken a full on sucker punch and you whimpered in discontent. 

"You can stay here. With me, Tranyc. As long as you need..." he drawled off. This wasn't how he'd wanted to convince you to come with him. He'd wanted it to be a choice, not because everything had been ripped out of your hands. "I won't leave you again. Not unless you ask me to. I promise.”

You had somewhere to stay and a person to take care of you. That felt like such a foreign concept. For so many years you'd taken care of yourself, carrying the burden of you solitude, and tending to your animals. The idea was queer, confusing, and in your mental state it made you scowl, mind filled with a thick fog that you couldn't see through. You had wanted to spend more time with him and part of you had also wanted to see other planets. Maybe one day you would have asked him to take you, once you had a better solution for the farm in the meantime, but it was gone. You were here now, leaving your dustball planet for the first time in your life and that petrified you. Because as much as you rolled with the punches in your day to day life, this amount of change was overwhelming.

Paz could tell you were on the brink of passing out from a combination of exhaustion and mental distress. Aside from going to your home planet when you were young, he doubted you'd been off of it since. 

"I-" you started up again, trying to formulate your thoughts, but the ideas were evading you, running too far ahead for you to catch up and speak. "-don't want to be a burden."

Burden? You were worried about being a burden? Paz's lips tightened underneath his helmet and he stifled a sigh, rubbing circles on your lower back with his palm as he sank into the seat. "What do you want, mesh'la?"

You didn't know right now. Your wounds were still too fresh and deep to make a decision like that. It was such a broad question and honestly, too much for you to handle in that moment. "C-can I help you?" He had just saved your life. In that second, you'd entirely forgotten that you had done the same for him and that technically, this should have made you even. But you were accustomed to working all your life and without that rock solid foundation of regiment you found yourself losing more grip on reality. You couldn't just pitter around the ship or you'd find ways of letting the churning maelstrom of your darkest thoughts beginning to smother you. "Can't fight, b-but maybe I can do things? B-be your mechanic or somethin'?"

Work. You were asking to be put to work. The first bit of direction. You craved it. Everything except for the Mandalorian had come crashing down spectacularly and you were trying to find the first piece to begin rebuilding your foundation on. Work was the most logical place to start. Because you had to work for a living, to survive, and it wouldn't be any different because you were on a ship now. You needed a job for your own sanity.

"I could use a mechanic," Paz revealed, which made you perk up hopefully. "You said the Kote still needs some work. I can make that your job."

Your head was bobbing enthusiastically, hyperfocusing on the distraction from the trauma you'd just endured. Rapidly, you began considering what you remember being on the ship and what you'd require to be capable enough to fix it. "I'd need supplies," you comment, chewing your lip and paling as you realized you needed more than just work equipment. You had lost everything. "A-and stuff."

"Mm," he hummed in agreement, continuing to pet your hair. The sensation was soothing and you melted back against the cool beskar as you rattled out a long exhale. "We'll take care of everything. Maybe not on Tatooine. We'll need to make another stop on a more suitable planet after we fuel up. Why don't you make a list before we arrive?"

A list. You could manage that, but not right now. You didn't want to move right now. Sitting on a man clad in full armor shouldn't have been comfortable, but it was. And you were absolutely drained, face aching, and lungs burning from the smoke inhalation. "Ok," you mumble, clinging onto your Mandalorian as he rubbed you. You were lulled to sleep by the rise and fall of his chest, swaying gently like the rocking of a boat on the ocean, reminded once again that you were safe. As long as he was around, you were safe.

---

He put you to sleep again and when you woke up, you were in one of his oversized shirts. Rubbing your eyes, you glanced around the chamber before getting up. It was cold. Why was it so cold? You grabbed the fluffiest blanket and drew it around your shoulders as you left the captain's quarters behind and stepped out into the hull. Mentally, you had it together a little bit better now, but with that came a soul crushing headache. You were thankful that the ship wasn't brightly lit, mostly just a few amber lights here and there that cast a dim ambiance across the shed. 

You wouldn't call it a kitchenette, because that's not what was beside the table. It was more like a flip down hotpad, a caf machine inlaid on the side, a nozzle for potable water, and a little disposal unit for any trash. From helping rearrange the ship, you knew that the nearest drawers contained rations. Which at best, were meh. They were relatively tasteless ways of gaining the nutrients you needed. Sure, they came in flavors but mostly that was savory or sweet. The differences between something like chocolate or peanut butter were almost negligible. 

You sat down, not really certain where you were going, but you plopped down on a pillow and just stared at the durasteel table. So... this was it now. You were the mechanic for a Mandalorian with nowhere else to go. You knew the other farmers around your home planet, but asking for boarding seemed like an incredibly ludicrous and cumbersome thing to do. You also didn't know if the Empire would attack your neighbors after what had happened on the farm if you tried to stay on planet. It was safer for everyone if you left. 

Funny, you had wanted to have more time with him and your kriffing wish came true. Now you wouldn't be lonely! Your stomach rebelled at your poor attempt to be wry. This was not Paz's fault. From the sound of it, he had been helping his brother escape the Empire and your father had told you before that the Empire never needed a good reason to do terrible things. You'd brushed it off, believing that your dad was just being overdramatic. No one could be that awful. Right? 

But they were and now you felt hopelessly adrift amongst an ocean of things you didn't know. You thought you knew how people reacted, but then again you'd only ever met nice people until the stormtroopers. You knew Tatooine was a skug hole. You knew that there was Hutt activity and slave trading there. See, you knew a great many things from reading and watching galactic news, but you'd never experienced any of it first hand. 

Paz will protect you.

The very thought made you inhale and exhale at a normal pace. You rubbed your face, cheeks still stinging from where the death trooper had slapped you around. Slapped. Not punched, not kicked. He'd slapped you around and you'd been bruised pretty badly. 

"Oh, you're awake," Paz stepped out of the cockpit with a datapad in his hands. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired still," you reveal wearily. "But it's more... mental."

He trotted over, sitting down beside you and pulling you into a warm embrace. Maker you had needed that, just the confirmation that you weren't alone through this. No words were needed. The display of comfort, his powerful arms carefully encircling you and hiding you from the galaxy... You sighed and pressed into him, uncertain why the small gesture was bringing you to tears. "Talk to me when you need to," he offered softly.

"I like this," you tell him, preferring the way he shielded you and the heat of his body chased away the cold. Oh, the cold. "Why is it freezing on this ship?"

"Hm?" he loosened his grip enough so that you could glance up at him. The two of you were close enough that you could kiss his helmet if you wanted to. "We're in hyperspace. Space itself is quite a bit colder than your home planet. Are you cold?"

You gave glance at your blanket, arching a brow at him to make a point. The silly twist of your lips made him laugh. "You're not cold?"

"No, but I'm used to this," Paz returned and you comprehended a little better. He was dressed from head to toe and had the additional layer of his beskar. 

"You are warm," you grumble, pressing your face into the fabric of his flight suit. He was big, warm, and totally cuddlable and honestly, you were kind of a greedy bitch for his cuddles. The first taste you'd gotten nearly a week ago had set you up for disaster. At least all the tears you had spilled hadn't been over him leaving and one good thing had come out of all of this. But... you were working for him now. What did that mean for the two of you? Well, you were nearly on his lap right now, so clearly there wasn't too much to worry about, but you wondered if there were any logistics you should worry about. "And quite a bit? It never gets this cold in the canyons. Maybe not as hot as Tatooine, but we still orbited around two suns."

How the heck could a planet be so warm, but the space from one to another was this cold? You weren't an expert on planet stuff, just like you weren't a medic. Seems you had a lot to learn. "Tatooine," he muttered, fingers tightening around you subconsciously at the thought. "We just need fuel and then I plan to leave that awful place."

"I know the Hutts used to be pretty active there before the war. What's so awful about it?" you inquire curiously. 

"You might not mind the climate, but it is very hot and dry there. And even with the fall of the Hutt syndicate, there's still remnant activity, slavers, and the overall atmosphere of the planet hasn't shifted much in light of the turn over to the New Republic. It's too far and not much worthwhile for them to chance coming out here just yet," Paz elaborated.

"Wow there's still slavers?" Again, another foreign concept to you. Of course you knew what slaves were, but you couldn't understand how people could do that. How they could treat someone as if they were dirt, less and baser than an animal.

"Not just on Tatooine. There are other places that still allow slavery. Technically, the New Republic has their own form of slavery for criminals. Most have to work in indentured servitude to pay off their crimes."

"But that's... different," paying off crimes and debts in exchange for hard labor seemed fair. Not being held against your will for being unlucky. "Are you wanted by the New Republic?"

"Don't think so," he shrugged. "I try to keep my bucket out of anything that has to deal with them. Fortunately for us, it's only the Empire."

"Yeah, fortunately," you drawl sarcastically, rolling your eyes, but his words make you smile. "So... what are we going to do once we fuel up?"

Paz had a good amount of time to consider this while you were resting. He had been contemplating his course of action and knew that returning to the covert might not be the best idea until the activity with the Empire had settled down. "I know a Guild Master on Dadrus," he began slowly. "The ship costs a decent amount to keep running. Until we're certain that the Empire isn't tailing us, we can't stay in one place for too long. My original plan was to return to my Tribe."

He had very briefly mentioned his people to you and part of you expected the secrecy surrounding them was for their own protection. But now... you felt as if you could ask. "What's it like... with you Tribe?"

"Comfortable. Home," he sighed wistfully.

Immediately your thoughts hitched and you stiffened. You'd not thought to ask it, but now you were really thinking about it. "Uhm... y-you don't have an-nyone-" Anyone that might be waiting for him like a partner or a wife. Would he have slept with you if that were the case? Honestly, you didn't know how Mandalorian culture worked and if that was allowed.

"Aside from the Foundlings that haunt my every step like an army of ghosts, no, mesh'la," he purred. "It's been a while for me too."

That was hard to believe given how dexterous and experienced he was in that field. But his words relaxed you, glad that you weren't homewrecking or expecting to stand toe to toe with another lover. You still didn't know what this was, but maybe it didn't need a tangible name or label. You were content in his arms right now. "So children like you?" You assumed that's what Foundlings were, sounded a lot like Younglings and your father used to refer to children -- of all races and species -- as Younglings.

Wasn't hard for you to imagine why children might like Paz. He was patient, a good teacher, and gentle when he needed to be. But he was also strong and... you thought back to how easy he'd made the fight between the five Imps look. The very death trooper that you'd been unable to writhe free from, he'd kicked to the ground using his jetpack as propulsion. Stormtroopers weren't known for the prowess in battle, but it had been more than you could handle. Easy enough for a Mandalorian. 

"Well..." he pittered off, as if bragging a little bit was not suited for him. "I teach the Foundlings, so they are keen on me."

"I can see that," you murmur against his shoulder. "You're a very good teacher."

"You're just saying that."

"No, you were very thorough."

"Helps that you're an attentive student," he rumbled, pressing his helmet into the side of your face, the same type of kiss that he'd done before. 

"You should teach me more... sometime," you suggest. "I'm a pretty poor shot and if I'm going to be running around with you, I should probably know how to shoot a blaster." 

