#mando needs a hug

[mrsfeiix]

“Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad Fox”

I know your name as my child

Amazing piece of Tal’karir and Fox by @cobaltbeam

This makes me melt into a puddle of pure wholesomeness 🥹

[thefrogdalorian]

Sanctuary

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: It's one of those days when your emotions threaten to overwhelm you. Despite the horrible day you're having, you try your best to keep it together. A feat you manage, until a certain Mandalorian arrives home and takes you into his arms. Word Count: 1.2k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: Descriptions of anxiety/panic attack ✯ Author's Note: Seeing these gifs the other day broke something in my brain and this little fic was the result. I hope this gets you through a day when you really need a hug from Din Djarin 💕 ✯ My Masterlist ✯

On the days when your stomach churned and you were too upset to vocalise the war that waged within yourself, you were grateful to have someone in your life who seemed to know exactly what you needed. There was no doubt that Din understood you better than you understood yourself. It was unsurprising, given how meticulous and attentive he was in everything he turned his hand to.

You had been in each other's lives for some time, yet you still found yourself pleasantly surprised each time he shared such care towards you. You never doubted Din's kind heart once you got to know him, but you were nonetheless astonished by the multitudes he contained. It was astounding how tender and caring the man, who had gained such a fearsome reputation throughout the galaxy as a ruthless bounty hunter, actually was beneath his cold, hard beskar. 

It was early in the morning when Din had left through the door and your stomach tied itself into knots as you heard his heavy footprints gradually fade into the distance. The sound indicated that you were now alone with your thoughts. Throughout the day, you had pushed your emotions to the deepest depths inside yourself. You had been trying to kid yourself, in his absence, that you could survive the day without breaking down. You told yourself over and over that if you could just make it until Din returned and then put on a brave face when he walked through the door, you would have survived the day without dissolving into pieces. The last thing you wanted was for Din to see how upset you were. The fear that you were weighing him down with your troubles or somehow holding him back from achieving greater things was omnipresent. Even though he had never given you a reason to fear such a thing, you were constantly terrified of being seen as a burden to him.

The familiar heavy footsteps grew louder; their rhythmic, even quality indicated they could belong to only one man. You took a deep breath and attempted to steady your racing heart, preparing yourself to keep it together upon Din's return.

The second you saw his figure in the doorway, you knew it was a lost cause. At the sight of the familiar outline of beskar shining in the entryway, you immediately knew that there was no way that you would be able to maintain your composure. You stood up immediately, rising off the chair you had been sitting on as you waited for him, to greet the man who owned your heart entirely. Instead of racing towards him as usual, you found yourself suddenly overcome with apprehension. Your steps faltered with uncertainty as you walked towards him on shaky legs, feeling your ability to stay strong evaporate just from laying eyes upon him. 

Din held his arms out to you without hesitation, beckoning you to come close to him.

“Come here, cyare,” Din whispered as you stepped into his orbit, his voice gravelly, “Let me hold you.”

As you closed the distance between you and Din to rest your head in the crook of his neck, you caught a glimpse of his mudhorn pauldron, glinting despite the low light of the cabin. Despite how terrible you felt, the ghost of a smile passed across your lips as you noticed the signet was so distinctively Din. Stepping into his arms felt like you were returning to safety. To your home.

You rested your head in the crook of his neck and nuzzled into his rough cowl, enjoying his familiar scent. It was musky and masculine, but not overbearing. You detected a faint hint of perspiration mixed with the floral scent you knew lingered on his skin thanks to the bottle of liquid he lathered across his tan skin in the 'fresher each morning. Din’s chestplate was firm against your body. Initially, you recoiled at the slight chill from the beskar, discernible even through your layers of clothing. Once you had adjusted to the temperature and new sensation, though, you felt nothing but warmth when you were in his arms.

As Din held you close and his hands rubbed comforting circles into your back with one strong arm holding you tightly around the waist, you appreciated the way your bodies fit together. It was as you were admiring how you seemed to be made for each other that you noticed how Din had wrapped his cape around your shoulders to further cocoon you into him. As though he was protecting you from all of the hurt that lingered outside of the sanctuary of his arms. From whatever was troubling you. There was no intense questioning, no expectations for answers. Only safety, love and understanding from a man who wanted to help you through your very worst days.

Something about nuzzling into Din’s neck and the care he had taken to raise your spirits rendered you speechless. You were overcome with emotion, powerless to stop the tears which started falling down your cheeks. At first, it was a solitary droplet, but then you couldn’t help yourself as more and more tears slipped from your eyes. 

At the first sound of your sniffles, Din pulled away from you. You felt your stomach drop in panic, momentarily afraid that you had upset him somehow. You looked up at him and felt the embarrassment settle somewhere low in your stomach, a physical symptom of the mortification you felt at your outburst. Then came the shame. You were dismayed that you had lost control of your emotions in such a way. Evidence of your loss of composure was evident in the reflection of your face in his helmet. You watched as your expression grew increasingly more distraught and felt your chest heaving as the panic rose within you, upset at your emotional state.

Fortunately, Din was nothing but understanding and caring. Before your thoughts could spiral anywhere darker, he began to use his soft leather gloves against your cheeks to dry the tears that were burning hot trails down your skin. It distracted you from your anguish, his tender touch providing instant comfort.

You relished the contact and melted into his embrace. Between his hand that lingered on your cheek, while the other rubbed your back and ensured his cape still swaddled you, your mood was instantly calmer. Din brought you back into his shoulder and returned his hands to your back, rubbing up and down as he held you close. You wrapped your arms around his waist, relishing the small contact you gained with the warmth of his flesh between the hard plates of his beskar. You stayed like that for a few more minutes, feeling your anguish dissipate with each second that Din held you.

Eventually, your breathing evened out and returned to a less frantic pace. Sensing that his embrace had had the intended effect on your fragile emotional state, Din pulled away once again and brought his hands to cup your jaw gently.

“How are you feeling now?” he rasped as he stroked your cheeks with his gloved thumbs. 

“Being in your arms always makes me feel better,” you smiled.

“I’d hold you for the rest of my days if you only asked me to, cyare,” Din vowed with a nod of his helmet. 

You smiled then, enjoying the way your face lit up with a smile and how your eyes had regained their sparkle thanks to the tight embrace of your attentive Mandalorian; your sanctuary.

[stardustrebels]

Fathoms Beyond- Chapter 3: Faults, Recursive

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader Rating: 18+ / MDNI WC: 7.8k Series Masterlist | Blog Masterlist Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: This is a follow-on fic from Fathoms Between (my WTTS one shot fic). It’s been a while, but here I am, here this is! There are some notes under the chapter, just for some extra info and to save you a Wookiepedia search and to explain a few extra things. The hunt is on and I hope you enjoy it! Comments, reblogs and replies are always welcome, and as always, thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here and reading my fics, it means more to me than you will ever know ;) 

Tags/ Warnings: Angst, tension, slow burn, hurt/comfort, (slight) emotional whump, mild peril, in-world weapons, mentions of past violence (not in detail), found family, Din Djarin needs a hug, Din Djarin is bad at feelings until he isn't, heavy is the head that wears the helmet, post-season 2 (The Mandalorian), canon-divergent, Razor Crest never gets destroyed but Din does have the Darksaber.

Taglist: @djarins-cyare , @i-say-choco-you-say-ice-cream

If you’d like to be added to or removed from this taglist, please let me know!

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

Kesh was paid too much to make mistakes. 

The trees blurred as she weaved through the underbrush, boots light and sure against the jagged rocks and roots underfoot. Her quarry had slipped away. The fist that she had closed in around him hadn’t been quite tight enough. He’d evaded her twice now. Once was bad enough but a second time? Well, that had never happened before. She blamed it on the extenuating circumstances.

The Mandalorian had been a surprise— they were rare these days. She hadn’t expected the quarry to have picked up a little friend, either. But based on his history it hadn’t been too much of a shock when she’d watched him knock you down with a blaster bolt to save his own skin. 

He was a coward, her employer had said, but a wily one. 

He had so many names it had been difficult to track him down at first. His most recent alias, Jarek, wasn’t listed on any of the bounty information she’d been given, but she’d heard through her contacts that a man matching his description was setting meetings on Vath, and figured there’d be no harm in trying to arrange one for herself, posing as a buyer. 

It would’ve been laughable if it weren’t so frustrating how fast he had bolted the second she’d uttered his real name, one that he probably hadn’t heard in a long time. She hadn’t had time to blink let alone clasp the binders around his wrists. She’d pursued him, but he’d used his knowledge of the landscape against her and managed to slink away into the fading daylight. If she hadn’t been hunting him for so long, she might have been impressed. 

As she approached her ship without the bounty in tow, for the second time in less than a standard day, the silence felt like a personal affront; a mockery she refused to believe was anything but temporary. She pushed the sensation aside, foreign as it was. Anger didn’t serve her, and besides, she couldn’t afford to let anything else get in the way. 

The tattoos that marked her green skin tightened at the corners of her eyes as she frowned, something she’d only ever allow herself to do when she was alone. She slipped into the cockpit, slid into the pilot’s chair and took a deep, heavy breath, fingers flying over the console to read the ping linked to the fob she’d been given. The signal was weak, the beeps few and far between. He was gone— already jumped to hyperspace. She didn’t blame him. 

Kesh leaned back in her chair, exhaling through her nose. She’d have to keep digging this guy out the old fashioned way. It was fine, she told herself. She still had time and no one had to know. Especially not her employer. 

She figured she’d start back at the hangar to see if anything useful had been left behind. The hum of modified engines faded to silence as she landed, and she slipped from the ship and toward the hangar, every step deliberate and precise.  Scanning for any sign of the Mandalorian or you.

She found neither. 

Where Jarek had blasted you at close range, only disturbed dirt remained in a halo around the glint of something metallic. 

A comlink, half-buried in the dust where it had been dropped. Left to make it look like you never moved. Kesh crouched beside it, a frown coming to rest across her brow as her eyes flicked over marks on the floor— scrapes and half-obscured footprints. Two sets. 

She traced the first— bigger, heavier, steady. The armour-weighted steps of a Mandalorian. The second set, lighter and irregular and dragging slightly, belonging to someone injured but independently mobile— frustration etched in to every staggered, scraping footprint. The lack of any blood suggested the bolt hadn’t even broken skin. Armoured then. Kesh straightened, a thin curving smile touching her lips. Distrust all the way down.

She followed the tracks with growing interest, out of the hangar and toward the tree line, winding through the dirt before vanishing in to the brush. She didn’t need to see any more. She already knew where they were headed. 

She turned back to the ship, pace brisk, and set a course back to Vath’s main port. She guessed you knew Jarek’s escape plan, at least some of it. That’s why he shot you. Maybe you’d vowed to find him and make him pay— but your anger made you sloppy. Now that Kesh had a trail to follow, she just had to get to Jarek before anyone else did.

You loathed the sound of the Crest’s thrusters— old even the last time you boarded, and clearly not replaced since. The drone of them rumbled through you. If your teeth hadn’t been clenched, they’d be rattling. 

