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gaiuswrites · 3 years

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King of Cups || Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Page of Swords

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | three

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You attempt a new skill. Mando attempts to teach you.

Word count: 4.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: gun usage/mentioning throughout, mature language, pining, more dirty thots-ish, angst because why not, does this count as fluff? sure, gun kink if you squint w/o your glasses

Notes: As the reader (you/us) begins to become more familiar with Mando, his perspective starts bleeding in to the narrative, without a blocked off POV. Also, the reader’s past will start weaving (incoherently?) into the story as well. The large italicized chunks denote past tense interactions (which is probably obvious but who knows any more). Cheers x (gif credit: @djarinsgf)

A shot rings out.

Birds explode from the canopy with offended squawks, squalling in a winged flurry to scatter every which way until they recede again into the green, disappearing back into their hiding places. You groan. You thought you’d be better at this.

It’s not that you thought you were some sort of savant, you just didn’t expect to be this bad. Honestly, it’s embarrassing—you’re embarrassingly terrible— like statistically, you should have hit something by now, but you just keep missing—a crowded tree line in front of you, and not a scratch in sight—nary a singed branch nor a bullet holed trunk. It’s almost impressive how poor of a shot you are—and you would be, if you weren’t so damn exasperated with the whole affair. With a frustrated grunt, you throw your hands up, brandishing the weapon haphazardly.

“Careful,” Mando warns slyly, “you could hurt someone with that thing.”

“Yeah, well at least I’d hit something,” you grumble.

The kid had been fussy - almost unbearably so - in the weeks that followed your short stint on Bajic, and your party was itching for some time off the Razor Crest. After his third tantrum in a day, Mando decided to land on some unknown planet you couldn’t even spell to stretch your legs and take a breather.

You had almost sobbed when you saw him drag his menagerie of weaponry over. You knew what this meant, you knew what came next—his weekly, routine buff.

You think he’s doing it on purpose.

Ever since the first time, when you damn near had a conniption ogling him, you swear it’s like he’s doing it just to mess with you. He isn’t—of course he isn’t, rationally you knew that, in fact there was plenty of evidence to the contrary. He’s a Mandalorian—weapons are apart of his religion for kriff’s sake—but Maker does it seem intentional. Premeditated. It’s like you can feel the blistering ray of his gaze on you as he takes his time, roving a leathered hand over the bulge of the shaft—greasing it, stripping it, part by metal part…

It’s all in your head, you told yourself. It’s all in your fucking head and you need to get a grip.

Immediately you sprang into action, busying yourself with anything you could get your stupid, little hands on—in this case, being one of his many blasters.

“I wanna give it a go,” you said.

He let you, surprisingly. He hesitated, at first, his helmet tipping at a disbelieving angle. But he gave in—it took less effort on your part than you’d figured—and Mando conceded. He obliged.

How hard could it be? You thought.

Famous last words.

He’s parked there, settled on a throne of crates pushed flush to the Crest, slouched against the outer hull of the ship as he cleans, from the looks of it, every item in his arsenal—a front row seat to your pathetic endeavor and you’re failing—epically, ridiculously—shot after errant shot.

You line yourself up, scrunching your face in concentration as you bare the blaster in your hands. Maybe this time…

You fire off a round and an animal scampers scared in the thicket. Nothing. Another sublime miss.

You hear a noise come from Mando’s direction, something subtle like a blip of static through his helmet - Maker, he’s laughing at you - and you pivot around to him.

“What,” you ask, although it's less of a question and more of a griping pout. He replies with silence, that fickle language he's mastered to perfection all on his own, his focus pitched down to the bristled rod he’s driving in and out of his rifle, scouring out the residue from the inner barrel. “Ugh, what Mando?” you say, just shy of a whine, one hand slotted on your hip, the other dangling by your side, the pistol foreign and cumbersome in your grasp.

“Didn’t say anything,” he replies with a half shrug, his pauldrons shifting so imperceptibly you almost miss it. You pause, hurling him a look that misses him completely before you heave a frustrated sound.

“Fine, you show me how it’s done then.”

The T of his visor finds you. Its cold and unknowable as he rolls his helmet, tilting it up to you, hands slowing their ministrations to a rest. He’s wears a glare, carved into the steel hollow of the plates—unamused and smoldering—and with it, you feel small; microscopic and withering under his pointed gaze— suddenly too exposed in the open patch of jungled wilderness they’ve landed in and your mouth tweaks, teeth grazing the plush there. You assume he won’t do it. There’s no way he’ll rise to such obvious of a challenge, but he’s sighing—you can see it in the slant of his armor—and marching towards you before you can take it back, drawing closer and closer until Mando’s slated in front of you, expectant and postured and you forget— like the skip of a record, you forget why he’s even there— not a foot before you— and your eyes dance across his helm, flickering back and forth.

“May I?” he nods down to the pistol in your hand and you start - oh, shit - and offer it to him clumsily.

Mando squares off against the untamed green. The air lays hot and sticky around them. There is no trace of wind, no glimmer of breeze, and his cape hangs mute down his back. You’d never seen him fire his weapon. He surrounded himself with them, sure, always had at least two strapped to him at all times— probably even slept with one, you reckon— but you’ve never seen him use one.

With one solid movement, he cranes his arm, taking aim.

Now, you aren’t one to condone violence, but he just looks right doing it; an extension of himself with how natural it is, how innate— an added appendage, born unto him. The pistol looks good in his fist, like it couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else, the orange tips of his glove curling around the hilt, looping over that sensitive release.

He has practiced hands. Methodical. Sturdy. It’s sensual, to watch him like this. Pornographic even— sacrilege in a way. A part of you wants to look away and turn your gaze, grant him privacy as he handles the blaster— delicately, confidently. It’s intimate.

The pistol croons in his palm. She bends, supple and lilting. He knows just where to touch, where to stroke— she does anything he tells her. She melts for him.

Warmth pools in your mouth. Mando pulls the trigger.

He lands an impressive shot onto an impossibly narrow tree trunk nestled further in, and your features contort with amazement. Maybe you want to see it again—like a nosy neighbor peeping in through drawn curtains. Maybe you’re being reckless and smarmy, and maybe you know it. A Mandalorian’s got a gun in his hand and you’re prodding him - brilliant strategy, top marks - but your adrenaline is pumping something fierce and you feel yourself grow bold with each seize of your heart.

“Lucky shot,” you huff.

He pans to you, lolling his head, visor locked onto your face. Without flinching, without gracing you with a remark, he raises his arm and fires— doesn’t even have to kriffing look. The scorch mark sizzles - haughtily, jeering - no more than a few inches away from the first. You nearly choke on the arrogance of it— the lazy, smug performance— like he can’t be bothered with any of it, as if your taunts are all so beneath him.

You have to bite down on your lip to stop it from snaking into a wicked grin.

Mando offers the pistol back to you, flipping it grip-side up in a fancy flourish before striding - strutting - back to his post. You shake your head, a determined set to your jaw and you retake your aim, squinting in the hazy afternoon light, pulling the trigger— and nothing happens.

Again, click. Nothing, click after fruitless click. You make a face, pinching—

“Safety’s on.”

You flush, thanking the Maker that your back is towards him, and switch it down with your thumb. “Right,” you mumble sheepishly, wetting your lip. You align your sights, bracing yourself for the impact—

“It’s your stance.”

Three words.

Three words, the only solace Mando provides before devoutly returning to his work.

You wait for him to elaborate, to edify you— for any manner of sage advice— but the explanation never comes; he leaves you like this, marooned with three fucking words and you have to screw your eyes shut. This man is baffling— maddeningly unhelpful— infuriatingly sparse. It makes you want to howl and rip your hair out— and you whip around violently.

“What about my st-”

Your question comes scampering to a halt, tail between your legs, throat gone dry. Mando has planted himself directly behind you— standing so close you can see your reflection in his beskar, see the blush blurring your cheek under the alien sun.

“What uh, what about my stance?” you ask, mousier now, swallowed up by the sheer size of him so near to you.

“It’s not wide enough.”

You glance down at your feet before looking back up to him. “What do you mean?”

“Turn around,” he says.

You quirk your brow at him before he repeats himself. “Turn around and spread your legs. Hips distance apart.”

Fuck, he has no business sounding like that— like bourbon and smoke and iron tang—but you do as he says. You’re shakier than you want to be— you wish you could be cool and collected but you’re not. You’re anything but, and you’re nervous. Maker, Mando makes you nervous— it’s not just the weapon in your hand, it’s him— setting you off and giving you butterflies like you’re some sort of forlorn schoolgirl. You’re a grown woman, and this is what he’s rendered you to— jittery, molten mush. It’s embarrassing. Fucking mortifying.

You guess it’s the day for it.

He doesn’t touch you, but it hardly matters; you can sense him there all the same, a shadow in your peripheral. He leaves a thick breath of space between your bodies and with your back towards him, you can feel the waves of heat radiate off the bounty hunter, pulsing out out out from him and it’s almost intolerable— as if you’ve flown too close to the sun, waxed wings melting in pearled streaks down your spine.

You scuttle your feet open, parting just outside your hips.

“Arms up,” he says, and you hoist them into position. You’re sure you look as awkward as you feel, if not more, all the angles of your body feeling perfectly wrong and misplaced. “Relax your elbows,” he adds, and you do— you try to, at least.

“Too much. Somewhere in between.”

You try again, strengthening through your triceps and down your forearms.

“Better,” Mando gives. You think you feel him nodding approvingly behind you. “The important-”

Kriff, you panic.

You spin towards him, dropping your form and cutting him off with a humbled, worried look, throwing up barricades and hurdles— landmines for him to dodge. Or step on.

“Wait hey Mando, you don’t- I don’t want to take up your time,” you begin.

“You aren’t.”

“I’m serious, I don’t want to bother you with this.”

“You’re not.”

You blink.

“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right.”

He speaks so plainly, unvarnished and matte— unflinchingly earnest in a way that gives you pause. It leaves no wiggle room for interpretation and you sigh, defeated, shoulders slumping as you haul yourself back around.

“Arms up,” he reiterates, but there’s no malice there; he sounds kind— untroubled. It always surprises you how mild he can be— Mando should be anything but, he’d have every reason to, but he’s calm. Patient. You wonder if he even realizes it, if he even recognizes the tenor of his own voice— how gentle it can be— under the helmet. Despite it.

“Think of your posture as firm, without tensing,” Mando explains. “Soften your knees, don’t lock them— same goes for your arms— don’t stiffen against the recoil, let your body absorb it.”

You mirror what he coaches, shooting him a curious, hopeful look over your shoulder.

“There. Good,” he says. “Now, which is your dominant eye?”

Your arms fall down to your sides. “My what?”

“Dominant eye.”

You give him a baffled look like he’s speaking another language - in all fairness, he is - and Mando emits another puff of air through his modulator, chortling.

“Eye dominance. We’re all either right handed or left handed. Eyes work the same— right eyed or left eyed. We favor one or the other— you’ll focus that one to aim.”

Oh, huh.

You still appreciatively, basking in the novelty of the information. “Really? I didn’t know that. That’s- that’s actually pretty interesting,” you muse. “Brains and brawn, huh?” You flash a cheeky grin back at him.

Mando grunts, nondescript and unaffected and robotic but he swears he can feel pink creep over his clavicle, tainting the tan of his skin concealed there.

He fits his gloved hand over yours, if only for a second, and you do your best to ignore the rough patch of his leather grazing against the thin flesh there. You try to ignore the chill that sweeps across the curve of your waist, how the peach fuzz prickles up, electrified and magnetized, as he unfurls your fingers from the gun, letting it slip from your grasp. He tucks it under his arm, keeping it pinned there with his bicep.

“Hold your hands out like this.” Mando shows you, creating an oval with his fingers— like a view finder or a scope. You mimic him, feeling like every bit of an idiot, but you don’t contradict him— you do as he does. “Now, set your focus out on a fixed point through your hands,” he instructs and you do, setting your sights on a gnarled tree branch.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it,” you respond.

“Now alternate closing each eye. The image should stay in the frame with one, and then shift out of it with the other.”

You frown, concentrating, and close the right before blinking over to the left— kriff, he’s right.

“Oh shit,” you mumble. “My left. It’s my left eye.”

“You sure?”

You check again, squinting through either eye, the tree bouncing in and out of the frame of your fingers. “Mhm. Yeah, my left eye keeps it centered.”

He makes a thoughtful sound. “Left eyed but right handed. Interesting,” Mando murmurs.

You glance up to him, dropping your hands. “Why is that interesting?”

“Not common. The brain’s typically wired the same way all the way down— one side of the body will be dominant. It’s not usually split.”

“You telling me my brain doesn’t work properly, Mando?” you quip dryly.

“You said it, not me.”

He holds the blaster out to you and you swipe it from him with a huffed snort, returning towards the tree line and stars your face hurts. Your face hurts and it’s burning with this asinine smile that’s digging mercilessly into your cheeks. It makes you want to massage your jaw, get the damn thing to relax. Honestly, it makes you want to give yourself a slap.

“Make sure to cross your center with it. Line it up towards the left.”

“Maker, do you think about all this every time you shoot?” you ask, mystified, as you fix your aim.

“Muscle memory takes over eventually. You’ll get there with enough practice.” Mando replies gruffly and you guffaw, loud and wonderfully ugly. You seriously doubt it.

After a series of very near misses— you are getting closer, you’ll give yourself that— your arms grow tired; the joints and muscles protest as you extend them out from your body, taut and tense— the gun dead weight in your wobbly hands.

Your shoulder smarts where you injured the tendon in the explosion. You roll it out, earning snaps and pops as it notches over the bone there. They told you you were lucky. They congratulated you - it’s not a complete tear! - and it’s on the mend well enough, but it’s weak. It doesn’t matter the weight of the object.

The longer you hold anything, the heavier it feels.

You suppose you could throw in the towel at any point, but the fact of the matter— as terrible and true as it may be— is you want to impress him. That awful, nagging feeling— you want to impress the Mandalorian. You want him proud of you— you want to be nice and shiny for him to admire, like one of the guns he polishes until it’s sparkling, until he can mount it on display and show it off. It’s absolutely nauseating— but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to, and you don’t. You don’t want to.

He isn’t blind to it. He sees the exertion, the tax— how beads of sweat congress around your temples, dampening the base of your scalp, butterfly kissing your skin with a sheen. A trail of wet salt, one lone pilgrim, ventures down the back of your neck, wandering lower and lower, past the hem of your shirt, disappearing into the soft valley of your spine where Mando can’t follow. His throat bobs rough against his cowl.

Transferring the pistol into one hand, you shake out the other, flexing through it and relaxing your grip.

“Wait,” he says and you cock your head back at him. Mando’s retreating to his pile of guns, rifling through the metal anthill before selecting something sleek and chrome. “Here,” you exchange pistols, giving him back the bulkier of the two. Immediately you feel the relief of this new one— it’s lighter and smaller, slighter in your grasp, too— and you turn it over in your hands, noting the way the nozzlelike barrel glitters in the sun.

You’d almost consider it pretty if it weren’t a literal killing machine.

“That’s a CDEF model. Lightweight, reliable, Dedlanite casing, standard issue for CorSec officers.”

You nod along, as if you have any clue what he’s talking about— you don’t. You really, truly don’t.

“Should be easier.”

“Mm,” you hum out in ignorant agreement, slotting your arms back up into position.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.” You rest it against the slide of the barrel, hovering nearby.

Mando shifts closer towards you, the grass grinding under his feet as he takes a half step in to your backside.

“Breathe. Don’t hold it in. Let me hear it.”

Fuck, this feels like a sin; this small gap of distance he’s erected between you as tense, as strained and feverish, as whispered confessions in the dark. Like sneaking back into your parent’s house late at night— the morning moon peering down at you with a heavy lidded gaze— knowing, knowing, keeping your secrets to herself, pressing them to her chest, winking sleepily.

It would be so much easier, so much simpler, if he just put his hands on you. Placed your body where he knows it should be, force you into the shapes and positions he’s so intimate with himself, but he doesn’t. He draws it out. He respects your space and autonomy and it makes it worse. Your imagination fills the void separating you two, and it’s running wild and rampant and depraved and—

“Focus,” he utters, his voice no louder than a purr. You’ve never heard something so mechanical make a sound so deliriously smooth, and you have to suppress a nervous scoff. Focus, he says, as if he isn’t suffocating you with how close he’s standing— as if you aren’t enjoying it— as if you aren’t vibrating down to your very bones at the proximity of the bounty hunter—so close, you bet he can hear them, rattling and slapping against each other deep beneath your skin.

“Remember what I said about your posture,” he suggests quiet-like and murmured, without a trace of condescension there—a harmless reminder. You make the adjustment, fixing your shoulders down your back, and release the stress in your arms.

“Firm without tensing,” you respond under your breath—more for your sake than his— striking it from your mental checklist.

“‘Atta girl.”

No.

No no no, Maker, you feel it. You can fucking feel it—how something low and resonant spasms beyond your belly, the clench of your empty cunt at the encouragement—the heady praise of it all.

Atta girl.

He said it softly - rudely husky - just above a whisper, something tailored specifically for you—almost like it slipped from his lips and he didn’t even notice its passing. It meandered out of him, so easy—too easy. It practically sauntered.

You’re trembling— stars, you hope Mando doesn’t see it. It’s humid and muggy and yet you’re shaking as if it’s freezing, as if you’ve got icicled snot dripping from your nose, and your nerves go haywire, fraying in every direction as you sip in a whistled breath.

You can do this. You can do this. Focus.

“Take the shot,” he orders.

Focus.

Pressing into the slope of the trigger, you fire.

You gasp excitedly— a surprised, whooping laugh tearing through you and you whip around, giddy and beaming - bright, beautiful - a lock of hair sticking to your lip. It’s the youngest, the freest, Mando’s ever seen you; maybe the happiest, too, and his stomach twists at the sight, a tourniquet cinching around him, winding and coiling until he’s convinced it’ll burst. His fingers twitch, every instinct begging him— demanding him— to reach out and return the stray strand behind your ear alongside the others but you beat him to it. Deftly, you flit it away yourself instead, and he’s relieved.

Devastated, too. Gutted.

“Did you see that?” you ask, gleeful as a child.

He pries himself off you, dragging his gaze over your shoulder to where you struck the trunk, a coaled mark charred there into the bark, before returning his attention back to you. You meet his eyes, despite the blackness of his helm— you hold them, for a breathless, ageless moment, you hold him there.

“Not bad.”

He can’t muffle the jolt of his heart as it rumbles through his chest, breaking his mouth wide open into an aching smirk. He doesn’t know if you hear it. He fears you might.

He prays you do.

///

“Cooling vents,”

Metal scrapes against the table as you place the delicate bits down, deconstructing the blaster. The Mandalorian nods, silent as a specter.

“Gas refill valve,”

Another clunk.

“Actuating blaster…” You turn over a particularly knobby bulb before peeking up at Mando through your lashes, a wry grin tugging rosy and coy at your lips. “… thing-”

“Module,” Din corrects.

“Module, right, that’s what I said.”

He sits across the galley from you, arms folded over his chest as he eases back against the hull of the ship, overseeing as you take apart the blaster, the slender little thing he gave to you - he rarely uses it anyways - as you name the pieces and parts just like he’s taught you.

“Keep it,” he told you.

You resisted. You fought it, laughed it off incredulously— stubborn to the end— argued you wouldn’t even have a need for it.

“What am I gonna do with a gun, Mando?” you balked, and Maker he’d hoped you’d never have to use it, would never have to see a firefight in your damn life let alone be in the middle of one, but he wants you to have it— have a part of him, strapped to your hip— the closest he’ll get.

He’s selfish. Din is a greedy, selfish man. He wants to see himself on you, wants you to carry him around like a souvenir from something unforgettable— something irreplaceable— a memory like warm bathwater you dip into long after it passes, and he’ll take whatever he can get— just like you, hungry for anything you’re gracious enough to feed him. And fuck, if he doesn’t hate it— doesn’t want to bury that feeling, cold and lifeless, six feet under the earth. No ceremony. No elegies. Dead and gone, returning to the dust from whence it came, crawling back into the ribcage it sprung from.

Din said your name. Firm— gentle, too.

“Keep it.”

They’ve been at this ever since you managed to hit the target that first time. Hours have passed, dawdling by on the fat little legs of a toddler, plodding and slow. The sun had set, and winged bugs the length of your palm had taken up residency in the dark rainforest, making themselves known with a haunting tune, screeching and singing into the lush wood. After the child had tried making a pass at one, no doubt in the mood for a quick snack - isn’t he always - you had agreed to retire back inside the Crest.