"Yes," his voice was quiet, barely picked up by the vocoder, crackling with static. "You should know how to shoot."

"I bet I'll get the hang of it in no time with you as my teacher," you gave him a big smile, earnest and bright. While you said these words, you also highly doubted it. Given how well you'd reacted in the face of danger last time, you knew you were just as likely to shoot yourself with a blaster as it fumbled through your sweaty fingers than actually be able to point it at someone with the intention of killing. But you liked the way he taught and it would give you more reason to steal his time over something he was very knowledgeable in. And... your intentions weren't completely innocent. You knew that subject was a bit of a turn on for him. 

"Here," he cleared his throat, trying to blink away the haze of arousal that had blindsided him as your sweet smile. "Use this to draft up a list of what you need. After Tatooine I was thinking of bringing us to a supply stop before going to Dadrus."

"Where we going?" you inquired as you took the datapad. Maker, you were going to need everything. From toiletries, to clothes and underwear, shoes, proper attire that would keep you from freezing your tits off on this ship. Then there was also the question of how many tools you'd need. 

"Dadrus is on the other side of the Outer Rim from here. I was thinking Gala would make a good stop before we arrive on Dadrus," at your clueless look, he continued. "It's a wealthy planet and under the rule of the Republic. There should be plenty of supplies and we shouldn't run into any issues while there. The Empire wouldn't show face on Gala."

"Why wouldn't we just wait on a planet that is governed by the New Republic then?" You point out.

"I'll attract unnecessary attention."

You hadn't thought of that. Mandalorians were not a dime a dozen and on a safe planet, people might grow incredibly wary of his linger presence. The New Republic may even question his intentions. They were typically bounty hunters, so it didn't make much sense for one to stick around in one place for a long time. "So... what if we go between planets that are New Republic?"

"Because the ship costs credits to run," he reminded you gently.

Ah, right and these planets weren't just going to top off the ship with fuel and supplies. Frowning slightly, you chewed your lip and nodded. Damn, there really was no easy way to manage this. You suppressed a sigh, turning your attention back to the datapad as you began drafted up what you'd need. "We should get real food too," you said out loud, not realizing that you might be rude in saying that. "I-I can cook it."

"I do like your food," Paz contemplated before nodding. A warm cozy feeling settled into your stomach at the compliment. "We might be able to find some salvageable food on Tatooine. It's going to take the better part of a fortnight to reach Gala once we leave the sector."

"Wow? Really?" You had no concept of space travel.

"Gala is hundreds of thousands of light years away. Requires navigating through a few different hyperlanes to get there. Even Tatooine takes the better part of a day to get to from your planet."

"Then we must almost be there," you realized. 

"Few more hours," he confirmed. "Here, you should put a little more of this on. I applied it when you were sleeping for your cheeks-" he picked up a bottle on the table, which appeared to be a bacta lotion. You hadn't looked in a mirror since waking up... or since you'd taken a shower a couple days ago. But you didn't feel grimy, so you wondered if Paz had cleaned the soot and dirt off of you while you were a limp noodle. Accepting the bottle, you stood up, immediately feeling the cold of the ship press back around you as you headed over to the fresher to assess the damage.

Flicking the switch on, you had been correct in your assumptions. The ash was gone from your face and the blackened bruising had faded to a sickly yellow. Your cheeks were still raw, but the lotion had done a swift job of erasing the trauma. Still, your eyes were a bit puffy from all the crying you'd done, nose tinged red as if you had a cold. You felt like a kriffing mess, clutching that bottle and staring at yourself for a few long moments, finally blinking and shattering the spell that held you. Just put your foot forward as you'd done everyday on the farm. This was life now and you just had to accept the hand that fate had dealt you. Even if you were afraid, naive, and felt completely unprepared to start exploring the galaxy, you had Paz beside you and he knew what he was doing. He promised he'd never let anyone hurt you and you believed him. Not just because you were too kindhearted and gullible, but because he'd saved you and took care of you. 

Opening the bottle, you lathered your cheeks, the tingling sensation tracing electricity over the bruises and numbing them. You distracted yourself by putting a little too much on, creating big circles of white on your cheeks, making a few faces in the mirror, earning yourself a giggle at how stupid you looked. Shooting. Paz was going to take your dopey ass shooting. Taking your elastic band off your wrist, you put it on your index finger and thumb, cocking it like a gun. Maybe you wouldn't be half bad with a professional guiding you. You made a bam motion in the mirror and the scrunchie flew off, ricocheting off the mirror and slapping you in the forehead. It didn't hurt, but you stumbled a few paces back in surprise. Crap, if that was any indication on how shit of a shot you were, Paz was in for a long day at the range.

---

Tatooine was hot. Way hotter than home. Like ten times hotter than home. Holy shit, why did Paz think you'd like this place? You could feel the suns glaring down at you with the full intention of giving you a sunburn. You'd not gotten a sunburn in years. Usually only your face and arms were bared, so you definitely had one heck of a farmer's tan, but you were feeling it coming on now with each second you stood roasting like bantha meat on a spit. Your hair was probably the worst thing about all of this. You tried to find a way to finagle it, because it was getting sweaty and damp on the back of your neck, but you only had one scrunchie and that was not enough to tie all that fluff into a bun. 

So you suffered, flanking Paz as you started down the sand swept streets of Tatooine. People here dressed similarly to back home in robes in earthtones. There was a lot of haggling, bustling, and activity. What you picked up on immediately was the fact that people parted easily for you. Well, not for you, but for the Mandalorian. No one wanted to touch him as if they were afraid that he'd burn them if they so much as brushed by. He kept you close, hand hovering protectively by the small of your back, almost holding onto your belt. You weren't going to wander away, but you were very curious about everything around you with your eyes stretched wide.

You hadn't seen many other races aside from humans and Jawas, so getting to see Toydarians, Rodians, Dugs, and a motley of aliens was an absolute delight. Maybe Paz did need to hold onto you, because your legs had a mind of their own and you had never feared for walking somewhere unsafe before. 

"Nope, this way," Paz guided you from the direction you had started to list toward, which was a shop of junk, mostly salvaged droids and parts. Not any of the more reasonable places on the strip that had things you might actually need. 

"Where are we going? Is it inside? It's hot."

How was he not overheating in all that clothing? Did beskar have some secret high tech that allowed for him not to sweat his balls off? Hmm, you didn't think so, but also didn't know why he wasn't complaining. 

"We're going to the range. The stations are in the shade," he told you, which was somewhat of a relief. The range? Thinking back to your battle with the scrunchie you grimaced a little. Dear Maker, you prayed, please, please, please don't let you make a fool of yourself. "Fueling up takes a few hours and there will be a delivery of food too. So we have a little time to kill."

The range was outdoors made up of several lanes with targets. Controls were situated in each booth, allowing for the targets to be turned on to create popup simulations. There was a mild bit of activity on site, a few other shooters amongst the two dozen lanes. The worker for the range gave Paz a dubious look, which made you giggle. Almost as if to say 'Why in the Maker's name do you need to practice?' But you two were assigned the middle lane labeled 12. 

"Now, you know basic gun safety, right?" he set his blaster on the shelf in front of him, which met the top of his thighs and was tummy high for you. 

"Keep the weapon pointed away from anything you don't intend on shooting. Finger off the trigger until you're about to shoot," you recalled those very basic lessons from your father. "Weapon on safe until you intend to fire. Treat every blaster as if it's loaded."

"Good," he nodded, making you smile slightly. At least you weren't an absolute idiot. "We'll start with closer targets-" he pressed the range controls, turning up the popups at 25 meters. "I need to get a better idea of your form. So go ahead and take the pistol and fire."

Now you were smiling nervously, reaching over to where the pistol that you'd taken apart the other night was. It was heavy and too big for you. He had mentioned that it was custom built for him and he was more than double your size. Finding the most comfortable way to hold it, you held your arms out, fumbled the safety, and then scrunched up your face as you tried to aim. Pulling the trigger, the blaster shot made you jolt, elbows bucking and blaster smacking you right in the face.

Paz caught your arms before you could do anymore damage, setting the pistol back down on the counter. "Let me see-" he tilted your head up, pulling down the hands that had automatically went to where you'd yammed yourself. 

"Did I hit it?" you garbled, having not been looking. Oh stars, you'd closed your eyes when you shot at it, hadn't you?

Paz was quiet, confirming your suspicions. His thumb brushed the tiny bit of ripped skin where you'd taken the blaster, but you weren't bleeding. "You locked your arms out, which caused them to buck with the recoil. You're too tense. And... you should keep both eyes open."

You knew that, but your body had reacted on its own and you'd ended up getting hurt in the process. Huffing, you glared back out at the target that you'd whiffed. "What should I do differently?"

"Watch me first," he instructed, picking up the blaster and pressed the range controls to allow for the targets to move in their popup rotation. His arms were not locked out and his stance was wide, supportive, and straight aside from the tiniest lean forward. The first target popped up and his finger was on the trigger, squeezing and hitting square on center mass. The target fell down in defeat, his shoulders turning as one further out popped up. One by one, he took them down, your eyes tracing between him, his form, and then the successful quick shot that he rained down on them with expert precision. His breathing was controlled and he wasn't tense. He was acting as natural as if he were sitting up in the cockpit or relaxing. He was Mandalorian and weapons were his religion, so of course he'd not exert any effort in a skill that was as mundane as walking or breathing. 

He reached and swapped the cartridge out before resting the pistol on the counter. 

"Now tell me what you observed."

"You had a wider stance, relaxed, easy breathing... and you weren't afraid of it."

"You're afraid of the pistol?" 

"I mean it did come back at me like I insulted its mother, so yeah," you admit sheepishly.

"My breathing was controlled, but it may have looked natural to you," he began explaining breathing cycles and how it was important to shoot at either the top or bottom of your breath. Experts could without adhering to the guidelines, but beginners who weren't familiar with bolt pathing needed the extra stability with their sight pictures. Everything sounded so logical and simple, but putting that to practice wasn't as easy as wiring and programming. Usually those things couldn't kill you.

After running down bullet pathing, trajectory, and math - you liked the math aspect - Paz had the pistol back in your hand. It was a tool. It didn't have emotions, you did. But that didn't change the fact that it made you nervous. You tried applying what he told you, but your arms were shaking as you held the pistol out and you were still jumpy. You fired at the 25 meter target and hit the sandy burm beneath it. 

"That was better," he encouraged, but it didn't feel that way. "Here, I'm going to help adjust you-" he came up behind you, utility belt brushing up against your back as he clasped onto your wrists. "Relax, mesh'la. Relax," he eased, guiding your arms out from their rigid position. The back of his cuirass met you and for the briefest moment, you did relax completely. His soothing deep voice filled your ears, rumbling like the earth being shaken by thunder in the wet season. Then you remembered you were on the range and started to panic again. "Now both eyes open. Slow controlled breathing. Go for the bottom of your breath, when your shoulders are down rather than the top when you're naturally more tense."

Following the instructions, you narrowed your eyes at the target, promising to give it a piece of your mind as he helped steady you. You sort of imagined that the target had a clever quip about kissing it's ass or something stupid, but your finger brushed the trigger and you fired. For the first time since starting, you hit it. Not center mass, but enough to the side that it caused the target to fall down in mock defeat. 

