#i want to keldabe kiss him

[sun-roach]

This is from Fox ❤️

Bfbdbbdkdjd Liiiiiiv thank you so much. This is so kyute and I really needed that😭😭😭🧡🧡🧡🧡

[frostbitebakery]

LOUD.

“It’s a,” and here Cody bites his lips, scratches the side of his nose.

“A?” Obi-Wan prompts gently. Keldabe Kiss doesn’t, objectively, sound too dirty. What’s in a name etc. but when Cody had said, if Obi-Wan is game, they could try something, Obi-Wan had kept his expectations open.

“It’s a headbutt,” Cody wrings out of himself after another few seconds.

On the list of things Obi-Wan had, after all, expected to some degree, this isn’t one of them. He keeps silent. “You want to give me a concussion?” He’s great at being silent, turns out. “Or vice versa?”

Cody is already shaking his head, foot gently shoving his helmet further away from them. “No! It’s a sign of affection…”

Only in the Mandalorian culture, Obi-Wan thinks fondly. “Explain it to me,” he signs, eyes crinkling despite himself.

Cody huffs, leans back against the wall behind his bunk. Most of his armor is stacked on its stand. The helmet on the floor near them because Cody had been fiddling with the antennas when he’d gripped it with both hands, stared at the visor, and asked if Obi-Wan knew what a Keldabe Kiss was.

Obi-Wan sits cross-legged in front of him, restless fingers playing with the starched to death blanket. The mask is on and he wishes it weren’t. The last engagement had knocked the air right out of his lungs when a Hyena-class suddenly dropped down on them and delivered proton bombs on mass. He ended up gasping and on his back after the action was over, so for now the mask stays on.

Cody adjusts the hem on the t-shirt he’s wearing, the bandage no longer peeking out when he’s done. “I’m stalling.”

“I noticed,” Obi-Wan signs back, knocks his shin against Cody’s and lets it rest there.

“Growing up,” Cody begins after a few long moments where he’s watched their legs touch, “we’d sometimes see the Template put his forehead against Boba’s. Gently,” he adds, crooked smile for Obi-Wan’s concussion related fears. His voice turns wistful and Obi-Wan’s heart aches. “We didn’t— most of us didn’t want to be in his place. The Template hadn’t been popular with the clones long before he rejected us. But something about that gesture…”

The gentleness of it in contrast to the cold, neutral environment they’d been growing up in. The obvious affection of it had been calling them. One of the trainers had let it drop what it was named. And over time they had been able to put together a definition.

“You headbutt your enemy to get out of close quarters engagement,” Cody explains. “You have to be aware how you hit them so you don’t injure yourself while inflicting the maximum amount of damage to your opponent.”

“Is that why your nose is a bit,” Obi-Wan signs, pointing at the crook of his own nose just above the mask.

“Wolffe’s head is harder than his bucket,” Cody mutters, thumb stroking over Obi-Wan’s ankle absently.

The other definition, the one the clones had mostly embraced, the one that brought warmth and solidarity into their midst when no one else provided it, that one was based on affection. Clacking your helmets together after the heat of a battle, a job well done. Bringing your foreheads together to be there, to mourn together, to show the other isn’t alone. To remind the other they’re loved.

“It’s also a proxy for a kiss,” Cody explains, color high in his cheeks which makes Obi-Wan’s heart squirm in his chest. They’ve had sex a few possible and impossible ways and yet Cody is blushing over explaining a kiss. It’s sweet and touching and— “You can’t kiss when you wear buckets,” Cody says, “and sometimes you can’t kiss at all for various reasons. So it’s— it’s a kiss by proxy,” he ends, shrugging helplessly and aborted.

Obi-Wan waits as the question builds up inside Cody, firming the strokes of his thumb, the determination in his spine. He waits while Cody is stealing his breath.

“Can I kiss you?”

[iron-strangers]

we will raise warriors

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Female Jedi!Reader

Tags: Established Relationship, Mand’alor Din Djarin, PWP, Vaginal sex, Creampie

CW: Breeding Kink, No use of Y/N, Smut (MINORS DNI)

Length: 2.036 words

Read this on AO3: we will raise warriors

Link to the series on ao3, tumblr

-

“Happy love day!” You greet Din at the front door of your home by tackling him with a bear hug, armors and all, presenting a small gift, wrapped rather messily, with a huge, silly red bow on top. “Got you a little something, cyare!”

Din just walked into your home, a grand three-bedroom apartment-style room in the eastern wing of Keldabe Palace. I want to see the sunrise every morning, cyare, you had said when Din asked you to pick your family wing upon moving to the ancient, though newly renovated palace. Din had no preference. No actually, he’d prefer not to live in the old castle. He’d rather live in a house in the countryside, somewhere near a body of water, where he can enjoy nature with his family, away from the responsibility of being The Mand’alor. But anywhere is just as good if he has his beautiful riduur and their foundling with him, Din claimed.

You help your riduur to pull off his cape, hanging the long fabric on its stand near the door. Gone is the old and tattered one, replaced by a floor-length, crimson, soft fabric that more often than not got folded into a birikad for Grogu. You excitedly rush him towards the karyai, sitting him down on a couch and placing the gift in his hand. Not used to getting presents, Din eagerly removes his helmet before pulling the red ribbon off, revealing a small T-shaped metal in a transparent box. He stares at it with a puzzled look on his face before looking back up at you with his head tilted sideways.

“Is this, uh, a new bullet?”

”It is not a bullet, don't you dare to load it into your blaster,” You scold, snatching the box from your riduur's hand. “You remember how we’ve talked about trying for a baby? We’ve been planning it for a while, and then there was that time when we kinda, you know, get excited about it in the throne room?” Oh yeah, Din can’t forget that one, nuh-uh, top ten moment of his life. “So, here it is. This is an IUD, mine. It’s my birth control. I went to the healer this morning to take it out.”

Din stutters, his eyes wide open, looking back and forth at you and the IUD, so expressive behind his helmet, trying to process what he just heard. You smile at him patiently, your hands steady on his shoulder, rubbing tight circles with your thumbs, giving him some time to process the news. A few seconds later, the frown morphs into a smile, a huge grin now adorning his handsome face as he then pulls you to his lap and claims your lips in a flurry of hungry kisses. His hands come up to your jaw to cup your face, holding you ever-so-gently as he peppers your face with kisses, stealing giggles out of you.

“How soon can we start?” Din asks eagerly, beaming to you like a verd’ika who just got his first set of beskar’gam, holding you by your ass and lifting you both from the couch, ignoring your protests, holding tightly around his neck.

“Well, my healer said it might take a few weeks to purge the hormones outta my system, but she also said that anything can happen,” You shrug, absently playing with the tuft of hair reaching his neck, he needs a haircut, you duly noted. “Anyways, the elders are begging for us to start training heirs already, so how about you give us what we all want and fuck a baby into me, ner Mand'alor ?” You lean in to whisper playfully, lightly nibbling on his earlobe.

You watch with a smirk when Din is, once again, completely at a loss for words. His pupils are dark with desire and you can feel him starting to harden in his pants against the swell of your ass. Smirking, you grind down on his growing erection, earning a groan from him, always so easy to tease. “Dont start something you can't finish, Rid'ika,” He warns you, pressing your back against the bedroom wall.

“But we all know how much you want to,” you tease, trailing your hand down his beskar-covered chest all the way to the tenting length straining his flightsuit pants. “Want me all soft and pregnant, looking absolutely yours . Your riduur, your baby- Oh !”

Din throws you on the bed, ignoring your squeals. He immediately crawls on top of you and pins you down with a kiss. His hand sneaks down to pull your armors off one by one. He studies you thoroughly, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing his left vambrace that you have worn since your riduurok. He brushes your robes aside, sliding his hand down your belly, admiring your body for a moment. You take his gloves off, wanting to feel your riduur's blaster-calloused fingers on your skin. Your breath catches and the feeling of his hands on you makes you shudder. His middle finger slips beneath the panties and between your slick folds.

“So fucking wet for me, cyar’ika.” Din's lips are back on yours, swallowing your gasps as he circles your sensitive nub. You break the kiss with a sob when you feel Din gathering up your slick on his fingers and he nudges his thick fingers into your heat. You gasp as he slides his fingers deep, crooking his fingers into your sweet spot.

“Right there, Din,” you whine, throwing your head back onto the bed. Your riduur’s hand travels up, cupping your breast and rubbing the pad of his thumb over your pebbled nipple, pulling and pinching. He watches as you chew on your lower lip, trying to stave off your moans. 

“Fuck mesh’la , I can’t wait until these are filled with milk. Aching and leaking all day long until I can milk you dry.” Din leans closer to you, rolling your nipple with his tongue. His mouth closes around you and he sucks hard while his other fingers are still leisurely pumping in and out of you, ignoring your pleas.

“Please what, cyar'ika? Where's that smart mouth now, hmm?”

“Please fuck me! Need you to come inside, fill me up with our verd’ika, please, ner alor- ah!” 

Din swears hearing your needy whines, eager to give whatever his riduur's wants. He pulls his fingers out of you and taps your drenched folds with the tip of his cock. Din growls, he has denied himself for way too long, tucking his face in the crook of your neck he buries himself all the way into you in one thrust, knocking the breath out of you. 

“Force, you fill me up so fucking good .” You moan, letting your head fall down the pillow and grabbing a fistful of the sheet as Din immediately pounds into you. Your walls flutter around his girth, struggling to take him. 

Din burns with desire and his primal need to breed takes over. One rough snap of his hips makes you scream as the head of his cock nudges your sweet spot just right, severing the connection to your brain for a moment.

“You like that, cyar’ika?” He leans down, kissing your sweaty temples. You nod, trapped underneath your riduur, wailing and begging and taking everything Din is giving you. He claims your lips and kisses every plea from your mouth before he pulls back, indulging himself by staring down where his cock is buried inside of you. His length is wet and sticky with your arousal and his pre-cum, making him growl and pace himself harder, faster, rougher.

“I know how much you want it, rid'ika- fuck , look at you, made such a mess on my cock, mesh’la. You don’t want me to stop fucking this pussy until you’re all round and swollen with my ad’ika, huh?” 

“Yes, please, Mand'alor, please fuck a baby into me, wanna make you a buir.”

“Manda - Soak my cock, mesh'la, c'mon, gonna get you all wet and pregnant.” he snarls, spitting filthy promises as he thrust harder. “That’s it, cyar’ika. Keep on squeezing me like that, sweet girl. Not gonna stop fucking this tight pussy until you're all nice and full with our verd'ika.”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes, Din, cyare,” you moan, rolling your hips greedily. “Wanna give you a baby, Din. Come inside me, please. Please give me your cum, oh, Force-”

Din can’t control himself any longer, he growls gutturally, his fingers digging into your hips as his pace grows sloppier and he shoots the first of his hot, heavy load deep inside of you, holding you hard against his front and rutting his hips as he pumps his seeds into your willing womb. The feeling of Din's seeds flooding your insides is overwhelming, your mind is whiting out, legs trembling and you’re cumming hard, milking the thick shaft, enticing him to pump more loads into you until it leaks down your thigh. 

“Don't waste any drop now, cyar’ika.” Din hums, grinning and kissing on your jaw. Slowly he eases himself out of you and watches his cum dripping out of you. He tuts with dismay, gently fingering it back into your puffy cunt, then he gives you his fingers to suck clean. 

You settle in his arms, making out with him lazily when he pulls away and smiles, his hand a comforting weight on your tummy. His smile gives you butterflies. Running your fingers up and down his forearm, you beam to him and he almost tips over with the weight of his love and adoration for you. 

“I'm so excited,” you whisper softly, admiring the blissful look on your riduur’s face as he sounds his agreement and presses a tickling kiss on your nose. Din plays with your hair, brushing the strands sticking on your sweaty forehead back. “Mesh’la? I like the name Aranar,” Din thinks, and you beam at him, nodding and testing the name on your tongue.

The sun is setting, painting a beautiful glow on both his and your mismatched vambraces. There's a peaceful silence between you, the sound of his breathing evening out lulls you to sleep, almost swallowing you into a slumber when you remember something-

“Oh, I have another present for you, an actual present!”

Din tries to protest, claiming you’ve already given him the best present in the galaxy when you shush him, levitating an equally small box from the side table. You open the box, revealing two identical keys on a plush velvet. Din eyes you curiously, picking one key up.

“Remember that one house we saw near your covert?”

“The one with the big yard near the pond? Did you- No, cyar’ika!”

“It’s ours! No, listen to me,” you huff when your riduur tries to protest again. “We can’t live in the palace forever, Din. I won’t let you to. You don’t like it here, and therefore, neither do I. I figured we’d stay here until Mandalore is stable enough, or until we’ve reached about seventy percent of our rebuilding goal, then we’ll move out. We’ll get speeders to get here every morning, show our adi’ke around, then we’ll come home when the day is done, to a place where the Council of Alor can't steal you away from me. We can make it work, my love.” 

Din stares at you adoringly with his big brown eyes, too overwhelmed with the weight of your love to honestly do or say anything other than holding you close and kissing you, caressing your jaw lovingly with each kisses, murmuring a soft thank you over and over again against your lips. “I’ve never- No one’s ever do this much for me,” he mumbles, holding your hand to his heart. “You don’t like it here too? Why don’t you tell me?”

“Oh cyare, you deserve the world and you gave so much for me and our foundling, so of couse I will try to give you a place we both can call home, where we can watch our aliit grows,” You lean into his touch, nuzzling his hand with your jaw, offering him a smile. “And no, I don’t like this place, the force ghosts of previous Mand’alors are creeping me the fuck out!”

“THE WHAT NOW?”

-

Mando'a translations

Karyai: main living room of a traditional mandalorian house

Riduur: Spouse

Birikad: Baby harness

Mand’alor: Ruler of mandalorians

Alor: Leader

Cyare / cyar’ika: beloved

Riduurok: Love bond / Marriage agreement

Mesh’la: Beautiful

Verd’ika: Little warrior

Aranar: Defend

[proxima-writes]

title: hokaanir riduurok

pairing: din djarin x non-mandalorian female reader

rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI)

word count: 6278

summary: 

hokaanir riduurok - the mandalorian joining ceremony during which one warrior submits themselves to their intended, allowing their flesh to be carved with a symbol of their unity.

or: you marry a mandalorian and their weddings are a little different than you’re used to

author’s note: a gift for @dindjarinslegs , who’s beautiful brain sparked this whole work. the term of endearment “pirun’ner” comes from this list by user @starrypawz . if you enjoy this work, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging!

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual material (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, very plot heavy porn, writer considers ‘din’ to be the mandalorian’s first name, exploration of Mandalorian customs and lore, use of Mando’a, ceremonial scarification, mentions of blood and wounds, use of weapons, use of aphrodisiacs, wedding ceremony, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, mild/moderate breeding kink, cum play, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, biting/marking, thigh riding, dirty talk, praise, pet names, reader i have taken liberties. let me know if there are any missing!

You’re washing a dish when you hear the metallic clang of heavy beskar approaching. You turn, ready to greet the Mandalorian, only to find Din holding a blade out to you across both palms, helmet tilted down and feet planted wide. You glance at Grogu, who offers only a slow blink of his large dark eyes and a twitch of his ears in answer.

“Uh…Din? What…what are you doing?” You ask. He lifts his helmet, dark visor obscuring your view of his face but not the white hot feel of his gaze across your skin. 

“In Mandalorian culture it is tradition to present our intended riduur a blade with which to complete the hokaanir riduurok,” his modulated voice explains. 

“Right, right. Of course,” you mumble. You dry your hands on the apron around your waist. “What uh…what’s that, exactly?”

“The Mandalorian joining ceremony.”

You blink. “Joining ceremony? You mean like…marriage?”

“To Mandalorians it is more than marriage but…yes.”

“Din Djarin, is this a proposal?” You ask. You can’t stop the broad smile spreading across your face as you approach him. 

“Yes, cyar'ika,” he murmurs, armor heavy arms wrapping around your waist when you’re within arms reach. “Is this an acceptance?”

He tilts his head, pressing the cold beskar to your forehead. A keldabe kiss, he’d told you once.

“Of course.”