You were so excited, your whole face lit up— like fireworks he remembered once, through the eyes of a boy in the summered night— and you wanted more; like a sponge, sopping up all you could, sucking Din in and ringing him out for it and fuck, he couldn’t say no.

He can’t say no to you.

You start prattling out questions about everything and nothing - what blaster do you prefer, do you have a favorite rifle, what’s the difference between plasma and gas charges, you have a flamethrower on your wrist? - and before long you get him lecturing, going on about weapon safety and trigger discipline and slide bites and ammunition rounds and gun brands and serial numbers and Din knows this isn’t you. You’re a borderline pacifist for kriff’s sake— he’s almost certain that if push came to shove, you’d rather lay down your life than take one. You’re no gunslinger, and you don’t hold any aspirations to become one.

But here you are, fist tucked under your chin and leaning in to him, hanging off his every word.

You have no personal interest in weapons. Frankly you’d be pleased if you never held a gun again in your life. No, and whether Mando realizes it or not, you want to know because it’s him. You want to know him. And maybe it’s because its the most he’s given to you since you stepped foot aboard the Razor Crest— almost a month, and what you’ve gotten from him today alone has been more than he’s given in weeks— not a door so much as it is a window into his life, an allowance, a glimpse behind the beskar. Its more attention, more words and insights, more tiny gestures and maybe you’ve been a little starved for it— maybe you’ll eat up any scraps Mando tosses with a calloused glove, molded and rotting, from his plate.

Even if it’s this, even if its fucking firearms.

You want to know.

It’s who you are: it doesn’t matter what someone’s passionate about, you’re interested in their interests. You care what they care about. If they matter, then it matters. It’s who you are, webbed and weaved into the innermost fabric of your being, and you can’t pretend to be anything else; you don’t know how to unbecome.

You’re splayed before him— a bleating heart, kaleidoscoping and blooming and twisting in his hands. If only you could pry open your chest— turn yourself inside out at the seams, spill yourself to splatter, sanguined and slippery right there on the deck. You’d do it, if you could.

Am I loving enough Am I giving enough Have I paid my debts Am I worth this now, finally— Worth that which I offer, have I earned it back

So effortless, this vignette, seated here in his galley, dismembering a blaster and labeling the parts, terminology klutzy on your tongue— tripping over yourself just to get it out— looking to him for hints and clues, fluttering your doe eyes with cartoonish bats.

He answers. You laugh. He smiles.

The kid is in his pram, entranced by all the shiny baubles and bobbins just out of his reach - thank the Maker - and giggles at their little game— happy, for once, just to watch.

You and me both kid, Din thinks. You and me both.

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mudhornchronicles · 4 years

Text

brick | din djarin

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: making out, season two spoilers, fluff, so much sweetness - willy wonka is jealous

a/n: this is part three of maroon. i’d like to thank @remmysbounty for the request and idea for part 3! i also got inspiration from this post!

also: a scene was inspired by this post

reds: maroon | sanguine | brick

masterlist

“Din Djarin - if you don’t give me that cape this instant, I promise you that this next stop will be your last.”

You stomped your foot and let out an exasperated huff. Your husband stands in front of you, clad in his armor minus the helmet, teasingly waving his tattered cape in front of you. You lunge for the shabby and discolored piece of fabric and nearly trip as he pulls back his precious cape.

“Cyar’ika, I don’t need a new cape. This one works perfectly well. See?” He wraps the material around his broad shoulders and tucks it into his chest plate - making sure it stays intact. “It does its job. All I need it to do is hide body heat from snipers.”

You let out a loud sigh with a dramatized eye roll. “Riduur, please. I didn’t say to get a new cape. I just asked to fix it. So Din, just let me sew the holes at the bottom of the kriffing cape!”

You walk over to him and place your hands on his chest. You trace the ridges of the beskar chest plate and look up at him through your lashes. “Besides… doesn’t the Mand’alor always have to look his best?” You smirk and raise your eyebrows up and down.

He shakes his head no and places his arms around your frame. “The only person I care about looking good for is you. I didn’t ask to be Mand’alor.”

You wrap your arms around his neck to give him a peck on the lips, but he wanted more. He held you tighter and deepened the kiss. Your hands unwrapped from around his neck and cupped his face - one hand on either cheek. His tongue peeked out and licked your bottom lip. A sign you knew meant his tongue asking for permission to join the party. You smiled and invited your tongue to meet his.

You loved kissing your husband. Not because he’s your forever partner, but because kissing him is a dance of sorts. His mouth moves perfectly with yours while your tongues waltz. His big hands on you - one against your lower back and the other bringing you closer to him by your hip. You can kiss him forever and you’d never get tired of it. His facial hair doesn’t get in the way of kissing him, but it can get long enough that it covers his upper lip and that bothers you. You love seeing his lips - especially in the morning as they’re swollen and full from sleep. He tends to groom himself whenever he notices you staring at his lower half of his face.

The pair of you are torn away from your trance when Din hears the navigation device beep indicating that the ship is approaching its destination. Din gives you one last kiss and runs up to the cockpit of the ship Greef Karga let him borrow. You walk up into the cockpit and look out the dashboard and see you are approaching an ocean planet - curious, you thought.

“What’s this planet called, riduur?”

“Ahch-To.”

“Do you have a bounty here? It’s beautiful.”

“No, something even better.”

You look over to him as he turns on a small commlink. When the light glows green, you watch your husband speak into it. “Am I landing across the island?”

You look back out the dashboard in confusion. Who could you husband be speaking to? You wait a few seconds and the commlink comes back alive - a young man’s voice comes through.

“Yes, Mandalorian. Land your craft on the east side of the island. I will send a landspeeder for you. He’d be very upset with me if I had you walk across an island.”

“Copy. Landing on the island’s east.” With that, your husband turns off the commlink and puts it back into his belt pouch.

He lands the ship on the east side of the island, as instructed, and leads you back into the hull. You walk to your shared sleeping quarters and grab his helmet. You walk back and place a chaste kiss on Din’s shaking lips before latching his helmet back into place. He grabs a bag from the floor near the ramp and places it around his shoulder. He grabs your hand into his gloved one and opens the ramp.

You walk off the ship and sure enough, a rusted landspeeder awaits you with an eager R2 unit set up in the back. You walk over to the beeping machine and pet his round top. “Why hello R2 unit, do you have a class number?” The white and blue beeps excitedly and starts to shake. You let out a giggle and continue to pet him. “It’s very nice to meet you, R2-D2. Will you be taking us to whoever my husband is here to see?”

R2-D2 beeps once more and you nod in satisfaction. “Very well, R2. Thank you for picking us up.” You hear a scoff to your left and you turn to see your husband shaking his head in disbelief - all while laughing and putting the final bag in the landspeeder. You put your hands on your hips and lean on one leg.

“Is there an issue, riduur?”

“No,” he puts his hands up in surrender. “Not at all. I just forgot how much you liked to talk to droids. How can you even understand them? They just... beep.” He helps you into the landspeeder and settles himself in. You tell R2-D2 that you are ready to go and the landspeeder begin to move with a beep from R2.

“Every beep is like morse code. Just like sign language has specific angles and motions, droids have specific tones and lengths. My dad had me spend a lot of time with our protocol droid back on Naboo who taught me quite a lot.” Your husband nods in an understanding manner and leans back into his seat. He places an arm around you and you think he may have slept throughout the ride.

When R2-D2 notifies you of your arrival, you and Din jump off the speeder. You collect your things and thank R2-D2 for the ride. He beeps back and asks you to wait as he rides away. You assume he went to park the landspeeder.

You walk into a cottage on the ledge of a cliff that R2 had led you to and are met with colors painting the walls. A child’s drawings plastered on every surface. You leave your things in the spare room R2 told you about and are led to a flat area atop a hill not far from the cottage. You see a young man in a black robe and a small green child sitting in front of each other and you saw… floating rocks? Is this what Din meant when he said you’d see “weird” things?

You were pulled out from your thoughts by a child’s shriek and blabbering. You focus on the scene in front of you as you see the blubbering mess of the green child running towards your husband. You watch in shock as your husband removes his helmet, tosses it to the side and falls to his knees. He catches the youngling in his arms and places a kiss to his wrinkled little head. Din stands and hugs the child tight.

“Hello ad’ika. I’ve missed you so much.”

You can’t help, but smile at the thought that Din brought you here to meet Grogu, his foundling.

“He’s very happy to see you, Mandalorian. When I informed him about your upcoming visit, Grogu couldn’t wipe that smile off his face.”

Din looks over at the young man and nods. He looks back at you and introduces you to the man you now know as Luke Skywalker.

“Grogu.” The child looks up at his father and holds his cheeks in his little claws. Din turns to you and has Grog look at you as he introduces you by name. “This is my riduur - my wife.”

Grogu hides in Din’s neck and shyly waves his claw at you. You thought it would be best to not overcrowd the child, so you wave back at him while keeping your distance.

“Hello, Grogu. It’s very nice to meet you. Your father could not stop talking about you. He loves you very much.”

Grogu coos at you and snuggles into his father’s neck once more. You smile at the baby and look at Din. He’s looking down at his son with the eyes you know to be filled with love.

“How about we go back to the cottage. We can have some food and I can update you on Grogu’s training.”

When you make it back to the cottage, Grogu immediately takes Din into his room in the cottage. You hear Din say phrases such as “good job, kid!” and “is that supposed to be my helmet?” and finally “that’s really good, buddy.” Your heart melts away as you imagine him saying things like that to your biological children. Instead of going into Grogu’s room and making him shy away again, you decide to help Luke prepare dinner as he tells you what Grogu’s training entails. Grogu drags Din to the table set up in the living room - well the middle of the cottage really - and sits him down and hands Din a crayon. He grabs a cookie from the jar on the table and breaks his cookie in half, handing a side to Din. You know Din’s heart is about to explode when you see Grogu clap at Din’s drawing of Grogu’s silver ball.

As you all sit and eat dinner, Luke tells Din about how advanced Grogu is in his training and the kind of power he predicts Grogu will have. Grogu was the first to finish and asked Luke to be excused from the table. When Luke gives him permission, Grogu runs to the table in the middle of the room and continues to draw - his favorite pastime you learn.

As you listen to Luke and Din talk about Grogu for what feels like ages, you feel a tug on your tunic. You look down to see Grogu lifting his arms to you with a paper in one hand and a red crayon in the other. You ask him if he’d like to be picked up by you and he nods. You place the baby on your lap as he places his paper and crayon on the table. You look down and you feel tears forming in your eyes.

His drawing consisted of three people.

One figure was drawn in an obsidian black crayon with a helmet adorning its head - Din.

Another figure was much smaller than the other two and was drawn in a forest green crayon - Grogu.

The third and final figure was drawn in ocean blue crayon. You looked down at your tunic and saw it was blue. He drew you.

He asks you for his red crayon that rolled too far from him to reach. You grab it and read the crayon’s color - brick.

He begins to scribble on the paper above the figures. You assumed he was writing his name or simply scribbling, but when he cooed at you to look, you couldn’t help but give him a gentle squeeze.

Above the figures in Grogu’s scratchy handwriting was the word ALIIT in blocked brick-red letters.

Din looks over to you when he hears you sniffling and is in awe when he spots the drawing. He gives Grogu a loving head rub. Grogu asks for his blue cookies that are placed near Luke. Luke obliges and tells Grogu he can have them. Grogu summons them and mentally drags them until they are in front of him. He grabs one and breaks it in half, offering you one half of his cookie as he eats the other half.

As you bond with your husband’s foundling, you overhear Luke tell Din that Grogu’s training is complete. Grogu had informed him that he did not want to walk the path of the Jedi - he just wanted Din.

“Mandalorian,” Luke warns, “If your Grogu refuses to train as a Jedi, I cannot stop him. His attachment to you is too strong to break. If he is forced to stay, his emotions will get the best of him and the pull towards the darkside will become stronger than ever.”

“Then he goes with us. If he doesn’t need anymore training to control his powers then he can go right?”

Luke simply nods. He then looks at Grogu and as if he told him the plan, Grogu springs in excitement and jumps in your lap. He babbles and looks up at you as if saying “do I really get to go with you guys?”

As yourself and Din pack up Grogu’s possessions before going back to the ship, Grogu makes it clear that he wants every drawing of his neatly packed as well.

With Grogu’s two bags and a box full of drawings, you make it back to the ship. Grogu gives Luke a big hug and places his forehead onto Luke’s. They stay like this for a while and Luke finally says, “no, thank you, Grogu. It’s your turn to take care of your family just as your father took care of you.”

You bid your thank you’s and goodbyes to Jedi Master Luke Skywalker and R2-D2 and promise him that Grogu will come back to see him again. As the ship takes off, you and Grogu look out the dashboard and wave goodbye. You keep waving until Luke and R2D2 look like specks and your view is clouded by oceans.

“What’s next, riduur?”

Din looks over to you and removes his helmet. He looks down at his son and takes Grogu’s claw into his fingers.

“I think it’s time that we formally adopt Grogu.”

You smile and place a kiss on top of Grogu’s head. “Din, have you not vowed him as yours yet?”

Din shakes his head and laughs. “I never had the chance to. I was either getting shot at or he was getting kidnapped.”

You playfully shove him. “Then what are we waiting for? Does the Mand’alor want to start or should I?”

“I found him first so I get to start.”

You roll your eyes and gesture him to continue. You take Grogu’s other hand in yours.

“Ad’ika,” Din clears his throat and begins, “ni k-kyr'tayl gai sa'a. I know your name as my child, Grogu.” Din places a quick kiss on Grogu’s forehead and Grogu smiles brightly.

It’s your turn now. “Grogu, ni kyr'tayl gai sa'a. I know your name as my child, if you’ll have me.”

Grogu seemed to understand what this saying was. He stood onto your lap and hugged you, little claws on your jaw and then launched himself into Din’s arms.

You knew you wanted to start a family with Din ever since you first met the shy little foundling in maroon armor back on Mandalore. You also knew you wanted to have foundlings join your clan, but you didn’t know that the foundling would turn out to be a green baby with jedi powers. Though you don’t fully understand Grogu’s powers, you wouldn’t wish for a different little kid.

As you’re putting Grogu to bed, you hear Din come into the ship’s hull trying his hardest to be quiet. Din may be covered with beskar with head to toe, but he can sneak up behind you like nobody’s business. You put your hand out to motion him over behind you. He looks over you to see Grogu sleeping peacefully with Din’s cape wrapped around him with a corner of the fabric in his mouth.

“Cyar’ika, do you think - you think we can finally build a home and settle down? I just want Grogu to be able to be a kid.”

You lean back until his torso hits your back. “That sure sounds nice, Din.”

“How does Endor sound? Maybe even Naboo? I know you may not like Naboo because of your mother, but as your husband, I want to give you new memories. I think our kids would like the lakes there. Endor is also a beautiful planet and I’ve heard Ewoks are nice when you offer them food. They’re little teddy bears so our kids would enjoy befriending those little creatures. They’re small, but highly intelligent.”

“What about being the Mand’alor? You have to take back Mandalore for your people. Wouldn’t we have to be on the planet you want to take back?”

“I’ll take back Mandalore, no doubt about that. But that doesn’t mean I can’t start a life with you elsewhere first. I want to make up for the time we were forced apart. I still haven’t given you little warriors.”

“No, Djarin. You haven’t. I think it’s time for you to put in some work and give me a baby. Well, aside from our little green son.”

“I’d jump into a lava river if you’d ask me to.”

“Nah, I just want to raise our four or five babies with you by my side.”

“Four or five babies?”

“Yes. Two biological babies, Grogu, and other foundlings. There are so many children with no one to love them and we both have plenty of love to give. We just need stability.

“That can be arranged, my queen.”

mando’a translations:

cyar’ika = sweetheart

riduur = spouse

mand’alor = leader of Mandalore

ad’ika = little one

gai bal manda = adoption ceremony

Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad = I know your name as my child

taglist: @theocatkov @remmysbounty

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #star wars

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spvce-cowboy · 4 years

Text

a strange beauty

chapter 1 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

next-ch.2: “gentle things”

rating: Explicit

5.8k words

summary: The Mandalorian crashes on an unknown planet. Severely injured, he follows the sound of singing until he, literally, lands in your lap. A trained medic, you begrudgingly decide to help the bounty hunter in order to continue evading a dark past.

warnings: Violence, descriptions of gore, masturbation (m), brief panic attack description, hurt/comfort, angst/fluff, suggested sexual assault, canon divergent (post-season 1), slow burn, eventual smut

a/n: i wrote this after reading the Rough Day series by @no-droids as well as @cptnbvcks ‘s fics. i continue to be inspired by their work so i must give credit where it is due ! my first reader insert/mando thing so let's see how this goes !! thank you for reading <3

What he hears first is song.

It’s nearly night on the unfamiliar planet. At first he thinks the sound is some kind of bizarre hum of wind. He’s crash landed and between the hole in his chest and the blood in his eyes, he can barely stagger forward, let alone think things through, as he stumbles out of the smoldering Crest.

It stuns him, for a moment. On the verge of it all ending, the pain vibrating through his body, and he literally falls into some kind of melody so haunting he can’t help but think he’s already in some cruel kind of afterlife. Underworld would be equally fitting, he deserves that more.

He tries to pull in a breath. The sound that leaves him could only be described as a gurgle. It’s followed by a cough. Something hot and metallic tasting comes up with it, coating the inside of his mouth and dribbling over his chin.

Maker, he’s screwed.

He hadn’t realized how much worse it was going to get until he was finally safe in the Crest. In a daze, he opened the med-kit only to find the last Bacta treatment in a shattered mess. In the fresher, he tried to stuff some remaining gauze into the gaping hole on his right pectoral. He really tried not to pass out. He wasn’t successful. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the knife wound, but every breath exited in a fluttering wheeze he was barely able to push through. It must have punctured a lung. Fucker was able to get right up under the armor.

Delirious with blood loss, he could barely register the one-handed climb into the cockpit and typing in whatever coordinates first come to mind before he blacked out again. It was in and out from there. He thought he entered Naboo, somewhere safe and familiar and not teaming with others who’d like to do much more and worse than he had already weathered, but a glance at the red-orange slicked control panel told him he was quickly approaching an uncharted planet. His hands were uncontrollably shaking, covered in his own blood and who knows who else’s. He had no idea if the Crest has the ability to dampen the landing but it was too late to start asking favors of some higher power now.

“Sorry, kid.” It’s all Mando could think to say, voice barely registering over the modulator.

The child was fast asleep already. He had to mend Mando’s spine in order for Mando to drag himself back to the Crest once the smoke of the battlefield had settled.

Mando’s entire body was still vibrating from the energy of it, probably the only thing keeping his heart beating. He was barely conscious long enough to slide the shields shut on the child’s cradle before impact.

It had been a long day.

He woke, miraculously still breathing—if the futile gasps trying to be made around a collapsed lung could be called something like that. He swung his heavy head around, blindly grasping the child’s cradle and pulling it behind him. The child was still asleep—unharmed save for a dent on the side of his crib that sputtered with an occasional spark. It took Mando a moment to register the alarms blaring, the flashing lights and acrid smell of scorched plastic and metal.

He doesn’t remember staggering out of the Crest. Just that now he is in a field of some sort, staggering forward with the kid’s cradle following close behind.

It is only then that he hears the song.

An idyllic hillside stretches before him, tall grass dotted with small, yellow wildflowers reach to meet a light fog. In the distance there’s the shadowed suggestion of mountains. If he didn’t know any better, he would really think this was Naboo. Mando can’t even begin to comprehend how his brain is able to process any of it. Really? You’re about to take your last handful of breaths and you’re taking in the flowers of all things? Though maybe he isn’t, if he is able to. His head begins to fill with a kind of static where nothing makes any sense.

He can hear, at least. Very well. Well enough to recognize that there is some kind of singing, some kind of song, reverberating through the sensors of his helmet loud enough to bring him back to reality.

A song isn’t necessarily the right word for it—there are no words, or, at least, no words Mando could distinguish. Sound, more like. Melodious sound. Long, whooping notes of crisp sound. A siren’s call. So he follows the singing.

Mando doesn’t know how long it takes to reach its origin—between his quickly blackening vision or the equally disorienting fog, it is hard to navigate the expanse of green before him, let alone determine the time it takes to see the slight silhouette in the distance. Once he does, it’s a stumbling, panting race to reach it before his legs give out. Mando falls once, then pushes himself up. He doesn’t have the ability to call out around the useless, deflated bag of tissue leaning against the right side of his ribcage, so he keeps pushing forward. And it’s like he’s running in a dream, the pace as which he lurches forward, trailing blood and gore behind him. And he’s trying to move but he keeps almost falling and the figure is getting closer but it isn’t moving and he’s half certain he’s hallucinated it all and this is it. It’s over. All this for almost nothing and what about the kid. What about this kid if it’s over and. It’s over and. And.