"There you go! Good job!" 

You were beaming, absolutely splitting the biggest smile since leaving your home planet. You envisioned yourself as somewhat of a sharpshooter now, wondering how soon it'd be before you were the quickest draw on Tatooine. Ok, admittedly you were getting ahead of yourself with your dumb daydreams, but you were so ecstatic that you'd actually kriffing hit it. Leaning back, you craned your head up to look at him. "That was me? You weren't helping?"

"I wasn't helping you aim," Paz assured you. "Do you think you can try a little further? Without me holding your arms up?"

Try? Sure you could try. You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. "But can you... stay there?" It felt nice having him right behind you, making certain you didn't hit yourself in the face again. 

"I can stay," Paz agreed, which caused your shoulders to relax immediately as he lowered his own hands and moved them to your hips. Oh, stars you liked that so much better. A pod of butterflies erupted in your stomach as he pressed the next set of targets and you had to focus on them. But at this point you were just focusing on him and the nice cool press of the beskar against the inside of your back, chasing away the bitter hottest of Tatooine. You shifted your weight as you went to aim for the first and closest target, grinding into him more than intended. 

Paz kept a close eye on how you were lining up your shot, suppressing a huff as you leaned into him. You were inexperienced and green, but he'd taught Foundlings how to shoot for their first time too. But you weren't a Foundling or a child, and so when you pressed into him the codpiece pushing into his groin, he felt a rush of hot white desire as you fired again, missing the target, but undaunted. You tried again and grazed it before making the next attempt at a further target. The pistol was too big for you, he knew that, but he didn't have anything smaller. With the right amount of practice, he knew you could shape up. You weren't a natural and that was fine, he didn't want you to have to use these skills, they were just a safety measure. 

But there was a baser hunger in him that was stirred as you applied yourself, the huffing of air as you tried to blow a few stray, sweaty curls out of your face, the absolute focus you'd come under when you were really applying yourself. You'd looked much the same while working on the ship, but this time it was in his field of expertise. Shooting was just... shooting. He didn't derive any excitement from doing well, which he always did. Practice like this was more of a waste of ammo than beneficial at this point. However, when he watched you, there was a thrill in observing you get better, get more familiar with the weight of blaster, and your valiant attempts to not be daunted by the fact that you probably only hit the target once out of every four shots. 

And you were flush against him. Each tiny movement from your breathing to the way you shifted your arms, he could feel it. 

"I think," he started carefully as the trigger clicked, indicating that the cartridge was spent. "That it's time to go."

"Hm?" you glanced up, pinning him with those big eyes. 

"Time to go," Paz repeated again, voice hoarse and staticky as it came out of the vocoder. 

"Already?"

He smiled at your enthusiasm, wondering if you'd caught the husk in his tone or the breathy edge. You couldn't feel him, he had a codpiece on, but he wanted to leave -- now. "C'mon mesh'la, let's go-" he brushed some of the scattered curls out of your face tenderly, despite the beast threatening to overwhelm him in that moment. Maker, why were you so pretty? He was careful not to be pushy as you handed over the pistol and he reloaded it with a swift click, jerking it down into his holster. Placing a hand at the base of your elbow, he began whisking you away, his own open strides too large for you as you struggled to keep up. 

His eyes snapped upward, helmet tilting as he felt a growl rise in the back of his throat. He had intended on beelining for the ship, but he noticed something -- rather someone and had to readjust his pathing. Nearly picking you up, he dragged you over into an alley, causing you to yelp in surprise. "W-w-what's going on?"

"Old friends," he muttered, glancing back out toward the road before continuing further down the alley. 

"Friends? You don't sound very friendly," you observed as he held your hand, bringing you deeper into the labyrinths between the main street. 

"Ok, they're not friends," Paz admits, pausing around a corner and letting out a deep exhale. "They didn't see us." At least, he didn't think they had before he darted down the alley. He felt incredibly hot, not just because of the dual suns of Tatooine, but because of how dolefully you stood in front of him, looking for guidance, imploring him. "Mesh'la-" he groaned, crowding you against the wall. "I wanted to go back to the ship." Now he was just complaining. It wasn't your fault. 

"We'll get there eventually, won't we?" you point out brightly. 

"But that's not-" he pressed his helmet against the wall in aggravation. "Mesh'la?" He brought his fingers beneath your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. You were dewy, a little sweaty from the heat, but all smiles and sunshine. He dragged the pad of his gloved thumb over your lips, tracking the lower down. "Fuck."

Now you were beginning to comprehend why Paz had wanted to get back to the ship and your cheeks began to flush as if the sun really had burned you. You let out a soft breath, staring up into his visor as you were pressed against the wall of a building, boxed in by his impressive form. You knew that you got aroused from teaching you about weapons, but in your own little world, you'd not remembered until now and his insistence to get the heck out of the range. Now you were waiting for the coast to be clear in a dirty alleyway and your own legs were beginning to tremble as a surge of heat -- not from the climate -- rocked your knees. 

"P-Paz?" you're stammering, eyes half lidded as he traces his thumb down your chin and against your throat. You weren't really going to...? Not in an alley? Where could anyone see you? Your heart picked up a few beats, ears rushing with the sound of your pulse at the dizzying idea of him taking you in the alley where someone could walk in on the Mandalorian fucking you. Why was that exciting? Oh Maker, that should not have been half as exciting as it was. You should have felt dirty and ashamed by these thoughts as your hand planted against his cuirass, throat bobbing against his fingers as you wondered what was about to happen.

"Do you want it?" he muttered.

You were in your coveralls, not exactly the best article of clothing for a tryst in the alley. But you nodded, chewing on your lower lip. "I... always do."

"Mesh'la," he growled plaintively. "You can't say things like that to me."

"Why?"

"Because I won't be able to control myself."

"I know you'd never hurt me."

"Hey!" 

The voice caused the both of you to jolt, necks snapping in the direction of a gesticulating hand. "Fuck. Time to go," Paz grabbed you, hoisting you up like a child, your chest colliding with his pauldron. Air bursting from your lungs, he was running beneath you, blaster in his other hand, arm encircling you from under your ass as he made a mad dash through the alleys. You were wondering why he didn't just use his jetpack. If he did that, everyone would see the two of you. 

He was fast, charging through the side streets like the dewback on your home planet. The two of you were back at the hangar, the Kote's gangplank hissing downward before he burst into the cockpit. There wasn't a moment to spare, he was flipping switches, grabbing the controls with you still in his arms, and taking the ship the hell off of Tatooine before you'd even managed to fill your lungs up fully. When you finally lifted off the ground a loud laugh popped out of your throat, hair frazzled and snapping in all directions as you looked up at him. 

He was still tense, coiled and ready to strike, but at your giggling he eased, cocking his helmet to the side. "Friends?" You poked. 

"Mm, friends," he hummed, unable to keep himself from chuckling as you continued to snicker. 

"I'm going to go wash some of this sweat off while you set us back on course," you told him, bending forward to press a kiss to his steel cheek. The sensation of the metal on your mouth was refreshing. Climbing down you left him to that bit of work, checking on the few supply crates that had been loaded onto the ship with fresh food. You weren't really certain what some of it was before ducking into the fresher to wipe your neck and between your boobs with a damp rag. 

"Mesh'la?" 

You fumbled the rag. How the hell could he sneak up on you like that? Sure, you weren't hyper sensitive about your surroundings, but he was still quite large and you expected to hear his boots carving their path toward you as he crowded you in the fresher. "Hm?" He grabbed your waist, pushing into you, your hips hitting the edge of the sink. You floundered, gripping onto the edge of the metal as you gasped. His codpiece was gone and you could feel the rigid line of his hardness against your ass.

"You were going to let me take you in that alleyway, weren't you?" His helmet fell on top of the crown of your head, lolling slightly as he huffed through his vocoder. Maker, you'd done this to him? 

Face sizzling, you gave a small nod. "I..." You hadn't been thinking straight, perhaps the heat had gotten to you and you'd agreed to something so incredibly dirty when you usually wouldn't. His hand glided up to your chest, pushing the shirt up, revealing your perky breasts to the mirror where you could see your own face shifting and your lips parting as you let out a soft whine. The sink was cold against your tummy, but the rest of him was a hot blanket above you. "Yes."

"I would have," he was quiet, mumbling almost as he rolled his fingers over your nipple. "Out on the range you were such a good girl. Listened to everything I taught you. You'll get better. You were doing so well today-"

You moaned louder, leaning into his hand, crushing your stomach into the sink at his praise. Fuck, why did you like it so much when he told you how well you'd done? You knew you were shit at shooting, but the way he said it... he wasn't saying you were amazing, but he was still praising you somehow. 

"What if someone saw us?" you managed to squeak out.

"I would have shielded you. You're so small," he answered simply, reaching down to palm between your legs. "I wouldn't have let anyone see you. Do... you want me to show you how? How I would've done it?"

You knew you had to be soaked at this point, his fingers digging in against the material of your coveralls. Each sentence he uttered made your skin blister, heart steadily picking up in tempo, and threatening to give you a heart attack at this point as you were squished to the sink. The ache was awful, so needy and desperate that you could barely answer him. You manage to bob your head when words evade you. 

Drawing you off the sink, he pushed you up into the opposing wall, boxing you in just like he'd down in the alley. His helmet fell against your brow and you could hear his heavy pants coming through the modulator. He hooked a finger in your waistband, tugging both the coveralls and your underwear in one fell swoop. Skirts. You definitely needed skirts. The logistics of pants were too much of a hassle, they were --- you keened to his hand as he brushed your bundle of nerves and came down in between your folds.

"Mesh'la you're already soaked," he realized, watching as you pressed your head back against the wall and gnawed on your lips. "You really wanted it that badly in the alley?" He was taken aback by this as you continued to kick off your pants and boots. He'd have to buy you a dress or a skirt, pants wouldn't have worked in the alley. "I would have leaned against the wall and picked you up like this-" he ran down his thought process, steadying himself against the wall by bracing his right side, swinging his hand beneath the supple curve of your ass, before lifting you up, encircling your leg, bringing it to rest up on his hips where the edge of his belt was. Balancing you with the wall as a leverage point, he undid his belt and dug his cock out, which sprung readily, throbbing in anticipation. 

Your hands fell on his shoulders as he guided you down, slicking his length against you before holding you by your hips, lower back not touching the wall as he tested his entrance. You quivered, thighs clenching as he fought the resistance of your cunt and buried himself. Both of you gasped, but he moved first, beginning to fuck you against the wall. If he thought you could've been quiet at all when he did this, then he was sorely mistaken. Almost immediately you began to cry out, each fervent lock of his hips to yours stretching and hitting into your molten core. Maker, it felt so disastrously good, your fingers tightening around his shoulders as your heart fluttered anxiously, not wishing to fall. 

"And if you were being too loud-" he continued, pushing closer to you on the wall, nearly crushing you beneath his form so that he had more support, he covered your mouth, stifling the hitching whines and yelps. "Mesh'la," he growled in your ear, so gritty and animalistic that it set your teeth on end and stood up all the fine baby hairs on your body. 