________

Din calls the Armorer following his proposal. She, along with Bo-Katan, have chosen to remain on Mandalore with a number of Mandalorians who wish to rebuild the planet to its former glory after the fight against Moff Gideon.

“She has accepted the blade,” Din tells the Armorer’s hologram. 

“It has been a long time since the Tribe has seen a proper Mandalorian wedding,” the Armorer says. “Even longer since the sands of Mandalore have borne witness.” She pauses, helmet tilting to the side. “Did you tell her the significance of the blade?”

“I told her it was for the joining ceremony,” Din replies. He should have known the Armorer would see right through him.

“Yes, but did you tell her its purpose? How she is meant to carve her possession into your flesh to be kept with you for the rest of your days?”

“I may have neglected to provide that much detail.”

The Armorer sighs. “I would suggest you bring your aruetii to Mandalore ahead of your joining ceremony. We will have much to discuss.”

“We will endeavor to arrive within the next lunar cycle,” Din concedes. 

“This is the Way,” the Armorer intones.

“This is the Way.”

________

“I can't believe I’m visiting Mandalore,” you say excitedly. “I’ve never even been off Nevarro.”

Din is strapping you into the co-pilot seat of the freighter ship he’s borrowed from Karga’s fleet. While he’s content to fly and sleep in his Starfighter, he said he wants you to be more comfortable during your first trip off-world.

“Stop moving, pirun’ner,” he says, fitting the straps across your chest. You wiggle again, just to be stubborn, and he huffs a laugh, tapping his helmet to the crown of your head. 

“You know, you’ve never told me what that means,” you say as he takes a seat in the captain’s chair. You watch as he confidently moves through the pre-flight motions, flicking switches and pressing buttons, inputting coordinates and checking gauges. 

“The literal translation from Mando’a is ‘my water’,” he says. “Water begets life. Without water, there is no living.”

“Din…,” you murmur, words getting caught in your throat. “Makes me feel bad for the nickname I give you in my head.”

He turns his head, somehow managing to look affronted despite you not being able to see his face. “And what nickname is that?”

“Tin man,” you joke. 

“But…this is beskar,” he says, clearly not understanding your joke and you can’t help but laugh. 

The nickname comes from the early days of your relationship with the Mandalorian. 

As Nevarro’s resident baker, you’re familiar with the locals and even more familiar with the gossip around newcomers. The town buzzed with excitement when one of the Mandalorians that defended the trading town had returned and settled on the outskirts with his son. 

The first time you saw him was when his son made a cookie float off your display and into his little green hand. The Mandalorian had shown up while you were bent to the little creature’s level, asking where his parents were.

“Grogu,” his modulated voice chastised. “We talked about this.”

He was clad head to toe in the beskar armor you’re now intimately familiar with, but you didn’t know that at the time, so you called him ‘tin man’ in your mind. You didn’t learn his name until around the third time he’d visited your bakery.

The ship jerks harshly in take-off, breaking you from your trip down memory lane. Your fingers curl nervously against the armrests of your seat.

“Does that usually happen?” You ask.

Din must sense the anxiety coming off of you in waves. He reaches a gloved hand over and rests it over yours. “You are safe with me, cyar'ika. I would never let any harm come to you.”

You smile at him, the tension easing from your shoulders. You turn your hand palm upwards to fold your fingers between his.

“I know.”

________

Later, in the pitch black crew cabin, you’re curled against Din’s body on the scratchy cot as the ship’s autopilot continues your voyage, reveling in the feel of him against you without all the beskar and weapons. He feels human like this, soft, yet somehow still your solid pillar of strength in a galaxy not built for gentle things.

“Tell me about Mandalore,” you murmur. 

“It’s not the same as it once was,” he replies, his unmodulated voice deep like the vastness of space beyond the ship. “It’s harsher now. War ravaged. For a long time we were told it was not even fit for life.”

“Were you raised there?”

“No. I was born on Aq Vetina. There was…a raid. My parents were killed. Battle droids. I was raised as a foundling on Concordia, Mandalore’s moon.”

“I’m so sorry, Din,” you whisper. You trace your hand up his chest and neck until you can cup his stubbled cheek in your palm. 

“I didn’t set foot on Mandalore until recently. I had…removed my helmet, in the presence of others, which goes against the very tenets of The Creed.” He takes a deep breath. “I was an apostate. Dar’manda.” 

“Seems kind of harsh.”

He chuckles. “You and Bo-Katan will get along well.”

“You still wear the armor,” you point out. “If you’re not a Mandalorian, is that allowed?”

“By bathing in the Living Waters in the Mines of Mandalore, someone who is dar’manda can seek redemption. It was a long shot. The Mines were thought to be destroyed.”

“But they weren’t?”

“No. The planet is more hospitable than we were led to believe, even in its ravaged state. It’s why Bo-Katan is able to rebuild, to reunite what once was broken.”

“So, you were able to bathe in the Mines then?”

“Yes. I have redeemed myself in the eyes of the Creed.”

Your mind conjures an image of your Mandalorian, tall and broad though his face is nothing more than a blur, stripped of his armor as he wades into a pool of water. You rub your thighs together, hoping the friction eases the ache forming between your legs.

“What are you thinking about, pirun’ner?” Din asks. His voice has gone lower, darker, and his hand presses you closer to his body. You realize you’ve been caught.

“You,” you reply honestly. He shifts, running his hand down your waist and over the curve of your ass, not stopping until his hand grips behind your knee and drags your top leg across his hips. Your hips shift against his leg.

You’ve not seen your Mandalorian’s face or body before, but you know the feel of it intimately. The hard planes of muscle in his arms and chest, the softness of his tummy and the thickness of his thighs. The stretch of him inside you, the bite of his teeth and strokes of his tongue under the cover of darkness.

“Is my riduur feeling needy?” His hand urges your movements, your hips now rocking steadily against his thigh. Your moan is breathy and desperate in the small, dark space.

“Not your riduur yet,” you gasp. Din’s warm hand grips your chin, tilting your face upwards. You feel his nose trace along your cheek as his mouth seeks out yours in the dark. His lips are warm as they move against yours in a slow, burning rhythm that matches the slide of your pussy over his thigh.

“The next time you cum, after tonight, you will be,” he groans. Your hips stutter, your release hitting you like a burst of light, sparkling at the corners of your vision. He kisses you deeply. “Sleep now, ner’karta.”

Your heavy eyelids obey his command.

________

Two figures stand at the mouth of a cave as Din lands the Alanar N3 Light Freighter on the surface of Mandalore, a woman with bright red hair and blue armor and a helmeted figure with copper armor and a gold helmet with spikes.

“Welcome,” the redhead says as the two of you approach. “It’s been a long time, Din Djarin. Hopefully you will not need rescuing while you’re here this time.”

“Bo-Katan. Or is it Mand’alor Kryze, now?” Din replies. She smirks. 

“Alor Kryze will suffice,” she corrects. Din bows his head in respect before introducing you by name to Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorian, who identifies herself as the Armorer you’ve heard Din speak about at length.

“We have much to show you and discuss,” the Armorer says. She regards you. “Follow me.”

You glance at Din, eyes wide. He gives you a nod, squeezing your hand. Taking a deep breath, you follow the Armorer’s retreating figure as she enters the cave. You meet her at the edge of a cliff that overlooks what appears to be a bustling city.

“Wow,” you mumble. 

“It has taken much effort to restore the Mine City to functionality. But it is prospering.”

“How do you get down there?” You ask.

The Armorer chuckles. “We fly. Come closer. We will go together.”

“Oh, uh. Okay.” You step closer and she wraps an arm around your waist, the jetpack on her back igniting as she takes a step over the cliff. You scream, clinging to her shoulders and squeezing your eyes shut.

Your feet hit the ground and you slowly open your eyes. At this level, other Mandalorians bustle about, some with helmets and others without. There are even children running through the streets.

The Armorer releases you once your footing is solid. “Come, we will visit the Living Waters.”

You trail after her again, head swiveling as you take in the city. Some of the Mandalorians look at you curiously as you pass, and you wonder what they must think. From what Din has told you, his Tribe is very secretive. Do they worry you’re a threat? The thought almost makes you laugh.

She leads you deep into the Mine City, down from the street level until you’re standing at the bank of what appears to be a lake, stone steps descending into the dark depths.

“These are the Living Waters of Mandalore,” the Armorer says. “In the days before the Great Purge, the Living Waters saw many ceremonies. Initiations to the Creed, joinings, the adoption of foundlings, the merging of houses. It is the lair of a Mythosaur, a great beast tamed by Mandalore the Great, the first ruler of Mandalore.” 

“There’s something down there?” You ask. She tilts her head.

“Allegedly. Mythosaurs have not been seen in many moons,” she replies. “Your joining ceremony will take place on these steps. Has Din spoken to you further about what that will entail?” You shake your head. The Armorer continues.

“It begins with a proposal. A Mandalorian warrior chooses a riduur to whom they will submit themselves, body and soul, for as long as they continue to live. The warrior presents their intended with a blade with which they will perform the hokaanir riduurok.”

“The ceremony consists of three parts,” she continues. “The dinui, or gift, where both parties have selected a weapon to give to their warrior.”

You blink. “He’s going to give me a weapon?”

“Yes. It will be forged specifically for you,” she confirms. “And you will select one for him as well.” 

“The second part of the ceremony is the riduurok, or the vows. You will drink spiced wine from the same chalice before reciting the traditional Mandalorian vows.”

This, at least, sounds familiar to you. Vows were common in the few wedding ceremonies you’d seen on Nevarro.

“Finally, the hokaanir. You will take your blade and cut your unifying symbol into his flesh, just above his heart. Then, the covert will host a celebration in your honor.”

“I’m sorry, I have to do what?”

The Armorer tilts her head. “We are a warrior people. Our loyalty is demonstrated with honor and blood,” she offers in explanation. When she’s met with silence, she continues. “I am happy to help you choose a weapon and unity symbol for your ceremony.”

“Thank you, Armorer,” you reply honestly. “For sharing everything with me.”

“This is the Way,” she says, bowing her head. “Do you have any questions?”

Only about a thousand, you think. But there’s one you’ve been wondering about since landing on the planet and being introduced to Bo-Katan, a Mandalorian who showed her face.

“I hope this isn’t insensitive but…you and Din always wear your helmets, right? But Bo-Katan and some of the other Mandalorians…they don’t. Why is that?” You ask carefully.

“The Tribe follows the Creed as described by the Way of the Mandalore. There are other interpretations of the Creed that do not consider the removal of one’s helmet grounds for exile,” she replies. “We are learning to live in harmony.”

“With your Creed…will I ever be able to see Din’s face?”

“As his riduur, he may choose to show his face to you and your future warriors.”

You blink. “Future warriors?”

“Your children. Foundlings or by birth.”

You hadn’t considered children before. Of course, you adore Grogu, Din’s adopted son, but growing your family? Now that the idea is planted, you can’t shake the roots loose.

“Shall we discuss weapons, then?” The Armorer asks, breaking through your racing thoughts.

“Let’s do it.”

________

“You really didn’t tell her anything about the ceremony?” Bo-Katan asks as she walks with Din through the restored Mine City. Din is in awe of the progress that’s been made since the last time he was here. There are a surprising number of Mandalorians now residing in the city, Alor Kryze’s unification efforts clearly working in her favor.

“I haven’t even witnessed one myself,” he says. “In the covert, they only recited the vows. There was no ceremony involved.”

“It’s certainly an experience. And for an aruetii, it may be challenging. We are born and raised as warriors. Blood is nothing to us.” She pauses. “Speaking of raising warriors, where is your son? I miss the little womp rat.”

“He and Karga will join us for the celebration.”

“Din Djarin,” the Armorer calls. He turns just as you collide against him, your arms around his waist. He tips his helmet to your head. 

“Pirun’ner,” he says, holding you to his chest. The reunion is short lived.

“We must discuss your joining ceremony,” Armorer says. “Join me at the Great Forge.”

________

The heat from the fire that burns within the Great Forge is stifling and oppressive. Sweat beads on Din’s temple within moments of stepping foot into the cavernous space.

“Your aruetii was rather surprised by our customs,” the Armorer says. Din can feel the judgment in her gaze, even through the helmet. “But receptive. She will do well.”

Din nods. “Thank you for taking the time to explain it to her.”

“She has chosen a weapon and a unity symbol. Have you given thought to her weapon?” The Armorer asks.

“A vambrace,” Din says easily. “A defense weapon. With shields and a comms unit. Nothing she could accidentally hurt herself with.”

“A fitting choice. It is settled. Your ceremony will commence in two days, upon the completion of your weapons. This is the Way,” she says.

“This is the Way.”

________

Bo-Katan helps you dress for the ceremony in a dress made of material so soft and light, you worry it will disappear into thin air. It reminds you of some of the gowns you’ve seen in holovids from Coruscant, white fabric draped over your shoulders, plunging in a deep V down your chest and falling to the ground, secured at the waist with a broad belt of beskar and crystal. When you ask her about it, she looks away.

“It belonged to the last true leader of Mandalore,” she says, not inviting any further questions you may have. “Women would normally wear ceremonial armor as well, but since you are not a Mandalorian, exceptions can be made,” she says. 

“Have you seen many weddings, Bo-Katan?” You ask. Din was right when he said you would get along well with the new leader of Mandalore. You’ve been enjoying getting to know her over your last two days on the planet. 

“I helped prepare for a few, before the Purge,” she replies. She adjusts the strap of your gown on your shoulder. “But the ceremonies are private. A leader in the community helps to guide the couple through the stages before taking their leave once the hokaanir has been performed.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

Bo-Katan smirks. “The ceremonial wine will have certain…effects on you that you will not want someone to bear witness to.”

“Maker!” You hiss. Your eyes go wide as she laughs. “Are you joking?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” She guides you out of the room and down into the city, where the Mandalorians are prepping for the celebration that takes place after the ceremony. There are flags raised with a familiar Mudhorn skull and others with what Bo-Katan explained was the skull of a Mythosaur, the symbol of the Mandalorians.

Helmeted Mandalorians tip their heads as you pass, while those not wearing helmets hold their fist across their chest. You feel nervous but excited and your heart races with each step closer to the Living Waters.

Bo-Katan leads you down into the depths, the sound of a crackling fire growing louder as you descend. As your eyes adjust to the dim glow of the firelight, you notice two figures standing at the top of the stairs to the Living Waters.

They turn as you approach. Your steps falter as you take in your Mandalorian’s attire.

Rather than the silver beskar and flight suit you’re used to seeing him in, Din now wears a pair of black linen pants belted with beskar tassets that hang to his knees. A black cape hangs down his back to the floor, held in place by impressive spiked pauldrons, a heavy chain sitting at the base of his throat. He still wears his familiar silver helmet.

As he turns to face you fully, your mouth goes dry. He’s shirtless beneath the cape and pauldrons, the tan skin of his chest and abdomen on full display. The firelight illuminates the muscles you’ve traced with your fingers and mouth but never with your eyes.

Perhaps most surprising, however, are the black tattoos that adorn his chest, swirling lines that stretch from his collarbone and down his pectorals until coming to a point right above his belly button. Shiny scar tissue catches the light - a large one on his hip that looks like a blaster shot, thin lines that bisect his tattoos and deeper gashes near his ribs. Your fingers ache to trace them as you commit them to memory. 

Bo-Katan gives you a little nudge, urging you forward until you’ve joined Din and the Armorer at the stone steps. She takes her leave with a nod of her head and the Armorer regards you both.

“Shall we begin?” Her modulated voice asks. 

“Yes,” Din’s modulated voice replies. His bare hand reaches for yours, fingers wrapping around your palm and easing the wild beat of your heart. 

“We will begin with the dinui. You have each chosen a gift that befits your riduur.” She turns, hefting a large ax-like weapon from the low wall behind her. “Din Djarin, your riduur has chosen the munit'kad halberd, the Mandalorian vibro-ax. A weapon worthy of the head of Clan Mudhorn." 

Din takes the ax, testing the weight of it in his hands. A twist of his hands activates the sonic blade, the beskar glowing blue. He swings the ax in a wide arc, slicing it through a nearby stone that crumbles to pieces.