Absence hadn’t made your heart grow fonder, and your hatred for this ship had not eased when you stepped aboard. It smelled like old carbon, so burnt in that a faint whiff would remain no matter how hard you scrubbed it. Otherwise, it was utilitarian. Soulless metal, with no hint of warmth or personality. Haunted by ghosts of bounties that didn’t know how to let go. Jarek could soon be one of them. 

The puck glowed in your hand, lighting your features in a stuttering strobe. Jarek’s face hovered in the air, and the harder you looked, the more the smirk on his face seemed to twist with each flicker of the holograph. 

You scanned the charges again. Some were familiar— fraud, forgery, HoloNet hacking. You’d even done a few of those together. But others twisted your stomach: exploitation, trafficking. Murder. The words bled off the puck in cold, sterile blue, and no matter how many times you read them, they didn’t make sense— like they’d been written about someone else. 

Until now, it had all seemed harmless; you were just taking what you were owed — carving out something for yourself in a brutal, merciless galaxy. The people you swindled could afford it, the crimes were victimless. At least that’s what he had said when you’d asked.

You dropped the puck in your lap and pressed your palms to your eyes, stopping the tears before they fell; until sparks bloomed behind your lids. Jarek had burned the bridge behind him while you were still on it. You winced as you wondered how many people he’d done it to before.

The thought had spun round and round in your mind on the journey through the forest back to the Crest. You’d avoided the main path and snuck in through the tree line at the edge of the port. Mando said he’d paid the port fees in full when he’d landed, so you were free to go. You both hurried on to the ship, instep so that you’d be hidden behind Mando’s frame as you walked. 

Once aboard with the gangplank locked, you’d explained the Tetherline protocol details to Mando like you were rattling off a parts list. Clean, detached, as if it didn’t scrape your insides raw to say it out loud. 

“Strings of planets— knots in a net across the galaxy,” you’d said, fingers stretching in the air to illustrate, pacing a familiar figure of eight across the hull. “Each one a fallback. A safe house, a cache, sometimes contacts. We set them all up while we travelled. If things ever went sideways, there wasn’t a concrete plan past the first knot to switch ships. That planet never changed: Socorro.”

The Mandalorian stood silent by the cockpit ladder, arms crossed, watching as you paced. 

“If he thinks I’m dead,” you said, voice sharp, “he’ll go there. The knots are solid. After the first one, he’s untraceable. I guess that’s why he decided I was… disposable.” 

Mando huffed but didn’t move.

“How long did you travel with him?”  “A while,” you replied, looking away from him and to the floor of the hull, the next words catching on your tongue, as if it knew they were forbidden. “Since Lothal.” 

Silence thickened until your pulse filled your ears. The regurgitated hurt clawed at your chest, wild and demanding— desperate to be acknowledged and fighting to break free. 

You chanced a look at him and wondered if there were any emotions swirling under all that metal. If he had anything to say for himself, now that you had brought it up. If he would give his excuses for abandoning you all those years ago now, in person. If he would apologise. 

“You’re lucky there isn’t a puck with your name on it.” Was all he said. 

Your heart stuttered and you took a breath that was just a touch too shallow to be a gasp. Anger trailed the exhale, twisting with the whip of air around your lungs, making your chest tight and your pulse race. You clenched your hands into fists to stop them shaking. You’d have slapped him if it wouldn’t hurt you more. 

“Wow,” You said, soft enough to sound dangerous. “You know what? You’re right. I’m so lucky. It was definitely luck that helped me out of that medbay I was dumped in on a strange planet. And it was probably luck that magically fixed the ship I left that planet in and kept me alive all those cycles, trailing the galaxy with the wanted criminal who let me think I was family.”

A scoff of incredulity left your throat when he shifted and his crossed arms tightened across his chest. 

“But you know what, Mando?” You watched as his helmet moved almost imperceptibly at his moniker from your lips. You knew it must have hurt. You wanted it to. “All that luck must have messed with my mind and scrambled my memories because I forgot—you’ve always been such a fine, upstanding law-abiding citizen, haven’t you? The galaxy’s most honourable bounty hunter.” 

He had the decency to look outwardly uncomfortable; his shoulders dropped half an inch like he’d been knocked and his arms fell to his sides, but it barely cooled your fury. You stared into his visor, daring him to argue, and for a second you thought he might. He stared right back, fists clenched, thumbs rubbing against the knuckles of his tucked index fingers. 

But then he straightened, gloves creaking as he unfurled his fists and flexed his hands before stilling. Factory reset, you mused with scorn. 

There was a time where his ability to remain calm was endearing, had drawn you to him. He was a man who didn’t need anger to be powerful or intimidating, and he favoured logic over emotion. All it did now was make you angrier. You let a sneer settle on your features, just to see if it would goad him. It didn’t, and the silence between you was broken only by your slow, controlled breaths for several drawn out seconds. 

“I’ll set a course for Socorro,” he muttered, before he turned to climb the ladder, disappearing up into the cockpit. You didn’t stop scowling until the last inch of his cloak was out of view. 

The Razor Crest had lifted with a groan of protest a few moments later, the rumble of the thrusters  vibrating your spine, masking your shakiness. You’d dropped to the floor and tucked yourself as close to the durasteel wall as possible, legs drawn up, head tilted back against the metal; deep, measured breaths the only thing stopping sobs from wracking your body.   

Perhaps you’d imagined the level of affection that Mando carried for you, the trace of fear in his voice when he was begging you to stay conscious and your blood soaked his bare fingertips. Maybe the detachment in his voice hadn’t been forced at all— just something you wanted to hear. 

You forced the stabbing in your chest to dissipate with your breaths; heartache from memories was not something you had time for, but the words echoed in your mind before you could stop them: 

“You’ll be safer here on your own than you ever were with me. I’m sorry. Take care of yourself.” 

You could have recited the message word for word, even now. You listened to it more times than you could count from your bed during your remaining time in the med centre, mustering up the courage to delete it and move on; reluctant to accept that it was the last time you’d ever hear his voice.

You’d done exactly what he’d said: taken care of yourself. And up until he appeared again, you’d been doing just fine, despite everything that had happened since Lothal being the fallout of decisions he’d made on your behalf. 

He’d loaded the blaster and left you to pull the trigger. Alone, on a strange planet far from anything familiar. He arranged for you to work at the salvage yard where you’d met Jarek. He may have even spoken to Jarek back then. Stars, he might as well have introduced you both to one another and sped up the process. You scoffed and glared through the metal above you, hoping he could feel it through the floor of the cockpit. 

Mando was ruthless and cold; an emotionally stunted man who killed people for money and had made it quite clear years ago that he was done with you. All you wanted was to be done with him. He wasn’t going to apologise, you knew that now. If all he could offer you was sanctimonious judgement and temporary transport, then fine. You were done expecting anything more.

The bounty puck in your pocket sat heavy against your leg. You reached in and pulled it out, keen to have something to focus on, even if it was Jarek’s face. 

Your barbed words to Mando hadn’t been a lie. For all the wreckage you had now, your time with Jarek had once been bountiful; financially and emotionally. He had been like a second father to you, and the crew you’d helped build on Vath— as scrappy and rag-tag as it was— had been a kind of family. You worked with them to build a safe haven, a place for people who had nowhere else to go. The strange, grubby little outpost had become home. 

It had only solidified further when Ramus arrived. 

He’d been quick to befriend you— solid in more than just stature. Reliable, principled, and trustworthy, to people he liked anyway. You’d always suspected he wanted more than friendship. You’d considered it once or twice after a couple of glasses of spotchka, but the thought never settled right. He was like a brother to you.  

Within a couple of months, Ramus had proven himself tenfold. Jarek named him his right hand and no one questioned it. You’d even joked that Ramus’ sheer presence was enough to keep half the crew in line— his glare more effective than most blasters.  

Now, your stomach twisted at the thought of him. Ramus would think that you’d left with Jarek. That you’d lied.

You could picture the heartbreak in his eyes, his outrage at the betrayal. You couldn’t even begrudge him for it. After your conversation at the market, it looked exactly like that. Like you’d disappeared at the first sign of trouble. 

And the worst part? That had been the plan. You were about to do it— follow Jarek again with no hesitation. Leave everyone behind. Abandon the people who had earned your loyalty for a man who never deserved it. 

The thought made you want to vomit. 

You’d only meant to rest your eyes— fighting off the exhaustion, nausea and pain that had been warring inside you for hours. You blinked through murky darkness at a figure hovering above you. 

“Hey.” 

Spoken so quietly you were sure it was part of a dream. You jerked upright, muscles screaming after too long pressed in to cold durasteel. Mando was crouched near you, arm awkwardly outstretched, like he’d been figuring out how best to wake you without touching. He rose as soon as you sat up.

“We’re an hour out and we need a plan,” he said. If he held any residual anger after earlier, it didn’t come through. The edge in his voice was gone, dissipated out in to the void of hyperspace after hours of travelling in silence. Maybe he’d slept too. 

You swallowed, the dryness in your throat making you wince, and shifted to stand. A gloved hand appeared in front of your face and, when you hesitated, his fingers twitched in a silent offer. 

The memory of something similar rose, unbidden, from years ago and half a galaxy away. The press of his body close to yours in the cockpit. The heat in your belly and prickle across your skin at the thought of being even closer. It felt foreign to you now; naïve in a way that made you ashamed. You ignored the twinge in your stomach at the thought of it. Whatever you’d once hoped could have been between the two of you was long gone— dead before it had a chance to breathe. 

You considered swatting his hand away; refusing the peace offering in the only way he seemed to know how to give one: silently. But you still needed him, as much as it pained you to admit it. You needed his ship, his hunting skills and resources to find Jarek. It was his bounty; with a puck and a fob, and without them you’d get nowhere. So you accepted, as you had once before, and allowed him to haul you to your feet. 

You snatched your hand from his as soon as you were upright. The memory stung, but his gentleness right now hurt more, because you knew it was intentional. A non-apology. You bit back the urge to scoff. At him, at yourself, at the absurdity of the whole kriffing situation, but if he could play nice, then you could too. 

Mando seemed satisfied in your acceptance of his abrupt and unofficial parley and, in what seemed to be an extension of it, gestured that you should speak first in regards to the plan. 

“Okay. Here’s what I know— Jarek will swap the ship,” you started, putting some distance between the two of you as you spoke. “The shipyard we agreed on is on the outskirts of Vakeyya. An exchange means no wasted credits, and they’re unlikely to ask too many questions.” 

You waited for his input, but it never came. He seemed oddly content to stay silent, listen and nod. To let you take the lead. A continuation of the peace offering, you figured, so you carried on. 

By the time you landed, you’d almost convinced yourself the plan might actually work.

Socorro greeted you with dust, heat and a sky like the center of a flame— yellow and white, with patches of thin cloud streaked uselessly across it. You’d barely stepped off the ramp before the desert wind slapped your cheeks raw and scratched at your eyes. The Crest let out a groan of relief as she settled against the elements, as if the ordeal of landing had offended her. 