Your eyes were watering, shadowed beneath him as he breathily pounded into you. Had you not been held in place by his hand your neck would be limp. He was in all beskar, his helmet against the side of your face, glancing down as he fucked you, beginning to mutter in Mando'a as you struggled to  keep your legs encircling his hips. He moved a little harder, your muffled gasps punctuated as you dug your nails into his shoulder viciously.

Paz barely felt it, the marks you were leaving through the layers of his flight suit and cowl. You were a shaking, whimpering mess against him, tears spilling from your eyes as your walls tightened. He knew it was coming, pounding harder as you whined and your lashes danced against your cheekbone. He moved his hand, let you scream his name finally, the vice grip of your cunt around him thrusting him over the edge as your orgasm assaulted him with a wave of pleasure. 

His hips stuttered and he caught his own moan in the back of his throat as he blissed out, forgetting completely that he was still inside of you, unable to hear you saying his name more insistence and not with the same slurred pleasure as usual.

"Paz!" you were panicked as he panted against you, in his own debauched daze. 

He rolled his head, visor looking at you, before he stiffened. "Fuck!"

"I-i-it's," you were stammering as he pulled out of you, setting you down on your feet. Your knees buckled and he caught you, but you were beginning to run down the last time you'd had your period. Theoretically, you should be due in a week. When was the most fertile time for a woman? Fuck you didn't know that, you'd never tried to get pregnant before.

"Tracyn, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-" 

"Uhm," you were glancing down at yourself, wondering what might happen... You had liked the sensation of him finishing in you, the way he'd reacted, perhaps even better than when you'd given him a blowjob. But still... you weren't on any contraceptives. "I think... I think it'll be okay."

He crouched in front of you, capturing your face in his palms and framing you. "I wasn't paying attention. I should have been paying attention. If you become pregnant-"

"Then I do," you say dolefully, glaring down at the floor. "We should have a better idea in a week. That's when I'm due for that time of month."

Paz was quiet. So quiet that it frightened you. 

But his own mind was reeling. Had you just stated it would be fine if you got pregnant? No, you were trying to stop him from finishing inside you, so it wasn't that. "You wouldn't...?"

"No!" you grabbed your stomach reflexively, defensively. You were of the age where you wanted children, but you and Paz hadn't established any sort of idea for what the two of you were. "I-I mean, I don't think I'm ready, but that wouldn't be the child's fault for our own stupidity."

He wanted children, desperately, but that hadn't been his intention when he spent himself in you. That was something that needed to be discussed prior to a frightening situation like this. But your reaction warmed him. You would have his child if this accident resulted in an unplanned pregnancy. "You're so beautiful. Your ka'rta, your face, everything about you, Tracyn."

You were still holding your stomach, drawing a shaky breath as you tried to combat your anxiety. It was going to be at an all-time high until you had your period. What if it didn't come? Fuck. Then you were having Paz's child, you'd already said it. You were healthy and you knew you wanted kids, you just... wanted something more permanent and to not be on the run while it happened. "If I'm not, then I should really get an implant when we get to Gala. Even if... a short one."

Your suggestion made him smile. You weren't planning on leaving and you wanted to be with him, maybe even have his children one day if the two of you worked out in that way. Paz wanted it. He wanted everything to work out and keep you forever. But proclaiming such things now might frighten you when you were trying to cope with the fact that you might get pregnant. "We'll do that." While he wanted children, you being pregnant during this running from the Empire escapade was not a good idea. You were already a distraction enough and if you were pregnant... He shuddered at the idea, having to worry about protecting an unborn child and deal with whatever sickness that came with that. But he'd do it. Without a fucking doubt he'd do it. 

"Can I take a shower?" 

He nodded, standing up before planting a keldabe kiss upon your brow. You were doing better since losing your home, but he knew it might come up again later. He hoped the Kote could become your home. "Let me know if you need anything, cyar'ika. I'll be just outside."

--

Translate: Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur - Today is a good day for someone else to die.

[jangofctts]

Pro·found (The Mandalorian x Reader)

Rated: Explicit 

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: Smut, oral sex (female receiving), hand jobs, language, sweet Mando?

A/N: yeehaw hope you enjoy you filthy animals. 

Part one here ---> Quix·ot·ic

He's stuck to you like glue.

After waking up in an unfamiliar bed, swathed in no less than three blankets, it's safe to say you were thoroughly confused. It's only after you roll onto your side, your injured side mind you, that you remember what transpired the day before. It sends a happy tingle all the way down to your toes but knocking your elbow against your wound and then nearly giving yourself a fucking concussion when you slam your head against the bed frame, stamps out that fire real fast.

When you finally manage to roll out of his bed with minimal damage, you find Mando hovering by the door, holding the little green goblin. It wiggles in his gloved grip (you already miss the bare feel of his hands) and when it spots you, it reaches out and begins to coo.

"He won't stop squirming," he tells you, and you reach towards him and sweep the kid into your arms.

You plant a kiss on its tiny wrinkly forehead. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You needed the rest," Mando answers. He steps closer until the only thing that separates you is the kid. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been stabbed," you snort. "And then run over by a pod racer."

He hums in acknowledgment and brings his hands up. Your breath hitches as he cups your face, gently turning your head from side to side to take in your injuries once again. Your lips quirk into a smile. "Am I gonna live, doc?"

"Maybe," he huffs, "As long as you don't make this a habit."

His thumb runs along your bottom lip as you stare up into his visor. "And if I do?"

"Then I'll throw your ass in carbonite and sell you to a coaxium mine for the trouble."

"Oh, ok, wow," you laugh, breaking away. You head towards the kid's crib and Mando follows close behind. "Good to know where I stand."

You place the child into their crib and give those ridiculously sized ears a gently pat and just as you take your hands away, an arm reaches around you and shuts the panel of the crib. You make an irritated noise as it clicks shut and when you turn around he's crowding you into the wall. You squeak as your back hits the wall and you jump five feet into the fucking air as his hands wrap around your hips, thumbs pressing into your hipbones.

He keeps you there, trapped between the unforgiving metal wall and the even harder beskar cuirass. Your heart is pounding against your ribs and you're sure that he can feel it. You're a high-strung wire and he's tugging you even tighter, threatening to snap. He leans closer, invading your space even more, and Maker he's big. Part of you is fucking terrified of this man who could snap your neck like a cracker, and the other half wants to poke and prod at his buttons until he pins you down into submission.

"You sure you wanna throw my ass in carbonite?" You whisper. Plucking up enough courage, you let your hands gently whisper over the top of his thigh. The muscle there twitches and as you brush your fingertips lightly against his inner thigh, a ragged sigh leaves him.

"M'having second..." He tapers off as your fingertips dance along the quickly growing bulge in his trousers. "Second thoughts."

The Mandalorian's hands find their way underneath your shirt. The rough scrape of leather sends goosebumps over the skin of your stomach and he quickly decides the contact is insufficient. He pulls his hands out of your shirt and extends them forward. "Take them off."

You reach for them and he retreats. You flash him a look. "Wha-"

"With your mouth," he clarifies. You can practically hear his smirk as he trails a gloved thumb over the line of your jaw. As it catches on your lower lip, he pushes into your mouth until your teeth lightly clamp down on the fabric and it slips off.

The other glove falls to the floor with a quiet thunk and both of his hands rush to cradle your cheeks. Your eyes flutter shut as the scrape of his calloused thumbs trace the plush skin of your lips and you wonder if he's imagining what'd it be like to press his lips to yours. It's almost melancholic  in the way he longingly skims over them, and you've never in the entirety of your life wanted to kiss someone as badly as him right now.  

It aches how much you want him, but he sweeps his palms down, over the fragile skin of your neck and you're momentarily distracted. You suck in a shaky breath as his palms, the warmth of them seeping through the fabric, hover just above the swell of your breasts. As you arch into him, craving for those weathered digits to dip lower, the cover of the crib flies open. It startles you both and you're tearing yourself away for the little green monster, all pouty and irritated about its surprise timeout.

Though, you can't really complain because when you lean over to pick the kid up, Mando presses himself into the curve of your body and whispers, "Later."

You nearly cream your pants then and there, but you've got a tiny goblin in your hands and that is not exactly appropriate at the moment. You turn around and he's already the climbing the ladder up to the cockpit.

                                                -=-=-=-

You don't know when 'later' is supposed to be. His later could be days from now and that alone makes you wanna scream in frustration. Normally you're not this impatient, but with him? He's addicting. It's only been a couple hours and you're already craving him.  

You finally get the kid to sleep after three failed attempts, or what you like to call, impromptu hide and go seek, and as you slip into the seat beside the crib a low, buzzing whir echoes through the ship. You stand and when you're halfway to the ladder, wondering what the fuck that was, all the lights shut off.

"Mando?" You call.

There's no response and you're a little worried. You can't see for shit, he's not answering, and the ship is floating in space with no power. Not your idea of a party, but hey, at least the oxygen filter still works.

Figuring that standing here like a weirdo in the dark probably isn't the best idea, you try and shuffle towards anything that feels familiar. Of course, you forget that there's that big fucking tube trailing across the ground, and of course your foot manages to get caught underneath it. You fly forward with a startled yelp, praying that your face won't collide into an edge or something, and then you're quite suddenly not falling.  

Strong arms steady your descent and your brain gets a bit scrambled because there is a person in the dark grabbing you. A scream bubbles out and a hand rapidly slaps over your mouth to silence it. "It's me."

You mumble out a sigh of relief, really glad that it's him and not one of his quarries that decided to reanimate spontaneously. Yet your joy is short lived once you remember that there's no fucking power.

His hand falls away, finding purchase on the curve of your hip. "Why's the power out?"

"It happens sometimes," he says, not at all concerned that this is a regular occurrence. "The wires are old."

"You mean this ship is old."

He hums and pulls you closer. You still can't see him because it's darker than a black hole in here but your fingers can make out the edges of his pauldrons and the corded muscle of his bicep. You both stay there, in the dark, and you're fine like this. With just being held, safe and suspended in time.

And then he murmurs, all sweet and soft, "I wan't to kiss you."

Sparks ignite inside your stomach and it's like a ripcord jumpstarting your heart. That's it—you've died. You hit your head on that imaginary corner and you've died. How else could you explain the object of your fascination wanting to kiss you. A Mandalorian too no less. Wait.

"B-but your helmet."

"It's dark," he says. He seems to have already made up his mind and you're not gonna argue with that. If he's confident about this, then shit, so are you. You feel him shuffle around and hear the jostle of metal being placed on a crate or the ground, you aren't sure, and you tentatively reach out expecting to feel the familiar curve of his cuirass.

Instead your fingers fold over the soft lines of his undershirt. He sucks in a breath, so clear without the helmet, and you can feel the warmth of his skin, hot and alive, and real. He's human, just as you are.

You don't mean to jump as his hands sweep up your neck. You barely get out the first syllable of an apology when his hands slip into your hair, grasp at the back of your skull, and pull you forward.

He kisses you and your stomach swoops.