And it’s you. Standing there. A long dress lifting slightly with the breeze. Your back is to him, hair swept over and through itself in an intricate braid. When you turn, your face is already contorted in shock.

And still, you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

The Mandalorian falls to his knees, colliding with the ground before he can even process losing feeling in the lower half of his body.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

In it, he is Din again. For the first time in a long time. He knows this in the way one just knows things, in dreams.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

He is kneeling before it, in defeat or prayer he does not know. It is one in the same, either way.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

It touches his face gently. When it does, he vomits ticks or leeches, depends on the day. They spill into his hands and he is left there. Staring at them. Writhing, they slip through the fingers of his cupped palms. He always wakes before they reach the ground.

On waking, the first thing he notices is that the grass is trying to reclaim the house.

He knows that he is in a house because of the soft mattress beneath him, pressing up and into his body as if in some kind of forgiveness. It’s a single room cabin, a dirt floor, a single bed, a kitchen to the far wall. Incredibly bright with three windows of varied size above the sink. As he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees are sparse but tall green stalks brushing the leg of a sturdy looking olbio-wood table, a messy collection of bloodied bandages, glass bottles, and bowls resting atop its surface. A flower dots the top of only one of the stalks, its petals no bigger than the nail of his thumb. He hears two soft voices, speaking from somewhere above him. Darkness clouds his vision as soon as he realizes he is awake.

When his eyes open again he is already in the process of sitting up, holding his shoulder with a grunt. He fully gains consciousness in the middle of the action, in time to barely recognize a cry of surprise as something clatters to the floor. He swings his head around, right hand automatically going to his holster despite the burning pain the motion conjures. Empty.

He turns sharply and it’s you. It’s you, again, looking all the more surprised at his sudden waking than you had when he was dragging his half-dead body towards you.

Your hands are pressed against your stomach, the wooden bowl of some sludge-like salve at your booted feet. Your eyes are wide, frozen as if he had a weapon to draw. The skin beneath them is puffy and discolored with exhaustion. Your dress is now smeared with what he can only assume is his own rust-brown blood. The dress presses tightly against your chest with your heavy breathing. Mando’s gaze catches there, for a moment, in spite of himself, before traveling again to your face. Wide eyes, plush lips slightly parted--your hair is in a loose bun that has barely managed to contain itself, escaped pieces gently framing your face. You’re one of the most beautiful creatures he has ever seen. His resolve hardens immediately because of it.

You press your lips together firmly in annoyance, almost in tandem with Mando clenching his own jaw. You stoop low to snatch the bowl and pestle from where they lay at your feet, irritation radiating off of you in waves.

“You’re taking my bed, Mandalorian.” Your voice is steady for the most part, but falters slightly with his name. It betrays the fear in your eyes, nearly masked by the tightness in your tone. Regardless, you persist. Straitening with the bowl pressed between your hip and forearm, you gesture with your free hand towards where he is still reaching for a non-existent weapon. “It is unbecoming to start our acquaintance with threats.”

“I was here with a… a companion,” his voice sounds absolutely ragged over the vocoder. Mando whips his head back around to scan the room, heart pounding. His shoulder feels like it is on fire. He begins to struggle to his feet. He fails.

“The little one is fine, resting.” You blow an offending strand of hair off your forehead with a frustrated, upward huff. “You’ve been out for days. We’ve been up every night trying to keep you breathing. Frankly, I could care less if you choked on your own tongue.” Your voice gets less biting when you’re facing him directly, as if the courage for your snark is dependent on not being able to see him. You continue, “Am’ile, however, is an old friend of an acquaintance of yours. You’d care to show her a little more respect.”

With another huff, you’re turning away and pushing through the piece of fabric that functions as a door. He watches you as you reappear through the wide window stationed just above the kitchen sink. Mando sags against the bed’s simple headrest.

There are little pieces of stained glass that have been strung from the tops of the windows, dripping down like raindrops. He watches them for a moment, clattering into one another. Mando swallows, shaking his head. He tries to take a few deep breaths before attempting to stand once again. He isn’t successful.

“I wouldn’t test that one, Mandalorian.” This voice is much older, slightly raspy in a way that automatically demands a lowered head or a knee pressed into the earth. A long-fingered hand pushes past the fabric still swaying from your exit. An elderly Bardottan woman enters, regarding him a moment. The child coos in the arm she cradles him with, his hands reaching out towards Mando. The Bardottan smiles, wobbling over to the bed and laying the child at his side. “She doesn’t like it when kindness is taken for granted.”

She turns, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting down with a sigh. He can tell her age by the halting way she walks, one four-fingered hand resting against her lower back, her leathered yellow-green skin’s pale stripes dulled by time. “Am’ile Dovalien of Naboo. I am an old friend of Caraynthia Dune, from her Republic days,” she takes her time with her words, and then even more to regard him. “You’re looking rough for wear, Mandalorian. I’d ease up on that shoulder before you put all the girl’s work to waste.”

An old friend of Cara’s. He doesn’t know why it’s surprising by any means. Cara’s discussed her time before the war enough, and it is not like she is… inhibited, he guesses, is the right word…by the Way. So of course she would have “old friends.” Good friends. Maybe it’s surprising because he feels like there are similarities between the two of them that he has not shared with anyone else, odd to think she is able to having something that he does not.

“Who is she? The girl?” The words leave his mouth abruptly, before he can think them through. They hang there for a moment before Am’ile answers.

The Bardottan says your full name, he’s noticed she has a habit of doing so. Between that and her syrupy accent, it lends anyone she mentions in the conversation a kind of regal stature that he can’t help but admire. “She is my student. I hope she didn’t… frighten you too much. It’s rare we get visitors from outside the local village. You’re the first of her kind she’s encountered in almost six years now.”

The child chirps, clambering onto Mando’s chest. The pain is sharp and immediate. The man makes a sound he can’t control, using his good arm to pull the kid off and tuck him into his side. “Thank you, for all of this.” He’s ashamed he didn’t manage to get it out sooner, his lips pressed together firmly under the beskar. “I… I had to retreat before I could complete the job. I don’t have many credits on me but—"

“Do not, Mandalorian,” Am’ile shakes her head. “I would be insulted if you do.” She stands with a struggle, using the edge of the table to help herself up and waddling to his bedside, extending both boney arms for the child. Mando does what he can to help prop him back into the crook of Am’ile’s elbow. “Keep resting, if today’s treatments take well, you can start repairing your ship by tomorrow morning. The locals are a secluded people, they do not like strangers staying for very long.”

“Thank you,” he says. She hums something low in her throat in affirmation, flicking her hand in Mando’s direction with her back already turned. The fabric of the door only stills after a few minutes of swaying.

After your first—well, technically second—encounter, you don’t really make conversation when you come in to check on Mando’s healing and clean up the medical station Am’ile and you had established on the kitchen table. It’s all matter-of-fact, from the tilt of your shoulders to the set of your jaw. When you do directly address him, he notices that you stare at the space just above his helmet, never into the t-shaped visor. Never right at him.

He deserves it, he supposes. Never one for talking unless necessary, he’s fine with the complete silence interspersed with: “Okay breathe in, breathe out,” as you check if his stitches can hold, or “try and stand up, walk around the table” hovering a few inches away in case he falls. It seems like Am’ile is the one who takes over the more internal matters, coming in to check on his lung capacity, if his ribs were healing in the proper place.

Apparently the child had to mend the worst of it, now all that was left over was a grinding, bone-deep soreness that comes with being put together from the inside out, as well as some particularly nasty scrapes, the surface remnants of the near-fatal stab wounds. The child had tried to heal those, too, later that morning, but Mando pushed his tiny hand aside, just as he had done the first time.

“No need to waste your energy, womp rat. Save that up for someone else,” he pats the kid’s head as he say this, placing him on the ground with a wince to toddle around the room in search of trouble.

You have your back to the both of them, washing a bowl once filled with Mando’s dirty bandages. You pause as he says this, head tilted slightly over your left shoulder as if contemplating turning around. After a beat, you seem to reevaluate and continue washing the blood out of the bowl, scrubbing at it with a brush heavy with soap. You’re wearing a different dress now, looser, cinched at the waist with a green-brown apron. You dry the bowl with the corner of your apron and start on the next object, a gleaming pair of surgical scissors.

It seems as if you’ve just come from a bath, hair wet and tucked behind your ears as you work. When you first entered, he thinks he heard you mention something about it, now that his condition had stabled. It was mumbled so quietly he almost believes he’s imagined it.

He wants to ask you where the glass hanging from the window is from, how you managed to string it up so perfectly that when the suns get to a certain place, as they were in that moment, it sent a kaleidoscope of colors onto the floor. A kaleidoscope of colors that dapple your face in such a beautiful pattern he half expects he’s in the middle of some torturous spice-dream.

When you turn to leave again, Mando turns his head to stare forward, feigning sleep.

When Am’ile confirms that the treatments have taken well, pointing out all the signs to you as you stand back with your arms crossed and nod intermittently, a diligent student. A part of him is okay with being a living anatomy model as long as it means you actually looking at him.

Once given the clear, he spends the next two days working on the Crest. It was, thankfully, in much better shape than he thought. A bit difficult to go about making the repairs the first day with one of his arms in a sling, but breathing is easier and the deep pain has been replaced with a dull ache that is less difficult to push aside for the time being.

You bring him meals and check his stitches at the crash site—you seem to continuously clarify that you’re only doing this because Am’ile’s hips cannot take the inclines of the hills anymore. Every time you hike up the grassy slope towards him you seem to get a little bit braver, looking him evenly in the eyes for short periods each time.

He’s grateful to see you each time. It’s been a long time since he’s eaten anything that wasn’t from a cantina or a freeze-dried bar. Even though he eats quickly, pushing his helm just below the tip of his nose to do so, he savors it all the same. You turn your back to him as he eats for privacy, playing with the child.

His third morning working on the ship, he gets up at dawn. He’s restless and wants to finish the build as soon as possible, get out of here before Greef Karga starts getting antsy with his absence. A very small, very weak part of himself also knows the longer he stays, the more he becomes a threat to a place like this. It’s too warm. Too gentle. He doesn’t belong here. Something about his presence is disruptive. He just knows this.

Mando still can’t bear the weight of the beskar against his bad shoulder. He pulls on the button-down tunic Am’ile had asked him to wear in order to get better access to his stitches with a wince. It’s a dark green kind of fabric, loose enough to fit both him and the bulk of his bandages comfortably. He’s still a bit light headed on his way to the Crest, but once settled beneath the hull he’s fine.

You come up with breakfast at around the same time as the previous day, setting it on the ground a few feet away from him as if he were some kind of cornered animal you were trying to lull into some sense of false security.

The child babbles something unintelligible from your arms as you turn your back and sit down in the grass. The child had been spending nights with you and Am’ile in the neighboring cabin, since Mando had taken the cabin you’d been sleeping in previously. Am’ile told Mando it was so he could get the rest he needs, without having to worry about the little one. One glance at the way you act around the kid makes it plainly clear that you’re absolutely smitten. It’s hard not to be.

Mando eats quickly, lowering his helmet and turning to give you the clear. You don’t respond, too consumed with attempting to thwart the child’s attempts to catch a hopping bug the size of your palm. You’re wearing a tank top and long, brown cargo pants, seated with your legs crossed and leaning forward every so often to plop the kid back into your lap every time he toddles too far.

There’s a moment where he allows his eyes to trace the elegant curve of your shoulders. Something in his throat tightens. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he pushes himself to his feet and resumes the task at hand. Leaning down to pick up a replacement panel, he straightens with a grunt.

“What are you doing?” Your voice surprises him enough to drop the paneling. It barely misses his booted foot. Small hands wrap around both his biceps, pulling him back. “Stars, stop that you’re gonna—”

And suddenly you’re in front of him, a whole head shorter yet already fussing over him like some family pet. You keep talking to yourself as you do so, maneuvering him to sit with his back leaning against the Crest, kneeling beside him as you pop the buttons of his shirt open. It’s like you started in a moment of complete vindication, and how have to keep up the act despite a deflating confidence. “I feel like the best bounty hunter in the galaxy could maybe use some common sense after getting fresh stitches, just a thought but you obviously could care less…”

You keep talking, he knows that because he sees your mouth moving, but after that last word your hands are against his chest, unwrapping the bandages to check the punctured skin underneath. Your bare hands, on his bare chest. Any possible thought he could have formed after the fact left his head instantly.

He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had touched him, especially like this. Before, when you and Am’ile started patching him up, he was out cold. When you checked on his healing wounds the day before, you had politely asked him to remove his shirt and bandages with an undeniable warble in your voice, standing with your hands clasped behind your back and only glancing at his chest before instructing him to refresh his gauze.

They are soft and a bit colder than he’d expected. So soft. One hand is wrapped around his right trapezius, thumb resting in the dip of his collarbone, and the other cupping his left ribs as if he was trying to get away somehow. Something in him instantly stills. You keep your hands like that as you observe the wound. You give another huff,

“Don’t move.” You turn away, scooping up the kid and walking back down the hill.

He’s not sure if it’s in obedience to you or pure shock, but by the time you return, mumbling something about Am’ile taking over babysitting, he hasn’t moved a muscle. You dab on another layer of ointment, rewrapping his bandages. Satisfied with your work, you sniff, placing your hands on your hips to look back up at him. “What do you need lifted?”

Mando blinks, pausing long enough that you narrow your eyes, chin raised. “Well?”

After a beat, he gestures to the panel he dropped earlier. You both work together, in complete silence, for the rest of the day.

When both suns sit low and heavy in the horizon, you raise your hand to your to your forehead and squint at the place where they are held by the two ragged lines of distant mountains. “It’s a strange kind of beauty, isn’t it.”

He looks at you, looking at the suns. When he doesn’t say anything, you wipe at the sweat and grease smeared across your forehead with the back of your forearm. Wordlessly, you brush your hands off on your pants twice before turning back down the hill.

Mando continues soldering wires. He only pauses an hour or so later, when he hears the song again. He puts down his tools and sits in the grass with his back to the Crest, staring out and into the mountain range before him, the two rocky faces cupping two entangled suns, one indistinguishable from the other. The song is as sweeping and ethereal as when he first heard it, heard you. He takes off his gloves, closes his eyes, and runs his fingers through the grass. He curls them into fists.

Later that night, he has to stumble out of the house and into one of the fields in order to keep the thoughts silent. He has the dream again, it is always impossible to keep sleeping after. He’d been up for hours at that point, trying to breathe through bursts of absolute, vision-blurring panic.

Usually he rests in hour-long bursts, whenever the time allows. He’s gone days without it, to the point that it’s more comfortable to refuse it than give in. It always gets worse when he allows himself to sleep at night. Whatever it is, it always gets worse.

But there’s nothing to fucking do here but think.

It’s the bed. There’s something maddening about your mattress. He hadn’t been touched by another, skin to skin, in so long--the trails of fire your gentle hands left made something in his lower abdomen squirm, restlessly. Hopelessly. Without thinking, he lifts his cock from the waistband of his pants.

Nothing in him can keep the images out. The curve of your knuckles brushing his collarbone. His hand rises in a hard stroke. The low hum you gave once you pushed aside his tunic, unraveling the bandages. Eyes searching for damage. Another stroke, this one even more forceful than the last. The light from the glass against your skin, against the elegant curve of your throat. His thumb comes up to catch the head, already seeping with pre-come. Your gentle palm, dwarfed by the bicep it was pressed against yet steady and determined all the same. He’s so hard it’s excruciating and—

That first morning. The way your chest pressed and swelled against the tight fabric of your bodice, your breasts nearly pushing themselves up and over the gentle ivory neckline with each inhale.

“F-fuck. Fucking sick,” he chokes out in horror as he finishes, his cock pulsing in his hand, his releases onto the damp ground before him. Shame settles itself in place of the writhing desire in his stomach. It is a much deeper feeling, he realizes, as he lowers himself with barely enough energy to tuck himself back into his pants, wiping his hand on the grass already wet with dew.

The girl is just trying to piece you back together and this is all you can think? But he really can’t remember the last time he was touched. With such kindness. Your hands were the softest thing to grace his body for as long as he could possibly remember. He already knows that this, whatever it is, will be devastating. Absolutely devastating. For this reason, something in him will cling to it for as long as he can.

The cold ground welcomes him, it’s the only measure he is given to realize his skin has quickly grown feverish. He almost falls asleep, right there on the ground. But there’s a gentle cry, from the neighboring house, just across the field from his—er, your—cabin. A gentle cry that quickly turns into an all too familiar hiccuping wail. From where he is curled on the ground, he can see right through one of the house’s windows as a lantern flicks on.

It’s just your silhouette, backlit by a warm orange light. You pace in small circles, bouncing the child on your hip, occasionally leaning your head down in what he could only think is to whisper something, just for you and the child. To press a kiss to the dip of his wrinkled forehead. He calms quickly afterwards, but you keep walking anyway. It’s a strange beauty, being able to watch your two forms, the way they bend and lean into the other, rendered indistinguishable by the lantern’s low light. Mando stays there for a long time.

“What is that sound?”

It’s almost nightfall again, the next day. Both Am’ile and Mando are seated at the table in your cabin. The Bardottan woman is playing a card game across from him that he’s been silently observing as they wait for one of his final treatments to sink back in. No bacta, here. Am’ile informed him on his first day. Too isolated of a planet. Her remedies are equally good if not better treatment, just needing some patience.

The singing has started again. It’s the only hint of your presence he’s gotten since the morning, when you unceremoniously plopped a plate of food at the food of his bed and told him you had informed everyone to steer clear of the cabin so he could take his time eating without “that thing on your head.” It was the best meal he’d had in a long while, sugared bread with a fruit jam and a piece of meat that tasted like some kind of mutton.

You start singing right as the healing muscles in his right shoulder have started to go warm and tingly with the salve Am’ile applied. When she doesn’t remove her gaze from her cards, he asks her again.

“What is that sound?”

Am’ile glances up, regarding him for a moment. She says your name, softly, turning her horse-like head towards the window to stare out into the gently moving grass, the empty orange of sunset turning the cut faces of the mountains a dull purple. “It’s a traditional song, from her home planet. It’s how they would call in the seasons, pray for the weather they needed to survive—the people here ask her to sing at nightfall. They say she summons a calm night. When she first arrived it… took some negotiating to allow her to stay.” Am’ile has the gentle, warbling voice of an old grandmother. There is another note from outside, long and slow and beautiful, ending in a sharp, high whoop that reverberates against the sides of the hills. “We look after their children when they go for hunts, it’s how we pay for our place here. This planet has been untouched for centuries, but the beasts are fierce. Would put any Endorian boar-wolf to shame.”

“And why is she here, with you?”

Am’ile is quiet for a moment. Her gaze remains fixed out the window. “She is escaping from a new kind of debt, Mandalorian.” The phrasing hangs in the air, static with its own weight. “The, ah… ex-Imperial officials who turned into warlords after the Civil War...” She looks like she does not want to continue any further. Mando waits in silence. She caves, they always tend to.

“The girl was a nursemaid, by label. They have drugs now, that tell your body you are with child. Lactation, pain of the body so deep it keeps you complacent. It’s a fetish for them, functional for their wives with babies they want nothing to do with. Miserable existence. Caraynthia Dune and I did much work trying to free as many girls as possible years ago, when she was still a soldier. I’d given up the fight, started this farm—began working as a healer for the locals, a peaceful people. The girl found me herself. I still have no idea how. She’s a fighter. Stronger than most any I’ve come across.”

Am’ile’s eyes grow sharp in a way Mando never expected they could. He’s taken aback momentarily, she can’t see his hands flex from under the table. “I have trained her to the best of my abilities, she’d be accepted as a distinguished medic at any Republic facility without a bat of the eye.” She doesn’t have to see Mando’s face to know that he’s in the process of rolling his eyes. “The girl is in danger staying here—they don’t care about what they’d consider to be former cattle as long as they don’t mock the warlords by staying sedentary. She may not be an engineer, but she’s professional--one of the best medics I’ve trained. Kindest, too. You’ll need someone to look after that lung,” Am’ile leans forward, resting a boney elbow against the table and extending a long forefinger to circle the space in front of Mando’s chest. She continues, “Amazing with children. Can hold her own well enough in a fight. Please don’t ever tell her I’ve told you this, but she has asked me to ah… propose this to you. Since the first night of your arrival she has asked to help on board. I know you’ve been looking for a… a… caretaker. The girl is it, Mandalorian. I know you’re an honorable man. I know you would treat her fairly, with kindness. It’s what she deserves. She’s all you could possibly ask for.”