You were sweating before your feet touched the ground. You’d changed clothes after agreeing on a plan, but were bound by what you’d packed in your haste to leave Vath, which proved to be less than ideal, and the armourweave beneath it added a layer you couldn't be without, even if it was adding to the heat settling on your skin. You decided that it would also be wise to cover your face, and found a small faded teal blanket tucked away in a crate in the hull to use as a head covering. You didn’t think Jarek would still be hanging around, but didn’t want to risk being seen if he was. The end result of your quick change was stifling, and hopelessly unsuited to the heat. You had no idea how Mando was coping underneath beskar-topped layers, but his shiny exterior looked as unbothered as ever. 

Vakeyya’s outskirts weren’t exactly welcoming. The city’s buildings jutted out from the earth, propped up by rusted scaffolding, stitched together with corroded gantries and buckling catwalks that creaked in the heat. Most of the signage was broken— flickering half-lit words that buzzed overhead like dying insects. The rest had been tagged over in paint or melted through with blaster fire. The air reeked of scorched metal, fuel and whatever passed for food in the vendor stalls lining the narrow alleyways. A dusty haze hung low over the streets, kicked up by swoop bikes as they passed, the grit settling between your eyelashes and on the crests of your cheeks, on the only parts of your face that were exposed through the fabric around your head. 

On a rooftop nearby, a group of kids watched the streets below, bare feet dirty and legs dangling as they spat seeds at passing workers and shrieked insults in dialects you didn’t recognise. The place hadn’t changed. Not one bit.

You pulled the fabric closer to your face and kept your head down as you moved. The walk to the hangar was short, but through the bustle of the city outskirts around you the air felt tight and stifling. Mando had peeled off down a side street moments after you’d left the Crest, melting into the shadows without a word, just like you’d agreed.

You stepped through the hangar entrance with as much confidence as you could muster, and scrambled for the audacity to fake the rest. Through the doors at the other end of the building, facing out in to the yard, you spotted the ship— right where he’d left her, dumped without sentiment or ceremony. The sight made your chest pinch.

The foreman looked up from his datapad. A large man with pale blue skin, and yellow eyes, with striking white hair that contrasted against his grease-stained jumpsuit.  

“Good day,” you drawled in an accent you’d heard Jarek use so many times it formed in your mouth unprompted. “I’m in need of a ship.” 

The man flashed you a bright smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Well you’ve come to the right place. Let me give you the grand tour.”

You let him guide you around a couple of large, expensive vessels, answering his questions with vague answers in a haughty tone, and tried not to look too obvious when you pointed at the ‘cute little thing in the middle, there’ and asked to look inside. 

The ship was the same as ever. It smelled of oil and something faintly floral that had no business lingering— a scent that must have clung to the upholstery from years ago. You stepped over the threshold, stumbling deliberately to stave off any inclination that you could walk around this ship with your eyes closed. 

Flown hard, dirt-streaked and weary, with Jarek’s escape adding to the cycles it had spent in that dusty hangar on Vath, it was in need of more than a little TLC. The nav console still blinked, casting a greenish hue against the grimy walls. 

“She’s a little banged up,” you said, letting your fingers drift across the edge of the cockpit in a silent hello masked with feigned disinterest. “But charming. I like a bit of character.” 

The foreman gave a bark of a laugh. “She’s got that alright. Just dropped off a few hours ago— still warm. Hasn’t even been cleaned out yet.” He smacked one hand on the bulkhead and it took everything within you not to wince. “Most folks leave a mess, especially when they’re in a rush.” 

“Oh?” You tilted your head, turning to him with mock curiosity. “They were in a rush? Why?” 

He shrugged, glancing down at the datapad again. “Couldn’t say. Trade-in went through fast, no questions asked. We get all types out here.” 

You smiled, all teeth and false warmth. “Well, I, for one, like to take my time. Could you show me her features? Systems, storage, nav capabilities?” 

The man mirrored your smile and stepped forward to begin his over-enthusiastic pitch. As he spoke, you asked questions that would direct him toward the console, nodding like you were following along, and asking for a demonstration of every feature he listed off. Then, just as you’d hoped, eventually he set the data pad down to gesture at the controls with both hands and you pressed the call button of the prepped comlink in your pocket. 

You were forcing nods while he explained the engine size ‘in easy terms— to help you understand’, before he was interrupted by a shout from outside, followed by the sound of something metallic scraping against the earth.

The foreman’s head snapped toward the noise. “Kriffing dockers, can’t do anything right,” he muttered. He was halfway to the ramp before there was another gut-churning bang, followed by a shriek. 

“I am so sorry,” he said quickly “I’d better check that. Feel free to look around!” Without a backwards glance, he was gone. 

You turned and snatched up the data pad. It was unlocked, the recent entries blinking at you from the screen. Your fingers flew, half expecting to hear boots on the ramp before you were done. It took you seconds to pull up the latest transaction— filed under an alias you recognised. One of Jarek’s old standbys: one reserved for emergencies. 

You scanned fast. 

All the information you needed was there. He’d traded in for an old one-man scout ship, a Pathfinder-class, fuelled at 54% less than two hours ago. The only other information logged was the transponder code. There was a flicker in your chest— panic, then a thrill. You weren’t as far behind him as you thought. If he hadn’t changed the code, then he was still catchable. 

You muttered the numbers under your breath a few times to memorise them, dropped the data pad back where the foreman had placed it, and made to leave. You knew you couldn’t linger long— Mando’s distraction hadn’t bought you that much time— but you couldn’t help one last glance around. 

Despite everything Jarek had done, there were memories woven right down to the rivets of this ship. If he hadn’t stolen every credit you owned, you might have even bought the damn thing. You sighed bitterly and turned to go, but something caught your eye as you did. Slouched against a couple of small crates, half-hidden by an overturned cot mattress, was a bag. Your bag. 

The go-bag you’d stashed here years ago, packed with emergency credits, clothes, a datapuck of old safe houses and no doubt other incriminating items. It looked like he hadn’t even bothered to rummage through it. You didn’t let yourself think about it too hard, just grabbed the bag, slung it over your shoulder and darted from the ship before sentimentality could sink its claws in any further.

You spotted Mando before he noticed you. He was hard to miss, leaning against the shaded frame of the supply shop, just a few streets down from the hangar. It was the meeting spot you’d agreed on. Arms folded, helmet tipped just enough to keep the sun off the visor, his beskar gleamed in spots where the shade missed it, flaring when he shifted as you approached. 

He nodded at the bag slung over your shoulder. “Thought you didn’t have any credits?”

You snorted. “Re-procured it from the ship. Jarek didn’t bother to take it.” 

“What’s in it?” He asked. 

“I didn’t have time to look,” you shrugged, “Can’t remember.” 

He considered you a moment longer before turning toward the store. You followed him in, instantly grateful for the grimy air-cooling unit wheezing away in the back corner. 

The shop was empty of any other patrons— a Mandalorian standing at the door will have that effect— but was full to the brim with supplies. Ration packs, dry goods, a selection of unfamiliar fresh produce, and what you supposed might have been souvenirs, although why anyone would choose to vacation on Vakeyya was a mystery to you. 

Mando picked up some essentials but you lost interest in following him after the first couple of items. You’d have waited for him outside, but were drawn further in to the cool air, browsing at the items that lined the walls as you stepped toward the unit, the air making your eyes water as you neared. Something shiny caught your eye in a basket of fabric next to it— scarves in every colour, with metallic threads woven through. They glinted in the sunlight pouring through a skylight above and pooled like rain in oil. You picked the darkest scarf out of the pile and ran it through your fingers, eyes dancing over the silver woven through navy blue fabric. You didn’t even notice Mando was behind you until he was plucking the scarf from your hands without a word. He balanced it atop the supplies gathered in one arm. You opened your mouth to object, but he was already at the counter, handing over the credits to pay.

The hot air hit your lungs the second you stepped outside, even more suffocating than it had been before. The only thing winning over the urge to turn back toward the cool air behind you was curiosity at the Mandalorian’s behaviour. He stopped just shy of the edge of the awning and turned to hand you the scarf.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, taking it from him. “Thank you.” 

He stepped closer, and lifted his free hand to the teal fabric draped against your collarbone and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. 

“This is too heavy to be a head scarf,” he said simply. “It’s a blanket. Made to keep a baby warm.” 

Your stomach dropped, and you waited for him to explain further, but his hand had already moved to the strap on your shoulder, slipping the bag from it with ease. You watched as he tucked the supplies he’d bought in to it; caf, ration packs and a couple of bars of soap, unable to fully process what he’d just said.

“A baby?” 

He nodded, but didn’t elaborate. Why would he have a baby blanket on the Crest? Had there been a baby in there? Was it his? Where was that baby now? Your frown deepened as you squinted in to the sun, his silence making it clear that any further questions would go unanswered. 

“I can carry that,” you said, reaching out to take the bag back from him. 

He shrugged it on to his shoulder without looking at you. “I’ve got it.” 

You were too hot to waste energy on arguing, so you sighed and folded your new scarf up as small as it could go before tucking it in to your pocket. 

He tilted his helmet toward the street. “We should head back to the ship separately— It’ll draw less attention.” 

Still catching up with the last few minutes, you nodded automatically, but stopped when you realised what he’d said. A jab of panic ran through you at the thought of reaching the ship second, at being left behind on a whim, but you realised that Mando had no idea where he was going. He needed you and the transponder code you’d found if he had any hope of catching Jarek. 

“Alright,” you managed. “See you back there.” 

The sun caught his pauldrons as he turned, sparking off the beskar like a flare. You blinked after him, swaying a little in the heat. The sun felt more brutal than before as you stepped in to it and walked in the opposite direction. 

It was hotter inside the Crest than it had any right to be, given that Mando had left the cooling system running while you were out. You snatched the fabric from your head and wiped residual sweat from your hairline with the back of your sleeve. Your skin felt burnt and raw; dusty grit clung to every part of you that had been exposed to the elements and stung as you rubbed. You’d never envied Mando’s helmet before, but right now, it had to be better than this. 

He’d beaten you back. When you stepped aboard, he was leaning against the side of the carbonite unit, waiting. You barely had time to gulp down some water before he turned and climbed the ladder to the cockpit, clearly expecting you to follow. You paused at the top, hand hovering against the seal of the cockpit door, feet refusing to take you any further. 

If Mando noticed your hesitation, he didn’t show it. He began the pre-flight checks immediately, flicking switches around him rapidly, before bringing up the transponder tracker on the screen in the center of the console and waiting expectantly. You took a deep inhale and forced yourself over the threshold. Time was of the essence, and you couldn’t let long-buried emotions get in the way of missing your only chance to catch the bounty.  

You leaned over, skimming past his arm to input the numbers you’d memorised, ignoring the tremble in your fingers as you did. The screen blinked and beeped. Once. Twice. Then locked on. 

There it was: Jarek’s new ship, just as it had looked on the foreman’s data pad. 