His lips are velvet and all thoughts are obliterated, turned into dust, and replaced with him. Only him. Your hands scrabble to find purchase, an anchor, and your fingers slide over a stubbled jaw and over chiseled cheekbones. He sighs into your mouth, and tilts your head, deepening the kiss. His tongue slides over yours, licks deep into your mouth, tasting you and then pulling away to nibble on your bottom lip.

Fuck. Why the fuck didn't you get stabbed earlier?

He makes a sound low in his throat when you tug on the thick curls atop his head and kisses you harder. They're feverish and pressing, as if the whole galaxy would end tomorrow, and it might as well because you're in heaven. Your knees feel like jelly and you know he's holding the majority of your weight, but it's impossible to stand upright. His tongue curls around yours, hot and wet, then pulls it into his mouth and sucks.

Your jagged moan echoes through the dark and he raises his chin to break the kiss. He tugs on your bottom lip once again with the blunt edges of his teeth and begins to trail wet, lazy kisses down your jaw. You try to recapture his lips, but one of his hands tightens in your hair and tilts your head back, bearing the fragile skin of your throat for him. The graze of his teeth sends goosebumps down your spine and the gentle nibbles have you whimpering. He laves his tongue over the area and mouths down to the curve of where your shoulder meets your neck and bites down—hard.

You yelp, but the hand tangled in your hair keeps you steady for him. You can't go anywhere like this. He presses soft kisses on the throbbing skin, sure to leave a mark, as if in apology then trails the tip of his tongue all the way up to your earlobe. His warm breath fans over your ear and he lays a sweet kiss over the cartilage. "Lay down."

Stars. His voice is even more rich and honey sweet without the tinny and artificial filter in his helmet. You drop like a fucking rock and it's a miracle you manage not to knock into something on your way down. Your fist clenches the collar of his shirt and you drag him over you, feeling his quiet chuckle vibrate against the crook of your neck. Your legs fall open around his knees and his palms smooth over your thighs and hike them up higher around his waist. His mouth is on yours again, his elbows caging you in as he props himself above you and you feel the growing hardness between you.

You arch your hips, slowly grinding up into him. He inhales a shaky breath and licks deep into your mouth and digs his cock over your clothed center. Liquid heat is swirling in your belly and you and him are wearing entirely too much right now. He seems to get the same memo because his hands are now slipping over the waistband of your pants and pulling them off, underwear and all. You squeak as cool air meets the slick already pooling at your center and he's molding himself back over you.

His head tilts and his tongue flicks across the shell of your ear. He thrusts his hips forward, your cunt surely leaving a wet spot on the fabric, and groans low in your hear. "Shit."

Mando grabs at the edge of your shirt and hauls it over your head, your bra quickly following. His mouth quickly latches on to your collarbone, sucking a mark there then making a steady trail down to your left breast. He hovers just above your peaked nipple and you whine in desperation. His fingertip is swirling a teasing circle over the areola on your other breast and you bite back all kinds of swears and curses, wishing this sweet torture would end. You're aching and desperate and when he finally, finally pinches the pebbled skin between his forefinger and thumb, you're arching into his touch with a silent wail. The hot cavern of his mouth encases your nipple and carefully brings his teeth around it. You whisper his name and he tugs your nipple up then releases.

He mouths a kiss onto your sternum and rests his chin there. "Can I taste you? Fuck—more of you? Please—You—you were so sweet on my fingers last time."

The image of him licking your arousal off his fingers after you passed out the day before sends a wave of burning heat through you. You don't even have to fucking think because a garbled yes is already leaving your mouth.

You feel him smirk against your sternum and he's hurriedly shuffling lower. He hooks his hands underneath your knees and places them around his broad shoulders. His bare fingers trace tiny patterns into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, coaxing out a shiver and then you feel his thumbs softly part the lips of your soaking cunt. There's a moment just before, his face hovering close enough that you can feel his breath, anticipation gripping your chest, and then he licks a broad stripe from the base of your pussy all the way up to your clit.

His mouth Is searing hot and his tongue feels like liquid velvet as you shudder and dig your hands into his hair. He grunts against you as you drag him closer, all too happy to comply. His mouth encompasses your clit, sucking and tracing circles over the bundle of nerves. He then trails lower, sucks on your labia, and sweeps down to your opening. The tip of his tongue traces your entrance, then down to lick at your wetness that dripped lower, and then back up.

It's good. So fucking good and when two of his thick fingers press at your entrance you nearly go blind from pleasure. The two digits slip in with ease, all the way up to the second knuckle and when he draws them back, they're slick with your wetness. He pushes them back in, then out, a steady pace that he never strays from. It leaves you bordering the edge of madness, the catch of his knuckles and calloused skin along your walls pure torture.

Your hips arch into him, trying to urge him to go faster. Instead, he slowly retracts his fingers and removes his mouth. You gasp in frustration as your cunt clenches around thing air, and you're begging, your words slurred and hardly understandable. You're so close to diving off the edge. You feel his mouth pull up into, what you can only imagine, is the biggest shit-eating grin.

"Please! P-please—I-I need..." You're babbling and he drags his fingers over your thigh, skims over your cunt, and traces a pattern into your other thigh. "Mando. Fuck. You—your fingers. I need—"

He complies.

Two fingers are thrust up into your dripping cunt, curving so deliciously into something that feels like unrefined electricity. His mouth sucks on your clit and with a few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls, your body goes rigid. You're flying off that wall a million miles an hour—cumming onto his tongue and Mando keeps licking you through it even as you arch and squirm. Stars are bursting behind your eyelids and heat hotter than a wildfire spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're twitching and you hear Mando, feel the vibration of his groan, as a flood of your juices coat his tongue.

Your brain is lost in bliss and fuzzy pleasure as you float back to reality. He's still curling his fingers into you're core and it hurts. You're too sensitive. Your nerves are rubbed raw and you're still throbbing, but you're too fucked out and still riding the waves of your previous orgasm to push him away. He takes the opportunity to move his fingers faster, suckle at your clit that burns from overstimulation, and somehow you're back at the very edge again.

It's razor sharp. Your thighs are shaking around him and as he twists his fingers inside you and curls into that tiny, little spot, your orgasm is wrenched out of you. It's searing—all the way to the fucking bone and you're positive you'll end up a burnt crisp. Your cunt pulses around Mando's fingers, fucking you through it until those burning waves of release eventually relent into a dull throb. You whimper and you have to push at his forehead because he's still licking at your cunt. He pulls out his fingers with an embarrassing wet sound and then his crawling back over you.

Sudden exhaustion weighs over your eyelids and there's nothing more that you want to do beside fuck him, but you're already half asleep. "M'falling asleep again, Mando."

"S'fine," he says. "Just—just a little longer, ok? I won't—won't put it in."

"Ok..."

He moves to tug his pants down and you feel a dribble of wetness drip onto your hip. He grabs your hand that's lying limp on the floor and cups it around his thick, painfully hard cock. That's enough to wake you up again.

You swipe your thumb over the weeping slit, feeling it twitch. You curl your forefinger and thumb together, making a circle, and roll your wrist around the head of his cock, tugging and squeezing lightly. His groan is jagged and sharp and the sound causes a fresh wave of arousal to shoot straight to your cunt. Your hand then wraps around him, and gives the hard flesh, a few experimental pumps. His hips stutter into your grip, following your motions as if afraid you'd suddenly stop.

You feel fingers press at the seam of your lips and you readily open your mouth for him. You suck the digits into the hot cavern of your mouth, lick over the salty lines of his palm, and when he's satisfied he tugs them out of your mouth with a pop and smears it over the base of his cock. With your saliva and the steady stream of precum that trickles out like a fountain, it's easy to slide your hand up and down from base to tip, paying careful attention to the ridge of skin on the frenulum.

"Maker," he gasps. "Almost there. Doing s'good. Good—good girl."

He's thrusting up faster into your hand and your bring up your other hand to gently cup his balls. His whole body quivers as you roll them gently in your palm and he's pitching forward to press his forehead to yours. Your nail lightly scrapes over the head of his cock and with one last squeeze to his balls, he's roughly grabbing your shoulders and cumming over your stomach. His balls pull up nice and tight and pulse. Spurts of hot cum gush over your skin and paint your ribcage and belly, his hips stuttering and pushing into your hand roughly.

"Ah. Shit—shit. Prob-bly look so go-good with my cum all over you."

You blush and his hips slowly stop thrusting as the last few strings of cum are milked out and drip over your fist. He's still sucking in air as you remove your hand and lick his spend off the slops of your knuckles. He tastes good—warm and thick on your tongue and next time you want it all in your mouth.

His chest heaves as he lowers himself beside you and tugs you close into his chest. You don't pay attention to the sticky mess on your stomach and he doesn't seem to mind. He brushes your hair from your forehead, tucks it behind your ear and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. He whispers a quiet thank you and presses a soft kiss below your jaw and the ground is suddenly the most comfortable fucking thing in the world.

You drift off to sleep, cuddled into the Mandalorian's side.

[buckyodinson]

The Mechanic (Mandalorian x fem!Reader)

Request from anon:  "Hi! I have a Mando request for ya! What if the reader is a droid mechanic and Mando hires them to repair his hyperdrive. They’re the only person in the town he lands in that’s anywhere capable of fixing it. He doesn’t trust the reader on account of their profession, but they do good work fairly quickly and the Kid is already head over heels for them. Maybe he’ll keep the mechanic around for further repairs?"

Word Count: 2.5k 

Part Two

Mando was in the far reaches of the outer rim when his ship was suddenly thrown out of hyperspace. He was shook forward in the pilot’s seat, and the Child’s crib jostled about before dropping to the floor.

He fiddled with the hyperdrive controls and came to the quick conclusion that the system had malfunctioned. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, as the ship hummed and whirred around him. The Child stirred in his crib because of the commotion, and peeked his head out from his blankets, cooing slightly.

Mando makes quick work of booting up his tracking systems, to find the nearest system he can get to. He finds the nearest planet is Er’Kit, a desert planet that has remained mostly untouched since the Clone Wars all those years ago. A few hours later, the Crest is approaching Er’Kit and now this close, he locates a small town and enters the coordinates for it, before letting autopilot take them the rest of the way there. Mando climbs down into the hull, taking the Child with him, and placing it back in its crib before placing the crib in his quarters.

He knows it’s a pointless exercise but raises a finger to the Child and slowly speaks, “Stay in here. I’m going into town to find someone who can fix this, so just stay in here.” The Child looks up at Mando with his bright eyes, smiling, and Mando steps back and shuts the door to his quarters. He’s only a few steps from the ramp door when he hears the familiar hiss of the door to his quarters opening, and the even more familiar cooing of the Child. He lets out a long sigh that crackles through the modulator, but turns around and picks the Child up nonetheless. He places him back in the crib, and presses a few buttons on his arm gauntlet to pull the crib alongside him as he walks.

The walk to the town is quiet, and the town isn’t much different. It’s not as bustling as the towns Mando usually comes to when he’s looking for parts or a bounty, but there’s still plenty of people staring at him as he walks past them. He’s hard not to notice, covered head to toe in newly forged Beskar. He hears the hushed whispers of the townsfolk when their eyes move from his form to the small crib that trails behind him, and he fiddles with his gauntlet, which pulls the crib even closer.