The words hang in the air for a long time. Mando leans both forearms against the table, looking down at his loosely clasped hands. He takes five breaths, then looks back up at Am’ile. “One of the best medics you’ve trained?”

“The best,” Am’ile smiles to herself. It appears as if she already knows his answer. “Without hesitation, the best.”

“With that bedside manner?”

There is a beat of complete silence. Then Bardottan woman bursts into gleeful laughter, nodding her head as she does. The joy of it is enough to fill the entire room.

Mando looks down at his hands and allows himself a small, private smile. It was the closest thing to: yes. Absolutely, yes, that he’s brave enough to voice.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. In it, he is Din, again. For the first time in a long time.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. He is kneeling in prayer.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. She touches his face gently. He reaches out to her.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch.1 #fanfic #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mando and grogu #grogu

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cherrysrambles · 4 years

Text

Acid Burn

Summary: ***I don’t know why, but you have to stay back on Nevarro for what I'm sure is a good reason***

- You have to leave the Mandalorian and Grogu for a few days, but when you reunite, things aren't exactly as they used to be. You start to doubt everything until an accident on the ship brings out your true feelings for one another

Warnings: Super super fluffy and maybe a teeny bit of sexiness? Maybe if you look really hard

Words: 3,279

‘Din, I need to stay and help’

‘What?’

‘I can’t go with you, they need me here, you know that’

The Mandalorian nods his head curtly ‘How long will you be?’

‘Three days’ you say quietly

He nods and moves to make his way to the ship

‘Will you come back for me?’ You whisper, unsure if he even heard you

He stops and turns back to you ‘of course I will, if that is what you want’

‘You know I do’

He slowly walks over to you and rubs your cheek, softly pulling your forehead towards his, you realise he’s giving you a keldabe kiss. ‘You know what this means?’ He whispers

You nod

‘Then know that I will always come back for you Cyar’ika’

After a moment you pull back and pick up Grogu

‘Look after your father buddy, do everything he asks and try not to drive him too insane ok?’

He gurgles an unhappy noise

‘I know sweetheart, I’ll miss you more, but its only for a few days, I’ll be back with you before you know it’ He starts to cry and your heart breaks, you hand him back to Din, utter another useless bye and watch them board the Razor Crest.

*Three days later*

Your heart leaps as you watch the Razor Crest come into view and land in front you. It feels like an eternity since you’ve seen them. The ramp opens and Grogu runs as fast as his tiny legs will let him down to you. You scoop him up and spin him around as you both laugh, you spot Din standing at the top of the ramp waiting for you to come inside. You freeze and stare at him, wow, you forgot just how wet he makes you. Grogu touches your face and you’re brought back to reality, you make your way onto the ship.

‘Did you miss me?’ You say coyly

‘I did’ he replies, and you think that’s all you’re going to get out of him for a while. You make your way up to the cockpit so you can get away from this place.

You put Grogu down into his seat and notice a piece of paper stuck to the wall of the crest. You examine it closer, it looks like, a Callander? A countdown of some sort? Then it hits you

‘Oh sweetheart, did daddy make you a chart to countdown till I got back?’ He nods and mumbles, you assume he’s explaining what the chart actually is, you nod in mock understanding. ‘He couldn’t understand the concept of days, every now and then he would go to the door and wait for me to open them so you could come back to us. So I made the chart for him to have as a countdown’ Din explains.

‘Did it help?’

‘Yes and no. He understood that every morning when he woke up we would cross another day off, but then he started to think that after every nap he could cross a day off. Worked for me, since I didn’t have to battle with him to go to sleep’

‘It’s ok honey, I’m back now and I don’t expect to leave you again like that, ok?’

You pull a black pouch out of you pocket

‘I got a present for you’

You pull out a small stuffed mudhorn toy and hand it to Grogu, who is already making grabby hands at it. And just like that, he’s using it as a chew toy.

‘Hey kid, can I see it? Please?’ Din says as Grogu reluctantly hands it to him.

Din looks over the wet toy in his hands

‘A mudhorn?’ He questions?

‘Yeah, there was an old lady making toys at the market, I asked her to make it for me, she gave me a weird look, but you pay anyone enough and they’ll make whatever you want’

He does say anything as he hands the toy back to Grogu

‘I thought it would be cute, ya know? A mudhorn toy for clan mudhorn….. I know it’s silly’

‘No it’s not, it’s.. appropriate’ he says. You sense he wants to say more but you don’t push it.

Within the hour you’re in hyperspace on your way to your next destination, Din said he’ll take you to a nice remote place, somewhere it’ll just be the three of you for a few days, and you couldn’t think of anything better. Din has however been quite distant, even though it’s only been an hour since you’ve been reunited, you can tell there’s something he’s not telling you. After all this time you thought you were making progress with him, getting him to open up more to you but only if he felt comfortable doing so, which he said he did. You hope three days apart haven’t set you back all those months you’ve been on his ship. You decide to go speak to him about it.

After checking that Grogu is sound asleep. You head up into the cockpit where he’s shut himself up.

‘Din?’

‘What!?’ He snaps

‘Excuse me!?’ You say in shock and disbelief. He’s never been disrespectful like this to you

‘I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean that, you caught me off guard, I wasn’t thinki-‘ he rambles and you cut him off

‘What’s wrong?’

He pauses.

‘…I haven’t slept at all these past 3 days’

You nod in understanding

‘Me too’

‘Really?’

‘Yup’ you say with a smile

‘You realise that doesn’t make me happy’

‘I know, come on, lets have a nap’

You lead Din down to where his makeshift cot is. You could lead him to your bed, but you want to be as close as possible to Din, so the tiny storage area will be perfect, he doesn’t question you on this, probably thinking he has the same thought pattern. Which he does.

You kick your boots off and start helping Din with his armour. Your heart flutters each time you get close to him like this, even if it is to help with his beskar. When he’s in just his under clothes you crawl into the cot and get under the blanket waiting for him to join you.

As soon as he lies down next to you, he turns the lights off and you hear the familiar clicks of his helmet coming off. His arm is instantly around you and for the first time in three days, you both fall fast asleep.

When you wake you don’t know how long it’s been but Din isn’t next to you anymore, which isn’t unusual for him, but you did wish that he’d stayed until you woke up seen as you’ve missed him so much. Something is still definitely on his mind, but you’ll just have to wait until he’s comfortable enough to tell you. To be honest, you’re sick of this routine, pretending that you both aren’t madly in love with each other. It's exhausting, but you’d rather have whatever this is, then not have anything at all with Din.

For the rest of the evening you try to stay away from him as much as possible which breaks your heart, but you want to give him his space to think, you don’t want to overbear him with your thoughts and feelings. Maybe he didn’t miss you like you thought? Maybe he liked having time away from you? No, that can’t be right? Can it? Your mind starts to wonder to places that you don’t want it to go. A life without Din and Grogu isn’t the life you want. But maybe its the life he wants? You decide to get Grogu ready for bed, deciding to occupy your mind with something else for the evening. Once he’s bathed and fast asleep you contemplate going up to the cockpit to sit with Din, this is usually the time where you would have one of your long chats, or play stupid games, but tonight you’re just not in the mood. You undress to your simple black panties and throw on one of Din’s old shirts. And as you slip under the covers alone in your bed, you fall fast asleep dreaming of the only man you’ve ever truly loved. Din Djarin.

You awake to a searing pain on your right side, it’s burning and it’s getting worse, then you feel something dripping onto you burning even more, you scream in horror and run to the fresher.

‘Y/N!?’ Din screams as he jumps down the ladder, blaster in hand at your side

‘What’s happening!?’ He follows you to the fresher

You look in the mirror and notice there’s a hole in the shirt your wearing and your skin underneath it is raw and red

‘Acid!?’ You say as you lift the shirt up high on your right side, exposing your breast to Din to get a better look in the mirror. The burn goes from just under your right breast all the way down to the top of your underwear.

‘Acid?’ Din repeats and goes to check in your room. You hear muffled noises but the room starts to spin from the searing pain. ‘Shit, there's a leak!’

‘Din, I think I’m gonna…’ you clutch onto the sink for life trying not to pass out, instantaneously Din is at your side lifting you up and putting you on his cot

‘No passing out, do you hear me, stay with me’ he says but you just writhe around in pain, the burning is getting worse and you’re struggling to stay conscious. You hear Grogu stirring from his sleep ‘Keep him away!’ You yell.

Din runs off and comes back with the bacta spray, you assume he’s locked Grogu away somewhere. The last thing you need is him trying to heal you and then him passing out, no amount of pain is worth injuring Grogu.

‘This will help, ok? but.. but I’m gonna need to open your shirt’ he says panicked

‘Just take it off!’ You yell as you start to shake, modesty is the last thing on your mind right now, but Din being Din, is the only person to ask permission to remove your clothes before he treats you for excruciating acid burns.

He lifts the shirt as high as it will go and liberally sprays you with the bacta, instantly you feel a slight relief.

‘We don’t have any bacta patches, so I’m just going to have to keep spraying you with the bacta spray, ok?’ He says in a shaky breath as he pulls your shirt down and takes your hand in his

Your eyes are still shut tight, but you manage a nod.

True to his words, after a few minutes he lifts your shirt again and starts spraying, you don’t know after how many times he does this, but you can feel the pain subsiding and you open your eyes.

“I have to check on the kid, I’ll be right back’ he says

You slowly try to sit up, but Din rushes back and tries to push you back down.

‘Woahh easy there, you need to rest’ he says

‘No, I need to shower’ you say as you shuffle down the bed

‘Shower!? I don’t think so, you can barely stand’

You try to get up, but your legs fail you as Din supports you

‘Cyar’ika, please, just lie down and rest’ he pleads

‘Din, I can’t, I feel all sweaty and gross and I’m sticking to these clothes, to the blanket and I’m burning up I just need a shower to relax, there’s no way I can rest like this’ you utter helplessly

He doesn’t say anything.

‘If it makes you feel better you can watch me, I really don’t care’ you say as you make your way to the fresher. You can feel the bacta slowly kicking in.

As you get in the fresher you start to undress and turn the shower on and get under the cool water

‘Door stays open and I’m going to stand here and make sure you’re ok’ you look over and see him with his back to you.

The room starts to spin again as you hastily let the water run all over you and you’ve cooled down, you wrap your towel around you and walk over to the sink

‘Fuck’ you whisper, the room starts to spin even worse but Din catches you just in time again. He holds you tight to him and you breathe his scent in, calming you instantly. He pulls back and places you against a ledge, confident you won’t fall ‘hold on’ he says, he comes back with another one of his shirts.

He places the shirt over your head and you pull your arms through, once the shirt is on and it’s covering your knees, he carefully drags the towel off you and throws it to the side.

‘Hold onto my shoulders’ he says as he gently helps you into a new pair of underwear he’s brought over trying not to let it touch your burn. He carries you over to the cot and lays you down, pulling the bacta out and spraying you once more. He pulls back to take his armour off, and lays down beside you pulling you tight into his arms, careful not to hurt you. You’re both lying on your sides facing each other, your head resting on Din’s shoulder.

‘I’m going to turn the lights off, if that’s ok’ he says. You nod.

The lights go off, and his helmet comes off. What he does next, surprises you.

You can feel his breath on your shoulder as he holds you close, and then you can feel his lips follow suit. A small kiss is left on your shoulder and he whispers ‘I can’t believe I almost lost you’

‘You didn’t lose me Din, I’m ok, I’m still here’

‘But I could’ve, if that acid had gotten all over you then… I don’t know what I’d do without you’ he kisses your shoulder again, this time leaving his lips on you

‘Shhh, don’t think like that, I’m ok, everything will be fine’ he drags his lips from your shoulder to your forehead and gives you one last kiss. And with that, you fall asleep in the arms of the one you love.

You wake up, almost a full day later and again Din isn’t with you, but you notice your little green bean snuggled up to you. You lift your shirt up and notice that your wounds have healed, but you do still feel extremely weak. After popping a kiss on Grogu’s sleeping head. You make your way to the fresher and have a real shower this time, as soon as you’re dressed, Din appears. ‘How’re you feeling?’ He asks, voice land with concern

‘A lot better, thank you’

‘Can I see?’ He asks. You lift your shirt up and show him, his hand reaches out to touch you, but at the last second he pulls back. This action hurts you and you remember that he’s been acting extremely weird ever since you got back.

‘You should get some more rest’ he says as he makes his way back up to the cockpit. You decide to have something small to eat and not let his actions bother you.

As you finish eating your bread and berries, you notice Din has parked the ship in a field somewhere. So he doesn’t actually need to be piloting the ship, he’s just up there avoiding you. Tears start to prick your eyes, you grab a blanket and go lower the ramp to sit outside and get some air.

After sitting outside for a good few minutes, you hear Din’s footsteps as he comes to sit next to you, none of you say a word. You decide that he’s not going to tell you himself so you might as well ask.

‘Din, is something wrong? You’ve been off with me ever since I got back’

‘I’m sorry’ he whispers ‘I know I’ve been difficult and distant, and that’s not my intention to be like that with you’

‘Then what is it?’

‘I….. I got you something, but I don’t know if you’re going to like it or not’

‘Why would I not like anything you give me? You could give me trash and as long as I know you got it for me, I would love it regardless, because it came from you’

‘Thats nice to hear, but I guess its not a question of if you’ll like it, I guess I’m worried that you won’t accept it’

‘What is it?’ You repeat

He pulls out a small black bag and hands it to you.

You open the bag and inside is a small metal charm. You examine it closer and see exactly what it is ‘mudhorn’ you whisper

He nods ‘while you were gone, I had the armorer make this for me out of scraps of beskar’

‘Why would I not accept it?’

He pauses and says in such a faint whisper ‘if you accept this, then it’ll mean you’re apart of my clan. Clan mudhorn, I mean I’ve always seen you as part of my clan, I first saw it when I told you my name all those months ago. But I only realised it when we spent time apart. Those 3 days were the worst 3 days of my life, and it made me realise that I don’t want to spend any time apart from you, ever’

He says in a louder voice ‘but nothing has to change if you don’t want it too, I mean, we don’t have to be together, like that’s not what I’m trying to imply, but obviously if you wanted too then we could..’ He starts rambling

‘Din, do you want to?’ You ask, knowing his answer

‘Yes, you already know I’m madly in love with you, I’m not good at any of this stuff, but at least I would think that much is obvious. You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted any of this with. My life was terrible before you came into it, and I’m still so grateful you’re still with me. I can’t give you what you deserve, what you need, all I can give you is my undying love’

‘Din, all I need is you’ you manage to get in

He finally turns and looks at you ‘Really? You really mean that?’ He says shocked

‘I would be honoured to join clan mudhorn, if you’ll have me’

‘And what about being with me?’ He whispers

‘Din Djarin, I love you more than anything, you’re the only man I have ever or will ever love, you are everything I need and more. Please, don’t ever doubt my love for you’

‘Never’ he whispers as he leans in for your second ever keldabe kiss. Secretly longing for a real kiss.

#the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x y/n #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x oc #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fluff #the Mandalorian fic #din djarin fic #Pedro Pascal #the mandalorion fluff #cherrysrambles

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clonemando · 3 years

Text

Star Wars Fun in the Sun Submission

This fic was written for @starwarsfandomfests “Summer Fun in the Sun” event. This event was really fun to participate in and I’m glad I joined in. I was given @anaisonfire to write for and chose to write some fluffy Jangobi for you with some bonding between Jango and the clones and Obi-Wan and young Boba. I hope you enjoy!

Find it on AO3 Here

The sound of the waves lapping at the sand of the beach and the feeling of warm sunlight against his bare skin had Obi-Wan almost dozing in his chair. It had been so long since he could just relax like this and soak in the beauty and sensations of a place instead of worrying about an attack but the war was finally over. A lucky break had come from Fox who had nearly faceplanted onto the council room floor in a combination of his haste to speak with them and complete exhaustion. He had overheard a conversation between Dooku and Palpatine revealing his plans and had recorded it on his helmet cam, giving the Jedi evidence against the now exposed Sith Lord. Dechipping started as soon as they located what it was Palpatine was talking about and within the month, the head had been cut off the snake. Without Palpatine’s funding, a lot of previously Separatist worlds returned to the Republic begging for another chance. Dooku was backed into a corner and he knew it, so he had willingly turned himself into the Jedi council, giving up information on Grievous that led to his capture and the droid army’s shutdown. Things still weren’t perfect. The flaws of the Republic were more obvious than ever. The corruption ran deeper than before. The Clones still didn’t have the rights they deserved.

“What has you frowning like that, cyare? We’re supposed to be on vacation.” Jango’s voice interrupted the downward turn his thoughts had taken and his lips turned up in a warm smile.

“Just thinking about the mess we are not supposed to be thinking about while here. The usual.” He said and Jango snorted when Obi-Wan looked over to soak in the sight of him. Despite seeing his face repeated a million times in the war, none looked quite as handsome as Jango’s own scarred appearance to him.

“That’s fair enough. I keep worrying about Boba.” Jango admitted looking out over where the 212th and 501st were all playing volleyball or splashing in the water or laying in chairs like Jango and Obi-Wan just soaking in the sun. Obi-Wan sighed. Boba was another issue they would have to figure out a solution to. Well, not Boba himself, but how to integrate him into the rest of the family.

“Where is he now?” Obi-Wan asked when he didn’t see the boy in question.

“Inside the hotel room moping. I left him some books to read that I thought he might like so hopefully he’s curled up with one of those at least. I wish I knew how to make it better. I suppose just time with the mind healers for all of us. Watching who he thought was me get their head cut off is not the sort of trauma that goes away in a few months.” Jango murmured rubbing his face and Obi-Wan reached out to squeeze his hand.

“I have to admit it was a big shock to all of us when Dooku revealed you were alive and that the person Mace killed had been one of the clones he had kept personally for purposes such as that. I’m just glad that you survived and that Boba had been able to be located and reunited with you.” He said seriously. Jango nodded.

“If Aurra weren’t already dead I’d kill her again for poisoning him to think I’d want him risking his life that way. I just want him happy and healthy.” He said, squeezing Obi-Wan’s hand back. The relationship that had somehow started between them, since Jango was recovered from where he had been imprisoned and had started helping fight for the clones and clean up the mess that he helped make, was the biggest surprise of all. Obi-Wan had always assumed that Jango was a cold heartless person to have made all the clones and treated them so indifferently, however he had realized that the opposite was in fact true. Jango cared greatly for the clones but he had been just as much a prisoner in Palpatine and Dooku’s schemes as they had and he had distanced himself to protect them from being targeted due to Dooku thinking he might use them against him. Finding out Jango had also been implanted with a rudimentary version of the chip also explained a few things and allowed him to be pardoned for the attempted hit on Padme. Of course, a lot of it was still on Jango’s shoulders and he was doing all he could to rectify his actions. Somehow in all the working together to help the clones, Obi-Wan and Jango had become close enough to the point that even Boba and Anakin had been calling them a couple behind their backs. Now they really were.

“Vacations don’t work well when we just lay around and let ourselves worry about things. How about we go join in on the death ball game the boys are playing instead?” He offered and Jango chuckled, kissing his cheek.

“That sounds like a great idea. Just don’t complain when my team crushes you.” He said getting up and waving over at Cody.

“Wait a minute! Cody is my commander! He’s going to be on my team!” Obi-Wan quickly hopped up to follow and get integrated into the teams. Obi-Wan ended up on Rex’s team while Jango had cockily gained Cody’s choice, Cody giving Obi-Wan a fake-apologetic smirk.

“You can’t even hold onto your lightsaber and you expect me to think you can keep a ball?” He teased with a lot of clones’ ‘ooo’s surrounding them.

“Oh it’s on now, my dear, you’ve made a grave mistake.” Obi-Wan had said, moving to huddle with his team. In the end, due to a non-Force use rule, the teams were evenly matched and the game never really got far in either team’s favor. They were all just having fun wrestling a ball from each other and trying to get it to the opposite team’s goal. Eventually, they all decided to split the difference and go change in Anakin’s room so he had to deal with all the sand instead of the losing team’s when they broke for lunch.

Jango managed to convince Boba to come out and join them for the meal and Obi-Wan smiled as the boy enthusiastically told his father about something he had been reading about snails. Seeing the difference in the way he acted when he had thought he lost his father compared to now was a shock. With Jango’s love and support, it was like looking at two different people. Although, the older bitter Boba was still in there and came out around the clones as shown when Cody sat beside Obi-Wan and started to chat causing Boba to quiet and withdraw.

“Can I go to the tide pools and look for the snails once we’re finished here, buir?” Boba asked and Jango nodded.

“Of course. Just be careful.” He agreed and Obi-Wan perked up at the perfect opportunity to try to bond a little with the boy.