Another twist of his palms and the blade goes still. He hands the ax back to the Armorer, who places it back on the wall before picking up a smaller item.

She holds the item to you as she says your name. “Your riduur has chosen a vambrace, fitted with a communications unit and defensive shield projectors.”

The Armorer gestures for your arm, securing the beskar vambrace to your forearm. It looks similar to the ones Din wears, reaching nearly to your elbow. There’s a screen that lights up when you tap it. You press at it again and a circular shield projection emits from the device, startling you and making you laugh.

The Armorer taps at the screen, making the shields disappear. She unclasps the vambrace from your arm, setting it beside the ax. “Din Djarin, do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”

“I do,” Din responds.

The Armorer says your name again, dragging your attention from Din. “Do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”

“I do,” you repeat.

The Armorer turns and picks up a chalice. “You will now consume the tal’galar, a symbol of the Mandalorian lives lost before your union.” She passes the chalice to Din, turning her head to allow him the privacy to lift the bottom of his helmet. You follow suit, training your eyes to the floor.

He passes the chalice to you. You glance briefly at the dark liquid before bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. It’s warm, thicker than you expected, but sweet. As you swallow, that warmth intensifies and it feels like it’s already suffusing through your veins, making you feel tingly. 

The Armorer takes the chalice from your hands, setting it aside. She picks up the blade that started this whole series of events, the one Din presented you with in your kitchen what feels like ages ago, and your hands start to feel sweaty. You swallow nervously, heart beating wildly in your chest.

“You will now recite the vows,” she tells you. “You will repeat after me.” Din reaches for your hand and the feel of his skin against yours is electrifying, lighting up every nerve ending. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

Din repeats the words in Mando’a, the deep timbre of his voice like silk. You want nothing more than for him to pull you closer, to whisper those words in your ear. This is your husband - this fierce warrior, this gentle man, this loving father. A wave of emotion clogs your throat, making it hard to swallow as you watch him.

“We are one together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors,” the Armorer repeats in Basic. You echo the words back, eyes glued to Din’s helmet. His fingers tighten briefly around yours as you finish the vow.

“Din Djarin of Clan Mudhorn, do you so submit yourself to your intended, until your final battle has been fought?” The Armorer asks. 

Din drops heavily to his knees, chest heaving with breath. “I do.”

She turns to you, holding the blade across both palms. You take the weapon in hand and face Din. You feel hot all over, like anything you touch may catch fire in your wake.

“Your riduur has chosen to symbolize your unity with pirun,” the Armorer says. “You may begin the hokaanir.”

________

Every moment in Din Djarin’s life has led to this - kneeling at your feet and staring up into your beautiful face as you ready yourself to unite your souls. A fire burns in his veins and his body aches with the need to touch you, his cock straining in his pants.

The tip of your blade drags across the skin of his chest and his breath catches at the prick of pain. He can feel his skin splitting in its wake, the sharp sting and burn of a new wound quickly morphing into an ecstasy that has him gasping.

The blade lifts from his skin and you begin the second line of the symbol. His hands curl into fists against his thighs, body fighting against the urge to wrap you in his arms and claim. 

Din can feel the blood sliding down his chest, little rivulets trailing from the most significant scar he’ll ever receive. When his eyes find yours from behind his visor and he sees his own bottomless lust reflected back at him, his restraint frays further. 

You start the third and final line of the symbol, an inverted triangle that represents pirun, water. His water, his life, his everything. He can’t help the moan that breaks free, echoing in the cavern. 

He reaches for you, gripping your hips as his head bows forward and he gets his first glimpse of his hokaanir, the cuts you’ve made over his heart with so much focus and care, stark red against the tan of his skin and bisecting his mandokar markings. His heart swells with pride at carrying a piece of you with him forever.

Din distantly registers the blade leaving his skin and the echo of retreating footsteps but all he can focus on is getting his hands on you, rucking up the gauzy fabric of your gown until his fingers are tracing the soft skin of your thighs. You drop to your knees, your own trembling hands sliding up his arms.

“Take it off,” Din commands. “My helmet, take it off, cyare.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, even as your hands grip the heavy beskar. 

“I’ve never been more certain.”

________

You slowly lift Din’s helmet, revealing a strong, stubbled jaw, plush lips, a prominent nose, soft brown eyes and curly dark hair. You set his helmet to the side without daring to take your eyes off of him, the sound of beskar hitting stone echoing through the cavern. You bring your trembling hands to his jaw, smoothing your thumbs across the high point of his cheekbones.

“Din,” you whisper. His hands wrap around your wrists, steady where yours are not. “Maker, you’re so beautiful.”

He smiles and it feels like a blaster shot to the heart to finally see it, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his mouth tilts up a little higher on the right. He wraps a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you forward for a sweet kiss, his lips moving gently with yours.

It doesn’t stay gentle for long.

Din’s lips turn insistent, hungry, bruising in their quest to conquer yours. His teeth nip at your lower lip, making you gasp and he uses it to his advantage, his tongue tangling with yours and exploring to its content.

His hands explore your body, tugging roughly at the straps of your gown until your breasts are exposed to the cold air of the cavern. His lips leave yours, kissing down your jaw and neck, sucking bruises into your sensitive skin.

Your own hands explore his chest, fingers ghosting over the fresh wound of his hokaanir and coming away sticky with blood. He moans against your skin each time your fingers catch on the angry red lines. 

“You feel that, cyare?” Din asks. He takes your hand, holding your palm to the mark. “A heart that beats blood only for you?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s moving, his body urging you down onto your back, eager hands rucking up the skirt of your gown up to your waist. He presses your thighs apart, settling on his belly between your legs, his thumbs parting the lips of your pussy for his appreciative gaze.

“I’ll never have you in the dark again,” he says, brown eyes meeting yours. “Not when I know what it’s like to see you in the light.”

With his gaze still holding yours, he licks a broad stripe through your folds. His eyes flutter shut as he groans, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. When they open again, there’s a hard gleam to them that wasn’t there before, a mischievous glint that has your breath catching at the intensity.

“Remember what I told you, cyare? On the ship?” He asks. His thumb circles your clit, broad swipes over the sensitive nub that have you crying out, the sound echoing around you. “That the next time you came would be as my riduur?”

Din slips two fingers into your soaked entrance, curling them against your front wall as he sets a pace that has your hips chasing after his hand with every withdrawal. Every movement of his fingers inside of you feels hotter, stronger than it ever has before. Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s just Din, unmasked and all yours, but you’re already so close to coming from just his fingers and his words and the look in his eyes.

“Want you to cum on my fingers first, want to see it,” he says, and that’s all it takes to have you clenching tightly, tiny supernovas behind your eyelids as you come undone. “That’s it, ner’karta.”

He doesn’t remove his fingers, instead dipping his head and licking at your sensitive clit and making you cry out, already oversensitive. 

“Din, Din, Din,” you pant, fingers digging into his curly hair and pulling tightly. He groans against your cunt, working his hand faster as his lips and tongue drive you to a second orgasm before the first has even subsided.

He growls when you nearly knee him in the head with your thrashing, removing his fingers and shoving his arms beneath your thighs, rising to his knees and bringing your body with him. Your upper back rests on the ground as your hips are suspended in his hold, your pussy completely at his mercy as he devours you. 

Din’s fingers dig into your ass, grip as strong as the beskar armor he wears as he holds you steady, his tongue working you into a frenzy. The dull spikes on his pauldrons press into your thighs, the discomfort a direct counterpoint to the pleasure he’s lavishing you with.

He sucks on your clit, rolling it between his lips as he hums, the last tether of your control snapping as you fight against his hold, your second orgasm washes over you like warm starlight in your veins. 

Din eases you through it, pulling away only when you start to whine. He presses kisses to your thighs and bites at the sensitive skin, sucking marks into your flesh to match the possession you’ve carved into his.

He finally lowers you to the ground, setting you gently to the cold stone. His eyes are hungry as he stands, removing the beskar tassets and tossing them aside before shoving the black linen pants down his legs. He unclips the cape from his neck, laying it on the ground. 

He reaches a hand out to you, pulling you to stand when your palm fits against his. His hands cup your face, kissing you fiercely, the fire igniting in your core despite how boneless you feel from the two orgasms he’s drawn out of you.

“Ner’riduur,” Din murmurs against your lips. His hands unlatch the belt at your waist and he sets it aside with more care than he’d given to his own ceremonial items. He slides the fabric off your body until it pools at your feet. “Lie down for me.”

You do as asked, settling on the black cloak. He drops to one knee, then the other, crawling over your body, looking every inch the fierce warrior that he is, black tattoos and scars shifting over well-earned muscle. His cock presses to your hip and he groans, shifting until his length glides between your dripping folds.

“Ni kar'taylir darasuum,” Din says. He takes himself in hand, pressing the thick head of his cock to your entrance. “I love you, pirun’ner.”

“I love you, Din Djarin,” you reply as he presses inside of you, the steady stretch of him making you gasp. You glance at his hokaanir, the skin splitting as he thrusts into your body. Fresh beads of blood form along the lines, dripping from his chest to yours. 

Din grunts, hips slamming against yours. You moan and reach up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and seeking his lips with your own. It’s more of a messy press of your mouths than a kiss, the sharing heated breath as his body works against yours.

He dips his head to your neck, sucking more bruises to your skin as he murmurs dirty praise in Mando’a and Basic.

“So fucking warm and wet.”

“Made just for me, weren’t you, ner’karta?”

“Jate riduur’ika.”

You push him up, shoving frantically at his shoulders until you’re able to reverse your positions, him lying beneath you as straddle his waist, his cock never leaving you. He presses so deep inside of you like this it makes you shiver. 

“Want you to fill me up, Din,” you say, hands pressed to his chest to give you leverage as you move your hips over his cock. His eyes flutter shut as he moans, the sound making your head feel fuzzy. His hands grip your hips, tight and possessive as his fingers press bruises to your skin. “Please, please, please.”

Din plants his feet against the ground, meeting each movement of your hips with a powerful thrust that makes you see stars. Your muscles tighten once more as you pulse around him with another wave of release that you can feel soaking his hips.

You collapse forward against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pounds into you from below, chasing the release he so deserves. You press little kisses to the skin you can reach as he uses your body to take his pleasure.

With a final harsh thrust he holds your hips tightly to his, his cock pulsing deliciously inside of you as he groans your name in prayer and ecstasy. He works his hips in tiny movements as he empties inside of you.

Din’s movements eventually slow to a stop, both of you panting as you try to catch your breath. You lift up, looking down into his face and smoothing the sweat damp hair from his forehead as he looks up at you with an expression so full of love you want to weep with the force of it.

“Pirun’ner,” he whispers, cupping your cheek. “You‘ve given me the greatest happiness.”

You press a soft kiss to his lips, your smile hard to fight as you do. You hold each other for a long moment as your adrenaline and euphoria settle and Din slips from your body. He gently eases you to the side, urging you to lie on your back. 

He stands, grabbing something from the low wall, dipping it in the water and coming back to kneel between your spread legs. His eyes are dark as he looks at your swollen pussy, glistening with your combined release.

Din swipes two fingers through the mess, pressing them slowly inside of you and making you whine. When he appears satisfied, he wipes a wet cloth through your folds, cleaning you up.

He smoothes the cloth through the dried blood on your chest as well, gently wiping it away. When he’s done, he presses a trail of kisses from your belly to your throat before meeting your lips, slow and languid.

“As much as I’d like to keep you beneath me, we have a celebration to attend,” he says. “Let’s get you dressed.”

He helps you into the dress and belt and you help him fasten the cape back around his shoulders when he’s dressed himself in the pants and tassets. Your hands smooth other the black tattoos on his skin.

“You’ll have to tell me about these one day,” you say.

He pulls you close. “Mhi me'dinui an. We share all. I will be glad to teach you more of our customs.”

You grin at him. “We have many days ahead of us, Din Djarin.”

“I like the sound of that, pirun’ner.”

________

When you arrive at the celebration, a loud cheer moves through the crowd, the sound roaring in your ears as you hold tight to Din’s hand. 

High Magistrate Karga approaches the two of you, a wiggly Grogu leaping from his hold and running towards Din, who scoops him up from the ground, holding him in his arms. A little green hand reaches for you, wrapping around the finger you offer him.

Bo-Katan and the Armorer stand nearby, watching the new clan of three. 

“A successful joining,” the Armorer says.

“Mandalore is healing,” Bo-Katan replies. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

Want more Din Djarin? Check out my masterlist

[smoft-demons]

About pacts

The game is kinda ABOUT the pacts, but somehow I feel like the concept is not fleshed out enough in canon. So I’m fixing that! I am making them so fluffy, I am developing them into the magic QPR bond of my dreams lol

(Brief mentions of blood and sex under the cut, be warned)

Ok so. In the game, the pacts have four key functions: 1, allows the human to give the demon binding orders. 2, gives the human a way to amplify the demon’s abilities and strengths. 3, implied, gives the demon a way to do the same thing for the human, to lend them their own strength. 4, allows the human to summon the demon basically for free. Have him on speed dial, I suppose. Summon with no ritual, no spell components, no nothing except an incantation.

That’s cool, I like that. But like,, iirc the game says nothing of the mechanics of this, or how the pacts feel!

I think pacts should be a mildly psychic connection. Nothing like what Beel and Belphie have going on, and no actual ability to put words telepathically in your demon’s head (and vice versa), but like… an Awareness of each other, muted and vague when you’re not actively reaching out through the pact, but just enough that like,, you can feel them vaguely in the back of your mind. You know they’re alive, and you can mentally reach for them if you want to.

When you ARE using the pact, it doesn’t HAVE to be for one of the aforementioned four functions. It can also be… just a mild mental ping, like tugging on a string or tapping them lightly to get their attention. When they reach back, the bond opens up a little bit more, to allow the passage of emotions, flashes of memories, even awareness of about how far you are from each other and what direction you’re in. All entirely voluntary, no invasive mind-reading, but you can mentally share what you want with each other.

I feel like the pacts don’t have to imply romance. But, they DO imply partnership—not necessarily exclusive partnership, in fact probably it isn’t an exclusive sort of thing by default. Plenty of demons have multiple humans, and plenty of humans have multiple demons. The sort of partnership that doesn’t really have a standard box to fit into by average human reckoning. Queerplatonic partnership. Close, emotionally intimate, committed, devoted. But not necessarily having anything to do with attraction, romance, any of that.

These pacts can be purposely strengthened, to make communicating with each other like this easier. Strengthening the signal, if you will.

The key to that is two things: emotional intimacy/trust, and sharing vitality (or however you wanna phrase it. Vitality, life, essence, soul, etc. I mean this to encompass a few different things, and none of those words is a perfect fit for all of them. Let’s say there’s an untranslatable word in infernal that fits perfectly). Specifically, the human and the demon make mental contact through the pact with the intent to strengthen the bond, then do whichever of the sharing vitality/essence/life/soul things that they feel like doing.

For example:

Kissing. An emotionally intimate thing to do that involves sharing fluid. DNA counts as essence, and this is a way of combining it. A textbook, effective way to reinforce a close bond. Doesn’t even strictly have to be romantic! It CAN be for sure, and usually is, but like… you can also kiss the homies out of platonic affection if you want to. Especially if the homies in question are demons in a pact with you. This is normal and chill to them.

Also, simply sharing the same air! Pressing foreheads together (think keldabe kiss minus the helmets), noses touching (i think this is called kunik). Sharing breath. This absolutely counts as sharing vitality. Also, afaik this is a thing people would only have the instinct to do with someone they really love. It’s such a soft, peaceful thing that doesn’t make sense in any other context but trust and devotion and emotional intimacy. Super good way of reinforcing a close bond!

Obviously sex works for this too. Obviously. It ticks all the boxes: reinforces a close bond, combining vitality/essence, can be very emotionally intimate. Probably the most textbook option.

In the other direction, possibly not quite as expected but totally works if you think about it: bloodshed. I’m sure it’s common enough in the ritually combining blood sort of way, but also… think about fighting at your pacted demon’s side, or getting wounded and then being rescued (seems more likely, especially in part 1), and both of you bleeding. Physically supporting each other, spilling your vitality onto each other, each wiping blood off of the other and patching each other up in the aftermath of an altercation. Really, you can’t get more devoted and trusting than that.