He eventually finds what he’s looking for. While there’s no explicit signage out front, the discarded piles of fragmented metal scattered around the outside tells him all he needs to know. The circular door opens and he steps into the dealership. He sees many work stations, all empty but one, in the back corner of the room. He sees you hunkered over your workstation, tinkering with an interface from an R5 unit which is sat powered down by your feet. You had grease smudges across your face, and goggles that reminded him of a certain Ugnaught friend of his. There are a few mechanic droids lined up against the back wall, all seemingly being charged up.

He moved slowly towards you, not wanting to startle you while you were working with a blowtorch. You noticed him out of the corner of your eye and abruptly turned the blowtorch off and lifted your head to look at the mysterious Beskar-clad man stood before you. You placed your torch on the table and lifted your glasses from your eyes to rest them atop your head before smiling at the man. You straightened your back and moved to stand, an array of cracks coming from your back, seemingly protesting the new posture and you grimace, and you’re sure you see the helmeted head flinch slightly.

“How can I be of service to you, Mandalorian?” You rested an elbow on your workstation and looked up at him, but noticed his gaze was now on the droid at your feet.

When you received no reply from him, you pushed the droid with your feet an inch or so, and scoffed when his hand reached for his blaster, “It’s powered down, my friend. It’s brain is scattered all over my station here. How can I help?”

His helmet lifted up to you, and the empty stare that came from it enticed you. You’re sure that very same stare had intimidated many before you, but you wouldn’t give in so easily. You stood even straighter, raised your grease-smudged chin and placed your hands on your hips.

“The hyperdrive of my ship malfunctioned, and I need a mechanic to look at it. The ship is an hour or so from here. Is there anyone else here who can help?” He looked around the empty dealership, anticipating your answer.

“What’s wrong with me? Don’t want a woman meddling with your cockpit?” You smirked at him, watching his posture shift slightly.

“You’re a droid mechanic, are you not? I’m not sure how much help you’d be fixing a hyperdrive. It’s a lot different.”

“Well, as it turns out, this is my dealership, and I’m pretty well-versed in the mechanics of a lot of ships, so I’m sure I can handle whatever piece of junk you’re flying around in. What do you have against droids anyhow?”

“I think I’ll look elsewhere, thank y-“

“Good luck with that. My dealership is the only one in town, and work’s been slow recently so I let all the boys have a few days off, since there’s a festival in the nearest city this week. I’m sure they’re all too drunk to stand already, so it’s only me here for the foreseeable future… and sure you could walk to the city, but it’d take you days. Days I’m assuming you don’t have?” At that question you gestured to the crib, which was now open, and the Child had lifted it’s head to look around. Mando scrambled to close the crib before looking back at you and sighing deeply.

“Fine. But just you, no droids.” He points at the droids behind you, and you nod.

You lift up your bag of tools, and grab a few more off of your workstation and lay them gently in the bag, before rummaging through a series of drawers and shelves, picking up items you’ll need to fix a faulty hyperdrive. Mando scrutinises your every move, before relaxing at the smile on your face when you lift your bag and walk towards him, “Lead the way.”

You both walk out of the door, and you drop your bag on the floor while you lock up shop. When you turn to grab your bag again, you notice the Mandalorian is already carrying it for you, and has started to walk away. You quickly catch up with him and attempt to grab the bag from his hands, but he doesn’t let up.

“I’m a big girl, I can handle my own tools.” You objected, but he still held onto the bag.

“Your arms will be tired by the time we get to my ship, and it’ll just prolong the amount of time it takes to fix the problem.”

“Trust me, tin can. I’m plenty strong enough, I’ve walked all the way to the city with more tools than this just fine.” You said smugly but he said nothing more. You fell into silence and remained that way until you approached the Crest.

“Well no wonder your hyperdrive is mangled, this ship is ancient. I’m surprised it still runs.” You marvel as you walk up the ramp door.

He leads you through to the cockpit and you remove the main floor panel beside the pilot seat, and set to work. Mando stands in the doorway, still untrustworthy of you. He still can’t get the image of you helping a droid out of his mind. He knows he’s being overly skeptical, but can’t help the way he feels about droids.

You stick your head back out from the floor and stare back at him, “If you’re just gonna stand there, you may as well help me.” When he makes no attempt to move, you roll your eyes and speak up again, “pass me that wrench please?”

He slowly does as you ask, and you disappear below the panels again, and he hears you grunt before a loud clang erupts through the cockpit. He leans his head down to check you’re okay, and when he sees you’re not injured, he leaves the cockpit, going to busy himself with cleaning his weapons.

You’re none the wiser, and call up to him asking for your blowtorch. You receive no reply and climb back up, muttering to yourself with a frown on your face, only to see the Child in his place. Your features soften as you see his bright eyes land on you, but you panic slightly when you notice he has the handle of your blowtorch in his mouth. You lurch up, and softly pry it from his grip. He protests and coos at you, and you hand him a spanner, which he happily bites instead.

Mando comes up to check on you after a few hours, and from outside the cockpit he can hear you talking to the Child, who babbles back at you, but you talk as if you’re actually having an engaging conversation with him. Din catches himself smiling at this, but steels his expression before opening the door to the cockpit, even though it made no difference, as nobody would see it.

You emerge from underneath the floor, your face sweaty and dirty, but you smile brightly first at the Child then up at him, “It shouldn’t be much longer! A lot of your circuits were fried, because this ship is so old, and it doesn’t look like anyone’s been down here in years, so I’ve tried to replace as many as I could with what I have. Some of those circuits tripped the system that controls the hyperdrive, so once I’ve tidied these last few circuits up, you should hopefully be up and running! Just stop in at a mechanic every so often to double check down here, otherwise you’ll be stuck somewhere else with a mechanic a lot less friendly than me, who’ll charge a lot more.” As you speak, the Child reaches his arms out to hold onto one of your fingers, and you smile warmly down at him.

You dipped back down again and the Child turned to face him. Mando couldn’t deny the pang in his chest when he saw how much the Child enjoyed your company. Someone who could give him some semblance of love or affection that he had no idea how to give.

You emerged again to grab another tool and noticed Mando was still stood there, “Everything okay?”

“Yes. Everything’s fine. I came to ask if you’d like anything to eat, I don’t have much but there’s a few things…” he spoke uncertainly.

The soft tone of his voice took you by surprise and it put a smile back on your face, “I’m okay, thank you. A glass of water would be nice, though, it’s a little warm down here?”

Mando turned on his heel and the Child followed slowly after him, and you smiled after the pair of them. You got back to work, and emerged again a few minutes later to find a glass of water, and even though you said you weren’t hungry, a small bowl of broth sat by your bag of tools. You slowly sipped some of the broth, and was surprised that it wasn’t half bad. You were soon finished with your work, and climbed back into the cockpit and sat in the co-pilot seat while you finished your broth. The Child has graced you with it’s presence again, and you chatted idly with it once more, conversing as if it was actually giving you comprehensible answers.

Mando once again was stood outside the cockpit listening intently to you and the Child, and hearing how happy it sounded to have someone to babble to. He wondered if she’d like to stick around. It’d be convenient, for sure. Someone to watch over the kid, and to keep the ship in good shape, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, someone to keep him company in the vastness of the galaxy.

He took a deep breath and entered the cockpit, nodding at you when you gave him a mock salute. You placed your bowl on the ground, and noticed the Child was reaching his arms up to you. You looked at Mando for approval, and he gestured for you to continue. You picked up the Child and set him down on your lap, beaming at him. He played with your fingers, and you laughed at his little babbles and coos, before your attention was drawn to the Mandalorian when he cleared his throat.

“Is the hyperdrive fixed?” He asked monotonously.

“Yes! All fixed, but like I said earlier, there’s only so much I can do on a ship this old, you should definitely stop in somewhere every now and then and check it’s all holding up okay down there.”

“About that…” he fell into silence, and you simply waited for him to find the words he was searching for. His helmet lifted slightly, and for the first time you were a little intimidated by the glare from the black slits in the Beskar, “I may be overstepping a line here… but how would you feel about maybe sticking around?”

To say you were shocked was an understatement. From the stories you’d heard about Mandalorian’s, they were usually loners. You look back down at the child in your lap, and realise the Mandalorian sat in front of you was cut from different cloth.

He clarifies when he notices your wide eyes, “You said yourself, the hyperdrive will need checking, and I’d rather you be here on the ship when it inevitably gives out again, rather than finding some other shady mechanic to do it. Also, the kid seems to have taken a shine to you…”

You think it over for a moment, and Mando didn’t push you for an answer. He was asking a lot of you, and was expecting a flat-out ‘No’, so the fact that you were thinking about it gave him hope.

“… I think I’d like that.” you murmured.

His head whipped up, “Really?”.

“I mean… I’ve always wanted to get out of here and see the galaxy, but I’ve never had the means to. I don’t even have a speeder,” you scoff, “but travelling with you and this little womp rat can’t be much worse than life here in this little town.” your smile grows when you notice the Child has fallen asleep in your arms.

Underneath his helmet, his smile is equally large. He can’t believe it actually worked. “Okay then. It’s late, so you can stay on the ship tonight, but we can go back to town tomorrow to grab anything you need, and we’ll head off. Is that okay?”

“Sounds good, Mandalorian.”

“Call me Mando.”

“Okay… sounds good, Mando.” he liked hearing that fall from your mouth more than ‘Mandalorian’, and maybe one day soon he’ll hear you speak his real name.

[mandadoration]

know your place

summary: Mando catches you with intentions to turn you in for your bounty, but you’ve been in the game long enough to know how to deal with someone like him. You’re determined to make the Mandalorian beg. 

word count: 5, 128

pairing: mandalorian x smuggler!reader

warnings: slight dub-con elements (aphrodisiac), non-consenual drug use, smut, handjob, sub!mando, use of bondage, mentions of drugs, praise kink, thigh riding, dirty talking, teeny tiny pain kink, explicit sex 

a/n: I guess I really have a thing for his cuffs? Also, don’t ask me where this fic is in terms of timeline- I have no idea. 

“She’s dangerous,” Greef Karga warns. “You aren’t the first bounty to have gone after her, but I trust you’ll be the last.” He slides a fob and puck over the table. 

“What is it that makes her so dangerous?” Mando asks. He views your puck. You aren’t particularly threatening. Hell, you’re even smiling brightly as the hologram of your face spins around. If he’s being honest, Mando wouldn’t have pegged you for a criminal. A farmgirl, maybe, or some handmaiden to some nobility in the Core Worlds. “She’s just a spice runner, right?”

“All spice variants. And death sticks, snuff, sweetblossom, rissle stick, slick,” Karga adds on. “That’s not even all of it. If you can smuggle it, she’s got it.” His tone is unusually serious. It’s no wonder why; this bounty is definitely one of the higher ones. The price tag on her head was lucrative. It’s enough for a month or two’s worth of rations, and then some. 

“Really? That many?” Mando asks. “Sounds dangerous.” Most smugglers only chose to smuggle one or two things at a time. It was much too risky to try and transport so much across the galaxy. And by the sounds of it, this bounty sounds like she’s practically supplying half the galaxy. Maker knows how many other criminals she knows. “How’d she survive this long?” Karga shrugs. 