“If you don’t mind, I’d love to come with you Boba. There are lots of little creatures there I’d like to see. Plus those bioluminescent snails sound really fascinating.” He said making sure to show he was listening to what Boba was saying by repeating some back.

“I guess it wouldn’t be bad to have you along. You can probably use your Force thingy to find them more easily.” Boba agreed after a moment of thought and Obi didn’t bother correcting him that the Force didn’t work that way. They quickly finished up the last of their meal and Boba led Obi-Wan towards the rocky area where the tide pools resided. Jango had declined in joining them with a knowing look at his Jedi and made an excuse of needing to call and check in on some work.

“Do you like ocean animals a lot, Boba?” He asked, trying to start a conversation to which the boy shrugged.

“I like all animals. There are so many planets with so many different ways for them to evolve and so many little differences even in species that are mostly the same. It’s cool to see what new things I can find out on each planet my buir and I visit. He used to make it a game we’d play together.” He admitted kicking a rock to splash into one of the little pools of water.

“Jango loves you a lot. You know that him helping the other clones doesn’t change his feelings about you, right?” Obi-Wan asked him and Boba grunted.

“I didn’t invite you to have you try to pick around in my brain. Now get to using your Jetii magics to find me some glowing snails or go back to making dopey looks at my dad and let me do my thing.” He grumbled and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes but did his best to feel around them to try to see if he could connect to any of the animals and figure out where the snails could be if they were even there at all.

While sensing the creature’s minds he felt them all diving deeper from what he figured was fear of the two humans encroaching on their homes however suddenly there was a faint rumbling and he gasped when Boba went barreling right into his stomach knocking him back into one of the ponds just in time to keep him from falling into a hole that opened up under where his feet had been.

Boba groaned as they both picked themselves up, equally soaked. “Dang it. Buir specifically told me not to fall in, now he’s going to laugh at me,” he whined.

“Thank you. I’m not even sure what just happened.” Obi-Wan confessed glad he had been in beachwear already, unlike Boba who was trying to wring out his t-shirt without removing it now.

“The rocks here aren’t round and solid like on most beaches. They’re flat and shift around with the tides as well like plates. It was in the book. The change in temperature at different points in the day causes the water currents to shift and then they move. I saw the fish diving and the rock around it start to move. I might not fully like you but my dad does, so letting you get trapped in a hole and drown seemed like the wrong move.” Boba said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his shorts awkwardly.

“Well, I appreciate it nonetheless. It seems your extra reading saved my life.” He said with a chuckle, stroking his beard out of habit. “It would have been a shame to live through a whole war only to die to a little water and rock.” He said and Boba snorted but relaxed.

“The great Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi done-in by a change in tide while on vacation does sound like a great holonet headline.” He teased and they both continued their search for sea snails a little more carefully, eventually catching a few in a bucket to bring back and show Jango and the clones. Things weren’t perfect, but as Obi-Wan curled close to Jango’s warm chest that night, he found he was okay with that.

#Star wars summer fun in the sun #Star Wars #Jangobi #Jango Fett #Obi-Wan #Young Boba Fett #Marshal Commander Cody #The Clone Wars #Fandom Event #Fanfic #Fluff #my writing

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lovelessdagger · 3 years

Text

Starlight - Prologue: Before

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC, Din Djarin x OFC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Explicit Language, Trauma

Words: 2000

Summary: What's past is prologue.

There's a new trend since the fall of the Empire, everyone is rising from the dead.

She's haunted by memories of the Empire that abandoned her, he's plagued with thoughts of what if and doubts of the future. The stars align in a string of constellations which guide them to their fates, decided long before them.

Tortured with echos of before, they're alone in an endless galaxy. But orphans have a funny way of finding each other, and the gods have a sick sense of humor.

Read on AO3 Here

Tatooine was the galaxy’s own personal hell, Mustafar at least had the pleasure of fauna. Demonic nightmarish fauna that was more than likely poisonous, but fauna nonetheless. Tatooine? Tatooine was a barren wasteland that had gone to the dogs, and even the dogs had decided they wanted no part in its misfortune. At least on Mustafar she could go inside and be relieved of the heat, at least Mustafar could be considered home.

Or at least it used to be, before.

“Maker,” An assassin mutters, crossing over a sand dune. The red tracking fob in her gloved hand sounds, it’s light flashing a similar color. To her relief, she was close. The sooner to the target, the sooner she could leave and never set foot on sand again.

She could count the total number of visits to Tatooine in her lifetime on one hand. The first she couldn’t have been more than fourteen, then again at an older age to meet with the Hutts. Nine years ago, her father had sent her on a reconnaissance mission to some abandoned moisture farm. It had been terribly boring, full of memories of family dinners and old beaten up droids.

The irony that that very mission essentially caused her to lose everything wasn’t lost on her.

Five years ago she sat in the very cantina she walks to, warned to run away. A mere twenty-one years old—give or take, her birthday after all was a random day chosen by her and the waking sun. There was no telling her true age, so with her knowledge of human anatomy and development, nine years ago she decided on being seventeen.

“Why seventeen?” He asks her. Entering hyperspace she sits behind him, tracing passing stars on the window.

“Because,” she begins matter-of-factly, “Seventeen is a completely insignificant year to be alive. Sixteen is old enough that I won’t be questioned for traveling alone, but still too young to be taken seriously. I’m not quite ready to be an adult yet, but next cycle I will be. So I am seventeen now, so that I may be prepared to be eighteen later.”

Eighteen hours later, the first Death Star exploded.

The events which follow guide her on a fragile string of stars throughout the galaxy, the culmination of which lead her back to hell. Or Tatooine, as the New Republic liked to call it.

Maybe if she had listened things would have been different.

Or maybe they would be worse.

Either way she would be here. The designer of her cruel fate and dictator of her misery have decided this long ago. Forever would she be trapped in hell with her memories.

And everyone else’s.

Condemned to relive the worst of what humanity had to offer, over, and over, and over again. It wasn’t so bad anymore, it’s easy to get numb to that sort of thing when your entire life was filled with it. Still, out of all the places in the galaxy, why did it have to be Tatooine?

She could understand the appeal for those on the run. Away from the New Republic’s oversight, moisture farms as the only viable landmark, and everyone being too overworked to give a damn. Theoretically it should have been easy to hide, the only issue was every criminal in the Outer Rim had the same idea. Originality be damned.

A detached hood and mask shield her identity, not that she believed anything with a penchant of life would be anywhere near. All that surrounded her was sand, rocks, and sand. Still, she could never be overly cautious. Walking up to the cantina, her eyes roll. It was like they wanted to make her job difficult. She could only assume the bar would be crawling with other criminals. Defected imperials, thieves, murderers.

It could have been a family reunion.

Eyes fall on her entrance, the suns backlight her into a silhouette. She becomes the one cascade of darkness in the light of the desert.

“Boys,” she greets, walking in. Her eyes scan the room, there couldn’t be more than ten men. She counts the passing of ten seconds before one approaches her. Within those seconds her mind remarks on the state of the bar, essentially unchanged. Same busted chairs, same creaking floors, same hideous decorations.

“What’s someone like you doing here?” a man grunts, stalking up to her. The most she does to acknowledge him is an eye roll. He grabs her arm, holding her in place. “Does your daddy know you’re out here?” he asks, leaning down to her ear.

She mocks a laugh. “Does yours?”

The man spits at her boots. “Bitch,” he says, walking away from her. His spit slowly rolls off her toe, leaving a glimmering streak along the leather in its wake. She pulls her blaster out, pointing the gun behind her, she shoots the man in the back of the head. He drops, his body heavy with a thud.

The cantina falls to silence. Nine bodies are now watching her. No one makes a move, even the bartender stops his clinking glasses. She’s almost inviting them to try her next.

“No?” She asks, holstering her gun. “Pity,” she mutters.

She walks up to body number seven, he sits in the same spot she had all those years ago. She places her soiled boot on his seat, grabbing his attention. Motioning for him to stand, she barely makes eye contact.

Her fingers run across the tables’ wood, rubbing over permanent stains and rotting cracks.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he says. He always worried too much about her, “Whatever he’s planning, you won’t come out of it.”

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she says. “I can take care of myself now.”

“I know. That’s what scares me. You’re not safe anymore,” he replies.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been safe.”

Seven stares at her incredulously, slurping his liquor.

“Come with me,” his voice echos around her. If she closes her eyes it’s like he’s still sitting in front of her. Pleading.

“I don’t like making messes inside, it’s bad manners,” she says, reaching for her blaster. “Get up.”

“Am I supposed to be scared, girl?” Seven asks. He scans her appearance and truth be told she was no Rancor, certainly no Hutt. While her build was athletic, her height physically left her the smallest in the room.

“You owe a lot of credits—” Seven stands, “—That’s better.” She drops her foot. “Now—“

“Step aside,” a modulated voice speaks behind her. She catches a reflection of the intruder in the glass of the framed artwork above Seven’s head. A Mandalorian, covered in pure Beskar, stands a whole head above her. Of course a fucking Mandalorian would show up right now, this had to be his doing. Even in the grave he had to fuck with her.

“Mando,” Seven laughs, he wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers. “I was uh, I was just talking to the missus here,” he grabs the girls shoulder. “Say, now’s not really a good time so how about we—“

“I don’t have time for this,” the Mandalorian says. He drops a bounty puck on the table, in blue holograms Seven’s profile appears.

WANTED: EDI MOURI

“Let’s go,” Mando says.

The girl shakes herself from Seven. “Listen Shiny, I was here first so move along.” The Mandalorian’s head tilts.

“Are you with the guild?” He asks.

She picks up the bounty puck, examining the emblem. “Not yours.”

Mando’s head turns to One’s fallen body on the ground, a growing pool of blood by his head.

“Your work?”

“You could say that.”

Seven clears his throat. Whispers of bets trail within the crowd. “In fairness. She did find me first.”

The pair are incredulous in their stare. “You want to go with the assassin?” Mando asks, a slight twinge of amusement escapes past his modulator.

Seven’s face turns to ice, his deep emerald skin becoming a pastel like hue. “On second thought. I always loved the Mandalorian stories I heard as a kid, I’m a big fan. Let’s go big guy.” He takes a step towards Mando, the assassin pulls out her blaster, pointing it to his head. At the same moment Mando pulls out his own, pointing it to her.

“Drop it,” he says. “I need him alive.”

She cocks her head to the side, pressing her forehead against the barrel of the gun. “Do it,” she purrs.

He’s motionless.

She grabs the Mandalorian’s wrist with one hand, striking the bend in his arm with the other. A blaster shot fires, Three falls to the ground with a hole in his head.

Mando lifts her by her neck and slams her into the table where Seven sits. Her vision flashes white and she groans on impact. Her hands fumble across the wood in frantic search of anything to defend herself with.

“Wait for me, I’ll come for you in two days.”

She smashes Seven’s plate against the table, shattering it. With a jagged edge of porcelain she slashes the Mandalorian’s arm, staining the edge with his red blood. In his stumble back she rolls off the table.

Harsh stabs are swung to the openings between the pieces of armor, he easily blocks but her movements are quick in succession. He ignites the flamethrower on his arm and she flips out of range.

Six isn’t so lucky.

She lands on his table, he’s charred and slumped over. She grabs a baton resting against his chair, cringing at its touch. Jumping of the table she strikes his helmet. The tune of impact horrifically melodic.

Brought to his knees, Mando grabs her leg sweeping her onto her back. The baton falls out of her grasp. They tumble on the ground, scathing for any advantage they could find on the other. She slaps a taser disk on his armor, the shocks malfunction the electronics.

The Mandalorian lays on the ground, emitting heavy gasps for air. Sounds of passing credits come from a back table. She straddles him, pulling out the knife kept in the welt of her sleeve. It’s metal presses against his capes fabric gathered around his neck.

A smile twinges under her mask. “Not bad,” she pants, leaning down over him.

The cantina doors automate open, in perfect eye-line, a green little creature. It waddles in, cooing with bright eyes at the patrons, greeting them all. It locks eyes with her, head tilted. The veil of her mask conceals her dropped jaw.

The Mandalorian takes the chance of her distraction; flipping their bodies over, he straddles her waist, pinning her hands above her head. The assassin’s chest rises and falls heavy from under him. “I told you to wait outside,” he grunts. The green thing coos, waddling to the pair. It reaches out for her. “No,” he says next, raising a scolding finger to it. It whines, plopping on its rear.

Past the visor, his eyes lock onto hers, he clears his throat. Suggestive positioning aside, he had claim to victory. Though, had it not been for the child he would have been a dead man, throat slit under her knife.

He could still kill her, his blaster was in reach, so was her knife.

He should kill her.

But he doesn’t.

“Hey Mandalorian,” she breathes. “Where’s your bounty?” Seven’s seat empty, table broken, shattered porcelain fallen on the floor.

“Fuck,” he swears. He stands, pocketing the knife she held. He picks up the creature, sparing her one last glance. “Stay out of my way,” he warns. Exiting the building she’s left on the floor.

The surviving witnesses avoid her glare. There are holes in the flooring, broken furniture, blood stains splattered on every surface.

So much for not making a mess indoors.

She scoffs, picking herself up. Her muscles ache, bruises are forming under her clothing, her head pounds.

Carelessly, she shoots Five on her way out.

It’s a redemption of sorts.

Officially, Tatooine was worse than hell.

Chapter One: The Meeting

#Mandalorian #the mandalorian #Din Djarin #din djarin x original character #din djarin x original female character #din djarin x oc #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x reader #Starlight #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x oc #mando x ofc #mando x original character #mando x original female character #din djarin x female oc

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santigarcia · 4 years

Text

fly away with you

an ezra x reader fic~

rating: m for smut; virgin reader; some violence

word count: 6,780

summary: Waking up with no memory after a head injury, you find yourself in the presence of your rescuer - a handsome stranger named Ezra.

a/n: I AM SO SORRY i’ve had this fic like...finished but i just never got around to posting it. i had it broken up in chapters, but i just decided to post them all here w/ breaks to signify where the chapter would have ended. (im also adding the first two parts - so if anything seems familiar this is why!)

Ringing. There’s a loud ringing in your ears. Your vision is blurry, and that ringing won’t stop. You can’t hear anything else, and you’re not sure what you’re seeing. The color brown and green seem to blur together. What happened? Did you hit your head?

Reaching up to touch your temple, you feel wet. Your hair having been matted down with something sticky. Pulling your hand away, you look at it. Not that it does any good because your vision is still blurred. But there’s enough red on your fingertips to know it is blood.

Suddenly you smell it, your blood. And dirt. And earth.

Something else is mixed in, maybe smoke? Something in the air is foul.

The air.

You panic. Where’s your helmet? How long have you been breathing in this air? It’s the air you smell that’s foul. What if it’s toxic? Frantically you try to get up, but you can barely get your legs under you. You’re still too dizzy.

When your vision finally clears, you see your helmet on the ground next to you. There’s a large crack leading to a hole. Shards are everywhere. Some have blood on them, and you assume this is where your head injury is from. But upon further inspection, you see blood on the rock nearest you.

What happened?

It’s still foggy, but you try and retrace your steps from the day.

You had been with your cousin, whose whereabouts now you have no idea. It wasn’t even your choice to come along. But he claimed that your hands were the steadiest, and you’d be best for the harvesting. You had no idea what he was even talking about. You only agreed because your home world is the last place you want to be right now. And hey, he said he’d pay you so why not?

The ship ride over was a nightmare. It was smooth sailing quite frankly, but you’ve never been a fan of space travel. You like it on the ground. Though at the present moment the ground is covered in your blood, what a day it’s been. And you can barely remember it.

You do remember harvesting a couple of those things, you can’t even think to remember what your cousin called them. It wasn’t easy but it wasn’t hard either. You did just fine.

You also remember some arguing? Something was happening? There were these other people?

It’s starting to come back to you, but this air is getting to you. How long have you been walking? Are you even going in the right direction? You feel dizzy again and things are starting to spiral.

Then everything goes black.

A voice this time brings you out of your stupor. You can’t make out what they’re saying, but you can make out it’s a male voice. It’s not your cousin, this voice has a thick accent.

You blink several times to clear your vision again, and you take in your surroundings and this stranger.

First you notice you’re inside laying on a cot of some sort. Everything in the room is an olive green. An ugly yellow light shines overhead. It’s very dim. The space is small, it seems to be a large tent. There’s medical supplies and strange photographs on the wall. Where is this?

The man is sitting near you in a metal folding chair. He’s got no choice but to sit close to you, there’s not any room in this area.

He’s in a suit not unlike your own. His face is kind. His voice is deep, but nonthreatening. Light scruff dusts his cheeks and jaw, and his eyes are pleasant. There’s a small blond streak in his brown hair. And a haggard scar on his cheek. His kind eyes and kind smile almost seem out of place next to that scar.

He’s still talking, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. He’s gesturing with his hand. Just one. It’s only then you realize he’s missing his right arm. You feel dizzy again. What if this man is dangerous? Or did he just lose that arm in some accident?

You reach up to touch your temple again, and you feel cloth. A bandage has been wrapped around your head. And you notice, other than a slight headache, you’re not in any pain.

“Where am I?” you wonder aloud. Your throat is so dry your voice croaks.

“At last, the lady is with us!” the man speaks and this time you understand him. His voice sounds nice. That accent is so strong. “Alas, I must admit, I myself do not know where this is. But I was out and about on my harvest when I saw you lyin’ unconscious on the ground. You were gaspin’ for air. So, I took it upon myself to bring you to shelter and here we are.” he gestures with his arm while he looks around the room. That ugly yellow light shines on his face, and suddenly the light is not so ugly on his tan skin.

“Thank you,” you tell him sitting up a little. You’re still feeling dizzy, but you feel safe. “What happened?” you think aloud again. And where is your cousin?

“I heard what sounded like gunfire off in the distance,” he explains, “that’s how I came to find you.”

“I was with my cousin; did you see anyone?”

“I am afraid I only saw some bodies, miss. You were the only one I saw alive.”

Your cousin, and whoever attacked you must have been near where you first woke up. But in your daze, you started walking and missed the bodies entirely.

You were warned this was dangerous work. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your hand. Grief and shock are setting in. Your cousin is gone, and your harvest.

“I’m stuck here,” you whisper.

“Nonsense,” the man smiles, it’s a warm smile. He seems so kind. You want to trust him. You may have no other choice. “I could not in good conscience leave you behind. You have suffered a mighty fine wound to your noggin, and your poor lungs have breathed in this nasty shit air we got around here.”

He is talking so fast that you can barely keep up.

“Now, I’m sure you’re a-wonderin’ if you can trust me. And right now, little birdie, I’m all you’ve got.”

In any other situation, if a stranger called you a pet name, you might recoil. But he says things so casually, you don’t feel any malice or perversion behind it.

“You can help me harvest, and I can get you outta here. There is my offer plain and simple. You can surely decline, but if your cousin is gone, my condolences. And you have no way to get home.”

Home. You don’t want to go home. You don’t want to stay here, but you don’t want to go home.

“What’s that?” he leans forward, his eyes squinting. He’s trying to hear; you didn’t realize you’ve just said that out loud. “Where are you from?”

“Zulara,” you mumble.

He winces, clenching his teeth, “I do not blame you one bit for not wantin’ to head on back to that planet. I am currently residin’ on Anvarvis V, and I’d be glad to take you along with me.”

You sit for a moment weighing your options. You’ve heard good things about Anvarvis V. or was it IV?

“We’ll split the harvest 50/50?” you ask.

He nods.

“Ok. It’s a deal,” you nod and stick out your hand.

“Alright,” he grins. “I’m Ezra, what can I call you?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

And that’s how you began a partnership with Ezra. You worked well together. Tuns out you were really good at the harvesting part, and Ezra’s wit and charm made him a good salesman. He brokered deals and sold the product you’d harvested for a lot of money.

You’ve been so busy; you’ve not even gone to his home planet yet. But somehow you liked this life with him. There’s space enough of his ship for you, and you quite enjoy his company.

Truth be told you enjoy his company more and more each passing day. Your cheeks warm now when he calls you “little bird.” Your heart leaps into your throat if he ever touches you.

That first week with him he touched you a lot. Yes, okay he was checking the bandage on your head, but his fingers would graze skin and he was standing so close to you.

That’s when it first started you think. Being so close, seeing his soft lips surrounded by a dark stubble. His gentle brown eyes looking over your wound.

Maybe you were just lonely. Or maybe it was sharing such a small space with your rescuer. But you had a crush that only seemed to grow.

It started to suffocate you being so close to him and not being his.

The two of you fell into a natural routine and you grew accustomed to seeing him shirtless. That first time seeing him without a shirt almost sent you over. You ached to touch his olive skin. He looked so warm. You had to force yourself not to stare.