You let out a breath, face cracking in to a smile, a weight lifting off your shoulders in real time. 

Mando turned, his visor fixed on the blinking marker. Then, quietly. 

“You did good.” 

His voice barely carried over the hum as the engines booted up and the Crest began to hover, but the words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your stomach swooped with pride and the smile only faltered a little when you looked over at him. It had been so long since you’d associated the sight of him with anything remotely positive and you didn’t know where to place the sensation. It swelled and shifted around your chest and down your arms followed by a shiver of coolness. It rushed over you and made your skin tingle. 

Before you could say anything, the ship rocked violently. 

The blast hit the hull with a shriek, jolting you in to the wall. You had no time to straighten up before there was another hit. It threw you sideways and your shoulder slammed in to the bulkhead as you scrambled to steady yourself.

Mando was already moving, hands flying over the controls as the Crest groaned and stuttered as he urged it in to the air and turned the guns to try to shoot back, but the other ship was too fast to lock on to. The lights flickered and the panel beneath the console sparked with a hiss that dropped your stomach in to your boots. 

“Hang on to something!” He shouted over the alarms.

You obeyed without question, diving for the straps of the restraint belts of the co-pilot’s chair just as another blast skimmed the ship’s port side. Whoever was shooting at you was precise; they were trying to take out the engines. 

You stretched, trying to get a glimpse of the attacking ship out of the cockpit window, but the sun’s glare and the smoke from the impact made it nearly impossible. Mando barked a curse and yanked the controls back. The ship bucked in protest, throwing your balance off again. 

The attacking ship flickered in to view for half a second— sleek, dark, smaller than the Crest but bristling with firepower. It peeled away and banked sharply before circling back around. Another shot rocked the ship, closer this time.

“They’re gonna come around again,” you warned, squinting through the haze. “We’re too slow, they’ve got—”

“I know,” Mando snapped, wrenching the Crest up and through the atmosphere as fast as it could go. The ship pitched, and you slammed into the cockpit door, landing hard on your side. You’d barely pulled yourself up into the chair again before Mando keyed in a string of coordinates on the nav console with one hand, the other gripping the throttle with white-knuckled force. 

The stars outside the viewport stretched as the drive began to spool. Your stomach plummeted; there was just enough time to fasten the belt buckles around you before the jump to hyperspace.

The alarms cut out, leaving an eerie silence that made your ears ring. The warning lights flashed less urgently and you blinked in to the blue tunnel of stars ahead, chest heaving with the effort of taking a breath.

Mando exhaled and unclenched his fingers from around the controls, flexing them out with a groan. He turned to you, his helmet bobbing up and down as he looked you over for injury. Once satisfied, he turned back to the console, brought up the ship’s diagnostics on the screen and scanned them with a sigh. 

“We’ll need to find somewhere to land,” he said, “patch up some of this damage and move on quickly.”

You nodded, still breathless. The diagnostics screen bathed the cockpit in shifting colours through the streaks of blue— reds and yellows pulsed off your features as you unbuckled and stood on shaky legs. You did a body scan for injuries that Mando could’t see, but aside from throbs through some residual bruising along your ribs from where you were shot, you were alright. 

“Who was that?” You asked, resting a hand on the back of the pilot’s chair, leaning in to get a better look at the screen over Mando’s shoulder. 

“Best bet? Another bounty hunter,” he replied, flipping switches to reroute power to the engines. “Maybe the one from the hangar on Vath. Following us to get to Jarek.” 

You didn’t reply, already cataloguing the damage. It was manageable, and you could fix it. You said as much before you headed for the door, keen to be in a bigger space with more air and less Mando. 

The air outside the cockpit was cooler, but offered no relief. The door whooshed shut behind you, stirring a few loose strands of hair across your face. You swiped them away and pressed your fingertips to your aching temples, before taking a deep breath and shaking out your limbs. 

If Mando had any objections to you fixing the ship he’d had plenty of time to voice them by the time you felt steady enough to move down to the hull, but he hadn’t appeared. You were keen to have something to do, for the distraction. To lose yourself in the logic of parts and wires, and try not to think about the fact that two people had tried to kill you in as many days.  

You headed to the maintenance alcoves tucked behind the cargo hold, wondering what kinds of tools Mando had stored there these days. You pushed aside the twinge of sadness at the thought of the tools you had abandoned in your workshop on Vath, and how useful it would be to have had them to hand. The hum of hyperspace pulsed through your feet as you crouched and popped open the compartments until you found something useful. The hinges squealed, reluctant from disuse. 

Your throat went tight at what you found inside the second to last one. Your old tools, exactly where you’d left them. No more worn than the last time you’d used them all those cycles ago. You hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t sold them. Hadn’t moved them. It looked like he hadn’t even touched them. 

You ran your fingers along the edge of the crate fighting back a smile, then pulled it out with a grunt, cradling it under your arm as you headed back toward the engine panelling to wait for the ship to land so you could get to work. 

You’d landed on soft ground, the scent of loam rising with the grass under the Crest’s belly, but your feet never touched it and you barely noticed. There was work to do. 

Fixing the Crest was like slipping on an old jacket— one you’d sworn you’d outgrown, only to find yourself shrugging into again, just in case it still fit. There was a comfort in it, hidden beneath emotions churned closer to the surface. You’d told yourself you hated this ship, but it really hadn’t done anything to you. It was just a hunk of metal, carrying the weight of emotions you’d assigned to it.

The work was meditative— it always was for you, and you needed it now more than ever. You popped the engine access panel and got to work, hands moving with the confidence of muscle memory. Three fuses were blown— too much feedback from the hit. You rerouted the power manually and checked the secondary coolant line while you were in there. Two burns, one crack. Easily fixable. Just as you’d thought. 

From your spot on the side of the ship, you spotted Mando completing another slow lap below. Whether he was scanning for damage or pretending not to be checking up on your work, you were unsure. You could tell he was shaken by the attack, caught off guard by the suddenness of it. He’d never admit it to you, but it was becoming clear that this hunt was not what he expected. Jarek was proving to be difficult to catch, and as far as you knew, Mando wasn’t entirely used to that.

He kept his distance, as he had since you’d landed, but you could feel his presence no matter how much he pretended not to hover. You figured his continued silence was part of the ongoing ‘apology’. In his skewed view of connection, lots of small actions were somehow equitable to words. They weren’t, but you figured you weren’t going to be around long enough for him to understand that. 

Once you caught Jarek, you’d leave again. For good, this time. 

You ignored the traitorous twang of disappointment the thought stirred in your chest. 

You moved to the cockpit, datapad in hand, and dropped to your knees by the console. The panel beneath it creaked open and you slid under, syncing your adjustments with the rerouted systems at the back of the ship, glad Mando was still outside— probably assessing your handiwork up close now that you were out of sight. 

When it was time to close up, your fingers brushed against something rough on the underside of the panel. Your brows drew together. 

Etchings, haloed in carbon— crude lines burned into the durasteel by an unsteady hand. You ran your fingers over them, tracing unfamiliar angles. You’d never seen anything like them before, but they looked old—ancient, even. Scored in metal, when they would’ve been more comfortable in stone. 

A sharp beep rang from the console above you, cutting through the quiet: an incoming transmission. You swore under your breath and secured the panel, rising to your knees to hit the intercom button next to the pilot’s chair. 

“Message coming through for you,” you said in to the receiver. 

You sank back down, confirming the final systems check, scanning the datapad. Everything read green. Mando appeared a minute later. You didn’t look up as he entered, just stood and passed him the pad. 

“Good to go when you are,” you said, brushing past him toward the exit, keen to spend the rest of the journey literally anywhere else. 

You nearly made it to the door when his voice stopped you. 

“I should never have left you on Lothal.” 

You weren’t sure if you’d misheard him, although there weren’t many other things you could have mistaken those words for. They hit you like a stun blast and you froze, a chill climbing your spine at the same time as your stomach plummeted to your feet as if the floor had given way to an abyss. Your hand hovered above the door release, fingers curled and trembling. You didn’t bother to hide it. 

You turned your head, just enough to catch him in the reflection of the transparisteel to your right. He sat, datapad in hand, visor tilted at his boots, shoulders moving like he was struggling to breathe too. He looked drawn. Tense in a way you’d never seen before, even through the reflection. You heart thudded so hard it made your ribs ache. When he spoke again you jumped; you weren’t expecting him to say any more. 

“I knew leaving would hurt you. And I did it anyway.” 

Your throat tightened and it felt as though your chest had caved in around your lungs. It would have hurt less for the air to have been sucked out in a vacuum. 

You’d imagined a thousand versions of this moment. None of them had felt like this. In a million years you could never have dreamed that you’d ever get a full, heartfelt apology from this man. You didn’t think he was capable of it. You turned away, unable to look any longer. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

The words were quiet and pained, like they had been scraped out of him—carved out of a layer far under the beskar that had no business being exposed. A layer you’d never seen before. One that made him distinctly human.

You turned round to face him, and that tiny, traitorous twang from before cracked deeper at the sight. He looked different. Like his body struggled with the weight of his armour, and he no longer had the energy to pretend it didn’t. He looked broken, and it frightened you. 

He didn’t look up, and instead seemed poised to turn in his seat, start the engines and pretend like nothing had happened if you walked away. It almost looked like he expected it. He knew you better than you knew yourself. 

The silence between you grew and pulsed with the weight of his confession as you fought the compulsion to flee. Not just the cockpit, but the ship while it was grounded. You’d finally got the apology you’d craved, the acknowledgement your pain needed, and now that you had it you wanted him to take it back. You longed for the stoic, closed-off Mando of a few hours ago. You didn’t know what to do with this one. It felt like your lungs would implode if you tried to speak, and your legs would give out if you tried to walk, so you waited to see what he would do if you did neither. 

Before you had your answer, the console blared to life. A grainy hologram appeared above it and you blinked against the flickers of blue bouncing off the beskar. It startled you in to taking quick, unsteady breaths, almost in time with the flashes of holo as the image steadied. 

Your name sounded through the cockpit, spoken clear through the static. 

Both your heads snapped toward the holoprojector, and what little air was left in your lungs left them altogether. 

There, hovering just beyond Mando’s shoulder— figure cracked and jumpy but unmistakably familiar — was Ramus. 

Next Chapter Chapter 3 Notes:

Most of the notes below are taken from Wookiepedia, so if you want to go down a proper rabbit hole about them, go have a look over there, but these are the points I found useful while writing this chapter. Please feel free to message me about any of this, I’d honestly chat away about it until I was blue in the face. 

Bounty hunter Kesh is a Mirialan- a human-like being with yellow, green, pink, or purple skin and geometric facial tattoos which symbolise personal achievements. They have a strong connection with the natural world, and believe in the Force. I figured because of this, she’d be especially good at ranger-style tracking, without the need for a HUD. Also, in my mind, Kesh uses she/ they pronouns, and I was initially writing both and switching, but for the purposes of storytelling, I'll refer to her as 'she/ her' in the story. I just thought I'd mention it as additional info, and in case a stray differing pronoun appears at any point, despite the fact that I have re-read this chapter in the editing process so many times over the last few days that words don't even look like words any more.