“The other hunters refuse to talk,” he explains. “And those are the ones that have come back.” Mando watches your hologram bust rotate, your dazzling smile making you look deceptively innocent. He takes you puck and the tracking fob. 

“I’ll bring her back,” he says. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

--

Of course you knew that at some point, the infamous Mandalorian would be coming after you. Several people from the Bounty Hunter’s Guild had tried to cash you in, but you wouldn’t let them. So when you had caught word that he had your puck, you had been on guard immediately. You make far too good of a living to give it up. 

But the Mandalorian?

That’s going to be a challenge. 

You’ve heard about him in your little (well, not little) criminal circles, watching as some of your clients have been picked up by him. You’re always quick to leave at any sign of trouble. You didn’t become a major supplier of drugs by being careless, stars, no. That’s why when you’re supplying high quality spice to some big wig, you’re swathed in layers of servant’s robes as you stealth through the town, scarf over the lower half of your face. 

You make sure that as you go through the city, you keep an eye out for any shiny piece of armor, making sure you bat your eyelashes at vendors and practically sashay through town, keeping a hand under your clothes, where your package was disguised as a pregnant belly. An old trick, but more effective than people would think, especially if you were in a less-fortunate part of town. You’ve even gotten some credits from sympathetic nannies who coo about your faux-baby in the past. You aren’t going to complain. You guess it does look weird when you go to a club to meet your client though. 

The guard at the door recognizes you, of course, and you nod at him as you slip through the back door. “Slythmonger,” he grunts. Just because you knew each other doesn’t mean he thought that you were lowly, especially when he eyes your fake belly. 

The club is filled with barely-clothed aliens and humans alike, all sickly sweet smiles and big eyes. You stick out like a sore thumb even more, but your clothes blend in with the dark. As you walk through the club, sticking close to the walls, you slip deathsticks to familiar customers who slip you credits in return. You get to a closed off room, knock three times, and slide in, squeezing your belly as you do. 

And you stop.

Because your client is staring at you with wide eyes as the Mandalorian sits across from him. If you thought you were out of place, the Mando looks like it even more, shiny beskar stark against the velvet cushions. You immediately slide your expression into one of anger, narrowing your eyes.

“Honey,” you grit out, glaring at your client who gives you a look of confusion. You huff and put a hand on your belly, rubbing it as if you were really with child. “What did you do this time?” You motion to the Mandalorian. At this point, you can hope that your scarf covers your face well enough, and that your client will be smart enough to catch on. 

“What?” he asks stupidly. Apparently not. 

You slowly stick your hand into a side pouch containing magic powder as you advance to your client. 

“You obviously did something, sweetie,” you say, voice low, “if a Mandalorian is here.” You see the Mando tilt his head as he looks at you. You eye him from the side. “Are you with the guild?” you ask him, voice dripping with false fear, protectively covering the package. He gets up, and you tense, but he pulls out a puck and activates it, showing your face. And suddenly you’re glad for the loud, pulsing music because if it had been quiet, the tracking fob you’re sure he holds would be beeping loud and clear.

“I’m looking for her,” Mando says. “She delivers spice to your… husband here,” he says. “Have you seen her?” Either he’s a really good actor, or you’re a better one than him and have him fooled. You gasp and whirl to face your client.

“Spice?” you hiss at him, who honestly looks more scared at you than he did at the Mandalorian. “You’re doing spice?” 

“Um, yes?” he stammers out. You sob dramatically, turning away as you try to scan for more exits. Looks like the door you came in is the only one, unless you can somehow fly up and go through the vents before the bounty hunter can snag you. 

“I cannot believe this!” you cry out. “I’m due in a month! A month! And you’re out here doing drugs.” Your wailing makes Mando wince. “Where’s the money?” you demand. Your client scrambles to dump out the credits onto a nearby table and you scoop them out and count quickly. “So this is where it goes?” you screech. You tuck them away. The most he could do was pay you for the horrific acting you had to do, pretending that he was your husband. “I was reluctant for you to even start up this… this harem!” you say, motioning to the dark room and the door. “But I draw the line here!” You turn to slap your client, but in the middle of your theatrics, your fake belly drops down and out under your skirt, spilling carefully measured bags of spice all over the floor. The room falls silent as you stare, and turn back to look at the Mandalorian. 

“Oh dear,” you say weakly, “the baby.” And you blow a handful of powder into his face, ripping off your servant garb and dumping it over his helmet. Although it wouldn’t as potent with the helmet on, you can disorient him. You burst through the door and sprint out of the club and side door, ignoring a very disgruntled guard as you dash into the streets.

“Get back here!” you hear him shout. Shit, he got out that faster than you thought, but at least the powder worked somewhat. He ran straight into a cart as he left the alley. But you have no time to gloat.

You dart through the annoyed crowd, and you can track where the Mandalorian is from how fast the people part behind you. As you run, you dig in your pockets for anything you can use. You curse when you realize that your only syringe was empty, and you didn’t have a replacement medshot. And you really didn’t want to waste your last vial of love-wallop. That shit was expensive on the market right now. You skid into another alley way, but you go cold as you realize it’s a dead end. You don’t stop running, even as the wall gets closer. At the end, you can see a door on the left. If you got there in time, you did have--

You trip when something tangles around your legs. You yelp as you go down, palms scraping against the dirt. Scrambling back, it tugs on you, and the Mando drags you closer to him. 

“Nice acting,” he says, his voice rough behind the modulator. He’s out of breath and taking deep inhales. “Almost had me.” You scowl, and he throws cuffs at your feet, keeping his blaster trained on you. “Cuff yourself.”

Glaring at him, you untangle your legs from the wire he used and snatch the cuffs up. There’s no way you’re letting yourself get caught without a fight. He’s watching you carefully, but you’re fast, faster than him at least, and you chuck the cuffs at him and blow another handful of powder in his face. As he doubles over in pain and disoriented from another dose, you kick his blaster out of his hand and expertly dump your vial into the syringe, and tackle him, climbing on his back as you grit your teeth and try to find a patch of skin. He tries to buck you off, but you stab your needle into his neck before he can. Mando yells in alarm and does eventually manage to throw you off, but it’s working fast, and soon he’s swaying on his feet. 

“What... what did you--” he slurs, but he tips over before he can finish. You huff as you toss the empty vial and syringe aside. It shatters as it hits the wall and you crouch down next to him. Mando reaches up, but you simply push his hand back down. He’s too weak to fight back. “What’d you put in me?” You purse your lips. 

“Love-Wallop serum,” you answer. “That was expensive, Mando. That’s gonna cost you.” You admire his get-up. If that was really beskar he was wearing, you could afford to hide out for months while you gather more supplies and lie low. “It’s not usually meant to be injected,” you hum, grasping his helmet and tilting it as it glints in the sunlight. “Although, maybe I can change the formula a teensy bit.” You peer at the injection site. It’s a little irritated from the rough jab, but it fades away as a flush creeps up his neck. 

“I thought…” Maker, his mouth is dry, and he feels floaty as the serum works through his system. “I thought you were just a slythmonger.” You chuckle. 

“When you’re in this trade for as long as I have,” you say, leaning in close, “you learn a thing or two.” You watch as he moans and attempts to get up. A simple nudge discourages him as he plops back on the ground with a soft thud.“Now, how am I gonna get you out of here?” you murmur. 

The last thing he sees is your frowning face as you get up to pat the dust off of you. 

--

When Mando finally comes to, his head his aching, and he’s burning up, an ache deep and low in his gut. He’s sees you lounging casually across from him with a watchful eye. Mando jerks and tries to reach for his blaster, but his hands are tied above his head. With his own cuffs, magnetized and stuck to the wall. 

This is what they call irony, he supposes. 

A quick glance tells him that he’s in some kind of hideout, junk and trinkets lining the wall, and a pile of crates pushed up against another. It’s dim, the only source of light being a lamp next to a cot and what little sunlight that’s being mostly blocked by curtains. He shifts, and realizes all his gear has been stripped from him, including his vambraces and armor so that he’s left in his shirt and pants. Not even his boots are on him. He worries for a quick second in this moment of disorientation that his helmet’s been taken off when you speak up. 

“Your helmet is still on, don’t worry,” you say, shifting legs so that one is crossed over the other. You’re not stupid, after all. “What’s your name?” Mando doesn’t speak, but instead scans the room for anything that could help him get out of this situation. There’s a door or some kind of hatch in the far left corner, and another to what he thinks is the refresher, but everything surrounding him is moved far out of his reach in every direction. “Let me ask you again,” you say cooly. You get up, and run your boot up his leg, sending tingles up it and up his spine as he lets out a soft groan. “Tell me your name,” you say, sweetly.

“Din. Din Djarin,” he gasps out before he can stop himself. It’s hot. Much too hot in here even though he sees that you’re wearing a leather jacket to protect yourself from the slight chill. He’s aching, and he wants to dig his hands into your soft flesh. 

Where did that thought come from?

“Well, Din Djarin,” you say, and it should be illegal how sinful his name sounds coming from you. “You’re gonna be my little experiment. How about that?” you murmur. You crouch down next to his and rub your thumb on his upper thigh. He bucks up into the air, and you hum when you notice the bulge in his pants. 

“What did you put in me?” he grits out, straining against his cuffs. You remove your hand and get back up, and Mando has to bite back the whine that threatens to leave him at the loss of contact. You take off your jacket, sling it over a chair, and pick up a vial of shimmering pink liquid. 

“Love-Wallop,” you answer. “It’s usually in a pill form, but my customers complained it took too long to dissolve, so I made it into a serum.” You glance at it and then to him, rolling the vial in your fingers. “Although I am starting to wonder if I can safely make it for injection.”

“You roofied me?” he asks. You make a face. 

“No!” you protest. You huff and roll your eyes. “What it’s supposed to do is make you more… susceptible to suggestion and seduction,” you continue. You place the vial down on a table and squat down next to him, and run a warm hand up his shirt. “Enhance what’s already there,” you continue. “You’re burning up,” you note, and use your other hand to palm him through his pants. He lets out a low moan, grinding up against your hand. 

“Yeah?” he groans, “That’s what happens when-- stars -- you get drugged.” You laugh, and pull your hands away, laughing harder when he struggls against his bonds to follow you.

“I guess you’re right,” you say amusedly. You reach for your jacket. “Shall I leave you here?” you ask coquettishly. “Let you ride out this little drug trip? Mind you, I don’t know how long it lasts or what happens when you don’t deal with... this,” you warn. You dig the heel of your boot on his erection, just barely enough pressure, but enough to tease him, to make your point. But a moan drags itself from his mouth. His head rolls back, and you’re willing to bet your entire stash of alderaanian snuff that his eyes are rolling back as well. You kneel down to unbuckle his pants and slide them over his hips, grinning when he subconsciously lifts his hips to help you. Maker, you wish you could just snatch that helmet off of him, see who it was and stick your fingers in his mouth. You think that he must have the softest lips, judging from how sweet every sound he makes is. 