He thought you were looking at his right shoulder, where his arm used to be. And he began to ramble on about how it happened. You were embarrassed because that’s not what you were looking at, but you listened to his story all the same. He was opening up to you.

Ezra has the gift of gab, and he talks nonstop. But if you ever have anything to say, he listens with a deep interest. You’ve never felt so heard before. He never talks over you. His constant talking if often stories or little tidbits of trivia, but after that night of him opening up about his arm, things changed.

He was almost always in a good mood, but when he couldn’t complete a task due to his arm, he’d be a little grumpy and frustrated. But after telling you what happened, he let you help him without protest.

Maybe he got the feeling he could trust you back.

“Thank you, little bird,” he always said. And the last time he said it, you know he saw your cheeks turn red.

You figure at some point he’ll ask, or you’ll admit your feelings. You’re not sure which, but both options scare you. You’ve never done this before.

Back at home, you spent most of your life in school or working. There was no time for relationships, as much as you wanted one. You read stories of lovers, you kept them hidden under your mattress. The want was there, but no experience to fulfill that big question in your mind of what it’s like.

What it feels like to be loved by someone, to be held. You always were a little shy about the sexual parts of the book, yet those were the parts you couldn’t tear your eyes away from.

“What are you thinking about over there?” Ezra’s voice cuts in. A deep blush stains your cheeks. You’d been remembering of a story you’d read where a man pleasures a woman with his mouth. You look at Ezra’s mouth and feel your stomach drop and pray he can’t read your mind.

“Nothing,” you chirp at being caught.

“From that look on your face, I’m gonna wager a gamble and say it’s definitely something clanking around in that head.”

Scrambling, you try to think of anything to change the subject. He’s watching you squirm, and he’s delighted in it. Maybe it won’t be too hard after all to tell him if he can already see it.

“When’s the next sell?” you ask, nibbling the skin off your bottom lip.

“Pretty soon,” he replies. “I will head out soon. Won’t be gone long. Will you be alright to wait here until I make a triumphant return?” he grins.

You nod, returning his smile. You feel a heat pooling in between your legs. You shift a little in your seat trying to relieve the pressure. As soon as he’s gone, you’ll do something about it.

Two nights ago, you touched yourself thinking of him. That was the first time. You’d seen his bare ass when he was exiting the shower area. He had to have known you might see, and you couldn’t decide which thought thrilled you more. But the image of him naked was seared into your mind. And that night while he slept soundly, you touched yourself - wishing it were him.

You’d come up with a dirty fantasy, one you will play out again as soon as he leaves. And he can’t leave soon enough.

Normally, you’d go with him. But this buyer is a familiar one and can be trusted. You’re not worried about Ezra taking care of himself in a fight. He’s been in plenty of a scrap or two.

But if you’re honest, your brain is so clouded with the thought of getting a release you’re not worried about him in the slightest.

The thought passes in your mind you don’t know how long he’ll be gone, so you elect to leave your pants on. You lay down on your bed in your little corner of the ship.

The main hanger is around room, your beds are on opposite walls but still in the same room. So, you can see his bed from yours, and you consider going over to his bed, but you’ve already got your hand down your pants thinking about him on your bed.

You begin to tease yourself and you’re already wet from your own imagination. You think of him naked. What he looks like from the front. What he must look like when he’s hard for you. You think of his lips, and how his hand feels. What they must feel like on sensitive skin. You think of his stubble scraping your thighs. How good his long thick fingers would feel like inside of you. How he’d be gentle taking you for the first time.

Your thighs shake and you clench around your fingers wishing it were him.

The release hits you hard, and you gasp. It echoes through the ship. Your breathing is heavy but beginning to calm, when suddenly you hear:

“Well hello there little birdie!”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Horror floods through your veins and your heart is pounding in your head. You’re still coming down from your high, while fear spikes within you. Your eyes are wide, and you’re frozen staring at him. Your mouth is hanging open, and his mouth is curved in a playful smirk.

When tears begin to fall from your eyes, his expression softens completely.

“Little bird, I-,” he sticks his hand out trying to demonstrate he didn’t mean to embarrass you, but it’s too late. Tears pouring down your cheeks you run into the bathroom chamber and push the button to close the door harshly. It hisses loudly, and the moment it closes you sink to the floor. Cheeks red with embarrassment.

In those books you’ve read, maybe the character wouldn’t have cared. And would have let the man know what she was doing. But this just isn’t how you wanted this to happen. As much as you do want Ezra to know you want him. The shock of the moment startled you.

Ezra outside in the main hangar is uncharacteristically quiet. You can hear him rummaging around. From the sound of it, he’s taking off the bulky outer suit. It takes him a moment since he only has the help of one arm.

He’ll be sitting down on his bunk and unfasten the clips and zippers. He grits his teeth sometimes, other times he bites his lower lip. You tease him about the different faces he makes when he’s concentrating on something.

Deciding to clear your mind further, you turn on the shower. For a moment you hope he doesn’t need to take one after being outside, but you imagine he’s letting you have your space for a moment.

While you shower, you try to decide what you’re even going to say.

“Hi Ezra, I was touching myself thinking about you.”

Well. That might not be a bad way to start. But that feeling of nerves hits your gut. What if he doesn’t want you back? What if he does want you?

You mull this over in your mind and wash yourself clean. Normally the thought of being naked in here while he’s out there has sent you a thrill. Now you’re even more aware of him.

You decide you do want him. But you don’t know where to start. Him seeing you is one way to break the ice.

Gathering your courage, you wrap a towel around yourself and exit the bathroom into the main hanger. Your eyes fix upon him, and every nerve is on fire.

As expected, he’d changed out of his suit. He’s sitting on his cot in comfortable pants, a worn black Henley, and some socks. His hair is sweaty, but it’s sticking up in multiple directions from obviously running a hand through it. His right arm sleeve is tied in a knot near his shoulder to stay out of his way. He’s got something propped up on his left knee, and he’s practicing his hand strength with his left hand. He pauses when he sees you, he doesn’t speak.

He’s waiting for you to say something first. He can read the terror in your eyes as you step closer. Giving you full attention, he frees his hand, and watches you approach him slowly.

When you’re right in front of his spread legs, he reaches out a hand to grab yours.

“You doin’ alright there little bird? You are tremblin’ like a leaf on a tree with strong winds blowin’ every which way.”

You open your mouth trying to think of what to say. You’d forgotten your entire plan you’d cooked up in the shower. Now that you’re here in front of him and he’s looking at you with those soft eyes, your mind is blank.

You almost wonder if you should just drop the towel and climb on him, but you can’t help but want some romancing.

“Say what’s on your mind little bird, I see the wheels turning in your head.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” is all you can think to say. But are you sorry? You don’t know what’s going on.

“I’m not,” he grins, but the grin softens, and his eyes are gentle. He stands and presses his palm to your cheek. Shaking a little from the touch, you lean into his hand. “But I am sorry that my presence startled you so, and that I saw such an intimate act without your permission. I admit I was only present for the uh, grand finale as it were, but on my honor, I will not speak of this again if you would prefer it.”

Your cheeks darkened as he spoke, and you can see the look in his eyes. It’s a gentle attraction.

“I-” you start but only blush deeper under his gentle gaze. His eyes are big, he’s listening intently.

“I understand your profound embarrassment, but there is nothing to be ashamed of seeking a fine release such as that. If I may say little bird, I’m only sorry I was not the one to give it to you.”

Your eyes widen at the last sentence. You swallow hard.

This is it.

“You want me?”

“I do little bird. I have for a quite a spell now. You are, simply put, the sweetest thing I have ever had the pleasure to know, and you have brought a light into my dark life I did not know I was needin’.”

His hand is still on your face, his thumb brushes you bottom lip.

“I want you too,” you give him a shy smile which he returns, “only I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You surely seemed to know a few moments ago,” he winks.

“Ezra,” you groan and bury your face in his shoulder.

“My sincerest apologies,” he teases, “I already broke my promise.”

He’s trying to make you laugh, which it does. And the two of you share a moment of laughter before you pull back to look up at him again.

“I’m serious though, Ezra. I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never-”

“Never what?” he repeats, thumb rubbing your flushed cheeks.

“I’ve never even been kissed,” you tell him.

“Well, little bird. It would seem the honor has been bestowed to me to teach you the lovely ways of liplockin’.”

“What do I do?” you whisper, which he seems to find amusing.

“You know something, I have never once been in situation quite like this in my lifetime.”

That coaxes a smile from you, and you’re already feeling relaxed.

“I can’t say that I have either,” you laugh.

“First step, is to close those pretty little eyes of yours.”

You close your eyes, and smile, you trust him. You think back to when you met him all those weeks ago when he saved your life. You certainly didn’t imagine this happening then.

“Now, tilt your head just a little,” he pushes a little with his hand guiding you. “And open that mouth of yours, just a smidge.” He pushes down your bottom lip with his thumb.

His voice stops, and you feel his breath on your face. He smells like mint and sweat. You decide it’s a good smell.

You feel the tip of his nose first press against the top of your cheek. Then his lips gently press against yours. His tongue just barely touches your lips. His stubbly chin and upper lip scrape on your skin in a way you didn’t know you’d love this much. His hand holds your face gently, and what he doesn’t say, or can’t say during this kiss, is he wishes he could wrap his other arm around you.

Your knees buckle, and you let go of the towel that’d you’d been holding on to so tight and mold your body to his. A strong thigh is in between your legs, your hands cup his face and you pull away gasping. Your heart is fluttering.

He’s slow to open his eyes, the smile splits his face before his eyelids even flutter open.

“Now that,” he licks his lips, “was simply divine.” He leans in and places a couple quick pecks to your lips getting a laugh from you.

You take a step back, and the towel is going to fall. And you were going to let it. But much to your surprise, his hand stops it by pressing his hand against your chest, keeping the cloth from exposing you to him.

“Hold on now,” he breathes. “That little heart that’s fluttering under my hand has surely had enough excitement for one day. And as much as I would love to see that body of yours, I am not wanting to take you to bed in this dirty old ship. I would rather take you home. Since I am unfortunately missing a tool of the trade, I am not experienced in taking lovers into my bed with ol’ lefty here. It’ll be a learning experience for us both little bird. You alright with that?”

You nod, putting your hand over his on your chest.

“Then let’s get you home.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Your head is pounding, and you can see him. Your cousin. It’s like you’re on the outside looking in. You see the clearing of trees and two men with your cousin. It’s a standoff, everyone is frozen. There you hear a sharp crack somewhere in the woods, causing the men to take fire. One man shoots your cousin, the other steals the harvest from your cousin’s dead hands. Then that man is shot, he killed his own partner and took the harvest from his hands. He turned around to face you, and you saw his face.

It was Ezra.

With a sharp gasp, you jolt awake. Sweat is on your brow, your heart is racing, and you feel sick to your stomach. Panic sets in because you can’t remember where you are.

Looking around you realize that you’re home, with Ezra.

After your kiss with him, he got the ship ready and punched in the coordinates to head home. His home, but now it would be yours. You expressed to him your apprehension of space travel, and he took down the med pack to give you a medicine to calm your nerves.

“Fear of flying is not uncommon,” he’d told you warmly with a kiss on your cheek.

After the flight and landing, he gave you another medicine to help your lungs adjust to the air of this planet.

You were so nervous, but full of excitement! You have a new home with this wonderful soul.

The planet is gorgeous. The ship landed out the outskirts of the city. It’s nighttime so you can see it’s all lit up, and it’s blue. Every light is a twinkling blue.

“It’s beautiful!” you’d gasped. Ezra was proud to show you his home.

He was not originally from this planet; this is where he lives now when he isn’t prospecting.

He owns a small house is near the outskirts. He could afford a city apartment if he wanted, but he preferred living out away from the hustle and bustle of city life. He likes his view of the trees from his living room, which are also blue.

His house is humble. One bedroom, one bathroom, a quaint kitchen, a small table, and a sitting area. The shelves and walls are covered in artifacts and trinkets from other world’s he’s visited. You love it. It feels like a lived-in home.

“We will have to share this bed unless you want me to take the couch?” Ezra tells you when you collapse onto his bed. It’s been too long a day with all the space travel.

“I don’t mind,” you tell him, and he grins easily.

“No gettin’ to business tonight little bird. I gotta rest, you do too.”

You nod, you’re too tired for that. Though if he wanted to, you wouldn’t have said no.

You fell asleep that night with his body close to yours.

He’s still close by when you wake up from your dream.

“Little bird?” he asks waking up, rubbing his eyes with his hand. “You alright?”

You scramble out of the bed to get away from him. Your heart is beating so fast.

“It was YOU,” you gasp, tears are beginning to fall.

“Me? Birdie, I do not have a damn idea what on this planet you are referring to.”

“You shot and killed my cousin! I saw it in my dream!!”

He sits up and tries to calm you down.

“Little birdie-”

“Stop calling me that!” you cry. You hug your arms around your waist.

“Look at me. Look at my face.” He waits til you look at him, there’s no joke or smile on his face. His eyes are wide, and you can tell he’s upset you’re upset. “I did not kill him. I didn’t even have my gun with me when I found the bodies.”

You think back to when you first met him, and what you can remember from then, he didn’t have a gun on him.

“But it looked so real,” you sniffle.

“I had hoped this would not happen to you, but one of the side effects of the medicine I had given you is nightmares. You’re on a new planet, in a new place. It would not be a surprise to me if you had weird dreams. Now as to your cousin, I do not think you will ever uncover the mystery of his death. I can recall to you what I saw again if it will ease your mind.”

You sniffle again and nod.

He tells you what he remembers, and you do trust him. But that dream still felt so real.

You had been finishing up a harvest when your cousin went to look for another. Your memory is hazy after that.

Ezra fills in the gaps based on what he saw. He’d seen two bodies; one was your cousin and then another man. Your harvest was gone, and there were footsteps leading in another direction. Ezra, not wanting to get into it with this guy, went the opposite way. Which is when he found your shattered helmet and blood. He followed your footprints which led him to you.

“So, I killed my cousin,” you bury your face in your hands, sitting down on the bed.

“You are making less and less sense,” his eyebrows crease.

“You said there was a large branch and I must have tripped, so me tripping sounded the alarm causing the gunfire to go off,” you being to cry into your hands.

Ezra scoots closer to you to wrap and arm around you. He holds you close to him and kisses your hair while he shushes you.

“That was a whole tricky situation and no one’s fault. I have been in a sticky situation like that before and it would seem that people who are trigger happy need no cue to fire away. You are not at fault. Besides, if all this had not occurred, I might not have met the love of my life.”

You look up from your hands, tears still in your eyes.

“What?”

“You heard what I said,” he kisses the shell of your ear.

Crying now tears of joy, you throw your arms around his neck and kiss all over his face. He topples backwards, laughing the whole way down.

“I love you too,” you say between kisses. “I’m sorry I accused you of murder,” you laugh.

He laughs, rolling over so he’s on top of you. He kisses your face and dries your tears. You start to writhe under him when you feel him beginning to harden on your thigh.

“What do you say to some breakfast and then we come back to this bed huh?”

Feeling a little bold, you reach down to cup him through his sleep pants. He gasps out in surprise and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Why leave?” you ask, unsure of what to do, but you like touching him. You continue to, until your stomach rumbles loudly. He raises an eyebrow teasing you, even though you still have your hand around his cock. “Fine,” you laugh, “breakfast first.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

While Ezra makes breakfast, you look around your new home. Since the house is small and his voice carries, you ask him questions about different objects, and he rambles on from the kitchen.

There are photographs of him when he was younger, those are your favorites. You’re looking at one particular photograph, when he had both arms and no blond streak. He looked like a completely different person.

Your thoughts are torn away when you hear him call your name.

“Could you reach that spice for me off the shelf?” His one hand is too busy to stop and reach. “Just set it down on the counter there,” he nods. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you smile and wrap your arms around him from behind. Kissing his cheek, he hums. “I’m sorry I’m acting so strange, I think I’m a little nervous,” you admit kissing his shoulder blade.

“Well birdie, it is no small feat to be joined in a union with another person in such an intimate fashion, especially when one is not experienced. It is a lovely thing but can be an overwhelmin’ experience. I am glad to assist and ease the knot in your belly of nerves.”

“I love the way you talk,” you smile kissing his shoulder again.

“And I quite love the way you are holdin’ me right now.”

“I’m sorry again about this morning. I’m sure that’s not the morning you had in mind.”

“No to worry. Grief and change do a wonder on your mind. I know that from losing my arm.”

“Tell me how you got that blond streak in your hair,” you murmur and lean your cheek against his shoulder.

“Now that is an interesting story!” One of which he tells for the rest of the morning. And when he’s done, you’re still not sure what exactly happened. But you laughed and all but forgot about the nerves in the pit of your stomach.

So much so that when he stands and reaches out his hand for you, you’re not sure what he’s doing.

“You ready?” he asks, motioning his head toward the bedroom. Your heart skips, but you nod, yes.

He leads you back into his room, and has you sit down on the bed. He moves around the room setting the mood. First, he pushes a button on the wall that lowers the curtains, dimming the room. He closes the door behind him and sits next to you on the bed.

“How does this work?” you ask a little timid, but very eager.

“Lay back,” he tells you. He lays down on top of you and begins to kiss your face and your lips. Anywhere his lips can kiss, he kisses. Your cheeks, your ears, your eyelids even. The tip of your nose.

Then he moves to your neck and chin and jaw. He adds some bites to your neck, and sucks on your clavicle.

“Can I?” he asks tugging on the hem of your shirt. You nod, and with his help, you pull it off exposing chest to him now. You swallow, feeling a little shy watching him eye your breasts.

You’ve never seen him so speechless. Instead of talking, he puts his mouth to use and suckles your perked nipple into his mouth. His hand cups your other breast and thumbs over your nipple. When you gasp, he sucks harder and pinches his fingers harder. Your hands fly to his hair and you pull. He growls a little and you feel slick between your legs.

“Ezra?” you whine. Your breast is shiny with his saliva, and there’s a sting left behind from his teeth and grit from his facial hair.

“What do you need birdie?” He murmurs into you flesh. His hand smoothing down your skin and gliding over your tummy and to the waistband of your pants.

“Ezra wait,” you gasp.

“Are my ministrations too fast for your likin’?” he questions, lips dragging along your stomach. He’s trying to make you laugh again, or at least relax you further.

“I-” you pause.

“It’s ok,” he smiles and kisses your tummy. “Help me?” he says tugging on your pants a little. You help him push your pants and underwear down, and you watch in equal parts arousal and embarrassment as he sees you.

He touches a pointer finger to your entrance, touching the slick gathered there. He dips inside and you arch your back feeling the drag of his finger inside. His thumb brushes your clit and you jolt.

“Now remember, I am not as well practiced with my left, so you’ll have to excuse any inexperience on my part, though I do know how to please a lady.”

“Ezra!” is all you can think to say when he slides a second finger in.

“But as it seems, you’re enjoying this regardless. That’s good,” he smiles and presses a loud kiss to your thigh. He doesn’t stop the toying with your clit. Even after you hit that first high and come around his fingers. He keeps going. Teasing you just a little more. “You are doin’ so well my girl,” he purrs.

He looks up at you when he pulls his hand away, his grin is pure lovesick. Your eyes are hazy from the high you’ve just been given, and there’s still more to come.

“I want just one more from you before we get down to it alright?” He tells you. He’s working his way up the bed, and you’re not sure what he’s doing. He pulls the pillows together, and he flops down on his back, his head on the pillows. “Alright little bird, c’mere,” he says and taps his chin.

Taking his meaning with heat covering your body, you climb up and carefully lower yourself onto his face. His tongue and mouth ready to accept your heat. You groan in unison as he makes the first lick. You’re still so sensitive from before, but wow it feels good.

Oh.

This is really good.

His mouth, of course, of course his mouth is as skilled in pleasure as it is in talking. His tongue moves expertly on your flesh as if he’s done this to you a million times. You’re coming on his tongue in mere minutes.

His arm is tight around you, and you buck against him as you come down.

His eyes open, and he looks up at you, he’s quite pleased with himself.

“Now if this isn’t the best view a man could have then I don’t know what is,” he smiles, his eyes lingering on your breasts for a beat, then back up to your face.

Carefully, on wobbly legs, you lay down on the bed, and Ezra works to take off his pants. You lean up to look at him, he’s on his knees now, naked. He’s stroking himself lazily, getting ready for you.

“Can I?” you sit up reaching for him.

“Be my guest,” he reassures, and you wrap your fingers around him. He winces and groans a little. “It has been far too long since I’ve been held but someone other than my own hand.”

He feels nice, and you have the desire to keep moving your hand until he finds his high. But he pushes your hand away.