Vath is a planet I made up for the purposes of this story to be what I needed it to be: an amalgamation of several planets, ports and trading posts and other ideas all mushed together (like the root rat in the last chapter- root mice exist in canon, but I needed something bigger.) Vath is a grotty little backwater skug hole, but it's reader's grotty little backwater skug hole. Y'know? Jarek's gang crew's home sweet home.

Vakeyya is from SW canon, and is the capital city of Socorro, a planet in the Outer Rim with a reputation as a smuggler haven. It’s the homeworld of Lando Calrissian. Three-fourths of Socorro is covered by the Doaba Badlands, composed of hardened volcanic ash. The temperature averages 110 degrees and thermal winds and sandstorms are common. Rare and peculiar modifications to starships were a major source of planetary income, which is why Jarek and reader chose it to trade-in the ship. The name Socorro in Old Corellian meant ‘scorched earth’. It seemed fitting for Jarek and reader to have agreed that's where their next ship should come from as part of their get away plans.

A swoop bike is an overpowered version of a speeder bike (described as an “engine with a seat”), often used by gangs and criminals. As Han Solo once said— “Swoop jockeys have the brains of a blister gnat and about the same life expectancy.” Pot, kettle, Sir.

The Pathfinder-class scout ship was introduced in the year 56 BBY. For one or two crew members, it was 36 metres long and equipped with a unique shield generator design— when the shields absorbed a hit, the energy was diverted to the ship’s turret-mounted laser cannon, increasing its fire power. After three hits, however, the generator overloaded and the ship’s shields were unusable for a brief period of time. Some early models were destroyed due to explosions in their shield generators, prompting modifications and upgrades to the vessels, which could cost up to 10,000 credits. They were popular among private owners and independent scouts. It made sense to me that Jarek would trade in for something a lot older, in the same logic as Din flies something pre-Empire, but not as rare. Due to the popularity of Pathfinder-class ships, it's perfect for blending in. That little shield generator issue on older models? Don't even worry about it.

I am sort of playing fast-and-loose with transponder codes and signals in this chapter, and in general in this story (this is true making shit up about space territory) -In canon, they’re built in to star ships and can be used for tracking, but most criminals would transmit false codes (or not transmit at all, as Din gets pulled up for more than once.) Given that Jarek’s new ship is a one-man vessel, I’m just going with the fact that he’s prioritising putting as much distance between himself and, well, anyone else, over covering his tracks, since he doesn’t think anyone could possibly catch up to him.

I have taken more than a little inspiration for this entire fic from season 2 of Andor. The final episodes made me excited to write this and finish the chapter. The world-building and style of story telling truly made my brain go burr.

Lastly, I read the book “Tales of the Bounty Hunters”- edited by Kevin J Anderson- on holiday this month, and used it as an overall vibe/ my inspiration for Kesh. It’s a collection of short stories that came out in 1996 (gifted to my fiancé by his Aunt & Uncle on his 10th birthday in '98- awww), so it sits squarely in Legends territory. There are five stories about the bounty hunters in The Empire Strikes Back, including Boba Fett. It was a trip, and if you want some old-style stories that feel like OG Star Wars fan fiction, I highly recommend it!

Phew. That's it from me for now. Until next time! :)

[alfredohonorio]

the same picture

[relevant-url-incoming]

In light of my discovery that I have Way Too Many Siblings on this blog (I knew that already) and in the interest of honouring my blog title, I present: how the various big siblings of my legacies would react upon being confronted with a four year old version of their little sibling.

Nalyan: delight at seeing baby!Ven followed by extreme discomfort upon realising she doesn't know him yet and is extremely distrustful of everyone because of the number of Force users around. He has to show her that he painted their dad's tattoo on the side of the ship to keep her from running off (for the tenth time since baby!Ven appeared that morning)

Vyme and Caloma: this is him, their precious child, their most important person, at a time in his life where he has just begun to learn how shitty the world can be but hasn't been hit with the worst of his time in slavery just yet. They are doting on him, and he's delighted by these grown-ups who are just like Vyme and Callie but big! (Vyme cries at night. He does not admit this.)

Amiliun: he is bewildered. Baby!Relmeva is bewildered and wants to know where her parents are and why if he's a grown-up he doesn't have Real Armour. Ams is distracted momentarily by the idea that he would ever end up in Mandalorian armour, has no idea how he feels about that or seeing a Relmeva who doesn't get how harsh their fanily was yet, and Naz'erli has to babysit because Ams ends up freaking out too much. Timeline wise this has to be when they have a son about the same age so Relmeva gets to make a friend at least! (Ams is hyperventilating in a closet somewhere.)

Naz'erli: goes from "what's with this sassy lost child" to "ah fuck I know that sassy lost child" in the span of one conversation and is incredibly reluctant to engage with his brother. Rian, being four, still thinks Naz'erli is super cool and wants to follow him everywhere. Rian does not realize this is his Naz, because he's an adult with a Republic accent, and Naz'erli refuses to tell him. ("He'll be gone soon," he repeats like a mantra.)

Sarrant: some measure of doting affection mostly to get baby!Tavansa to like him, but he launches quickly into problem-solving mode trying to get his sister back where she goes. He does try to keep her away from anyone who knows the adult her, though - he figures it doesn't help anyone to know that Tavansa was once a sweet little girl who cried when she accidentally stepped on bugs. (She picks flowers for him while he's outside on Odessen trying to research something Ven gave him on time travel and he has to sit down. He didn't even know he cared that much about her anymore.)

Jesse: ok this one is cheating a little. Ava and Jesse both grew up knowing one of their parents was a time traveler, so when baby!Ava shows up an adult Jesse is just like "cool! Let's go meet all our friends so they can coo over you like when you were little, and when you get sleepy we'll get you back home." (Adult Ava hasn't been home in months, not since she joined the Republic's army, so it's the first time a lot of them have seen her in a while.)

[anotherrickinthewall]

Currently rewatching SpaceDad™ and his little green goblin... And by everything that is Holy, I hope they give him a Razor Crest in the movie. Something cozy to spend the time in hyperdrive in. A home away from home as to speak. Fingers crossed 🤞🤞🤞

[melanie-ohara]

It's a Long Way to Peridea

Part I - Watch

Read it on AO3 here!

Shin marched down the corridors of the Sion towards the brig, and wondered for the hundredth time what it was that drew her to the insufferable Mandalorian apprentice. There was something nameless that took over whenever she was near, and her control slipped. Her Master insisted on control at all times - discipline above all else. He told her they walked a dark path, but they were to be the masters of their own fate. Emotion was a tool to be manipulated, like a lightsaber was, to achieve their ends. Anger and pain fueled her powers in a battle, giving her focus when she needed it most, but Baylan had trained her to shut them off when she no longer needed them.

But this wasn't anger, or pain.

When she fought Wren, this feeling made her weaker. Her strikes fell short and she found herself giving her openings just to see what she would do with them, and worse still neglecting her own opportunities to end her. On Lothal she had toyed with her, trying to learn her approaches and feel out her strengths. Her final blow had been rushed, and now she felt torn in two: one half wished her strike had been true, and the Mandalorian had been felled. The other wanted something else that frightened her more than the streaking blue of hyperspace outside the viewports.

She arrived at the brig before she had control of her swirling thoughts again and touched the button on the wall. The metal slats in the upside-down triangle window slid open and there she was: lying on the metal bed, one knee raised and her cuffed wrists behind her head. Her elbow was in the way so Shin couldn't see her face, just the set of her jaw and the point of her chin.

"You're back," the Mandalorian said pointedly without looking around.

The prisoner had only been aboard the Sion a few hours and Shin had already stopped by the brig three times. She said nothing.

Wren sighed and resettled herself, and Shin watched the movement of her body as she rocked her shoulders to find some fleeting comfort against the featureless metal. She looked different without her armour. They had left her the greaves and knee pads, but the rest of her gear had been confiscated. Shin had taken it to her room. The beskar fascinated her - blaster bolts and even saber strikes left the metal unscarred, and even Wren's lurid paint seemed indelible. She had taken the pauldron marked with the Rebel Alliance insignia and carried it in a pocket under her robes, for reasons she couldn't explain other than liking the weight of it.

"You're still not going to say anything?" Wren asked. Her frustration was obvious, but Shin could feel it powerfully in the Force. There was anger at her confinement, of course, but beyond that something else festered: an irritation, directed exclusively at Shin. The Mandalorian wanted something from her, and it spoke to that unnamed feeling that sapped her strength around her. Shin cut herself off from Wren's presence.

"No," Shin said, which made her captive smile and shake her head.

"Fine," she said, and sat up.

The movement was smooth and easy, and now she faced the door with her forearms propped on her wide-spread knees. Her eyes locked with Shin's and slowly Wren's held tilted a little to the side. There was a little gold in her brown eyes, Shin thought, and not just reflected from Elsbeth's gaudy plated walls. They caught the light with a gleam of something like amusement - or maybe expectation.

"Why do you keep coming here?" Her voice was so soft that Shin wondered if she even meant her to hear it.

"I'm watching you," Shin answered.

Wren nodded, feigning thoughtfulness in a way that made Shin want to reach out and choke her. "I am dangerous," she said.

She stood, quickly, and Shin had to stop herself taking a physical step back from the door. She swallowed, and the Mandalorian gave her an infuriating half-smile to let her know that she had noticed.

"If you're going to be watching," she said, stepping into the centre of the tiny cell, "I might as well put on a show."

Shin stared as Wren lowered herself to her knees and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and setting her shoulders. As she breathed in slowly, she tilted her head back and Shin's eyes flickered down to the delicate curve of her neck, and then back up quickly before her captive opened her eyes and saw her transgression. The Mandalorian held the breath for a moment before letting it out and lowering her chin to her chest.

Then she leaped to her feet.

Shin admired the speed and precision of her movements. There was no trace of the Force, just the kind of raw physical prowess an experienced fighter could wield. With her feet back under her, Wren struck out to her side with both fists and a sharp hai! If Shin had been standing there, the blow would have struck her solar plexus and knocked her off her feet. The Mandalorian swiveled in place and then ran two steps up the wall, spinning at the top of her climb into a roundhouse kick that would have broken Shin's nose. She landed in a tight, effortlessly controlled roll that led into a jump to the opposite wall. Shin watched her take a single step this time and backflip so close to the ceiling she half-hoped she'd hit her head on it. Instead, the Mandalorian's boots gently scuffed Elsbeth's perfect golden ceiling and then came down hard on her imaginary opponent.

Shin didn't think this was a Jedi form. Her Master had certainly never taught her anything like this - Wren had incredible athletic fluidity, but there was force and violence in her every movement. Each one was calculated to cause damage, disarm, knock down, or kill an opponent. No, this was Mandalorian combat, something specifically developed to fight multiple armed opponents while restrained. A lost art, Shin was sure.