But you aren’t that cruel. 

You are, however, cruel enough to pull his cock from his underclothes and let it go, watching it as it bounces up and leans against his belly. The trail of hair that leads up his hair only fuels your desire to see if the curtain matches the drapes. You absentmindedly rub the tip of cock with a single finger, smearing precum around as it twitches under your touch. You sigh dramatically and wipe your finger on his stomach before getting up, knees cracking as you turn away. 

“But you’re right!” you say. “You’re drugged, and I shouldn’t help you anyways, Din Djarin.” You voice drops to a whisper. “Even though I would very much love to help you and your little problem.” 

“You can’t- You can’t leave me here,” Mando protests, voice raspy and thick with desire as he eyes your figure. He feels hotter than ever, and sweat is dripping down his neck. You swing your leather jacket back on and turn to face him with hands on your hips. 

“Of course I can,” you say. You lick your lips as you drink in how desperate he looks. If it were anyone else, you would leave them, but this Mandalorian intrigues you. Maybe you can… Just this once… “But I will reconsider,” you propose, “if you ask nicely.” 

“You expect me to beg?”

“I expect you to ask nicely,” you correct, but your face splits into a feral grin. “But begging would be nice.” Mando doesn’t speak. He’s mulling it over, considering the pros and cons of ‘asking you’ to help him. The need is bubbling in his belly, and his cock is painfully hard. And you know it. Even if you can’t feel what he’s going through, he’s telegraphing his thoughts as he’s clenching and unclenching his fists, squirming where he’s sitting on the ground of wherever he is and canting his hips towards you. “What do you say?” you ask, the smile on your face reminiscent of the one on the puck, bright, but with an edge that screams predatory. He wants to, Maker knows how much he feels like he needs you, but his pride--

“No.”

-- gets the better of him. 

As soon as he says it, as soon as he sees your face drop and harden, he regrets it, he wants so desperately to please you, but he bites his tongue and keep quiet, even as his breath comes in pants as he’s thrusting into the air. You tilt your head, frowning. You want to ruin him, make him come apart under your hands; you probably want this as much as he does, but instead you shrug. 

“Okay.” And you sit down back in your seat in front of him, legs spread as you watch him. 

“Aren’t you going to leave?” Mando asks. He burns with shame under your gaze, and his cock twitches again. You shake your head. 

“No,” you say. “I said that you were going to be my little experiment,” you remind him. “I make good on promises, Din Djarin” and give him a sly wink. Mando grits his teeth, and directs his gaze somewhere else, anywhere but your piercing eyes and searching gaze. You hum and lean back. You can wait this out. You’re patient. 

This will be interesting.

--

The sun has set far below the horizon, and Mando’s cock is still hard by the time he finally speaks up. 

“Can you…” He clears his throat. He’s absolutely parched, and swallows, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Can you let me go?” he asks. You look up from where you have been mindlessly scrolling through your data pad. 

“Hm?”

“Can you let me go?” he repeats. You furrow your eyebrows. 

“And why would I do that?” you ask. You put your data pad on the table next to you and get up to stand next to him, looking down. Mando scrambles for an excuse in his rattled brain. He’s pretty sure with the way his temperature is soaring his brain is fried by now. 

“I’m sure you’re busy,” he says, and cringes with how unconvincing it sounds, even to him. “And have other things to do.” He doesn’t think too long on that, though, because you take a seat next to him and he catches a whiff of your scent, and he’s yearning for your touch again. He wants you so bad, or your hand, at this point he’ll take anything. 

“I am doing something,” you say simply, and lean forward so that you’re leaning against your hand. “Watching you.” You trail a finger up his side. “Waiting. Thinking.”

“Waiting for what?” he breathes. 

“Something,” you say with a sigh. 

“Thinking about what?” 

“How much I would love to wrap my hands around your cock,” you say bluntly, and you scratch your nails down his side. “How I would make you beg for it,” you continue, leaning in close so that you’re right by where his ear would be. “How you would beg for me to fuck you, or beg for my mouth or anything to let you cum.” You slide your hands up his shirt again, palms smooth across his scarred torso, and you tweak a nipple before pulling them back out again, and give his cock one, two, three pumps before you let him go. The lust makes his head cloudy, and at this point, he would let you do anything to him. You lean away from him. 

You tease, he thinks. And he can’t take it anymore. His resolve breaks. 

“Please,” he whines, and you freeze. 

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” he mutters, but your grin is hungry as you lean back in. 

“Say it again,” you command, and once again, he feels the inexplicable need to tell you everything as you scent fills his nose again. 

“Please.” 

“Again.”

“Please.”

“Again.”

“Please.”

“Oh Din Djarin,” you whisper, and the effect your voice has is devastating, “all you had to do was ask.”

Mando nearly cums right then and there when your unyielding grip wraps around his cock, stroking him in long, tight motions as you swing your leg over him to get a better angle. The pleasure is overwhelming. You reach over him, somewhere he can’t see, and you pull out a vibroblade and point it at the base of his throat. His pulse quickens, thinking that you’re about to slit his throat, but instead you catch the top of his shirt and slice it off. You throw the blade over your shoulder and you run your free hand all over his tanned skin. He growls when you twist your hand, and he bucks up. 

“You’re doing so good,” you moan, grinding against his muscled thigh as it flexes. “So good, Din Djarin,” and it’s true. Although you can’t see his face, you see how his chest is flushed and warm, the blush crawling up his neck, and the way he moans is beautiful. “I wish I could keep you,” you mutter, and hiss when you rub your clit just right against him. “Stars, you’d let me do anything to you, hm?” You kiss his chest and start peppering little nips and bites up his neck, sucking a particularly dark mark right on his pulse point. “Answer me.” You cup his balls and stare at him. 

“Yes,” Mando gasps. He’s nearly sobbing from the pleasure, the relief of finally having his cock touched overwhelmingly good, and preening under your murmured praises. “A-anything, fuck, just don’t-don’t stop please--!” His words are choked out as he suddenly cums all over your hand, thick, white ropes coating it and splashing onto your jacket. You don’t stop stroking him, grinding against him as he cums, and the sound he makes is pitiful. It’s only when you cum, white-hot pleasure making your ears ring as you finally stop moving against his thigh, and you’re both heaving in breaths. You pull away, and wipe your cum covered hands in the scraps of his ruined shirt, and you get up to leave, but then you stop when your eyes trail down. 

“Are you still hard?” you ask him incredulously. He came so much, but yes, there it is, his cock is still hard and nearly purple at the tip. As if you didn’t do anything at all. The little noise he makes only further confirms it. You gnaw at your bottom lip, staring at his marked chest and neck, and you think that you have another one in you. 

Definitely. 

And so now you’re shucking off your jacket and unbuckling your belt, slick with desire. Mando is watching you, following your movements and watching as your deft hands push down your pants and kicking off your boots. As you sink down, taking his cock in one fluid motion, and the scientist in you vaguely wonders if the dose of love-wallop you gave him could be transferred via bodily fluids. 

That thought is kicked out of your brain as he snaps his hips up and hits that spot inside of you, going deep and so wonderful and it feels like he’s punched the breath out of you. You gasp out a breathy moan. 

“Holy shit,” Mando hisses. He manages to get his feet under him, giving him better leverage to thrust into your pussy, watching as you bounce on top of him. 

“Yes, yes,” you moan. You hold onto his shoulder, all hard muscle and tensed with how he’s pulling at his cuffs to make sure he doesn’t slip. Mando wishes that he could wind his hand through your hair and pull your head back, to bare your neck and mark you, but his hands are still above his head, and he’s sure he’s rubbed his wrists raw. Your toes curl as he fucks you, eyes glazing over as you spy your reflection in his helmet, and your eyes widen when you see how debauched you look. “Din Djarin, I am never letting you leave,” you groan, rubbing your clit. “Stars, your- your cock,” you yelp at a particularly hard thrust, “fuck!” With your free hand, the one not preoccupied with playing with your clit, you dig your nails into his shoulder for leverage, and dig harder still when he moans in response. 

“Do you- Do you do this to all the hunters?” he manages to gasp out, and you shake your head. “Do you let them, let them do this to you? Fuck you?”

“Just you,” you say. “Only you.”

The squelching that fills the otherwise silent room is absolutely disgusting, his hips slapping up against yours, your shirt still covered in his cum. You’re beautiful like this, he thinks, or at least tries to, but all he can do is try and commit the image of you, flushed and hair messy, as you bounce up and down to meet his thrusts halfway, rolling your hips now and then, his mind too jumbled to form worthwhile thoughts. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he grunts. “Soon, shit, if you keep doing that I’m--” 

“Cum,” you breath out, face twisted up in pleasure. There’s coil deep in your core that’s been winding up, and you know you’re close to making it snap. “Cum in me.” And he’s consumed with the desire to listen and hang on to your every word, and he cums. That does it for you too, the feeling of him filling you up, and you grind against him as you nearly wail with pleasure as you orgasm, rubbing your clit in fast, small circles, pleasure rolling through you in waves. 

When you finally come down, Mando is gasping for breath as he slumps back down, and you pry your iron grip from him and get up, his soft cock slipping out of you, but you think you see it twitch again as cum drips out of you. As you pad to the refresher, Mando is overcome with sleepiness and exhaustion. He’s been wound up for hours, he sure, that when he finally got his release, his energy is spent. Mando nearly dozes off when you come back with a warm, wet rag, and wipe your cum and his from his body. You wipe the sweat around his neck, running it gently over the crescent-shaped marks from where you had dug your nails in, and he’s taken aback from how tender and gentle you are with him. There’s a soft look to your face as you’re focused on cleaning him up to the best of your abilities, and he thinks that you’re not even aware he’s looking at you. When you pull away, he yearns for your touch, but in a different way this time, and you give him a small smile. 

“Sleep,” you command him, and he tries to commit this image in his mind, not the one before, of you in the warm light of the lamp in the corner, glowing with the drips of moonlight filtering in, and once again he listens to what you say, and closes his eyes. 

--

Mando wakes up with a start, neck sore, and he scrambles up when he realizes he’s no longer cuffed, and remembers the events of the night before, dropping the blanket that had been placed over him.

The hot desire that had consumed him is gone now, and instead his legs and arms are aching, wrists raw and irritated like he knew it would be, and he looks around for you.

But any trace that you were there before are gone. 

The crates of drugs, your leather jacket and pants, hell, even the furniture and lamp that was in the corner are gone. All that’s left is his armor and a replacement shirt next to him. When he bends down to pick up the shirt, a little jar tumbles out. He reads the label. 

Salve, it reads, in what he presumes is your handwriting. For Din Djarin. Compensation for partaking in my experiment. He cracks a grin and puts it back on the floor, pulling the shirt over his head and starts the process of buckling his armor on again, trying to ignore how disappointment rises in him when the tracking fob linked to your chain code doesn’t even let out a single blip. Before he puts on his gloves and vambrace, he smears the salve over his wrists, and watches as the irritation almost immediately disappears. It works better than most commercial brands, he notes, and much better than the one in his medpack, so he tucks it away for future use, then freezes as he pats his pockets. He curses when he realizes. 

You had taken all his credits.