“I do appreciate the eagerness, but if you keep that up, we won’t get to all the fun. Lay down for me alright?”

You do as he asks, and he pauses for a moment. He’s thinking.

When he gets the idea, you see it come across his face with a little “oh!” and a grin. He lays down on top of you, you’re chest to chest.

“Little birdie, I need you to wrap your legs around me? Got it?” You nod and do as he asks. From this position you can feel the tip of him at your entrance. Putting his weight on you for a moment, he reaches down between your bodies and lines himself up with you. “There might be a little bit of a pinch, but we’ll work ya through it alright?”

You nod again, and he pushes inside. He moves his hand back up to smooth your hair out of your face. He moves slowly, watching your face, kissing you more to get you relaxed. Once he’s fully inside, he waits.

He gives you a moment to breathe, then when you give the ok, he moves. His arm is up by your head now, keeping him from putting his whole weight on you and giving him some leverage. His thrusts are steady, and your body moves with him, gasping each time he hits that spot in you.

“It pains me that I cannot reach down to tease that lovely pussy of yours, but birdie, you gotta touch yourself for me. Can you do that?”

You slip your hand between your bodies and touch yourself in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Good girl,” he coaxes. “Don’t stop,” he tells you nibbling your ear. And you don’t. You keep going until you feel the high approaching. When it hits you, he’s not far behind. His cock twitches and pulses, and he comes deep inside you.

Exhaustion hits him and he puts more of his weight on you. Now with a free hand, he pushes your hand away and touches your clit again just to touch you a little one more time. That touch has you jolt, and he laughs darkly in your neck.

“Ezra?”

“Mmm?” he looks up at you, and you start to smooth his hair back.

“Can we do this again? Tonight?” you bite your lip.

“Hmm,” he pretends to think. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Ezra!” you laugh and playfully hit his chest.

“Okie,” he shrugs and begins to blow raspberries on your chest.

You stay with him then, tangled in the sheets all morning. And all afternoon, and into the evening. You can barely keep your hands off one another. And there’s not much desire to go prospecting any time soon, not when you’ve discovered something much richer in each other.

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countessren · 5 years

Text

STAR WARS DIALOGUE PROMPTS

1. “You can’t always do everything on your own”

2. “That’s not how the force works”

3. “Everything I have built, and you would dare to betray me?”

4. “Don’t look at me like that”

5. “How very romantic of you” “I try my best, sweetheart”

6. “Are you capable of saying more than one word?”

7. “Let’s make a deal” “No thank you, I prefer living”

8. “Don’t do this”

9. “You’re more than a man behind a mask you know”

10. “Could you give me a hand?” “I could, but will I?”

11. “You don’t know me”

12. “I love you” “I know”

13. “Give me one good reason why I should trust you”

14. “I would do anything for you, you know that right?”

15. “Can you stay, please?” “Of course”

16. “You can’t be serious right? You expect me to do the impossible”

17. “I need more than one drink to put up with your crap”

18. “We are stranded here together, so we may as well work together to get off this rock alive”

19. “I’m too tired to deal with all your negativity”

20. “Who did this to you?”

21. “What do you mean that ‘you broke the ship’?”

22. “In this profession, you get used to people leaving you”

23. “Why are you so insistent on me wearing this?”

24. “You need to sleep”

25. “Don’t. Move.”

26. “Don’t you die on me”

27. “I’m sorry...I’m so, so sorry”

28. “I know you hate me, but this is taking it too far”

29. “I don’t care what you think of me, I only care about what others would think of us”

30. “I want you to promise me that you will come back to me alive” “You know me, I’ll try”

31. “Stay close to me”

32. “If we get caught, just know that I will blame you”

33. “You are mine and mine only, understand?”

34. “Move” “Make me”

35. “You will regret ever hurting her, that I promise you”

36. “You never cared about me before, so why start caring now?” “...because I love you”

37. “Give me a chance to make it up to you” “I did, and you blew it”

38. “Why should I trust you” “Because I just saved your life, and showing some respect would be nice”

39. “You’re injured” “I’m fine”

40. “Tell me something, why is it that you always come to me to fix your problems?”

41. “H-Help me...please”

42. “I can’t...you’re asking too much of me”

43. “If there is one thing I have learned, it’s that you don’t underestimate me”

44. “If you move that blaster an inch closer to my face you are going to lose that hand”

45. “If you don’t let her go right now, I swear I will break every bone in your body”

46. “My life would be so much harder without you”

47. “You almost died, you...you stopped breathing”

48. “If we are going to work together, can you at least have more than a one-word conversation with me?” “No”

49. “I can’t let you do this alone”

50. “Thank you for opening up to me, I’m proud of you”

51. “Tell me what to do” “Don’t leave me”

52. “I’ve definitely seen more stranger things than this”

53. “Don’t move too much, you’ll hurt yourself”

54. “I can’t believe you”

55. “Tell me something I don’t know” “Your eye twitches when you get annoyed” “Only because it’s you that annoys me”

56. “Just...don't do anything stupid” “I’ll try but I can’t guarantee anything”

57. “Let. Her. Go”

58. “Don’t tell me what to do” “Well someone has to otherwise you’ll likely get yourself killed”

59. “Would you like me to be honest or would you like me to sugarcoat it for you?” “Sugarcoat it” “Okay then, well...I can’t do this, we’re screwed”

60. “Is that my shirt?” “You can’t prove anything”

61. “I think he likes you”

62. “I’m the best damn pilot in the galaxy” “I think you missed putting the word ‘second’ in there somewhere”

63. “Where are you taking me?” “You need to relax more. You need to see the world around you, and find some sort of peace within yourself...even if it is just for a little while”

64. “Tell me why I should stay” “Because I need you...I...I’m not good with this sort of stuff”

65. “Under no circumstances are you to leave this ship. You’ll hurt yourself even more”

66. “I’ve collected many bounties, but you are by far the strangest” “I’ll pretend not to be offended by that”

67. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner” “I’m alive, aren’t I? You had perfect timing”

68. “Don’t leave me alone, please. Not after...”

69. “Sleep, you’ve done enough for today”

70. “It’s pretty cozy in here” “We are in a holding cell” “I was trying to lighten up the mood, you just had to ruin it didn’t you”

71. “People assume that I’m not easily approachable. They are right, but still, they assume”

72. “These children adore you” “All you have to do is listen, and be attentive instead of using brute force half of the time” “Brute force is all I know” “That’s not what I see when you are with the kid”

73. “If I have to listen to one more damn excuse, I’m walking out of this room”

74. “The force works in mysterious ways”

75. “I can...I can um...give you hand...if you would like”

76. “What do I have to do in order for you to see that everything that I have done, I have done for you”

77. “That doesn’t go there” “Then where does it go?” “Not there! Put it back where you found it” “I found it right here!”

78. “I could be lying in a nice, warm and cozy bed right now. But no. Instead, I am stuck shivering in the freezing cold snow with you”

79. “Black doesn’t suit you” “It’s my uniform” “I meant what I said”

80. “One day. One day I’ll see who is behind that helmet” “In your dreams” “Maybe”

81. “If you lay one more hand on her, I swear I will tear you apart”

82. “It’s only a few bruises” “A few bruises too many”

83. “I’ll be fine. You need to focus on the mission at hand”

84. “I would rather die than tell you anything” “Well, don’t make my job any easier”

85. “I can’t lose you” “You won’t...you never will”

86. “All I want you to do is listen to me...I just...you always manage to get hurt and I...just please”

87. “I need you to know that you mean everything to me”

88. “You’re freezing” “I’m fine”

89. “How is it that you always manage to get me to defend your impulsive actions?”

90. “Pretend that there is no one else here but us”

91. “A lightsabre is one of the most dangerous weapons in the galaxy, you shouldn’t wield it around like its a toy”

92. “Put that down!”

93. “I’ve never felt like this before” “Like what?” “Like I’m going to be suffocated by your arms around my chest”

94. “You’re lying to me” “About what?” “About the compressor. It’s not broken, you just want me to ‘fix it’ so you can spend time with me”

95. “Don’t drag me into this, you dug this hole yourself”

96. “When this is over, I’m going to marry you” “I would certainly hope so, you dragged me into this in the first place”

97. “I love you more than words can say”

98. “Promise me one thing: that you will stay by my side no matter what is thrown our way. I promise, I will protect you from every threat, every danger, and from everyone that wishes to harm you”

99. “Don’t drop that, if you do you might blow up the planet”

100. “I’m not leaving you here...not this time. I love you”

Characters I write for: Cal Kestis, Han Solo, Kylo Ren, Artimage Hux, Poe Dameron, Cassian Andor, Anakin Skywalker, The Mandalorian, Luke Skywalker, Finn, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

DM or comment the number of the prompt/s and the character you want then with and I will have the prompt up as soon as I can.

#star wars #star wars x reader #anakin skywalker #the mandalorian #cal kestis #han solo #kylo ren #artimage hux #poe dameron #cassian andor #luke skywalker #finn #obi-wan kenobi

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songsformonkeys · 4 years

Text

A Tiny Piece of the World Called Home - (Ezra x reader) chapter 2

pairing: Ezra x reader

summary: "Just like the first of the Terras, Icarus had precisely one moon. It was a desolate and barren place, gray rocks and dust as far as the eye could see. It was cold and unwelcoming and you felt a certain kinship to it. It wasn't a hostile place but it gave you nothing for free. For as long as you could remember, you had wanted to go there."

Reader and Ezra end up as partners on a mining job and are forced to live together in close proximity on a small moon base.

rating: explicit

warnings: smut

notes: trying to post all my ao3 stories to tumblr as well so this isn’t a new story and some of you might have already read it. Chapter 1 is here

Chapter 2

While Ezra had been watching you from the very start, it was only now that you had started to actually watch him back. And the more you watched, the more details you discovered about your roommate and work partner. For example, he walked around barefoot in the base a disconcerting amount of time, he was ambidextrous, liked to take long showers, that sometimes left you without any hot water but with a strong urge to strangle him, and he snored when he slept on his stomach. That last bit you knew partly because Ezra liked to take a nap after lunch and partly because the small base offered very little in the way of privacy. You shared every living space and the only way to get away from each other was to hide in the bathroom. In the beginning, Ezra must have thought you suffered from terrible gastrointestinal problems considering how much time you'd spent in there.

Ezra had definitely noticed you watching, you had been able to tell by the way his mouth always curved into a smug smile when he caught your eyes lingering, but he hadn't said anything about it and so neither had you. Instead, the two of you danced around each other while Ezra kept up his usual out loud stream of consciousness.

“Do you enjoy art? I went to a museum once. Sculptures, paintings, VRs, soundscapes, and what have you. They had everything! Of course, I'd never been before so I had no idea. Anyway, I had just landed after a job and was looking for a way to spend my well-earned freedom. So I went. And let me tell you, Birdie, I came out of that establishment a changed man. Now, you know I'm a man of emotion, I ain't ashamed to admit that, but I wept like a small child in there. Did you ever get so moved by something that it consumes your whole being? It's part of the reason why I travel. I have the privilege of seeing the most wondrous of places. The majority of them try their very damned hardest to kill me but you have got to admit that there's a certain poetic beauty in that too. Something so beautiful doing their very best to keep people from seeing it...”

You had been tinkering with the temperature-settings on the water-boiler and had only half paid attention to what Ezra was saying. Something about arts and planets and wanting to kill him. You looked up when he went quiet. That was usually your cue to say something or hum or nod before he would continue but this time Ezra was watching you intently with the faintest of smiles on his lips. The scrutiny made you a little nervous and you wished you had listened more closely.

“...yes?” you guessed, hoping that it would be an appropriate response to what he'd just said. Ezra's smile widened and clearly seizing the opportunity of having your attention, he went on.

“Where's your favorite place in the world, Birdie?”

“Here,” you stated simply and returned your focus to the water boiler. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Ezra turn and look out through the window of your small base. He wouldn't get it. No one else had.

“It is quite a marvelous place to behold, isn't it? The planes and the ridges over on that horizon. Never the same, no matter where you turn your eye to. And I know you prefer the sunsets and they are grand indeed but for me, it's the sunrises that does it. Those first rays of sunlight make the whole planet look like it's covered in silver. Takes my breath away every morning.”

You had stopped again to just look at Ezra as he described the planet he was watching outside the window. There was a fondness to his face when he spoke and it tugged on your heartstrings like it was part of you that he was complimenting. As the light from outside hit his face you found yourself thinking that Ezra was quite a wondrous sight to behold too. Rough and rugged, sure, but there was a certain beauty to him. In profile, the curve of his nose and the uneven spikes of his hair reminded you of those very same ridges he'd mentioned just a moment ago. Sharp and jagged. And yet other parts of him seemed way too soft, in comparison. His eyes which, once he'd gotten over the initial apprehension of you, held a sort of kindness that you had not often seen. The scars on his back and torso, that almost glowed like white lines when he undressed in the evening, and told a story of a vulnerability that his usual larger-than-life persona did its best to cover up.

Ezra caught you looking at him and you quickly looked away.

If you happened to wake up an hour earlier the next morning, it was pure coincidence. And when Ezra handed you a cup of coffee and opened his mouth to, no doubt, claim otherwise you glared at him so hard that he raised his hands in surrender before closing his mouth again and pouring himself some coffee.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mining Ander was hard work. Much harder than what most people assumed. They only saw the finished product and figured that the delicate ore must be mined in an equally delicate manner. What they always failed to take into consideration was the several feet of stone and rock that you had to drill through to even get close to the Ander.

The big mechanic drill helped but it was still a grueling work, and you loved it. You loved feeling the strain in your muscles and the way they ached after a long day of work. The smell of sweat in an air-tight suit was something you definitely could have done without, although it did make the fresh air back at the base seem all the sweeter.

Ezra was a hard worker too, which was something you appreciated about him. He never shied away from the strenuous work, despite his occasional verbal complaints about the working conditions, and a couple of hours into the workday his grunts over the comms became a familiar background noise.

You took turns manning the drill while the other person carried the discarded bits of rock away from the hole in the ground and over to the pile which had been growing steadily larger over the duration of your shift.

Most days you paused for lunch but there were days when neither of you wanted to pause what you were doing and you ended up working way too late. Those were the very few days when Ezra stayed mostly silent before it was time for bed. In the beginning, you had cherished those moments like nobody's business but as time went on you found yourself almost missing his steady stream of words and comments.

This particular day was shaping up to be one of those days. Lunch was supposed to have happened some time ago but just as you had been about to call for a break, Ezra had cheered and declared that he'd discovered something purple and gleaming. So instead of stopping, you doubled your efforts the get the ore out.

The eagerness to get to the Ander as quickly as possible might have been what did it. Ezra pushed the drill a little too hard into the ground and suddenly there was a loud snap and you started.

It felt like someone had cracked a whip against your lower leg and you yelped. The pain was followed almost immediately by a whooshing sound and you met Ezra's widening eyes before both of you looked down at the tear in your suit, where oxygen was rapidly leaking out.

“Fuck!” you cursed loudly and quickly crouched to press your hands against the hole on the fabric. Ezra hurriedly jumped down from the driver's seat of the drill and ran over to you.

“We need to get you inside,” he stated, unnecessarily, and you had half a mind to make a rude remark about him stating the obvious. But you held your tongue. Maybe the quick decrease in oxygen was making you soft.

Keeping both of your hands wrapped around your calf, to keep the pressure on the wound and the integrity of your suit, made it impossible to walk. Ezra realized this too and wasted no time picking you up and carrying you. You felt grateful for the decreased gravity since it allowed him to sprint back to the airlock in no time, despite carrying a fully grown person in his arms. Your helmets bumped together in an uneven rhythm as he ran. You listened to his sharp breaths as he ran. They were faster than usual and you didn't think it was from the effort of carrying you. He was worried, you realized and you felt a bit touched that he cared this much. It was a bit excessive, of course. This wasn't the first injury you'd suffered during your shifts on the moon. There was plenty enough oxygen in the suit to get you back to the base and plenty enough blood in your body so that even if he'd sliced your whole leg of you were pretty sure you would have been fine. And since you very much felt your leg still being attached, there wasn't really any cause for alarm. You told Ezra as much but he didn't slow down and you could tell that he didn't quite trust your abilities to medically assess yourself.

“Let me remind you that it took you almost a full day to confess that you'd cut yourself on the kitchen knife when we first got here,” Ezra reminded you, and fine, that was a somewhat fair point but you hadn't known him back then and in your defense, you probably would have been fine even if he hadn't discovered the cut and forced you to let him redress it. You said nothing more. If he wanted to run himself tired for no reason then he was, by all means, welcome to do so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once inside, he set you down and instructed you to strip. For once in your life, you did what you were told without arguing and as Ezra rummaged around in one of the cupboards for a medkit, you shrugged out of your spacesuit. Your lower leg and foot felt wet and as you pulled it out of the leg of the suit you winced with pain. There was more blood than you had anticipated and you suddenly felt a little light-headed. You weren't afraid of blood but you weren't exposed to bloody injuries all that often either and you preferred your own body parts without them.

You wiggled out of your pants as well and flopped down on a chair. Ezra had struck gold with his search and returned to your side a second later. You gripped his shoulder as he knelt in front of you. A warning for him not to set his knee down in the small puddle of blood that had formed on the floor in front of you. Ezra not only missed the warning but also interpreted your gesture in a completely different manner.

“Don't you worry, Little Bird,” he assured you, as if you were the one who needed comforting, “We'll have you patched up and in tip-top condition again in no time.” He began wiping the skin around the wound clean. You winced a little in anticipation of the pain that never really came. Ezra's hands were surprisingly gentle as he cleaned away the blood. Ezra always surprised you with that. For some reason you always expected him to be rough, but he never was. Whether he was preparing food, reading one your books that he'd stolen or helping you into your suit every morning, he always did everything with a gentleness like he was handling something precious.

His brow was furrowed as he worked, though more from concentration than from worry, you noted and was pleased that he seemed to have reached the same conclusion that you had on the way to the base; that there was no immediate danger to your life. Once he'd cleaned the blood away it turned out that the cut wasn't very deep at all. It was about three inches long but shallow enough that Ezra could simply tape it shut before sealing it with a big anti-bacterial bandaid. He wiped your blood from his hands as best he could and let out a slow breath.

“You gave me quite a fright there, Little Bird,” he confessed and looked up from where he was still sitting at your feet. One of his arms was resting against your bare leg.

“I told you I would be fine,” you reminded him.

“Well, you down-play things and therefore are not to be trusted on matters like this.”

“I do not!” you protested. Ezra cleared his throat and held up his index finger to begin counting.

“It's just a short walk from here, Ezra. Took us three hours. I just nicked my finger. I cleaned that wound too and I'm fairly certain I saw bone. The coffee is a little bit hot. I couldn't taste anything for two days afterwards. I'm not that cold. Your lips matched the Ander... do you wish for me to continue? Because I've got more examples if you need 'em, Birdie”

You were watching Ezra with indignation and coughed out a laugh. You could hardly be held responsible for him taking every comment you made quite so literally.

“Says the man who exaggerates just about everything,” you countered

Ezra raised his eyebrows in confusion, as if this was the most preposterous accusation he'd ever heard. You were pretty sure he was faking it but you still took the bite.

“You beg me to shoot you every afternoon when I wake you up from your nap. You almost cry every time we strike Ander and how many times have you had the finest meal of your life since you got here?”

Ezra shook his head but you could see the small smile he was trying to hide.

“I am an appreciative man, Birdie. What can I say...” he said with a shrug and yes, he was definitely trying to rile you up.

“Well, appreciate this,” you said and jokingly flipped him off.

“I would appreciate every last part of you if you weren't so damn stubborn.”

You opened your mouth to toss another semi-insult back at him before the words fully registered, making you blink and stutter out a “W-what?” instead.

“I believe you heard me perfectly well,” Ezra answered, holding his ground. You felt your cheeks flush from the boldness of his comment. Even if he didn't realize how unprofessional that joke was, you certainly did and you were at a loss for words. Your usually so sharp tongue had, for once and with the worst timing, failed you. Every witty retort you began to come up with were instantly interrupted by mental images of Ezra making good on the comment he'd made. So what if you had entertained the thought previously? You and he were two people stuck in a small space which allowed little or no room for any sort of release in that department. The mind was bound to go a little crazy after a while. It had happened with previous work partners too. And it was understood by everyone that it wasn't anything to act or even comment upon. Understood by everyone except Ezra that was.

“You have been watching me. There are many things about you which are subtle, but that has not been one of them,” he said. There was something curious in his eyes as he watched you. He was searching your face for any indication whether he was reading the situation right or not. You weren't sure at all what expression you face did show but you were quite certain it wasn't disgust or revulsion, partly because those weren't the emotions you were actually feeling right now but more importantly because you were 100% certain that Ezra would have backed off if he'd detected any aversion on your part. And Ezra remained firmly where he was, on his knees in front of you, looking up at your face with a look on his face that you vaguely recognized.