Wren landed neatly from another leap, one leg curled beneath her and the other extended into an almost balletic point, with her still locked-together hands pressed to the floor. Shin was confused to find that she was disappointed she wasn't sweating, and didn't know why. She realised she had noticed when she started sweating during their duel on Seatos, and remembered the way it had slicked her hair.

I liked her hair longer, she thought, and then froze. Where did that thought come from? What did it mean? Why would she have an opinion on Sabine's hair? When it was longer she could have grabbed it once that helmet had been stripped from her. When it was longer the orange dye at the ends had flickered like fire in the clash of their blades.

Wren eased herself slowly back to her feet. Shin watched helplessly as her long, supple leg straightened. She felt too hot in her robes suddenly, and her body ached with a demand she did not know how to satisfy. The cell was too small to justify it, but the Mandalorian turned anyway to step over to the bed with her back to Shin.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked, with a look over her shoulder.

"What?" Shin's voice was hoarse, but she refused to give the prisoner the satisfaction of clearing her throat.

Wren smiled and sat down to face her again, sitting with back straight against the rear wall this time. "Te Ara be te Mirci't," she explained.

Shin recognised Mando'a from her studies, but she hadn't heard it spoken by a native. It was guttural, but in Wren's voice it sounded like silk sheets and red wine. She shook her head to dislodge that thought, but the more those infuriating golden brown eyes bored into her the harder it was to look away.

"It means the Way of the Prisoner," Wren translated for her. She lifted one leg and rested the ankle on her other knee. Shin recognised her relaxed posture and knew if she wasn't restrained her arms would be folded in challenge. "It's not exactly practical - Mandalorians are expected to fight to the death, after all. It's mostly used as a performance." She pushed her chin forwards. "Often at bonding ceremonies."

Shin glared at her smirk and felt something stir inside her. Her head throbbed and her hands shook. What was this woman doing to her? Suddenly, all she could think about was getting away from her. She was still watching her with that confusing, irritated and expectant look in her eye when Shin closed the shutters and turned away from the brig. The first thing she did when she reached her room was to toss her cloak over the pile of Mandalorian armour so she couldn't imagine Wren smirking at her from behind that helmet.

-

"Karabast," Sabine cursed under her breath when Shin hurried away, and then stood up. She wished there was room to pace in her cell, but it was half the size of her room on Ahsoka's ship. Thinking of her made her feel guilty. Whatever there was between her and that strange creature with the piercing blue eyes, she knew Ahsoka wouldn't approve. They had argued before about Sabine's proclivity for intimacy drawing her away from the Jedi path, but she knew Ahsoka's heart had never been in it - by her own admission Kanan had been more Jedi than her, and he and Hera had a son. This was different - Shin was undoubtedly their enemy, but Sabine couldn't help the blossoming affection she had for her, and she knew Shin felt the same.

Her connection to the Force was tenuous at the best of times. Ahsoka had explained that what she had thought of as her instincts - prickles at the back of her neck, the surety of where a blaster bolt would strike, the ominous or peaceful feelings she got around people - were actually ripples in the Force. Sabine hadn't been able to harness or direct them very well yet, but if she focused she could occasionally feel something. And what she felt from Shin was confusion, fear, sheer panic, and lust. Not that she needed the Force to tell her that, it had been in every swing of her blade on Seatos: the violence inherent to desire. Sabine wondered if Shin could ever be honest with her feelings without a laser sword in her hands.

She sat cross legged on the floor. Ahsoka would want her to use this time to meditate, so she did her best not to think about how Shin had come at her with that fiery blade like she wanted to mount her head as a trophy. Or maybe she just wanted to mount her. Sabine had fought that sort of battle before, and she wanted the sweet taste of victory over Shin maybe even more than she wanted to get off this ship. Her hands drifted from between her ankles to her lap as she remembered fighting Shin in the forest. Those wild swings she took, the fire in her eyes, and all that fear and panic and the desperate need for Sabine to put her on her back and pin her there until -

Sabine sighed. Fantasising again. Another subject she had argued about with Ahsoka, though mercifully not about rolling on the ground with beautiful, deadly bounty hunters. The cuffs didn't help. She put her hands firmly back between her ankles and tried harder to clear her mind. Shin would stay away for a little while, like she had with her last visits, and she could play with her food then.

[mayukicrystalqueen]

Heads Up, Seven Up!

Make a new post, throw in the last seven(ish) sentences on your Wip, tag me and others!!

Din sobbed harder. What had he done to deserve him? To deserve someone so patient and understanding?

“Is he gonna be ok?” Ollie asked.

“He’ll be fine Ollie.” Luke said. “Just, don’t get anymore dead things, that’s the last thing that’ll help.’

Din choked out a laugh as he continued to cry. He wouldn’t have the same attachment to some random lizard, but he appreciated what Luke was saying.

“Then how can I help?” Ollie asked.

“Just give him space, okay?” Luke asked. “If he asks for anything specific from you, you can help that way, okay?”

Admittedly this is more than seven, but at least two of those sentences were two words and it said Seven-ish so yeah :P

Tagging @veradragonjedi and literally no one else because I don’t know anyone on here yet who writes yet.

[saturnaous]

man I'd probably be more focused on collecting pop tabs if I knew where the hell my hug collection went ? I have my kisses and my sex in the upper area of my desk but I haven't a damn clue where my hugs went. I msis them thangs. I had quite a few.

[mrsfeiix]

#SquashGoals

Side note: Tal’karir is only 5.8ft. I’ll leave the imagination to you all on what she is standing on.

[lovexjoe]

How would Armando be if he thought the reader was sweet cute never hurt anyone or a fly but when they are partnered up to go on a mission she the opposite… please do this

Damsel In Distress

A.N: This one is gonna be fun! Y/N will be used as bait for a mission, but Armando doesn't realize she can hold her own. The karambit scene from Bad Boys For Life, Y/N takes the place of Armando with some dialogue changed. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHQFzABygCI

Warnings: Violence, some fluffy fluff

Y/N POV

Armando and I have been arguing all morning and afternoon. I don't get what his problem is, he's treating me like a child.

"¿Estás loca? ¡No lo vas a hacer!" (Are you crazy? You're not doing it!)

"Im doing it and that's final!" You stormed out the house.

You guys haven't made things official yet and it's fights like this that reminds you this relationship might be a ticking timebomb. Since I've been partnered with him, he doesn't let me get in on ANY of the fun. I am talking I look like a damsel in distress even AMMO squad laughs about it.

"I think he has a crush on you. It's kinda cute" Kelly teases you as you finish up some of the files that needed to get done for the team. No one really knew what was happening behind the scenes.

"Thinks? Oh he definitely does" Rita says.

"I am sorry in advance that my son is a pain in the ass" Mike shakes his head.

"Advance? You a little late on the apology Mike. This boy been a pain in the ass since we partnered them up!" Marcus adds in.

Everyone chimes their opinion in till the room went silent due to Armando walking in.

"I don't think Y/N should be used as bait tonight, it's not safe" He leans against the wall with everyone trying to suppress their laughter.

Armando really does not know who you are. Yes, your exterior may look sweet and innocent, but out of the whole AMMO squad: you're the deadliest. Which is why you stick to the tech stuff until they really needed you. Mike and Marcus pulled him aside to have a talk: good luck cause he never listens.

Armando POV

This girl drives me insane. Someone as innocent and sweet as her just READY to jump in the fire. Mike and Marcus try to be the voice of reason, but I really wasn't trying to listen. If anything or anyone touches a hair on her head, I'm putting a bullet through them and not thinking twice.

"Mando listen, I understand and I am genuinely surprised that you care, but I promise just stay on standby and watch from the overhead." Armando shoots Mike a glare knowing he wasn't going to win this one regardless so he decided he'll just be on sniper watch.

As it started to get dark outside, we loaded up everything we needed. Y/N was geared up and she looked gorgeous. This women drives me completely insane, but I'd do anything for her. We parked in our hideout spot and started exiting out the van. I grabbed Y/N's hand.

"Listen, just signal me if you need help. " I pulled her close and placed a kiss on her forehead, then proceeded to set up my sniper in the designated area.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Y/N walks to the pinpoint location, meeting up with the drug dealers. She brought her favorite little karambit with her. She warned Marcus and Mike that it might get bloody. These idiots knowing she's a female they're going to try to ambush her. Mike said as long as the leader isn't killed, everything else goes under the radar.

"Karina!" The leader calls out cheerfully. You drop the bag filled with fake money on the floor ignoring his gesture for a hug. Armando lurking from his position, taking quick glimpses of how gorgeous you looked right now.

"We're so sorry to have to do this to you Karina. But your services are no longer needed" 6 men started to slowly close in on you. Armando positions his finger on the trigger, ready to take the leader out and fuck this whole case up. Your safety means more than any case and he'd gladly go back to prison for you. Right as he's about to pull the trigger, Mike says over the intercom to just sit back and enjoyed the show. Armando was confused as you snatched the gun from the leaders hand, placing a bullet in each of his knees and uppercutting him: knocking him out cold. Nap time! You took out your karambit and everything went black. You didn't know what happened in between, but when you came back to your senses your karambit was shoved into the mouth of one of this drug dealer's minions. With 6 bloody bodies surrounding you. You turned to Armando and said

"Oops" You wink.

"That's what im talking about!" Mike and Marcus cheered. Rita and the rest of the AMMO squad came out to wrap everything up. You headed back to the van. Armando was shocked for sure. Turned on? Majorly. Sweet and innocent was DEFINITELY not the words used to describe you anymore. You heard the door of the van open, seeing its your favorite partner in the world.

"You okay mami? I don't want any problems." He slowly creeps in with his hands up, teasing you.

"Yes I'm fine" You chuckled as he pulls you close.

"Yes, you most definitely are" He leans down placing a kiss on your lips.

[padawan-snack-packer]

[Giving friendship bracelets, Clones Edition]

As promised and since you loved the Jedi version of this, here are headcanons, Clones reacting to you giving them friendship bracelets!!! I'll have the mando reacs soon-ish (also a Bad Batch batch (badum tssss))!!

✨Note: This is just for fun, pure chaos, and maximum love for all our Clones faves! These headcanons are soft, silly, and based on vibes, not strict canon—consider this an intergalactic arts-and-crafts hour where feelings are allowed and glitter is the sixth form of lightsaber combat. 💫 Please imagine these with love and an alarming number of beads!

🌈REX He looks at you like you just handed him a thermal detonator. “...For me?” You nod. It’s blue, white and gold, and it has tiny beads spelling “CAP” with a little heart. He’s silent for a long time. Then he takes it, puts it on with deliberate care, and says gruffly, “I’ll wear it under the gauntlet. No one needs to know.” Everyone immediately finds out because he rolls up his sleeve constantly now like “oh, this? Battle damage. Weird.” Secretly touches it for luck before every mission.

🌈FIVES Loses his mind. Makes it his entire personality. Immediately yells, “ARE WE BEST FRIENDS NOW? IS THIS LEGALLY BINDING??” Insists on making you a matching one, except his is completely chaotic with mismatched beads and one that just says “SEXY.” Wears it proudly. Flashes it at everyone. Takes it off once—to punch a guy—and then apologizes to the bracelet.