Food, as well. Taking a bite of something, then feeding a bite to your pact partner. Your food is the source of your vitality, in a similar way to breath. It’s your life. Sharing food with this intent absolutely works. It works even better if it’s food you made, and/or familiar food that you love in such a way that it’s part of your identity. That way, it works twofold. The physical effect of metabolizing the food is your vitality, and the identity aspect—feeding a loved one something that resonates with who you are—is sharing your essence/soul.

This one’s a bit of a reach, but I think it still works—tears. Experiencing something that makes both pact partners cry, be it a sad story, an emotional conversation, painful events, etc. Supporting each other through that, feeling compassion for each other, comforting each other. There’s no shortage of intimacy, devotion, and trust in this. On both an emotional and physical level, this counts as sharing soul/essence/life.

Sharing soul/vitality/essence/life (whatever the fitting word for this in infernal would be) on purpose like this would absolutely bring pacted partners closer together. Strengthens the bond between them, helps them understand each other, reinforces the love. Strengthen a pact enough and eventually you won’t even need the incantation to summon that demon.

_______

(I am planning to put this in my rewrite of obey me season 1 with my own MC, of course. Once I progress enough to start posting it, that is lol)

(but also, maybe, if I find the inspiration, I might write gn reader!MC oneshots with these concepts. Pls let me know if you think I should try! Also, anyone is more than welcome to use this for your own writing if you want)

EDIT: I wrote a oneshot! The time when my MC found out that strengthening pacts is a thing, with Beel and Mammon. Here it is!

[nightlight-stardust-and-rain]

So. Predatory species Obi-wan.

Mostly I just think it's funny to make him a predator bc if you take all the SW character and go "which one looks more likely to eat someone" Obi-Wan would definitely not be it. Not even top 20. He's much more likely to deliver a devastating burn with a flat tone lmao but anyway!

Specifically, Obi-wan being from a species who's pretty damn known for eating people. Like, it's not the only thing they can eat but a...... Something big happened a while ago and the galaxy never really forgot. Nowadays Stewjoni people don't really eat anyone but it's.... Mostly because they don't leave their planet. The predatory instincts are definitely here (Quinlan wears proof of that because once when they were teenagers he made the mistake of pissing obi-wan off and letting his finger wander a bit too close and long story short, Obi-wan bit him so hard he severed Quinlan's finger and they had to go to a healer really fast. Obi-wan felt super guilty for a while but Quinlan annoyed him into forgiving himself. Nowadays he's more embarassed that he lost control so bad. Quinlan thinks it was hilarious and that he definitely expected to get bitten but he didn't expect the result.)

Mostly the instincts are just Obi-wan really wanting to bite people when they're annoying and maybe wanting to chase people if they turn their back to him and run. Also headbutting people to show affection, which became a Whole Thing™ when he was on Mandalore. He doesn't really thinks about how people would taste until he's hungry and he's really good at controlling himself.

But basically this whole thing came from an idea I had with Alpha-17!

Basically it's like. Obi-wan being a predatory species is a bit of a secret bc like.... It's not like he'd be killed if people knew but Stewjoni still have a really bad reputation. So he doesn't like to talk about it. And people don't really know because he looks so mild-mannered and he smiles with his mouth closed so you can't see the teeth and he hides his hands in his sleeves because otherwise he picks at his skin which is not good when one has claws.

Okay so the clones don't know Obi-wan is from a predatory species. He's not hiding it, but when the clones see him headbutt Anakin like an affectionate Tooka they either go "maybe that's a nat-born thing" or "maybe that's a Jedi thing" or "makes sense, my batch mate like keldabe kisses too". Due to their childhood they have literally no idea of what is Normal Human Behavior so they don't notice that Obi-Wan isn't human.

Point is, Obi-wan and Alpha-17 get captured by Ventress and she tries to sow discord by being all "how can you trust a predator ? Unless you didn't know what he was? Then how can you trust something that hides what it is" basically she's just trying to get Alpha to distrust Obi-wan so he won't try to help him escape.

Obi-Wan's kind of expecting.... Not fear, exactly. Alpha-17 sort of doesn't do fear. But he's expecting some agressivity at least. Some wariness.

Except Alpha is just mostly outraged. How come Kenobi, who won't even kill a few annoying senators, gets the biological advantages that comes with being a predator?? That's so unfair. This idiot wouldn't even think about eating anyone. Alpha could use the biology way better! He would have loved to be able to eat a few kaminoans!! That's fucking unfair. How come his Jedi gets sharp fangs and he doesn't?? UN. FAIR.

Lmao yeah the whole plot is basically just Alpha-17 being offended that his pacifist of a general won the genetic lottery while he (who would have used the fangs as they're meant to be used!!) didn't. Boo.

(Obi-wan is wondering why Alpha-17 and Anakin don't get along better because they have startlingly similar reactions to learning about his species)

[aliorsboxostuff]

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

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

Ner Din'ika 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sleeping pod or-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slip of a tongue. Shit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good night, Din'ika,”

“Good night, Cyar’ika,” 

Cyar'ika: Darling, beloved, sweetheart 

Kar'ta: Heart

Mesh'la: beautiful

Requests are open! 

[prolix-yuy]

Rising Phoenix

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian offers a gift greater than he imagined.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: M, allusions to sexual acts, some heavy petting, flirty banter up the wazoo, minor injury treatment, hand kink, hand worship, plot? Plot. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Is this an excuse for me to put all of my favorite things about Mando into one story? Yes, yes it is. Including making fun of that tin can man's ridiculous fashion choices.

Takes place after If the Moon Walks Out.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

Mando is hiding something from you.

If anyone on the outside was looking in, they’d think the opposite. They might even say he’s being more open than in months. After the bite and subsequent breakdown (which you’re still a little embarrassed about), Mando started showing you how he runs the Crest. Walking you through a takeoff sequence, demonstrating what the other buttons along the cargo hold walls do.

(you didn’t know there was a button to close Mando’s cramped cubby)

(might come in handy when you want a little privacy)

You were appreciative at first, until Mando started disappearing in the evenings with no warning or explanation. One minute he’d be feeding the child, the warm thrum of your cavewoman brain revving up -

(he wiped the child’s mouth with the edge of his cape and you had to go take a breather in the kitchenette)

- the next moment he was gone, up in the cockpit or down in the hold, wherever you’re not. A whiff of solder sometimes wafted by, or the clunk of metal on metal reached your ears. You’re curious, endlessly so, but if there’s one thing you would not betray, it’s the trust Mando has finally given you.

(he’ll come to you when he’s ready)

Instead you prepare food and tidy the hold and read on your holopad until he returns, either to bid you goodnight with the child tucked into his arm, or to put him down before sneaking back to you, large hands on your hips a precursor to his hushed question:

“Can I have you tonight, Mesh’la?”

(more often than not your nights end with him inside you)

But as the days continue, another bounty on the horizon, your treacherous mind begins toying with your insecurities. The next planet wasn’t far but Mando’s taking his time, making short hops instead of fast travel. When you questioned it, the threat of Imps and blaster residue in your nostrils, he said it was to show you how to hop in and out of hyperspace.

(the holopad full of calculations makes your head spin)

(you hold it like a lifeline)

“Mando, I appreciate you taking my feelings to heart, but moving this slow…aren’t we tempting our luck?” you finally asked, legs crossed in the jump seat when Mando pulled out of hyperspace yet again.

“I’m willing to press it,” he replied, “but not much longer. Tomorrow we land.”

“Could have landed three days ago,” you said, goading Mando to turn to you. He cocked the helmet, which still managed to thrill you, and leaned back.

“I thought you enjoyed my company,” he said, the tease making you smile. “You certainly did last night.” Your face turned molten as you played up a salacious gasp.

“That was a low blow, Mandalorian, you won’t get many more nights like that if you use them against me,” you scolded, biting back a bigger smile when Mando stood up to tower over you, cocking his hip.

(what you wouldn’t give to leave a mark on the flesh there)

(make him wear it under the armor)

(your own symbol of devotion)

“That’s an empty threat,” he said coolly, making you roll your eyes before he tucked his knuckle under your chin, swiping his thumb over your lower lip.

(a Keldabe kiss is one thing)

(this kiss is only for you)

“Only a little longer, Mesh’la. I promise it’s worth it.” he said, quieter, and you nodded, wrapping your hand around his wrist. One squeeze before he moved to the cargo hold.

“I was going to show you how to dump the waste reserves today,” he called up the ladder as he descended.

“Oh thank the Maker, the suspense was killing me!”

You chased his huffed laugh.

An arid planet comes into focus, the child perched in your lap as Mando begins descending into the atmosphere.

“We’re a day early, bounty’s not expected to be on world until tomorrow,” Mando says as the Crest leans into entry, hull shaking against the heat as it skims over the bubble-like surface of the atmosphere.

“What should we do until then?” you ask, lifting the child a little higher so he can watch the descent. “Looks like a dry planet, Bean, no frogs for you.” His trill of disappointment makes you wonder, yet again, if he understands you more than the energies you assume he’s reading. The thought is dashed from your mind as you focus on Mando’s technique, riding the curve of the planet until gravity begins to tug you down in your seat. The Crest dives like a much more graceful bird than her silhouette, weaving through clouds and pockets of rougher air as a stretch of open land surges up to meet you. With a gentle lurch (good job landing Mando), you’re back on solid ground and the child is chirping at his father.

“Yeah kid, we can go outside. We’re far out, should be safe,” Mando says, directing the last part of the sentence to you. As you make your way to the ramp Mando calls down.

“Wear something warm.”

Your head cocks at the request.

“It’s a desert, I’ll cook alive.”

“Trust me.”

You exchange a look with the child, who lifts and drops his ears in as close of an approximation to, “Beats me.” You shrug on a long-sleeve shirt (one of Mando’s old ones, you still covet a few) and comfortable boots. Giving the button a slap, you wait for Mando by the cargo ramp as hot air blows into the hold.

“I don’t agree with your opinion on the climate,” you call back, turning when his footsteps near. “I think the armor’s skewed your perception of heat.”

“You’ll need it for this.”

In Mando’s hands is a harness, leather straps reinforced with thick thread along the seams. A hefty buckle centers in the loops, which attach to the baffling item in question.

(a jetpack?)

Mando has his on too, clasped into the backplate of his armor. This secondary one is more beat-up, yellow and green paint flaking off in places. It hangs heavy, the straps gathered in one hand as he lifts it to you.

“It’s old, but it works fine. Used to belong to Cobb Vanth,” Mando says, shifting a little as you watch him with parted lips. Your eyebrows raise briefly at the name of the Mos Pelgo Mandalorian you ventured to meet when (your) Mando was still among the stars. The jetpack, however, and all its potential holds your attention.

When you don’t say anything, Mando continues. “The Rising Phoenix is calibrated to my vambrace, but this one could be programmed to a…” He trails off as you step closer, shifting the child in your arms to reach out and finger the leather strapping. “Is this okay?” he finally asks, low and quiet as you feel the T-visor burn along your cheeks.

“You made this?” you finally say, barely registering Mando taking the child from you so you can inspect the rig. “This is why we were taking so long?” you breathe out, realization warming you.The stitching is tight and neat, the soldering clean. It even looks like he tried to remove some of the flaking paint but gave up. He shrugs briefly.

“Makes sense for you to use it. It’s likely to draw attention. But if there’s trouble, it’s fast,” Mando says, his body language cautious right now. He must have been nervous at the proposition, anticipating your apprehension, but you feel anything but. This hunk of junk repurposed to protect you is a greater gift than he understands. It makes you break out into a dazzling smile.

“This is karking amazing!” you shout, the child joining in as you turn over the rig and inspect it from all angles. Mando’s chuckle sends tingles down your spine, and when you meet the visor again you can imagine a bashful smile gracing his face.

(a face you’ll never see, but dream of all the same)

“How do you…” you start, holding the jetpack to your chest like a child on Life Day.

“A desert planet with nothing to do seemed like a good place to teach you,” Mando says, sauntering down the ramp, the child’s ears bouncing. Your heart hammers into high speed while sweat beads along your hairline.

(you’re going to fly today)

Mando takes an especially long time to walk you through the components of the jetpack, how it works and what each part does. You’re barely containing your excitement, hovering over his quick-moving hands and nodding endlessly.

“What’s this for?” you ask, pointing at a cylinder in the center that looks empty. Mando shakes his head.

“That’s for another day, Mesh’la, today we’re flying,” he deflects, and you don’t push. The possibility of being weightless, suspended in air the way you’d only experienced in dreams, was a much greater distraction.

“Do you have the controller?” Mando asks. You flash the metal gauntlet on your wrist. It’s just as cleanly built, a small series of buttons that do the basics. You’ve ridden speeders with more complicated controls. Though speeders barely leave the ground.

“Ready?” he asks, holding the straps open for you to slip into. You flash him a bright smile before turning around, shouldering the bulky machinery like a school bag. It settles on the center of your back, Mando fussing with the chest clip and adjusting the tension of the straps.

“This needs a real harness, but for now it’ll work.” Mando slides his fingers under the restraints to test their tautness. “It won’t distribute your weight, so no long trips. You’ll bruise up.”

“I can handle a few bruises,” you challenge, a coy smile melting onto your face as Mando slows his pacing. He tips the helmet in, tugging on the central buckle once more.

“Cheeky,” he purrs before stepping away, typing something into his vambrace. You twist and test the harness. It’s a comforting level of snug, the kind that makes you feel made of durasteel. The child, left to his devices during the suit up, pats at your calf.

“Am I looking cool, Bean?” you ask, doing a quick spin for giggles. “I need a cape like your dad to go…with…” You trail off, a wicked little smile replacing your coy one. “Hey Mando,” you call out innocently, drawing his gaze. “Did you always have the Rising Phoenix?”

He tilts his head with some hesitancy.

“No.”

“So when we first met, you didn’t have it.”

“No.”

“And I remember you having quite the impressive cape back then.”

“I’ve always had…”

“And now it’s a little, you know. Worn. A little tattered. Maybe a little…burned.”

Mando stares you down and it takes all of your effort not to lose it.

“Do you…wear the cape when you’re flying, Mando?”

He shifts from one foot to the other.

“It takes a lot of work…”

“Oh my Stars, you do!”

Mando shifts into what you’ve come to call the Exasperated Stance, hands on his hips, shoulders squared, helmet tipped back.

“It’s easier to…”

“Mando, you are going to set yourself on fire, you kriffing idiot. I can see the scorch marks!”

Mando advances on you, and you skip backwards. Your hands fly to the controller on your wrist. It’s easy to psych yourself out thinking about flying, but with Mando stalking your way, your pounding heart could be attributed to that.

“Mesh’la…” he growls, but with little fire behind it.

(unlike the amount of fire he’s definitely set to that useless piece of fabric)

“Mando…” you mimic, hand dancing over the gauntlet like a gunslinger about to draw his weapon.

“Stop it.”

(perfect)

“Catch me and make me,” you taunt, taking off into a real run. Mando’s footsteps falter, then pick up speed behind you.

(now or never)

You press the short series of buttons to ignite the jetpack, your speed masking the initial jolt of thrust when it catches.

“Wait!” Mando shouts behind you. For a moment you do feel bad for the plaintive plea threading his shout, but adrenaline kicks in and if you do this right, you’ll be flying.

(if you do it wrong, well, you’ll just have a bruised ego…along with a few other places)

Three more long strides and the thrust lifts you off the ground, a disbelieving laugh following. Your feet dangle uselessly as you lift off, the wind in your ears drowning out further shouts. Faintly you hear another roar of ignition, Mando likely to yank you back out of the sky, but euphoria is all you can absorb. The drop in your stomach evens out as you slow your climb, easing the throttle until you’re hovering about fifty feet off the ground. You kick your legs, heat kissing the back of your thighs reminding you to be careful. Below, the sable sand and rock stretches like a rolling canvas, the undulations of hills and sharp creases of mountains in the distance shifting perspective as you absorb beauty at a height you’ve never known.