You had gotten quite good at reading Ezra during your time on the base. This look was something you'd only seen in fleeting glances when he thought you weren't looking and when you both undressed for bed in the evenings. It was a look you hadn't quite been able to read. But now he was looking you dead in the eye and it was clear as day; Ezra wanted you. The realization made heat pool low in your stomach and if truth were to be told, you wanted Ezra too. Had for a while, now that you allowed yourself to admit it.

“I have,” you admitted and Ezra let out a breath you hadn't noticed he was holding.

“And did all that watching reward you with any new insights, Little Bird?” he asked, sitting up a little straighter and placing his other hand on your thigh. Your skin felt like it was buzzing where his hand was resting. His thumb began rubbing small circles against the skin of the inside of your thigh, just above the knee. It felt wonderful but was nowhere near enough and if Ezra was gonna give another monologue right now, you were pretty sure you wouldn't be able to handle it.

“For Kevva's sake, Ezra, can we save this conversation for later and just... do something!” You weren't necessarily proud of the shrill note of desperation to your voice but a dangerous smile spread across Ezra's face and his grip on you tightened. In a torturously slow movement, he pushed your legs further apart and you had to grip the edge of your seat hard to keep yourself from yanking him forward. He moved closer, hands running up the outside of your thighs, and he leaned down to place a kiss halfway up your thigh. Then another one, slightly higher. Then, because he was Ezra and of course he just couldn't help himself, he stopped and looked up at you.

“I must confess that thoughts of this have crossed my mind more than once,” he said, voice rough like sandpaper and utterly delicious. But there were so many better things for that mouth to be doing right now, other than talking.

“Ezra, please,” you groaned, more out of frustration than arousal, but from the smile Ezra gave you he definitely interpreted it as the latter. You didn't care because it had the intended effect regardless and a moment later Ezra's mouth was back on your skin, kissing its way higher and higher up on your thigh.

When his lips finally brushed, feather-light, over the fabric of your underwear it almost had you shooting off your chair. Luckily Ezra had anticipated this and his hands were now firmly placed on your hips, holding you in place. Your first instinct had been to close your legs, the jolt of sensation almost being too much, but Ezra's broad shoulders made that impossible and as he pressed his lips against the fabric a second time at was all you could do to hold back the needy whimpers that threatened to spill out with every breath. Ezra glanced up at you and you could feel the bastard smiling against you.

He pulled back and you were ready to make loud complaints about this lousy decision before you realized that he'd only pulled back in order to get you out of your underwear. You let him slide the piece of clothing down your legs then yelped a little in surprise as he promptly lifted both your legs and hooked them over his shoulders. Any comments on the manhandling died in your throat a moment later when his mouth found its way back to the prize and he licked a broad stripe across your folds. It had been quite some time since anyone had touched you in this way. Maybe that was it, or maybe it was just that Ezra really knew what he was doing, but as his mouth continued to explore, alternating between licking and kissing and sucking, your entire body felt like it was shaking. Your knuckles were white from how hard you were gripping the chair and your breaths escaped you in ragged huffs of air, mingled with the occasional whimpers that you had given up on holding back. The vocal feedback only seemed to encourage Ezra and he doubled his efforts.

It was too much and not enough at the same time. You felt like you would slap him if he stopped but, at the same time, you weren't sure you could handle this much longer. All your higher brain functioning had gone out the window and flown off into space. Your whole world had narrowed down to the sensations of your body and, even more specifically, the place between your legs where Ezra's clever tongue had all your nerve-endings going off like fireworks. And Ezra showed no signs of stopping until he'd made you come apart completely. Something which was rapidly approaching.

You tried warning him, managed to grip his forearm and push a little while stuttering out his name, but he only held you tighter and flicked his tongue over your clit in a way that turned the last vowel of his name into a cry of pleasure as you came. Ezra continued his ministrations and his tongue carried you through the pulsating waves of your orgasm.

When he finally pulled back and met your gaze, you were speechless. Ezra, true to form, was the first to comment.

“You truly are a vision like this, Birdie,” he said with awe in his voice and you gave him a weak laugh. Vision, you suspected, was hardly the most fitting description for you right now. Mess, more likely. You could feel how flushed your cheeks were and your lips must be bitten raw by this point. But Ezra was watching you with a mix of lust and wonder and as his gaze wandered lower he looked like he was ready for another round. You suspected that you might actually die this time if he did.

So, on legs that felt like jelly, you slid off the chair and onto his lap. The taped wound on your calf smarted but Ezra caught you before your knees slammed against the floor. His breath hitched in his throat as your weight pressed against the hardness in his pants and his hips bucked slightly, seemingly out of their own accord.

You wrapped your arms around Ezra's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue and lips and you greedily licked into his mouth, wanting to taste more, taste him. Rolling your hips against him earned you another stuttered breath and a moan from Ezra. He mumbled something against your lips and you had every intention of ignoring it in favor of continued kissing but Ezra pulled back and broke the kiss. You made a noise of complaint, which made him laugh.

“Sincerest apologies, Little Bird, but if I am to make good on my promise to appreciate every part of you we are going to have to pace ourselves, just a fraction...”

You were about to protest. To hell with pacing yourselves when you had Ezra's mouth only inches from yours! Perhaps sensing your usual stubbornness and unwillingness to cooperate returning, Ezra played dirty and reached down to press the tip of his finger gently against your opening.

“Fuck...” you shuddered, unsure if the next word was gonna be you, me or just fuck in general.

“That is what I am arguing for here, beautiful. But you and I are both still way too dressed for what I'm hoping comes next and, for the sake of your knees and my back, perhaps we could relocate ourselves to the relative comfort of my bed?”

As much as it pained you to admit, Ezra did have a point and, in a move that required more energy and coordination that it usually did, you climbed off him and stood up. Ezra got to his feet as well. He took your hand and kissed each of your fingers softly in a way that somehow felt more intimate than the place he'd been kissing a minute or two ago.

“Allow me to take you to bed?” he asked, even though you were under the impression that this had already been established as the next destination. You nodded impatiently and pushed him slowly backwards towards the bedroom.

“Take me to the bed or the kitchen table or back to the floor, Ezra. I don't care, I just... I just need you.”

Ezra's eyes darkened with lust and a moment later he was the one dragging you towards the beds. The two of you stopped just before you crashed onto Ezra's bunk, realizing that undressing might be a slightly easier endeavor before you were both tangled up on the small bed.

Ezra was quicker getting to your clothes than you were at getting to his and he pulled your shirt and then your sports bra over your head and tossed it to the side. You were fully naked now, while he was still fully dressed, if a little disheveled-looking. The contrast made you feel all the more undressed. Ezra watched you, with that same appreciation as before.

“I have imagined this. What you would look like... so gorgeous. Even in that spacesuit, you managed to drive me up the walls crazy. Can barely keep my hands off you,” he mumbled.

“So how about you don't,” you suggested. You were more than ready for this, it was just Ezra that needed to get with the program. He didn't need to compliment and woo you. He just needed to touch you.

You reached for his shirt, made quick work of getting rid of it before you made equally quick work of his pants and underwear. Now you were both naked and you took a moment to appreciate the newly revealed areas of skin. Ezra twitched as if it had been your hands and not your eyes which were caressing his body. You took a step closer.

“I want you to fuck me, Ezra,” you stated, perhaps a tad too matter-of-factly but Ezra made a noise that could only be described as a growl and crashed your mouths together again. Without the layers of clothes between you, your hands were free to roam and you tried touching every bit of skin that you could reach, slowly circling lower and lower, towards where you knew he wanted your touch the most. Ezra was giving as good as he was getting and when it was his impatience's turn to take hold, he grabbed your ass and pulled you fully against himself with a moan. You pushed him back and finally onto the bed. He laid down and watched, with almost pitch-black eyes, as you crawled on top of him and straddled his thighs.

He began talking again, nothing coherent this time, and you leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips, effectively silencing him. Ezra seized the opportunity to grab your hips and pull you a little higher. You both moaned into each other's mouths as your folds dragged along his length.

“In me,” you whispered and Ezra reached down to position himself against your opening. In the slowest pace you could bring yourself to, you began lowering yourself onto him. Ezra's eyes looked like they were about to roll back in their sockets and he said your name, followed by a whole string of curses, some of which you had never heard before.

You stilled for a moment once he was fully inside you, letting yourself adjust slightly to the sensation, then you rose up to let him slide almost all the way out before lowering yourself again. The pace was much slower than what either of you wanted but if he was feeling anywhere near as needy for more as you did, then it would be worth it.

It seemed that he was because the very next thing out of Ezra's mouth was a begging plea.

“Please, Birdie,” he said and he sounded wrecked. You took pity on him, both for his sake and for your own. You couldn't handle this slow pace for a second longer either. Speeding up, you heard the relief in Ezra's breathing and he placed his hands on your hips again to help guide you into a quicker pace.

The sensation wasn't quite as overwhelming when you were the one in control but you could still feel your pleasure building every time Ezra slid back into you. His moans were becoming more and more ragged and you weren't sure how much longer he was gonna last. Just as you were about to ask, he wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you down for a kiss. The move gave him a little more leverage to move his hips and you gasped as he snapped his hips up, making him hit a whole new spot inside you. He did it again. And again. And you had to take back the thought you'd just had about the sensation not being overwhelming. You met his thrusts as best you could, your rhythm becoming more and more sloppy the closer the two of you got to climax.

In the end, you cracked first. Pushed over the edge by the surprise of Ezra latching onto the skin of your neck and sucking, hard enough to leave a mark. As your second orgasm rushed through you, you felt Ezra follow and he moaned loudly as he came, still inside you. He continued thrusting a few more times before he slowed down to a stop.

The stillness that followed, as you had untangled slightly before pulling each other close again, was interrupted only by your panting breaths...and of course...

“If I were to die now, I'd die a happy and content man,” Ezra mumbled, his hand drawing patterns against your back.

“Dying now would be a breach of contract,” you informed him, with a small smile, “We still have a fifth of our rotation left before we're heading back for Icarus.”

“Only a fifth?” Ezra asked and you watched his brow furrow as he did the math.

“'fraid so.”

Ezra turned and gave you a devilish grin

“Then I propose we attempt to make the very most of that fifth, or what do say, Birdie?”

As his hand trailed lower, you couldn't help but nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @yespolkadotkitty @agirllovespancakes @beccaplaying @pedropascalito @ohpedromypedro @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @knittingqueen13 @pedropascallion @scarlettvonsass @heatherbel @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @larakasser @fromthedeskoftheraven @seawhisperer @mourningbirds1 @alwaysbethewest @thegreenkid @pajamasecrets

#ezra x reader #ezra/reader #ezra prospect #prospect fanfic #prospect #prospect fic #my fanfiction

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littleeyesofpallas · 4 years

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It occurred to me that for as big a deal as Aizen making the Arrancar was, we only ever actually saw 2 Arrancar in the process of being made: Grandfisher and Wonderweiss. Wonderweiss’ hollow form was obscured by bandages. (but we can see where the headshape accounts for his little princely crown fragment he’s left with.)

Other than those 2, every Hollow form we saw was designed after the Arrancar form. Additionally some of the Hollow forms weren’t shown until after their Resurreccion. What this all means is that the thru line in design from intact Hollow mask, to Arrancar fragment, and back to Resurreccion again isn’t really a consistent design process...

Grandfisher’s mask removal is very literal, and when he reappears his old mask is basically the same, save a few changed details, but the core shape and description is comparable. And when he transforms (not really a Resurreccion though?) his mask doesn’t actually change at all, apart from scaling in size along with him. It’s actually a neat detail that his weird forhead growth (horn?) shatters the top half of his mask, which actually kind of aligns with the fact that originally his top half was what was torn off, so as an Arrancar his fragment is technically only his bottom half; the top he just wore as decoration.

A similar kind of mild touch up happened with DiRoy’s basic silhouette, and backwards from there we got his Hollow form as a super literal unbroken form of his fragment. Originally he appeared to have some kind of a segmented worm or grub body from the legs down, ending in a sort of arrow head shape; while the tail shape clearly influenced the change in his mask fragment shape when he reappeared, I think it’s cool that his worm body also came back in Grimmjow’s eventual flashback.

The rest of Grimmjow’s Fraccion all have the same design process, where they were Arrancar first, Resurreccion second, and then Hollows based on those. The only major exception being Edrad, as his Resurreccion (the first we ever really see) actually does away with his mask fragment all together, which seems odd.

Shawlong’s fragment actually changes frequently even during his short time featured: First he had a much rougher shape to his singular eyehole when appearing in Hueco Mundo in the scene with Aizen and Ulquiorra. Then he got the more recognizable smooth narrow slats. But midway into the attack on Karakura his giant paddle-like headpiece switched sides. And then when he released his sword the slats changed proportions, and the paddle changed position again, and finally his Hollow design actually merged the head piece with the tail that had come out the back of his neck in Resurreccion form. He may actually have been the Arrancar with the most variations on his design, and most of them I don’t think were meant to be in-world perceivable changes.

Ylfordt is one of the most direct of these, his Resurreccion is just a larger version of his fragment, but retains the design and placement. His Hollowform is basically just his Resurreccion. Likewise, even though he doesn’t have a Resurreccion, Nakeem’s half-mask is just rendered in full as a Hollow.

I know everyone loves Grimmjow (heck, so do I) but I actually think his Resurreccion and Hollow designs are just kind of a mess. For one he loses his namesake jawbone, which is perhaps the most incomprehensible design choice, but it’s also replaced with the forehead piece that doesn’t even seem to correlate with his Hollow form. Also, while on a superficial level we can kind of assume Grimmjow’s jaw comes from some sort of underlying cat skull, his Hollow form’s cat mouth shouldn’t actually have any sort of bone structure “under” it, because it’s not skin, it’s a mask.

I’ve taken the liberty of assuming Ulquiorra was the basis of the Vastolorde silhouette used to illustrate the Menos Grande classifications, which looks like it’s just the other half of his existing helmet fragment being intact. But by the time we got a Resurreccion it deviated wildly from that silhouette, and the Hollow form we did get well after the fact was based on that, rather than the original fragment or implied silhouette. I think this particular case shows off the change in design approach Kubo made at some point in the arc. (And the Segunda Etapa never really matched any other form for whatever reason.)

Wonderweiss I already mentioned, sans the Resurreccion. But considering Aizen supposedly specially designed him for his Resurreccion’s ability, in whatever means that was meant to imply, it renders any kind of sense of logical progression kind of a moot point. He does retain the crown motif generally, although the shape is different.

Then there’s Baraggan whose Resurreccion and subsequently revealed Hollow form are just identical to one another, and both totally unrelated to his crown fragment. In fact, the crowns his Hollow and Resurreccion form wear are distinctly not bone and not even the same as one another.

But that’s it! The only other transformative Hollows we ever see are all Visored, and mostly in incomplete stages. In fact, going from Ichigo’s various processes as well as the one Hollow we actually see transform from a human soul, the Visored’s transformations in Turn Back the Pendulum seem pretty clearly like something Kubo just kind of tossed in as an inevitable consequence of that particular plot, rather than something he really planned for or thought through. None of their Hollow follows actually look anything like Hollows? No Hollow holes? No real monstrous qualities? Mashiro and Kensei being the spot light Hollows don’t even have any mouths on their mask to do the whole two-sets-of-teeth thing that Kubo kind of made a big part of the Hollows’ signature look. They seem like a very obvious case of him making the mask first and trying to reverse engineer a Hollow from there.

Bit of a tangent, but the fact that none of the Visored in the flashback sidestory have Hollow holes reminds me... Way way back when the Arrancar Arc first started, I was actually pretty convinced the Visored didn’t have a shikai or bankai. My logic had been that because the Hollow mask is the heart that the Hollows lost as human souls, for a shinigami that inner soul has already been manifested in their zanpakutou. Ichigo was an exception because he became a Hollow and a Shinigami at the same time, rather than one and then the other like the Visored and Arrancar at the time had seemed to be. Which in turn was why Ichigo’s sword and sword spirit were two sides of the same coin. This also implied heavily that Urahara hadn’t done what he did with getting Ichigo’s powers back at the start of the SoulSociety Arc by accident. He knew exactly what he was doing and what the end result could/would be.

#bleach #hollow #arrancar #Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez #ulquiorra cifer #wonderweiss margela #Baraggan Louisenbairn

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clonecaptains · 4 years

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FLY AWAY WITH YOU | an ezra x reader fic series - part 1 of 6

rating: m for eventual smut; but none in this chapter

summary: Waking up with no memory after a head injury, you find yourself in the presence of your rescuer- a handsome stranger named Ezra.

a/n: all the parts are written except the final part, i’ll probably post them every few days or so!!! this is my first time writing ezra!! feedback is much appreciated! and thank you so so so much to @pascalispedro for everythingggg i couldn’t do this w/o you.

FLY AWAY WITH YOU

Ringing. There’s a loud ringing in your ears. Your vision is blurry and that ringing won’t stop. You can’t hear anything else, and you’re not sure what you’re seeing. The color brown and green seems to blur together. What happened? Did you hit your head?

Reaching up to touch your temple, you feel wet. Your hair is has been matted down with something sticky. Pulling your hand away, you look at it. Not that it does any good because your vision is still blurred. But there’s enough red on your fingertips to know it’s blood.

Suddenly you smell it, your blood. And dirt. And earth.

Something else is mixed in, maybe smoke? Something in the air is foul.

The air.

What happened?

It’s still foggy, but you try and retrace your steps from the day.

You do remember harvesting a couple of those things, you can’t even think to remember what your cousin called them. It wasn’t easy but it wasn’t hard either. You did just fine.

You also remember some arguing? Something was happening? There were these other people?

It’s starting to come back to you, but this air is getting to you. How long have you been walking? Are you even going in the right direction? You feel dizzy again and things are starting to spiral.

Then everything goes black.

A voice this time brings you out of your stupor. You can’t make out what they’re saying, but you can make out it’s a male voice. It’s not your cousin, this voice has a thick accent.

You blink several times to clear your vision again, and you take in your surroundings and this stranger.

The man is sitting near you in a metal folding chair. He’s got no choice but to sit close to you, there’s not any room in this area.

You reach up to touch your temple again, and you feel cloth. A bandage has been wrapped around your head. And you notice, other than a slight headache, you’re not in any pain.

“Where am I?” you wonder aloud. Your throat is so dry your voice croaks.

“At last, the lady is with us!” the man speaks and this time you understand him. His voice sounds nice. That accent is so strong. “Alas, I must admit, I myself do not know where this is. But I was out and about on my harvest when I saw you lyin’ unconscious on the ground. You were gaspin’ for air. So I took it upon myself to bring you to shelter and here we are.” he gestures with his arm while he looks around the room. That ugly yellow light shines on his face, and suddenly the light is not so ugly on his tan skin.

“Thank you,” you tell him sitting up a little. You’re still feeling dizzy, but you feel safe. “What happened?” you think aloud again. And where is your cousin?

“I heard what sounded like gunfire off in the distance,” he explains, “that’s how I came to find you.”

“I was with my cousin, did you see anyone?”

“I am afraid I only saw some bodies, miss. You were the only one I saw alive.”

Your cousin, and whoever attacked you must have been near where you first woke up. But in your daze you started walking and missed the bodies entirely.

You were warned this was dangerous work. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your hand. Grief and shock is setting in. Your cousin is gone, and your harvest.

“I’m stuck here,” you whisper.

He is talking so fast that you can barely keep up.

“Now, I’m sure you’re a-wonderin’ if you can trust me. And right now little birdie, I’m all you’ve got.”

In any other situation, if a stranger called you a pet name, you might recoil. But he says things so casually, you don’t feel any malice or perversion behind it.

“You can help me harvest, and I can get you outta here. There is my offer plain and simple. You can surely decline, but if your cousin is gone, my condolences. And you have no way to get home.”

Home. You don’t want to go home. You don’t want to stay here, but you don’t want to go home.

“What’s that?” he leans forward, his eyes squinting. He’s trying to hear, you didn’t realize you’ve just said that out loud. “Where are you from?”

“Zulara,” you mumble.

You sit for a moment weighing your options. You’ve heard good things about Anvarvis V. or was it IV?

“We’ll split the harvest 50/50?” you ask.

He nods.

“Ok. It’s a deal,” you nod and stick out your hand.

“Alright,” he grins. “I’m Ezra, what can I call you?”

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#ezra x reader #ezra #prospect #ezra prospect #ezra (prospect) x reader #mine #my gifs #pedro pascal #my writing #fly away with you #part one

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