🌈ECHO Tries to play it cool but his ears go pink. You give him one that says “ECHO” in simple white and black, with a tiny red bead in the middle. He says, “Thanks… it’s symmetrical.” He stares at it in his bunk for like an hour before finally putting it on and quietly adjusting it 34 times so it sits perfectly centered. Pretends to hate how Fives keeps cooing about it. Secretly loves it.

🌈JESSE “Oh HELL yeah.” You give him one with Republic colors and a bead shaped like a star. Immediately stacks it with the rest of his accessories. Starts calling it “my combat drip.” Takes it off once, sets it on the table, and FIVES STEALS IT. Jesse starts a manhunt. There is war.

🌈KIX “You MADE this? For ME??” Tears up. Literally. “I’ll treasure this until the end of my days. If I ever flatline, this is what you bury me in.” Somehow starts using it as a triage ID system: “Red bead means critical. Green bead means just dramatic.” Definitely adds a little vial of glitter to his medkit labeled “Friendship Power.”

🌈HARDCASE “You—YOU MADE THIS????? YOU ARE THE MOST TALENTED BEING IN THE GALAXY.” Hugs you so hard you hear your spine realign. Immediately loses it. Finds it two days later in the barrel of a Z-6 rotary blaster. Claims the gun “wanted to feel included.” Begins making you bracelets in return, except they’re made of spent casings and wires. You wear them all.

🌈TUP Soft boy. Cries immediately. You give him one with calming colors and a little moon charm. He wears it like it’s the most sacred object in the universe. Sits beside you silently later and makes one for Dogma. Doesn’t say anything. Just gives it to him and walks away.

🌈DOGMA You give him a black-and-red one that says “LAWFUL GRUMP.” He tries to refuse. “That’s not regulation.” You just say “I know,” and pat his arm. He sulks for three days—then shows up wearing it like nothing happened. Never takes it off again. If anyone comments on it, he just mutters “shut up” and turns red.

🌈WAXER & BOIL You give Waxer one that says “Nerra’s Dad 💖” with little pink and orange beads. He MELTS. Makes one for Numa the next day and sends it to her. Boil acts like he doesn’t care. “Ugh, bracelets? Seriously?” ...But he’s wearing his (“Grumpy 4 Life”) on his ankle, under his armor. You catch him adjusting it and he growls “It’s for circulation.”

🌈CODY Takes it like you handed him a mission report. “Thank you, soldier.” It’s warm golden tones and says “CODY BEAR.” You think he’s going to bin it. Next week, you notice it peeking out from under his glove. It’s neatly tucked, positioned perfectly. You say nothing. Neither does he. But one day, he saves your life, looks at you, and just quietly says, “Still wearing it.”

🌈WOLFFE “Absolutely not.” You hand it to him anyway. It’s gray, black, with a little angry wolf bead. He scoffs. “I don’t do jewelry.” Next day? He’s wearing it on his boot. Week later? It’s on his wrist. Month later? He’s made a second one for his armor and acts like it appeared from divine intervention.

🌈 BLY You give him one in yellow and deep gray, with a sun bead and the word “STEADFAST.” He just says, “...That’s me.” Real quiet. Wears it on his dominant wrist like it’s part of his armor now. One time a Separatist shot at you and he nearly vaporized the whole platform. Later says, “They looked at the bracelet. That was their first mistake.”

🌈 FOX You give him one with muted reds, armor-gray, and a tiny blaster charm. It says “TOO TIRED 4 THIS.” He just stares. Then sighs so deeply it echoes down a corridor. “…Fine.” Wears it like a badge of sarcasm. Won’t admit it makes him feel safe. Still growls at anyone who gets too close to you. You catch him staring at it once during a quiet moment. He notices, rolls his eyes, and says, “What? It’s regulation now.”

🌈 THORN “Ohhh, sweetheart, this is art.” It’s bright red and shiny gold with a heart bead. It says “BLASTER BABE.” You expect him to laugh. He poses. Wears it over the glove with full confidence. Points at it before every fight like it’s a battle chant. Adds a second one you didn’t make that says “BLASTER BAE.” He says it’s your matching pair. You are not safe from his wink arsenal.

🌈 BACARA You give him one that says “TANKMODE” in chunky dark beads and reinforced cord. He stares. Deadpan: “I will break it.” You just say, “You won’t.” He tries to prove you wrong. He does not. Wears it like a protective talisman now, like it’s the only thing between him and full obliteration mode. No one is allowed to touch it. Ever.

🌈 GREGOR You give him one made of like 4 materials because it felt right. It’s lopsided and wild and says “SPICY GREMLIN.” He laughs so hard he hiccups. “Aw, you do get me!” Kisses your forehead. Immediately makes 12 more, all progressively worse in design. Wears them stacked up to his elbow. Refers to them as his “war trophies of affection.”

🌈 THIRE You give him a clean, elegant black-red-gold one with “LOYAL AF” in tiny letter beads. He doesn’t smile—but his posture shifts. Just a little. He salutes with his wrist turned outward, so people see it. Keeps it pristine. Cleans it with his armor polish. One day whispers, “You ever need anything, just say it.” Doesn’t explain. Doesn’t need to.

🌈 JET You make him one in deep crimson, with one dramatic black bead. It says “COMMANDER DRAMA.” He is so offended. “How dare. I am not dramatic.” Two hours later he kicks down a medbay door screaming “WHERE IS THE ONE WHO INSULTED ME WITH FRIENDSHIP.” Still wears it. Poses in it. Refers to it as “my symbol of betrayal and love.”

🌈 NEYO You give him a clean gray and maroon bracelet that just says “NEYO.” He nods once. Says “Acceptable.” You think that’s the end of it. Three days later, he casually says, “The symmetry’s off. I remade it.” It’s now perfectly coded in morse to say “I trust you.” He will not elaborate.

🌈 COMET (Wolfpack) Bracelet is all navy and white with a bead shaped like a star. Says “COMET CRASH.” He screams. “OH THIS IS SICK—wait—is this foreshadowing??” Wears it anyway. Makes jokes like “This is my armor. This is my blaster. And this is my bracelet of fate.” 100% uses it as an icebreaker with every new recruit.

🌈 SINKER You give him one that says “SINK & SLAY” with fish beads. He sobs. “You remembered I like fish.” He names each bead. One is “Little Swimmy.” He won’t fight without it. He says it “balances his ocean soul.” Absolutely starts a trend in the Wolfpack where everyone gets marine-themed accessories.

🌈 BOOST You give him one that says “ZOOM ZOOM BABY” with yellow lightning beads. He says, “That’s a weird way to say ‘I love you,’ but okay.” Never takes it off. It’s fully faded by month two. Tries to make you one in return. It says “HOT STUFF” and somehow has a built-in whistle. He insists it’s “for emergencies.” (He is the emergency.)

🌈 WOLFPACK BONUS: Wolffe sees all these bracelets appearing and grumbles, “We’re not starting a trend.” Next week, he’s wearing three. “They were gifts,” he growls. No one questions it. They value their lives.

Anyway. The GAR is now the Friendship Bracelet Battalion and you are their beloved chaos commander. Congratulations. You have adopted +34324365464 emotionally stunted, genetically engineered war orphans!!!💕

[angelofsmalldeath-codeine]

We all love Pedro and want to see him succeed and get all the accolades he so much deserves and are well overdue, if you ask me.

Now, can we also remember he is a real person, with feelings, good and bad days and deserving of respect?

Pedro is also an affectionate person who shows his family and friends his love through touch. And it’s refreshing to see someone on the media who is true to themselves and isn’t afraid of showing that affection in public spaces. However, people take that and run straight into speculating about his sexuality as if it mattered.

We are all here talking about how we wish there were more men showing healthy masculinity and being affectionate. But when a man does it, the band wagon of speculation and criticism judging their sexuality gets so damn full it needs to take many trips. We can’t have it both ways (and no, this is not a bisexual joke).

Yesterday, on many different social media platforms, be it individuals’ profiles or media channels, there were comments on Pedro’s sexuality. They varied from the trousers he wore, the hugs he gave his friends, or because he kissed one of them on the lips. Then they jumped into speculating if he had a threesome with those people he showed affection to. He’s also never exposed his romantic life and relationships, and people take that as a license to comment.

My question is, why in the of year 2024 of our lord and saviour Dolly Parton, the obsession with other people’s sexuality still persists? Even worse, why is it festering among the people who supposedly support them? The fandom can become such a toxic space…

When he disappears for months, the same people complain of the content drought, people complain no stop. Has anyone even paused to wonder why he is no longer being so accessible as he used to be?

I’m happy that Pedro is finally getting the recognition for his work. He’s worked hard to get to where he is now. He deserved that Golden Globe and I hope he gets the Emmy. 2023 was a fantastic year for him and we have enough content from his fictional characters to write fics for years. From Joel to Tim Rockford to Mr Ben in his assembly era to Mando, we’ve been fed.

He’s got a lot of projects coming up in 2024 and I’m excited to see him shine.

Anyway, rant over and I will go stand on the corner awkwardly.

[doodle-pops]

Just A Hug…And One Kiss

Námo x reader

Request: Hello! Could you please write a fic with Namo? Something sweet and fluffy, maybe reader drags him from work to a date night, with a romantic dinner and cuddles afterwards? Our lovely judge needs some love and affection. Thank you and have a beautiful day!

A/N: Thank you the request so I can write more Námo content, anon!

Warnings: none, fluff

Words: 1.5k

Synopsis: You convinced your overworking husband to let go for one evening and relax.

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You found yourself standing in the grand chamber where he often spent long hours contemplating and recording the fates of the dead. The space was vast and imposing, its stone walls carved with intricate patterns that glowed faintly with an otherworldly light. There, Námo sat at a large stone table, his dark hair flowing over his shoulders as he pored over yet another decision. His piercing green eyes were fixed on a glowing scroll before him, his sharp features illuminated by its soft light. He looked every bit the formidable Judge of the Dead, but to you, he was simply Námo—the one who had captured your heart.

“You’re working late again,” you said softly, breaking the heavy silence.

Námo’s head lifted slightly, his eyes meeting yours. He did not sigh, nor did he frown, but you could see the faintest flicker of weariness in his gaze. “There is much to be done,” he replied in his deep, measured voice. “It cannot wait.”

You stepped closer, the hem of your robes brushing against the smooth stone floor. “It can wait for one evening,” you insisted gently, placing a hand on the edge of the table. “You’ve been at this for days without pause. You need a break.”

Elegantly, he raised a brow, his lips pressing into a thin line. “The souls entrusted to me do not rest, nor do they delay in arriving. My duty is to—”

“Your duty,” you interrupted, though your tone was soft and teasing, “will be there tomorrow. Tonight, however, your duty is to me.”

His expression shifted slightly, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, reaching out to grasp his shoulders and massage his tense muscles. You felt him stiffened slightly before relaxing under your touch as your fingers worked. “You work harder than anyone I know, but even the Judge of the Dead deserves an evening to himself now and then. Let me take care of you for a change.”