“Are you crazy?” Mando shouts, zipping into view right in front of you, broad beskar body blocking out the horizon you were just admiring. The startle makes your finger slip, and you drop ten feet fast, Mando’s hands chasing you. Regaining control, you zip away from him.

“I’m getting the hang of it!” you laugh back. His posture is rigid as he flies close behind, more disciplined with technique. You’re just happy that you haven’t crashed face-first into the hard packed dirt yet. Below the child watches you weave around, little hands raised when you zoom overhead. Narrowly avoiding Mando when he reaches out, no doubt to slow you down or scold you further, you speed up with the barest recognition that this is probably a bad idea.

“Look at this Bean!” you shout down, wobbling your shoulders back and forth until you discover how much sway banks you left or right. It doesn’t feel real, like you’re flying in a dream, even though the wind whips past your face and the straps pull painfully against your ribs.

(it feels like freedom)

A flash of silver glints in the corner of your eye and Mando is pulling up beside you, one hand clamping down on your bicep.

“Enough. Land,” he shouts, but for the first time in ages you feel light, like every care on your shoulders was left in the dirt. You don’t want to touch down and let it crawl back up yet.

Plus, it’s been too long since you sparred with Mando.

The controls are surprisingly intuitive, though considering he made them for you might that speaks to his intelligence. Or insight. But now he must be cursing his thoughtfulness because you speed up and up, the weight of his armor lagging him behind. His grip loosens and you spin away again, testing how quickly you can change direction. The dance continues, Mando’s hands coming close, his voice lost to the roar of the packs and the wind whipping against your cheeks. You push him back, kicking him in the chest once and feeling a little bad about it.

He finally yanks you down by your ankle, flipping you so the propulsion shoots you towards the ground. Righting yourself more nimbly than expected, he barrels into you and digs his fingers into your waistband.

“Stop. Teasing.” The growl is heavy, but even he can’t hide the winded excitement of the chase under the vocoder. You’re sure if you palmed him now he’d be hard.

(jetpack sex)

(no way, that’s how idiots go about dying)

“Make. Me. Mando,” you pant, hitting a random button on his vambrace. Thankfully it just stutters his jetpack, grip slipping enough for you to wriggle out. You want to see if you can do a loop, entertain the child below, fly along the horizon the way you’d always dreamed of when two desert suns set on your planet.

The jetpack lurches hard against you. The ever-present heat skirting down your thighs lessens. Something smells like chemicals and smoke.

(out of fuel)

(DANK FARRIK)

All the elation building in your chest freezes to terror when gravity pulls you, but before you can shout Mando’s hands jam under the harness, wrenching you to his chest as all your gravity-defying stunts fizzle out. You thud your forehead against his paudron as he lowers you back to solid earth, talking yourself down from the brief heart attack. Once your feet touch down you back away, Mando’s grip easing as you sweep sweat and dust from your forehead.

“Thanks for the rescue,” you mutter, cheeks hot with embarrassment before you turn your attention to the little green child hurrying his way over. “How’d you like the show Bean?” Kneeling down, he practically tumbles into your open arms, clawing his way up to your face to pat at your cheeks. “I’m okay buddy, had the time of my life up there thanks to…” Looking over at Mando you can almost see the frustration wafting off him in waves.

(kriff, you really pissed him off this time)

“Okay, how about we pop you in here and send you back to the Crest while I get a lecture,” you murmur as you tuck the child into the silver pram and send it scooting. The child looks back once, concerned ears perking, but turns back around when you wave him off. Mando’s footsteps approach heavily, scuffing in the dirt. You sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face.

“I’m sorry…” you start to say, ready for the harsh reprimand you’re sure is coming.

(how can you explain the wonderful gift he just gave to you?)

“Why didn’t you listen to me?” he says, dangerously low. His shoulders are tight, forehead almost pressed to yours. You can see how intimidating being on the Mandalorian’s bad side could be.

“I was…” you try to say, the emotionless visor following your gaze. The horizon, sparkling with midday sun, is where your gaze finally lands. “I’ve always dreamed of flying. I got carried away. I’m sorry.”

Seconds tick by as you wait for a scold, but it doesn’t come. Instead Mando sighs, and two heavy hands drop on your shoulders.

“You’re lucky I caught you,” he murmurs, squeezing briefly. You bring your eyes back to the smoky T-visor and quirk a wan smile.

“Seems like I’m always falling for you.”

(would that be such a bad thing?)

Mando stills, then cradles your cheek in his hand. The cool kiss of beskar on your forehead raises goosebumps despite the desert heat.

“Mesh’la,” he groans, “don’t tease.”

“Not teasing now, Mando.”

A rumble in his chest burns straight to your sex.

“Yeah? You’ll be good for me?”

(oh kark)

Mando twists you in his arms, back to front. The jetpack puts too much bulk between you, making you have to bend at the waist, but it’s immediately evident this is exactly what Mando wants. He palms your hips, dragging his hand up to stroke your stomach before sliding down to cup you over your pants.

“You want this?” he asks, but he’s already kneading at your mound, the heavy swipe of his fingers through your clothes sparking heat in your cunt.

“Mando…” you choke out, hands coming back to grab at his narrow hips. You’re unbalanced and clumsy against his unyielding stance. “The child.” His little silver pod is ascending the ramp into the Crest. Mando chuckles.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.”

Your cunt clenches, ripples of pleasure as you scratch your nails into the rough weave of his pants. The jetpack tugs against your chest and you realize he’s using it as leverage to pull you back into him.

(jetpack sex jetpack sex jetpack sex)

“Feel what you do to me, Mesh’la. All the kriffing time.”

Your hands scrabble behind you, fumbling between your bodies.

(give it to me)

(all of it)

(all of you)

Mando shifts, jostling your body a fraction to the side. There’s a sudden white hotness against your arm and you cry out, jerking against his hold.

(the exhaust pipe)

The jetpack is still cooling down, hot rings of metal that just touched you at the worst possible time. Mando’s grip disappears immediately, the press of his body against you suddenly gone.

“What happened?” he says, and the vocoder can’t hide his concern. You twist your arms back up by your face, straightening back to standing. There’s a small welt, hot to the touch. You’ve barely inspected it yourself when Mando’s familiar orange-tipped gloves take your hand into his.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, careful not to touch the mark but still holding your arm so gently.

(oh Mando)

(never)

“Just touched the exhaust, nothing a little bacta can’t fix,” you say breezily, but you know the moment’s passed. Mando’s already leading you back to the Crest, and you follow begrudgingly.

(trust you to ruin some of the hottest foreplay with an injury)

The child burbles at your entrance, hovering the pram over to where you sit at the table, injury outstretched on the durasteel. You turn your arm to touch the burn against it, offering a tiny sliver of relief from the dull throb. Mando bustles into a cargo cubby, pulling out the medkit you’d put to good use barely a week before. A packet of bacta gel, and the Mandalorian, settle across from you.

“I promise, I’m okay,” you say with a lopsided smile, reaching for the bacta. He snags it up first, motioning for you to reveal the burn. It’s halfway up your forearm, the flesh rising.

“I know,” Mando says before tugging at the tips of his gloves.

(Maker)

The last time you got to watch this ritual closely (not clouded by lust or in a frantic scramble) was when he stood at the foot of the bed in Joeken’s inn. You’d admired his wide palms, his thick fingers, how capable they looked. There’s much there you remember, but age and circumstance changes all. There are more scars along his knuckles, callused and rough. He almost glows in the artificial lighting, a deep golden tone forever under his skin. Being able to savor it screams of transgression.

“Let me,” he says, breaking you from your reverie. You extend your arm into his reach, the scratch of his well-worked fingertips tracing the injury. He squeezes a small amount of bacta onto the burn and works it in with two fingers, the touch featherlight and gliding. Mesmerized by the methodical strokes, your other hand drifts to the back of his hand, your fingertips sliding over the smoother skin. His fingers falter as you both watch the slow advance of skin on skin.

“Mesh’la,” Mando breathes. You start to retract, afraid of an overstep. “No, it’s…” he stutters out, “It’s okay. Just not…used to it.”

(touch him until he forgets what it was like to go without)

Bacta application forgotten (or completed), Mando cups your injured hand, tracing the lines in your palm that supposedly speak of your future. You let your own wandering touch linger along the mountains of his knuckles, slip along the veins and raised injuries, before resting on his wrist. His chest hitches like he’s in pain, or something much sweeter.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks, now holding your hand between both of his.

“No, much better,” you answer, leaning when a flash of black catches your eye. Your mouth and one eyebrow quirks up. “Who gave you that?”

Mando turns his wrist, a black tattoo - two rings around a dot - appearing on the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger.

(target)

“Paz. A brother in arms.”

You stroke over it, no discernible texture.

“Did he give you more?” you ask cheekily. The child hovers closer to inspect his guardian’s ink, tilting his head and softly cooing.

“You’ll have to find those yourself,” he says, the edge of sass in his voice making you giggle. You move to pull away but his hands wrap around yours, warm and gentle for implements of such bloodshed.

“I never want to hurt you,” he says, much quieter. The vocoder almost loses his consonants. “If I ever do…”

“Hush,” you scold, leaning over the table to meet the visor. “It was an accident. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of them.” The stillness in his posture twists your stomach.

(he’d be devastated if he harmed you)

“You could never hurt me,” you say. Mando tilts his head, the sentiment too simplistic. But all of its meanings fill the silence.

(you would never do it purposefully)

(I’ll always forgive you)

(I would rather be hurt than without you)

With molten slowness Mando leans over your arm, raising it between you. You think it’s to inspect the burn, see that the bacta is working, but he just stares at it for a long moment. His hand drifts to the edge of his helmet, aimless and lost. When you touch him again he snaps back, standing up quickly.

“I have to make some preparations for tomorrow,” he squeezes out, taking a half step back. His movements are sluggish, quickening only when he strides away.

“Thank you, Mando,” you call as he mounts the ladder. He gives a nod, tugging his gloves on before climbing the ladder into the cockpit. The child hovers by your side, looking up at his retreating father figure before reaching up to you.

“Been a bit of a day, hasn’t it Bean?” you say, lifting the child out of the pram. The warmth of his touch lingers, the images of his hands holding yours only a blink away.

The baby yawn is all the answer you need.

In the cockpit, Din leans down and braces his hands on the console, trying to slow his pounding heart. He’s been inside you, why was letting you touch his bare hands more intimate? He’d had to cover them up to stop reliving every caress, the way your eyes roamed along the only bit of skin he’d allowed you to observe. His face burns with self-consciousness but also the thrill of your exploration.

But as much as that all excited him, it was that final moment that drove his heart into his throat and made him feel lightheaded. Because he held your hand and looked at the burn - an injury he caused, however inadvertently - and let a fleeting thought grow wild in his mind.

Kiss it better.

Something his mother would do with a scraped knee or a bruised finger.

Kiss it better.

Those three words grew from a whisper to an ocean roar as he considered how your skin would feel under his lips. If he could lift the helmet just enough to touch but not for you to see.

That wouldn’t risk his Creed.

Yes it would.

He crushed the desire down, left you behind a little more confused than before, but safe and cared for in his ship. Safe with the child and with him.

You could never hurt me.

You’re right. Din would never, could never bring harm to you. But some days, like today, he can see how much harm you could do to him. With your bright smile and open heart and patience, you could destroy the Mandalorian.

But from those ashes, Din Djarin could grow.

A flashing light grounds him as he flips on a holo-message. A halo of messy curls and a sassy expression glows to life, the dull scrapes and whines of a working hanger in the background. Din cocks his head as the message plays.

“Mando! Long time no see! Not that I miss that hunk of junk ship of yours. Well, I do miss the credits it brings in. Anyway, I’ve got a lead for you. You wanted those, right? About the Mandalorians? Got a client who may know where some are. The info’s not for free, I’ll fill you in when you get here. Bit of a time crunch, though, so you better shift that rust bucket into hyperspeed. You’re her last hope.”

Peli Motto’s image fizzles into static, and a blanket of duty settles back on Mando’s shoulders. A mission long paused. An outcome he comes to dread more with each passing day. A galaxy that spun on without the three of you for a long while.

But there is much work still to be done.

END

Episode 11 of the I Think of You Series

[loverboy-havocboy]

Hi there! I've been having a rough week and I feel the need for comfort characters.

Can I request your aliit au Thorn/ Echo/ Fives with either the sleepy kiss or crying kiss?

my goal for this was 800 words, because I really want it to cheer you up a little 🥺 it ended up being almost 1200.

here's sleepy/crying kisses with aliit au echo/fives/thorn

(warning for a ptsd related night terror)

---

Thorn wakes suddenly to the flailing of three half-limbs and one incredibly strong arm, accompanied by the frantic, shouting voices of his lovers. He's sitting up in a flash to see Fives holding Echo by the shoulders, tears glinting on both of their faces in the moonlight.

“We have to get to the shuttle-” Echo gasps out, “to escape the Citadel!”

“Echo, you're home! You're in Keldabe, you're okay,” Fives tells him. He's trying to be firm, Thorn can tell, commanding, but his voice shakes and cracks, coming out pleading instead.

“No! I’ll go first-” Echo says, trying to push Fives off.

Thorn joins Fives in his attempts to restrain their cyare, pinning one of Echo’s thighs under his own leg and lacing his fingers through those on Echo's remaining hand. Echo is still struggling against them, still warning Fives they have to move before it's too late.

Thorn watches Fives try to ground Echo with his touch, the sound of his voice, and promises that he's alright - but his assessment quickly becomes that rather than pulling him out of the terror, Fives' presence is only immersing the man further into it. So Thorn uses his other hand to take Echo by the back of the neck, making his lover face him instead.

Fives protests, grabbing for Echo with a whimper that kicks Thorn right in the ribs, but he shakes his head. “I need you to trust me, Fi. Can you trust me?”

He looks unsettled, desperate, but even so, Fives doesn't fight him anymore. When Thorn can turn his attention back to Echo, he sees that the man's brows are pinched together as his expression shifts from fear and urgency to confusion.

“You know me, ‘Yayah,” Thorn tells him, mustering every ounce of his Commander's voice for it, pushing through the way it comes out sleep-rough. Echo shakes his head, wide eyes darting over his face, but Thorn just nods, insists, “Yeah, you do. I'm Thorn. You didn't know me before the Citadel, but you know me now. Because the Citadel is in the past.”

“The.. The Citadel..?” Echo mutters. He tries again to turn his head to look at Fives, but Thorn holds him steady, just in case, by sliding his palm to rest over Echo's prickly cheek, locking their eyes.

“Is in the past. You know me. You put my hair in these braids a few hours ago-” and slowly, recognition dawns on Echo's handsome face, “-even though you're mad at me right now for handing you sugar for your eggs at breakfast.”

Thorn can see the moment Echo's brain catches up and accepts that yes - he knows Thorn, and no - Thorn wasn't at the Citadel.

“I am mad at you,” he says roughly, voice thin as the last of his fight drains out of him. “That was disgusting."

“And you still invited me to stay the night,” Thorn points out, breathing easier now that he sees Echo doing the same.

Echo's lips almost quirk upward, but then they fall into a frown and he laments, “Probably wishing you'd gone home right about now.”

Thorn just shakes his head. “I thought ARC Troopers were supposed to be intelligent,” he quips, unable and unwilling to stop himself from smiling.

“Results may vary,” Echo fires back, nodding down at his three missing limbs.

Thorn's laughter is joined by Fives', though the other man's is a wet, fragile kind of laughter. Thorn doesn't stop Echo from turning to his husband this time. He releases him completely, in fact, backing off to give them a moment. Fives pulls Echo immediately into a firm keldabe kiss, breath hitching.

Thorn isn't surprised by Fives' tears; the Citadel is still fresh for them, the way Scipio is still fresh for him. Some things take a lot of time to heal, and some things just stay raw.

Fives infiltrating the Citadel side by side with the love of his life and leaving only with his charred bucket in hand, Captain Rex finding Echo alive - just barely - in an enemy encampment, the pain of watching Echo struggle to pull himself back together - all those things will need more time before they stop feeling like a knife through the heart whenever Fives is reminded of them.

So he's not surprised when Fives shudders out a sob as Echo kisses him. Now that the rush of adrenaline has faded, a lump is forming in his own throat. He's only had a fraction of the time with them that they've had with each other, but their pain is still a tangible thing to him. His intimate familiarity with that type of grief plays its part, but Echo and Fives also just deserve peaceful nights that they don't get to have.

If anyone deserves fucking peaceful nights it's these two.

Echo rasps out his name, wiping his face on the back of his hand before beckoning him closer. As he shifts back toward them, Echo brings him in with a hand on his jaw, the last of his tremors fading now to nothing. The kiss he receives is chaste, and tired, but so unbelievably warm.

“This might be a really bad time to tell you,” Echo murmurs, breath puffing over Thorn's lips, “but Fives and I - we love you. I love you, Thorn.”

Thorn pulls back a little, heart in his throat, to search Echo's eyes.

“You don't have to say anything, just..” Echo clears his throat softly, brushes his thumb over Thorn's cheek, “Just thought you should know.”

Like hell he doesn't have to say anything. Unfortunately, the thing he manages to say as his thoughts race isn't ideal, but he supposes it's not the worst thing that could've come out of his mouth, “Even though I'm a Corrie, huh?”

Echo does manage a smile now, a beautiful one, even as he rolls his eyes. “We’re willing to overlook it, yeah.”

“Unless you keep rubbing it in like that,” Fives chimes in, moving into Thorn's space with his husband. Fives' forehead falls onto his shoulder sleepily and Thorn scratches his nails through the man's wild curls.

“I’m afraid our love is highly conditional,” Echo informs him regretfully.

“That's okay,” Thorn grins, “I think I'll take it anyway. I love you, too - even if you are Rex’s mir’shebse.”

“Fighting words!” Fives hollers, toppling them over all of a sudden, knocking the air out Thorn's lungs along with a bright laugh.

“Fight him tomorrow,” Echo yawns, rubbing at his eyes, one at a time. “Fight him whenever you want now that he's stuck with us - just not when I'm tired.”

After muttering something about Echo always being tired, and promptly saying, “Nothing!” when asked to repeat it, Fives curls up at Thorn's side, tugging Echo against the other demandingly.

Thorn presses his lips to each of their heads sleepily, feeling warm and content beneath the combined weight of two cuddly ex-ARC’s.

[oonajaeadira]

For the Love of Fic: December 9

I'm doing my best to get through my massive reading list by the end of the year, so buckle up, fam, you're about to get served a buffet of fic. There's so many tasty morsels here, even Mama Flores has to appreciate this feast.

🪐 = Year of Themed Creation Fics!

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FRANKIE MORALES

Sheer Desire by @the-blind-assassin-12 Okay so imagine you're Frankie's +1 to a Millerboy wedding. And there's dancing and yearning and flirting involved. And the knowledge that after the reception, you're going to have him all to yourself. Now add in black thigh-high nylons. And the desire to see them in his hands. And his desire to have those lacy tops pressed against his ears.... IT'S HOT LIKE FIRE. DID YOU THINK IT WOULD NOT BE. GO GET IT.

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #2: Frankie Morales - Kiss in the Hammock by @something-tofightfor I mean, who doesn't want to be cuddled up in a hammock with Frankie? Who doesn't want those soft curls and soft lips and warm arms all pressed up against you?

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #12: Frankie Morales - Kiss in the Dark / Break Up Kiss by @something-tofightfor A little angst and a lot of love are on display here. Frankie's here to show his responsible and protective side, and while there's plenty of hurt, he does it oh so softly and I'm just glad we are left with hope.

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #14: Frankie Morales - “I miss you” Kiss / Angry Kiss by @something-tofightfor So remember that hope I just mentioned up there? Same pairing here, and the hope pays off. It's not without some real talk, but perhaps that's what makes the love even more deliciously sincere.

The day Frankie both loves and loathes the kitchen counter by @undercoverpena This is such a wonderful domestic Frankie POV piece. The way he wants to be better for reader, to provide more, to keep promises...the way he adores everything about her, including how she loves to bundle up in his clothes... Getting a peek inside a man who is sweet and loving and seeing the motivations there is such a treat. I really got swept up in this one.

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MARCUS PIKE

The Thing About Second Chances by @artemiseamoon 🪐 This is exquisite. The pain of walking away really hurt. But then, when they met again it is so masterfully done...there are all these little impulses of his, wanting to do everything for her that could easily be overbearing except that he's just so damn loveable and it's hard to watch two people who clearly live each other be denied. I'm not sure he can really change all that much, but I am really pulling for them. Sometimes a little time apart can really drive home how much you can miss someone. Beautiful.

The Moon in May - Full Moon by @hopeamarsu Alpha Marcus. and. sitting on lap. purring and. teasing and soft and spreading you open but requiring go slow. is a tasty treat. brain mush. purring chest at my back. yes please.

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JOEL MILLER

Something Wild and Unruly by @ezrasbirdie Okay, remember when I said that there was a fic that was so beautiful it made me want to quit writing? This is it, and I mean that as a high compliment. Like, I finished it and just put my head in my hands and stared out the window with a big smile on my face. It's outlaw!Joel and old west sex worker!reader with a heart of gold and a good attitude about what she does. It's got so so so much feels and yearning and softness and bathing and the ending is beautiful and full of hope...this fic is up all of my alleys and making all of my jams and is my entire life mood. It is my new official Fave Birdie Fic™️ and I need to sing that to the world.

Small Joys: Wheelbug by @keldabe-kriff 🪐 The whole point of Lyr's Small Joys series is just that--joys. So it seems antithetical for Ellie to have found a bug that's big and bitey and for Joel to freak out about and try to bat it away. But the joy part of it comes from reader's reaction--to the wonder at finding a wheelbug in nature where it wasn't expected--and Ellie's, who of course will always find wonder in something new. Simple and beautifully done.

Small Joys: Leaf Pile by @keldabe-kriff 🪐 Yes, the joy here is jumping in a leaf pile, but the joy I got from it was being able to hear Joel and Ellie perfectly in this. I also love the process Ellie gets to have in collecting the leaves and talking to a neighbor. It's really delightful.

The Sun Will Shine Again by @foli-vora I can't imagine dealing with crippling depression during the years after the outbreak, how hard and crippling it would be. And yet, I think I'd be able to manage if Joel was on my side, telling me he'd carry me as long as he could just to make sure I made it through. This is just such a beautiful piece. I want to curl up in it like a blanket.

Tangled Triumphs by @planet-marz1 I think my blood sugar levels hit an all-time high with this one and I ascended into the heavens. Joel learns to do Sarah's hair and it's so sweet and precious and I love them. Please read this. I need other people to share my squeals.

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JACK DANIELS

Cast Iron Sunshine part 1: Think I'll Call You Sunshine and part 2: Daisy by @blueeyesatnight Color me intrigued. We got ourselves a cocky cowboy in the wild west and a female doctor reader with some determination, sass, and willingness to sport a revolver, and I want more of that push and pull I'm sure is coming. The first meeting is just enough tingle to rub my hands together with glee. HE'S SUCH A SHIT. But then comes Daisy and she's here to lay some hearts open...

What Happens in Vegas.., ...Never Really Ends in Vegas, and Forever by @wildemaven A beautiful drabble trio that encompasses the realization that you've accidentally-in-Vegas married Jack, trying to quit him, and being unable to do so. Do yourself a favor, don't think about it too hard, and give into your cowboy.

Remember Me by @toomanystoriessolittletime This twisted my little heart and melted me in so many ways. When Jack is brought back and can't remember his girlfriend? Can I just cry a river? No worries though, the ending's a happy, hopeful one.

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DIETER BRAVO

Thought That I Was Dreaming by @haylzcyon Salty, spicy, and sweet all at once...this may just be my dream Dieter smut. I very much love a "did he really say???" but then the reason for her not asking was perfect. How does Haylz make the very filthiest filth the sweetest sweet?

Sleazy Santa by @morallyinept This what happens when Dieter's not an actor, just a tremendous sleezebag working as a mall Santa (he's respectful to the kids) and you can't stop wanting that scummy D and go bang dirty in the Grotto. There's candy cane action. It's real nasty. And written like a fkn gourmet meal. The sweatier Jett writes this slimeball, the more I want. I don't know how. It's like Christmas magic. Delicious.

Crawling Back to You by @prolix-yuy This fic is a feast and all of my favorite dishes are on the table. Monsterfkn. Demons. Blasphemy. Sexy contracts. Dieter being a menace. And softness????? This is smut and it is hot hot hot, but there's enough here that's sweetness and fondness that it's going straight to my forever faves list. HE RUINS HER SO NICELY. UGH!

Rendezvous in Reno by @theywhowriteandknowthings A Dieter with small-dick insecurities? Please and thank you, this is super cute. I'd love to get called out for describing his junk wrong in my fics and get a personal correction.

It's Never Over by @pennyserenade We don't get enough exes-to-friends fic around here, and this one is really nice. As much as I hope for them to connect again, I respect their love for each other and their need to just let themselves be special to each other. There were moments here that were bittersweet, but I really loved that about it.

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DIN DJARIN

Birfday--Din by @writeforfandoms Listen. Is it so wrong that I want to cook a nice breakyfast to show Din how much he's loved? Is that too much to ask? Thanks, Jen, for something soft and sweet.

Then We'll Find Out Together by @missredherring A lovely little drabble about settling down in a new home with Din, getting used to the slowness and softness and niceness of everything. And when reader can't sleep, the one thing that's familiar--Din himself--is what calms her down. A lovely little drabble that I would like to live in.

Bounty and Hunter by @never--doubt 🪐 A soulmate fic wherein soulmates can't hurt each other. How interesting then that one of you is being hunted...and makes quite a game out of it?

Significant by @softlyspector He's been calling you riduur for months and you still don't know what it means. Once you find out, that's when the fireworks start. I don't know that I've read dialogue for Din and his sweetheart that affected me the way the last two lines of this fic did...... *swoons*

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PERO TOVAR

Watercolor by @iamskyereads I mean, give a sellsword a bath and you may be in for trouble. But not this man. This man just needs a little care, and while he may not say much, he make good on all kindnesses. I would do anything to give this man a bath and have him speak kindly to me.

Date or Inseminate by @sirowsky Now listen. You're gonna have to read the warnings on this, because I for one get really squicked by dub-con mixed with medical malpractice. I didn't read the warnings and it came out of nowhere....but I'm telling you my eyebrows shot up and then I just giggled through the whole thing like WHAT IS HAPPENING. Sometimes fic is just there to be fun and slap you silly. IRL? No please. But this? Go in with the right mood and it's just strangely and shockingly delightful smut.

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JAVI GUTIERREZ

Formula 101: December to Remember Part 2: Take What Comes by @littlemisspascal There's a lot to love about Rae's F1 media fic. Even outside of the easter eggs in the worldbuilding and the lovely way Javi and Oddball's relationship develops, there are the delightful media interludes--emails, texts, instagram posts complete with character comments--that use pictures and dialogue to move the plot along in a unique way. I love how a short text chain not only sets up a later story locale, but illustrates a history and relationship between two characters so fluidly. Every chapter is a delight to see how the media enhances the storyline...a storyline that is moving in a very interesting direction...

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SPECIAL GUEST CORNER

BO KATAN KRYZE

Hiding Away from the Galaxy by @ghostofskywalker 🪐 I love a good reunion story. Here, you're an ex-Jedi who has a past with Bo and come to find her when all the wars are done. I'd agree that it's worth the wait when she takes you in her arms....

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MARC SPECTOR

My Knight in White by @flightlessangelwings 🪐 Jey's been doing a year of protectiveness, and you know I don't mind that AT ALL. I would love nothing more than to have Marc follow me home and protect me. And then, yeah, if he let me follow him home...and into his bedroom....I wouldn't complain..... *swoon*

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[reader6898]

Engaged

Pairing: Jesse x female reader

Summary: Jesse asks you to marry him on life day

Warning: none. Just sweet fluff and Jesse being a nervous cutie pie 🥰

A/n: this one made me cry a little so be prepared for some tears

Jesse was nervous.

Today was the day that he would be asking you, the love of his life, to marry him. The two of you had met a year into the war when you had volunteered as a civilian medic and he was one of your patients. Jesse had been with his fair share of women but there had been something about you that drew him to you. You had helped patch him up and sent him on his way.

The next time he saw you was at 79s and after listening to his vod say that if he didn't ask you out they will Jesse finally got the courage to go up to you and asked you out on a date. You agreed and Jesse was ecstatic.

The two of you had been together since and from your first date together Jesse knew that you were the one for him. Now, here he was a year later getting ready to ask you to marry him. With a never ending war going on and a guarantee of no tomorrow Jesse didn't want to miss his chance of marrying you.

Jesse watched you open your life day gifts from your friends and family and as you got closer to getting done he was becoming more nervous.

Of course he had a plan: he wrote you a little card that you would open and when you weren't looking he would get down on one knee and propose.

Jesse watched as you opened your last present and after you showed everyone the sweater you grabbed his card. This was it. The big moment.

You opened the card and read it: "to my loving girlfriend. From the moment you said yes to our first date I knew you were the one for me. Your smile, your laugh, your everything made me the happiest man in coruscant. I don't know where I would be without you. You have made me the happiest man in the entire galaxy. I will love you now and for the rest of my days. So I have just one question? Will you marry me?"

You turned around and found Jesse on one knee with a ring in his hand. You cried as you shook you head. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes." Jesse slipped the ring on your finger and you held one another in a deep embrace.

Everyone cheered around you as you kissed and Jesse wipes your tears before giving you a keldabe kiss. "I love you, Jesse." "I love you too, cyare."

You pull away and you pour champagne for everyone. You hand glasses to your guests and for the rest of the night the two of you celebrate the future ahead of you.

Tagging: @sev-on-kamino @wizardofrozz @anxiouspineapple99 @starrylothcat @dystopicjumpsuit @523rdrebel @cw80831 @wings-and-beskar @rexxdjarin @cloneloverrrrr @eternal-transcience @deejadabbles @moonlightwarriorqueen

[limnsaber]

Mandalorian Slash Fic Rec List - DinLuke Volume II: Short and Sweet & Short and Fun

Welcome to Volume II of Mando slash: Dinluke fic recs! Here is Volume I. For reference, 🔐 means a restricted work and 💜 means an personal favorite. Please show your love and apprecation to our authors!! -Yours, Limn <3

Short and Sweet

staring down the barrel of the hot sun by magneticwave (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Mandalorian Politics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, 25k)

“Gone to a Child of the Watch, the Darksaber has,” Grand Master Yoda announces in his creaky little voice. “Peace, there is not, and yet peace, there must be.”

sit down, breathe, and just listen by @andfollowthesun (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Anakin Skywalker, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Meetings, Gen, 13k)

“Of course we’re married.” Anakin is blinking at the camera guilelessly. “We’ve been married since before the end of the Clone Wars. What are you on about?”

thaw by @andthepeople (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Mandalorian Politics, Mand'alor Din Djarin, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Teen, 6k)

That’s what hope does to you, Luke remembers now. It lingers at the back of your mind, whispering maybe, maybe, so that knowing a plan is stupid isn’t enough to keep you from trying it.

💜 Melt by @smilebackwards (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Mandalorian Politics, Mand'alor Din Djarin, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Rescue Missions, POV Alternating, Teen, 6k)

“You haven’t given him your clan signet,” the Armorer says bluntly when Din visits her. Of course the latest episode in his faltering courtship has reached her ears. “Anyone is free to make an offer until a signet is given and accepted.” “I know,” Din says.

Cannonball by @thrvrnd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Mature, 18k)

Grogu continues to call Luke for help once he's back with the Mandalorian. Luke always answers.

🔐 turn the page together (when you're ready) by @dee-lirious (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Canon Compliant, POV Luke Skywalker, Gen, 18k)

The Mandalorian—technically Mand’alor, although the one time Luke had called him that to his face he’d grunted in displeasure and made a gesture as if physically swatting the title aside—he visits the temple, sometimes.

give in, eyes closed by strawberry_champagne (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Established Relationship, Character Study, Gray-Asexuality, Teen, 2k)

When Din decided that this was something that he could have, even the most innocent touch was like torrential rain on a sun-scorched planet. He feels like he might drown in it when they’re pressed together like this, counts the points of contact, mouth. chest. knees. hands. wrists. This isn’t something he wants from just anyone. Luke isn’t just anyone, not by a parsec. Luke Skywalker and Din Djarin share a quiet moment while chasing rumors of Force-sensitives across the galaxy.

Oath by rinwins (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Found Family, Marriage Proposal, Keldabe Kiss, Gen, 3k)

“I want to ask you something,” Din says, after they’ve settled Grogu down for the night. That’s his serious voice. Probably not many people can tell the difference, actually, but Luke can. “Okay,” he says, “go ahead.” ... “Would you consider,” says Din, “joining my clan?” - Which contains two proposals, mild liberties with both Mandalorian and Jedi customs, sociopolitical and religious implications But In Space, Force visions, too much studying, a little sparring, a bit of snark, and a Lot of fluff.

Right Where We Need to Be by pixie_rings (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Mature, 4k)

Din Djarin is welcomed to Ossus, despite his first thoughts. And if he finds himself thinking a bit too much about Luke, well... it's just because he's his friend. Right?

🔐 Boundaries by kushana (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Asexual Relationship, Boundaries, Fluff and Humor, Teen, 2k)

Din suddenly feels cold under his armour and his throat constricts. He’s never touched Luke like that, carefree, and there are such things as boundaries. 'Din. It’s okay.' Or: Din touches Luke's nose, then freaks out. Luke sets things straight.

The Three by skywalkers (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Force Visions (Star Wars, Nightmares, Teen, 3k)

“I’ve followed my path, I’ve tried to do what I thought was right, but what if it’s only leading to the same place?” Luke seethes a breath through a wave of nausea when he recalls the dream. “Something is coming, and I…I can’t risk the Temple, our people, you, Grogu. Something is coming and I don’t know what.” “Something is coming, Din. And I’m...” He hesitates. “I’m afraid.” - A nightmare wakes both Luke and Din in the middle of the night.

🔐 I'll take you at your word by @darkisrising (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Fluff, Accidental Marriage, Gen, 1k)

But by far the most attractive thing about Luke isn’t his face, which is beautiful, or his physique, which is impressive, or his voice, which could drive a celibate to distraction. No it’s how eager Luke is not just to teach, but also to learn.

let me walk to the top of the big night sky by @4hoots (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Mand'alor Din Djarin, Planet Mandalore, Gen, 3k)

“Then what are you asking?” The hand on Luke’s arm flexed, and Din stepped even closer, putting them nearly toe-to-toe. “I’m asking you... to share your time with me. Whatever time you’ll give.”

💜 as it was by @ineffablestardust (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Luke and his lost hand, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Teen, 1k)

the ghosts that we learn to deal with, the nature of being human, forgiving oneself and looking to the future and dinluke softies

Short and Fun

listen, there's a hell of a universe next door by storm_petrel (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Ensemble Cast, Rescue Missions, BAMF Luke Skywalker, BAMF Din Djarin, Action/Adventure, Mature, 13k)

As it turns out, no one ever taught Luke how to tie a little green baby to his back one-handed, but Luke thinks he's pretty gods-damned good at problem-solving under pressure, thank you, and the baby is at least semi-cooperative. When he's sure the kid is strapped in as tight as he can get, Luke pauses, and reaches back. His fingers graze the wide point of the baby's fuzzy ear. "Well, kid," says Luke, and his voice is a little rough, but not bad, all things considered. "Carrying you on my back while getting the absolute banthashit kicked out of me, at least this feels familiar." The baby coos in his ear, and then kicks him hard in the kidney. Yoda used to do the exact same thing. Somehow, it's a lot more endearing now. Or: Luke Skywalker solves a number of life-or-death problems, makes some new friends, falls abruptly in love, and gets shot into space, all in the same day.

say it as you will by @chocmarss (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Ensemble Cast, Ahsoka Tano, Grogu, Captain Rex, Force Ghosts, Teen, 4k)

“It’s like I’m watching a carbon copy of Skywalker Sr. sneaking around with the Senator and thinking none of us could see how he’s shit at hiding it.” From her other side, the blue outline of said Skywalker Sr. frowns in some degree of confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

💜 three rules (back straight, head forward) by queen_rowenas (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, New Republic Politics, Secret Relationship, POV Outsider, Teen, 8k)

Leia is helpless to watch as Senator Almen continues on as though nothing is wrong. “Mand’alor, may I introduce you to Senator Organa’s brother, Jedi Master Luke Skywalker.” She can feel all of her hard work crumbling, whatever trust she had formed with the Mandalorians shattering before her as the Mand’alor slowly stands to his feet. Great, she thinks numbly, Another galactic war on my hands. (Leia Organa has never been one to back down from a challenge. Although advising the new Mand’alor in his introduction to the Senate and also trying to keep her Jedi brother from causing an intergalactic incident could prove to be a bigger challenge than expected.)

perhaps I could learn to love by @ace-dindjarin (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, Bo-Katan Kryze, Korkie Kryze, Oblivious Din Djarin, Asexual Din Djarin, Korkie Kryze is a Kenobi, Humor, Misunderstandings, Teen, 9k)

Alt. Title: In Which Din Djarin Assumes Shit Korkie snaps his fingers in front of the Jedi’s wide eyes. “Hello?” “I, uh, sorry. I am the delegate, yes,” the Jedi stammers. “The New Republic delegate. Luke Skywalker.” Solo elbows him in the side. “Great.” Korkie brightens, pulling out a datapad from his belt. “Should we begin?” The Jedi blinks, eyes wide in shock. “Hmm?” “Okay, I’ll take over.” Solo pulls out his own datapad. The two begin to share their information. It’s fifteen minutes into the meeting when Din finally realizes the Jedi’s interested in Korkie Kryze. Romantically. - Din Djarin, the new Mand’alor, interacts with the New Republic delegate sent to consider the Mandalorians for a seat in the Senate. When he realizes the Jedi’s into the charming politician, Korkie Kryze, he’s okay with it. He’s very okay with it. Totally fine. Featuring insecurity, lots of irrational fear, and shenanigans.

The Opposite of All My Mistakes by @vagrantblvrd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, Ensemble Cast, Force Ghosts, Gen, 3k)

Never let it be said that Luke has chosen to eschew the most sacred of Jedi traditions.

Hello Hurricane by @vagrantblvrd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, Mara Jade, Ensemble Cast, Force Ghosts, Gen, 4k)

Luke has a problem. His problem wears armor. Shiny, shiny armor. Also, there’s a cape.

💜 Entanglements by @vagrantblvrd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Teen, 4.5k)

Jedi don’t panic.

Symphonies by @vagrantblvrd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Gen, 4k)

“I don’t understand,” Din says, focused on prying a shiny rock out of Grogu’s mouth. “If your sister is a princess, wouldn’t that make you a prince as well?” His logic is sound, Luke gives him that, but as Luke continues to learn the more he and Leia cautiously look into their lineage, it’s not so clear-cut.

💜 unconditional by @meowalker (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Missing Scene, Marriage Proposal, Gen, 8k)

“I’m thinking,” Skywalker greets, face blinking into existence over the N1’s holoprojector. “You get him during the week, then I get the weekends.”

💜 Read All About It! by pixie_rings (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Humor, POV Outsider, Gen, 2.5k)

Kerani Leyn, shiny new reporter for the Hanna City Herald, is about to land the scoop of a lifetime.

(Let's Kiss) While All the Stars Are Falling Down by @stupidfatpenguin (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, One Shot, battle husbands, Not Rated, 900w)

Prompt: have you considered: battle husbands When Din slots in behind Luke on the battlefield, something clicks into place.

take my last breath, too by @stupidfatpenguin (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, One Shot, Sparring, Accidental Proposal, Pining, Gen, 1k)

“You think I’ll last long against your Jedi magic?” (In which Din is distracted and underestimates his opponent.)

Live dangerous by @iamscoby (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, One Shot, Old DinLuke, Planet Ahch-To, Gen, 500w)

It rains a lot on Ahch-To.

🔐 cement and sunshine (ten-cent clementines) by @navigatorwrongway (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, The Armorer, Ahsoka Tano, Not Rated, 1.5k)

They’re just kidding themselves, at this point.

[the-starry-seas]

For the kissing roulette, how about Fox/Thorn but with 21? I can't choose haha

I think 14 :) A kiss to the stomach

Fox glares at the door when it opens, because it's almost midnight and the last thing he wants is another problem to handle.

He glares a little less when he sees Thorn with a yellow daffodil in their hand and a shy expression on their face.

"Hi," Thorn says softly. "Wanted to bring you something."

"Is that from the flowerbeds outside the Senate?"

Thorn nods with a crooked little grin.

Fox, despite himself, snorts a laugh. Thorn isn't always talkative, but they're considerate. Not what first drew him to them, but once the relationship started getting serious... It's kind of calming, actually. Knowing that someone is keeping an eye on him.

"C'mere," Fox says, setting his datapad down.

Thorn folds down in his lap and tucks the stem of the flower behind his ear, their hand resting on his shoulder and the other curled around the back of his neck as they guide him into a keldabe kiss.

They're in their civvies, he realises, blond curls spilling over their shoulders. He grins to himself and slides a hand under their shirt, rucking up the soft fabric. They like loose clothes, and he likes seeing them so comfortable.

"I like that," Thorn says, nuzzling at his chin.

He grins a little, and his other hand follows, exposing a swath of beautiful brown skin and pushing Thorn back against his desk at the same time.

"I like you," he murmurs, brushing the pad of his thumb over a scar across their ribs. "Like knowing you." His mouth dips to their stomach. "Like kissing you, for sure."

Their breath hitches, and he smiles against their skin. Even when they aren't chatty, he can tell what they're thinking. He can feel it. And he knows them, as well as he knows himself.

"Definitely like kissing you," he says when Thorn's fingers curl in his hair. His teeth scrape across the same scar before he goes back to kissing down their stomach. They always shiver in the most beautiful way, and he enjoys feeling it under his hands. "Gonna take good care of you, Thorn. Promise."

[reconstructwriter]

So I Finally Finished Attack of the Clones

...for the very first time. When did this movie come out again? I am late, is there still room on this bandwagon? Anyway more thought vomiting on this movie...

Sith Pattern: I do appreciate that Palpatine is old, rich, white male fascist. Dooku is old, rich, white male fascist. Anakin shakes things up a bit by starting out young and poor but he’ll get there and has the rest down. Meanwhile our heroes are Padme Amidala, Mace Windu, Yoda, Bail, etc. Would have loved for George Lucas’ original casting of Obi Wan to have gone through! This does make Mirror!verses and morality flip AU's very weird because the Galaxy is being saved from aliens by three white guys? Unfortunate implications aside I can suspend a lot of disbelief about laser-swords and magic IN SPACE but I gotta draw the line somewhere.

Anakin’s attachment: Is well-shown here with convenient comparison to Cleigg – her husband and her son, the two who should love Shmi the most. At her funeral Cleigg is all ‘you’re in a better place. Thank you for the time we had,’ vs Anakin’s ‘I wasn’t strong enough to save you, I won’t fail again’ and ‘I miss you’. Exact opposites. Cleigg was entirely focused on Shmi while Anakin was focused on himself.

Also Anakin’s focus kinda screwed up Obi Wan’s mission when he wasted precious moments FINDING Anakin to get his galactically-important message through.

Mace Windu Not Killing Dooku: Shatterpoint, along with some fanfics, has Mace beating himself up for not ending the war by killing Dooku but my man you’re too hard on yourself! You only killed Jango when he decided to fuck around and find out with you in the death arena. Dooku did not fuck around and find out so your only chance would’ve been to throw away all your Jedi morals and stab him in the back! Thus risking becoming Darth Tyrannus 2.0 and screwing the galaxy.

Jango why did you fuck around and find out? I get Mace held a laser sword to your throat and you had a working jetpack going into the arena…but that arena is No Man’s Land. Even if Galidraan was canon you could’ve stayed back and taken pot shots.

The scene with Boba giving one last keldabe kiss to his father’s helmet is heartbreaking! Ouch!!!

Padme: So I kinda get being willing to confess her terrible taste in men on Space Fantasy Death Row. She doesn’t want to live a lie and is straight up expecting to die so what does it matter if she confesses? And then she does live so consequence time! Still feels like she’s ignoring the genocide – or George Lucas is ignoring the obvious implications. Genocide does work for foreshadowing Jedi genocide and Nazi comparisons (boy howdy does it!!!). But murdering every single member of an entire tribe down to the babes in arms doesn’t work for ‘Anakin doesn’t Fall here, he just dips his toe in the Dark’.

Padme otherwise doesn’t seem too terribly out of character throughout. She stands her ground against Anakin and where she does give in – rescuing Shmi – or chooses to go after Obi Wan? Well both did do her immensely big favors it’d be weirder if she brushed them off. Plus, rescuing both comes with additional benefits – no assassin will look for her on Tattooine (it worked before) and Obi Wan’s rescue could offer the opportunity to discuss peace with the Separatists before war happened.

And it did – in the cut scene :P

Dual with Dooku: So Anakin did put his duty first when Padme fell in the (barren, sans enemies) sand with an ally but damn if his attachment to her wasn’t still affecting him. The hot-headed idiotic attack was the worst possible timing! Why does everyone beat Mace up (including the man himself) for not killing Dooku but give Anakin a pass when he had every chance of ending the war Right There if he’d been able to keep his head on straight for two minutes.

The End: As with the first movie, we end with Mace and Yoda clearly knowing what the Sith are doing, though they're split with Mace believing Dooku while Yoda thinks its a trick. And I think they’re both right because I read somewhere Dooku and Palpatine were hoping to sow doubt between the Jedi and the Senate but also was telling the truth – from a certain point of view. Anyway, they aren't oblivious. Yoda straight up says the Shroud of the Dark Side has Fallen.

The last scene really drives that home! How the beginning of the war is the beginning of the Empire. The war kills the Republic and this is repeatedly smacked into our brains with the imagery of Palpatine standing at the head of everyone else, the most powerful Supreme Chancellor ever as the army of white-clad troopers marches out into the galaxy below him. The Destroyers lift off. The Empire’s freaking theme music plays.

Overall the movie had its high points and stinkers but that was a damn fine end!

[drawingdroid]

The Unknown Regions V

A Din Djarin x Fem Plus Size Reader Fic

Summary: Grogu is gone and Din Djarin, surprisingly, needs your help. As an astrophysicist, you haven't seen a lot of action, but you're onboard the Razor Crest without a second thought. Flying to the Wild Space together will be a life-changing experience for both of you. In more than one way.

The Unknown Regions Masterlist | Read it on AO3

Warnings: Expect conversations about weight, body dysmorphia and internalised fatphobia that may be triggering, so read at your own discretion; reader is AFAB and user she/her pronouns; no use of y/n; smut; the bucket stays on; naked female clothed male; fluff and smut; hurt and comfort; Sad Din :(

Word count: 3,136

A/N:  I've taken so long to close this chapter since I was having a major episode of autistic burnout bothering me. But slowly I'm recovering and finally forced myself to do the things I enjoy like writing fics! So I'm back with this story! It keeps getting longer so I initially planned 5 chapters but they'll end up being 7. This one is longer and then 6 will be pure filth ;) and 7 will serve as a kind of epilogue. Strap on for some confessions and feelings in this one! Also, keldabe kiss if you catch the reference in the chapter end!

🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐

“Hi sweetheart”, you cooed, your tone soft and quiet.

The kid was poking his little face behind the doorframe, looking at his dad and you alternatively. The first day after rescuing him, he didn’t want to eat anything and Din was crazy worried. Normally, he said, he had quite the appetite. The boy just napped on his father’s chest, sometimes waking up weeping from nightmares. Your heart ached for him. What had he possibly gone through on that planet to be like that? Din and you decided that waiting for you to be introduced to Grogu was the best since he wasn’t feeling safe. But for the last hours, he seemed like he was recovering, eating finally some food and looking better. 

As Din expected, the whole plan was aimed to lure him into a trap. An act of revenge from some pirates that, thankfully, didn’t know anything about the kid’s powers and just abducted him as bait when they couldn’t defeat his dad back on Tatooine. He came all hurt from the battle. You had been anxiously waiting for him, feeling powerless to stay back, but accompanying him would have been a liability. To keep yourself busy, you run some diagnostics about the planet. It wasn’t the moment to be excited, but landing on a planet you had just discovered was something any scientist would dream about. So you were distracted by studying the atmosphere and taking some samples from the soil when you saw him limping through the forest, you left your tools to run towards him. You were going to ask when he put his pointer finger where his lips would be in a universal signal. Silence. Then, he looked between his arms and you followed. Between his strong arms, there was bundled the most precious creature you had ever seen. His son. The baby was snoring softly under his blanket and you nodded in understanding.

After entering the hull, his arm over your shoulders, he didn’t let you give him treatment. His one and only goal was to be sure of the kid’s health. He took his temperature, listened to his tiny lungs and tried feeding him. Shortly after it was clear the only damage the boy had suffered was psychological. He didn’t rest nor sleep, and you accompanied him the whole time. Watching the baby rest on Din’s breastplate, and how the warrior caressed the little fuzzy head, made your heart go wild. The love and devotion he demonstrated to his kid only made you fonder of The Mandalorian.

After the incident that had interrupted your heavy make-out session, you didn’t touch again. Din was laser-focused on the mission, especially when you landed and he had to recover all the information possible about the enemy’s base. For that, it was useful to have brought your little drone droid with you, the type that was launched to unknown planets to retrieve information. Din frowned at the little droid at first, but when it proved its worth he became more accepting about it. It was the droid that provided a map of the underground base, checked if the air was breathable and let Din know how many enemies were stationed there.

When he didn’t start the take-off protocol upon his arrival, you were worried about your safety but didn’t say anything. Later you’d learn he had killed them all. How that information should have felt? Frightening, probably, disgusting. But the fact that he slayed more than twenty pirates just to avenge his son and ensure his safety was kind of incredible. You only admired him more for that. 

Before arriving on the planet, you had lamented the lack of intimacy. Your rational self told you he was having complicated feelings, that he was preparing himself for the mission and didn’t have time for that. In fact, he was making an inventory of his weapons and cleaning them regularly. But the thing was that your feelings were hurt and you couldn’t stop overthinking about your past intercourse. He had been so vulnerable it had broken your heart. He had cried in your lap, and you had held him until he calmed down, caressing there where the beskar didn’t protect his flesh. You knew it wasn’t about you, for kriff’s sake, but that little voice inside your head said the contrary. That he had thought it better. That he felt repulsed by you. Like a mantra, you repeated his praise words in your head to keep the overthinking away when you were trying to sleep.

The intimacy didn’t return, but the boy did, and he was feeling better every day. Grogu was a curious and energetic kid and it took a lot to keep up with him. His appetite returned eventually, and you could see how Din was relaxing little by little. The day he introduced both of you, the baby had toddled towards your boot and hugged it, and then started to babble incoherently. It turned out to be a good signal because from that day you became buddies. With any spare part, cloth or scrap, you made him toys and invented little games to let Din rest from time to time. You grew very fond of the kid, he was a charmer and you liked children. Often, his dad observed you both, normally after waking up from a much-needed nap. He stated immobile, looking at both of you, and you’d flash him a smile. Maybe he didn’t want you anymore, maybe it had been just a desperate moment of need, but something about the way his hands twitched when he looked at you gave you hope.

Eventually, you needed to refuel and buy supplies on your way to Tatooine. You didn’t want to think about the day all of this would end. You tried not to. But the shadow was there. The fact was that you didn’t miss your workplace. All the return trip, you had been working on your data about the new planet and sending it to the observatory, discovering further about the chemistry of its atmosphere and soil. You’d been researching about the moon you saw when you were in orbit, a satellite you didn’t notice from the observatory. It was real, it was tangible. It wasn’t only numbers and abstract calculations, a part you enjoyed, but now you had discovered it wasn’t enough.

The planet you had landed on for your supply run was a safe one, so you accompanied Din through the market. Compared to Tatooine, this place was so lush and colourful, so you were enjoying yourself a lot by asking vendors and looking through things.

“Do you like this carpet?” Din surprised you with his question while you were checking some shawls.

“What?” He just pointed to a beautiful and fluffy carpet hanging on a stall.

“It’s lovely! It’ll warm the Razor Crest for sure, the kid can play on it…”

“It’s for you.” He cut you, changing his weight uncomfortably.

“I ruined your carpet back on Tatooine. By bleeding.” 

Your laugh took him by surprise apparently. After everything, he was thinking of replacing your carpet? He was so, so sweet and your heart ached a bit.

“You don’t need to buy me a carpet, you have already given me more than more than I could dream of.” You didn’t intend to sound that deep, it was only a carpet for maker’s sake! But the truth was that you felt so grateful for the opportunity Did had given you by travelling with him. He tilted his head and crossed his arms. The kid started to play with the carpet’s tassels, but all of Din’s attention was on you.

“I don’t understand. You left everything to help us. The least I could do…” He looked to both sides, noticing all the vendor’s eyes were on them. There wasn’t a place to have that conversation. “Let’s go back to the Crest.” You nodded and followed after untangling the kid from the soft tassels. It was a beautiful carpet, to be honest.

🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐

After spending the day in the market, full of new and exciting things, the kid was snoring even before arriving at the Razor Crest. Both of you stayed silent to not disturb the baby, so your conversation was postponed for the moment.

Din had landed on a quiet forest clearing, and the only sound was the humming of the nocturnal birds. The temperature was nice, so silently you both agreed to light a campfire to cookdinner and luckily, hang out a bit. He went to put Grogu in his little hammock while you looked for firewood, so you had some space for yourself to think.

“Don't go too far,” he'd said seriously, and as other times you noticed his gaze lingering more than necessary in you. You'd smiled and rolled your eyes playfully. He was worrying too much, this was a safe planet after all. But you couldn't deny that his concerns about your safety warmed your heart a little too much.

While looking for the most promising branches in the surroundings of the clearing, you thought about the carpet event. It made you think about your home. You felt ashamed about how little though you had put on the fact that you'd be in your cabin again, soon. The little space you had worked hard to get, your sanctuary. And you didn't miss it a little bit. Well, maybe your bathtub and scented candles. But that was it.

The fact was that flying in the Razor Crest felt like home. And it didn't have anything to do with the old hunk of metal and its barren, utilitarian interior. It was Din, who made you feel safe, your unspeakable connection. How he had held you, as the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And the addition of the child only had made the sensation grow. The little critter was beyond adorable and you loved the humble routines the three of you had established. And observing how his dad took care of him, so gently and patiently, only made you grow fonder of the Mandalorian.

But everything had to end. Something too similar to grief started to grow inside of your chest. You pressed the firewood harder against your body. There was enough to light a nice bonfire so you decided to return to the Crest. After all, you had a pending conversation with Din.

🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐🪐

Together you started the campfire and prepared a delicious meal with the fresh produce from the market. You insisted on cooking something from your birthplace since the ingredients were available, and Din indulged. Since you were flying together, he would always wait to eat after you or eat in the cockpit, but the stew was ready and he wasn't moving. You didn’t know what to do.

“I'll go change, tell me if you like it!” Din looked at you and nodded slowly. It was strange, he was even more silent than normal.

Putting your night clothes on, you felt relieved. With what you had been wearing, although cute, your thighs had been burning after some hours of walking in the warm weather. You refreshed yourself a little and checked if the kid was still asleep and well.

“Are you visible?” You asked before going down the hull, hoping he had had enough time to have dinner in peace.

“Yes, you can come out.” You descended the ramp eager to have your homemade dinner, but you had to stop a moment to admire the sight. He looked beautiful under the flames, reflecting them in the beskar he always kept impeccable. “What?” He asked, catching you mesmerized by him. Your heart instantly spiked, feeling caught.

“Nothing just…your beskar looks…beautiful.” Your cheeks warmed, and you activated again your legs to sit beside the campfire. He passed a full bowl of the stew to you, still steamy and you thanked him.

“It was delicious,” he commented casually after a while. “I even had a second serving.” You lifted your eyebrows, knowing how rare that was for him. He ate the bare minimum, even less than a man his size needed, you suspected.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” you responded, finishing the last drops of your meal. “My mother used to prepare this when I was feeling gloomy, it's…a comfort food.” You smiled, remembering how your mom would pace around the kitchen while you whimpered about your last teenage drama and how after a while, she'd produce the delicious stew that shut you up and made you feel much better. 

Din looked at the empty pot as if it contained all the responses to the secrets of the universe. 

“Did it work?” You asked out of nothing, feeling brave after the magic stew. Din looked at you, pot still in his hands.

“What?”

“The stew. Something is bothering you, right? Did it make it better?” You bite your lip, worrying about being intrusive. But was it a dream? The closeness you experienced with him? Deep in your heart, you were craving that vulnerability again. So you had to try.

Din sighed deeply and put the pot away. Intertwining his gloved hands, it looked like he was picking the right words and your chest tightened with anticipation.

“You've been…so kind. To me. To us. I don't know how to repay you.” His voice sounded husky and he looked troubled, you even felt bad. Bad because this good, caring man, felt like kindness was some type of currency and what that implied. 

How harsh has your life been, Din Djarin?

Carefully, you sat a bit closer to him. “Din, hear me out.” his helmet turned so fast when you said his name it was almost comical. “I didn't help you looking for something in return. First, you were wounded and I couldn't just let you die on my carpet.”  You grinned mentioning the blasted carpet again. “And then we were in Mos Espa and I saw a father in need who had lost his child.”

Remembering his sorrow then was almost painful. It had hurt watching him navigate the fear, the loss.

You waited, almost able to hear the gears of his brain, thinking about the possibility of disinterested kindness. 

“Before…in the market…you said I've already given me more than more than you could dream of.” His voice was quieter now and he was observing the fire. A question lingered in the air. 

You inhaled sharply hearing your sappy words in his mouth, feeling utterly ashamed. You were referring to traveling to the Unknown Regions, to the planet you had discovered, but it was more than that. It was the quiet intimacy of your day to day with them, his little thoughtful details to you, how he was determined to teach you to fly, or the weight of Grogu when he napped on your chest. 

Would you be brave? He had opened the door, but it was your decision to cross. You were afraid: if you opened your mouth, there wouldn’t be a way to come back. The point of no return.

“I’ve never felt like this before.” You confessed, trying to have the courage and looking at his visor. “I've never been further from home but with you… I feel safe to navigate even the Unknown Regions.” 

You twisted your nightgown in your hands, feeling like you could die from the embarrassment. Lucky for you he was going to leave you soon in Tatooine, because you'll never recover if he didn't feel the same. But once started your brain didn't stop to run all the things you wanted to say to him, like a dam breaking.

“I don't want anything in exchange for my help because being with you is the reward.” It was cheesy but it was also the truth. Now that you had bared your heart, you felt relief, but also like you were going to throw up. 

He had listened to you still like a beskar statue and your anxiety was spiking. The initial braveness had faded and now the overthinking was waiting for its moment to torture you.

But then he moved. Grabbed your hand, wrapping yours in his bigger palm. Like that first night when he told you about Grogu and you comforted him.

“Mesh’la.” All his body was now turned to you like he wasn’t only listening with his ears but all of him. “Is that true?” The emotion that his modulated voice transmitted, close to breaking, was a rare thing for him. It made you shiver as you squeezed his hand back.

“Yes Din, everything of it. I know I  should find myself wanting to go home after all these weeks, but I already feel like home here, with you.” Now even your ears felt hot and you had to look elsewhere or you’d combust.

Din sighed heavily. “You love your job, and you’re great at it.”

“That’s true,” you admitted, a pinch of sorrow fiding your chest, but also hopeful because he hadn’t rejected you yet. And because of what he had been implying.

Din looked at the Razor Crest, and then his gaze returned to you. “I haven’t felt at home for a long, long time,” he confessed, and something in you ached at the confession, “but since you’re onboard…” The Bounty Hunter looked at his boots and then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I’m not good with words” At this point, your eyes were glossy and your lower lip was trembling.

“You’ve said plenty, Din.” He inhaled sharply and then gathered the courage to wrap your waist in an embrace. You happily curled against his cuirass, nesting your face against the crook of his neck. His right hand hadn’t left yours for a moment. The warmth you felt was incomparable with nothing you’d sensed before. It was like being so full of affection that you were in danger of spilling it. You wanted to smile and cry. 

“We’ll figure things out, mesh’la,” he said softly, tracing shapes in your back.

Goosebumps formed in your skin and inevitably you remembered the last (and first) time you were intimate. You were longing for another moment like that between you. The commanding but kind way Din had spoken to you, his adoring yourds and hands exploring your supple flesh? You sighed against his covered neck and his masculine scent filled your nostrils. It had an immediate effect on you, and soon arousal started to pool between your thighs.

“Din…,” you started, voice a little thick from desire.”...would you touch me tonight, please?”

His whole body tensed and his grip on you tightened. There was a knot in your stomach. There was a limit to how forward a girl could be on the same day.

“As you wish, mesh’la.” And before you could protest, he was carrying you to the belly of the Crest.

[honeydjarin]

KELDABE KISS

FIVES X READER

Fives draws attention to the nameless thing that is growing between you

genre: fluff

word count: 660

a/n: I’m struggling to get back into writing (and doing creative things in general), so I’m starting with baby steps

“What are you doing?” you ask Fives, voice low. Not that there’s much need to speak so quietly, there is no one else around to hear. The hallway you’re in is empty, save for the two of you. It stretches out, a pristine void on either side of you, but the world seems to curl in much closer in your current position. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” Fives’ reply is sheepish and just as quiet. Despite the apology, he doesn’t let you go. Rather, he pulls you further into his chest, ever closer. One hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, keeping you in place, and you can’t help but sigh at the touch. He’s warm. Heat radiates at every contact point, making you go soft. You could break away from his grasp if you really wanted to, he wouldn’t go against your wishes, but you’re inclined to stay right where you are. 

You’ve seen him do this with his brothers—foreheads pressed together in friendly and familial affection, a form of greeting, or simply a connection. 

This seems different, far more intimate, even if the position is the same. 

Fives’ toothy smile hasn’t dropped once since he pulled you to him. His eyes gleam like he has a secret, some sort of inside joke for one, but there’s no malice behind his gaze. Far from it. His eyelids settle at half mast and yours follow suit, too comfortable in the moment to give the action any thought. 

There has been something building between the two of you for a while now. It sends your stomach spinning and chest burning with each gentle look or brush of skin. Fives seems to have taken it upon himself to leave you as flustered as possible at every opportunity, flirting relentlessly. Then, when you don’t think you can take anymore, he tugs you into his side, allowing you to find shelter in the very man you seek to hide from. As embarrassing as Fives can be, you don’t want him to stop. 

Even with all that has transpired, you've never given this thing between you a name, and he has never been so forward before.  

“Fives,” you start, but your voice fades just as quickly. You intend to admonish, to warn, to… something. Your intentions for speaking slip from your mind as his nose brushes against your own, a small action that you have no doubt was intentional. Finally you settle on “we could get caught.” 

Doing what, exactly, you’re not sure. 

Fives has made no move to close the gap between your lips, as small as it may be. This isn’t that kind of kiss, even if you’ve daydreamed about kissing him properly plenty of times. Sometimes he catches you, a smirk growing across the lips you stared at for just a little too long. You deny it every time, of course. Because that would draw too much attention to this nameless thing.   

This press of foreheads is not that which filled your thoughts so many times (although now, having experienced it, you’re certain it won’t ever leave). This is different, both innocent and intimate at once. There’s nothing inherently wrong with what you’re doing in this hall, and yet it feels too significant not to go unnoticed by any potential passerby. 

“So what?” he asks, his voice rumbling in his chest beneath your hands. “It’s not like anyone is going to say anything. And even if they did, it’s not like Rex or the General would care.” 

He’s right, of course. No one on the ship would care if you were caught. Surely they’ve all seen this nameless thing growing as well.

You’ll have to talk about it soon. This moment isn’t one that can be brushed away. You don’t want to let it fade to nothing. And if the way Fives is holding you is anything to go by, you don’t think he’s ready to let this go either.