“I have responsibilities—”

“And I have plans,” you interrupted with a firm tone yet affectionate. “Plans that involve you, my dear husband, stepping away from all of this,”—you gestured at the desk piled high with documents—“and spending an evening with me.”

There was the barest hint of a smile threatening to break through his stoicism. “And what, may I ask, do these plans entail?”

You leaned down, placing your chin on his shoulders, and slid your hands down his arms. “Dinner,” you said softly, “a proper one. Followed by a quiet night together. No scrolls. No souls. Just us.”

For a moment, he said nothing, simply studying you with those piercing eyes of his. You could see the conflict there, the instinct to protest warring with the desire to give in to your request. Finally, he sighed—a sound that was more resigned than exasperated. “You’re persuasive.”

You grinned, straightening and holding out your hand to him. “Only because I love you. Now, come on. Don’t make me drag you out of this chair.”

With a quiet chuckle, Námo took your hand and allowed you to pull him to his feet. His tall, imposing frame towered over you, but the way he gazed at you—gentle, almost reverent—made you feel as though you held all the power in the world.

The dining room you had prepared was far removed from the austere grandeur of Mandos. It was warm and inviting, lit by the gentle glow of candles placed in elegant holders. A table stood in the centre of the room, adorned with a simple yet charming arrangement of flowers and a delicious spread of food that you had painstakingly prepared. The scents of roasted vegetables, freshly baked bread, and spiced wine filled the air, creating an atmosphere of comfort and intimacy.

Námo followed you into the room, his sharp features softening as he took in the sight. “You did all this for me?” he asked quietly with a touched of genuine surprise.

“Of course,” you replied, smiling as you guided him to a seat. “You deserve it.”

“I can’t imagine you cooking all this yourself,” he teased.

“Excuse me,” you retorted, feigning offence and lifting a hand to your chest. “I’ll have you know I spent hours on this. Blood, sweat, and tears, my love. Blood, sweat, and tears.”

“Is that so?” he replied, one dark brow arching. “I suppose I should commend your effort, then.”

“You should,” you said, nodding emphatically. “And if you’re not careful, I might make you do the dishes.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and you could have sworn you saw the ghost of a smile. “I shudder to think of such punishment. The Great Doomsman washing dishes,” he humorous muttered. “How poetic. If my brother ever catches a whiff of me washing dishes, I will never know peace.”

He sat down, his movements as fluid and precise as ever, but you noticed the way his posture relaxed slightly as he settled into the chair. You took the seat opposite him, pouring wine into his goblet before filling your own. The two of you clinked glasses, the sound ringing softly through the room.

As the meal began, Námo allowed himself to enjoy the food, his usual restraint giving way to a more relaxed demeanour. You chatted easily, steering the conversation away from his work and instead focusing on lighter topics—the beauty of the stars that evening, a memory from your shared past, a funny story you had heard earlier in the week. And he listened intently, his lips curving into a faint smile at your words.

At one point, when you reached across the table to brush a crumb from his cheek, he caught your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingertips. The simple gesture sent a shiver of warmth through you, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“You spoil me,” he said with a tinged of rare vulnerability.

“Someone has to,” you teased. “And I’ll do it as often as I can.”

“I had forgotten how pleasant it is to simply...be,” he admitted after a while, his voice thoughtful. “To enjoy a meal without the weight of responsibility pressing down.”

“That’s why I wanted to do this for you,” you said softly. “You give so much of yourself to others, Námo. It’s only fair that someone gives back to you.”

His fingers instinctively tightened around yours, his touch warmer now after the meal. He looked at you with a desire that made your breath catch, his viridian eyes filled with a depth of emotion he rarely showed. “You are a gift,” he said quietly, his words carrying a weight that made your heart swell. “One I do not deserve, but one I am endlessly grateful for.”

You felt a heat rise to your cheeks, but before you could respond, Námo rose from his seat, holding out his hand to you. “Come,” he said. “Let us leave this table behind and simply enjoy each other’s company.”

As he led you out the dining room, you two of you ended up in a smaller sitting room, where a plush sofa and a warm hearth awaited. He sat down first, his long, dark robes flowing around him as he leaned back against the cushions. You joined him, curling up at his side as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The warmth of the flames and the steady rise and fall of Námo’s chest beneath your hand created a cocoon of comfort and peace. For a while, neither of you spoke, content to simply exist in each other’s presence.

“I cannot remember the last time I felt so at ease,” he admitted eventually. His fingers traced idle patterns on your arm, his touch light and soothing. “You have a way of quieting even the most restless parts of my spirit.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “That’s what love does,” you replied. “It makes even the heaviest burdens feel lighter.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the fire. Then he turned to you with an expression uncharacteristically open and vulnerable. “You remind me of the light before the first music,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Pure, untainted, and full of endless possibilities. When I’m with you, it feels as though I am standing in that light once more.”

“You and your rare, sweet words,” you chuckled as you reached up to run your finger along his jawline. “What would I do without them.”

His lips curved into a small, affectionate smile as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. In response, you tilted your head up, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft and tender. There was a fleeting moment when you sensed the final weight on his shoulders dissipating.

When you pulled back, his eyes were closed, casting a serene expression. “It seems I have received far more than I deserve tonight.”

You laughed softly, resting your head against his shoulder. “You deserve everything,” you said firmly. “And I’ll spend every day reminding you of that if I have to.”

“You have humbled me, my love,” he whispered. “I do not know what I did to deserve you, but I will spend every moment I have trying to be worthy of you.”

“You already are,” you reassured. “And you always will be.”

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @feanorynz @6esi @will-0-wsps @devotee-of-irmo

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[decembermidnight]

Who do you belong to?

Summary: You go to the healing baths to massage Mando's hot body with oil. After that, in the hot springs, he makes sure that everyone understands you only belong to him.

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ mdni, body worship, teasing, unprotected sex, switching (dom!din, sub!reader, sub!din, dom!reader), titjob, exhibitionism, public sex, possessive!din, creampie, facial, praise kink, degradation kink, brief and vague mentions of sex work

A/N: This oneshot is based on a dream I had. This is also the first time I'm writing sub!din and I absolutely loved it and uhm what can I say except you'll see more in the future? As always, I hope you enjoy it. Comments and reblogs are appreciated. Divider: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist - Read on Ao3

The Mandalorian's whole body hurts like hell after his last excruciating hunt. You want to give him a well-deserved massage to let him know how much you appreciate what he does, to help him relax and alleviate his pain, but you don’t want to do that in the cold, dark hull of his ship, so you decide to go to the most renowned healing baths of the outer rim - a place that has private massage rooms and restorative hot springs, even if most of its regulars go there for the brothel.

When you’re discreetly asked if you would like some company for the night, he is quick to turn down the offer. 

"I already have" he then whispers in your ear, hugging you from behind and lowering the hem of your dress to expose your nipple "my whore." his voice is calm and husky as he starts to delicately circle your nipple with his gloved finger right there in the mess of the busy hall, crowded by unaware customers and workers waiting to be chosen for the night. You let out an aroused sigh and lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder as you feel your cunt already throbbing with need.

His hand won’t leave your waist as you walk towards your private room for the night, and when you finally get there, you can only catch a glimpse of what it looks like - dimly lit by candles, a big and comfortable massage bed in the centre - before he locks the door and pins you against the wall, closing your eyes with his hand. You hear the metallic thud of the beskar helmet falling on the floor and immediately feel his lips on yours as your fingers start running through his messy hair.

His mouth is greedy and lustful and the way he desires your lips drives you wild, making you hold him tighter, craving for more. You kiss each other in a longing, warm and passionate way. He sticks his tongue in your mouth and you can’t help letting out a moan when you feel it finally meeting with yours.

"What a dirty girl. You like letting me take out your tits in front of everyone, don’t you?" he growls in between hungry kisses.

"Fuck, yes, I do." you’re a panting mess already, incredibly turned on just by the way he’s kissing you.

"Do you like being looked at while I touch you, knowing that you're only mine?" he softly whispers against your lips, barely audible as he gently squeezes your throat.

"Yes, Mando. Let them see what they will never have. Show them who I fucking belong to." you cup his face in your hands and bite his bottom lip fiercely.

He goes crazy at that, and pushes you against the wall even further with his body, his beskar armour against your skin, his erection on your lower belly. You moan again in his mouth and grip tight to his biceps as his kisses make you tremble out of lust.

“I want you. Want you so bad.” you whisper on his lips, as he keeps kissing your mouth lovingly.

“Not so fast” he smirks as he turns you around, pinning you once again against the wall, beskar pressed against your back.

You let out an aroused sigh and keep your eyes shut as you feel his hot breath on your neck and his hands gently caressing your body, worshipping your feminine curves. He covers your neck in sweet kisses as his moustache softly tickles you - the feeling gives you a thrill and you arch your back in response, wanting to feel even more of him, humping his erection with your ass and letting out a gasp. He bites your neck to muffle his moan as his hands strongly squeeze your breasts. With a thrust of his hips, he pushes your body even further against the wall and goes on kissing you, following the curve of your shoulder, playing with the straps of your dress between his fingers, making you quiver at the contact of his lips with your skin. 

His hands trail down to your hips and under your dress to take off your drenched panties. You kick out of them and immediately feel his gloved hand cupping your mound, his finger teasing your slit, making you moan in anticipation. He hums in your ear and softly bites your lobe when he feels how wet you are.

"Please-" you whisper in a breathy moan.

You feel him kneeling behind you and you arch your back, spreading your legs and sticking your ass out so that he'll want to bury his face in your folds. His hands start to caress your thighs as he admires the view of your glistening pussy from under your skirt. He gets close, so close to your core, you can feel his breath between your legs.

"Could eat you all night like this." he whispers against your clit, just before giving it a quick lick that makes your whole body shake in anticipation.

"Too bad it won't be tonight." he chuckles sadistically as you hear him putting his helmet back on.

“M-Mando! You can’t-” you try to argue with him, but he’s quick to turn you around and to lean an arm on the wall behind you, towering over you, lifting your chin with his free hand. You’re face to face with his visor now, and you quit complaining, speechless and aroused as he stands so menacingly in front of you and grabs your throat.

“Shut up. And strip me.” he orders with his firm voice.

His pose, his voice, his order make your knees weak and you’re suddenly so grateful for the wall behind you.

He stays completely still as you go on removing layer after layer of beskar and clothing from his body, taking all the time in the world, letting him simmer as you look at him with lustful eyes, slowly discovering the hot, tanned, muscular frame always concealed underneath the Mandalorian armour. You are so reverentially careful, wanting to gently touch his hot skin at every chance given, feeling his gaze from under the visor following the movement of your fingers on his muscles and the adoring way you look at him.

“Go lay down on the bed. Let me take care of you now.” you let a finger slide on his abdomen and stop right at his dark curls, ignoring his painfully hard cock twitching at how sweet and inviting your voice sounds. He obeys you, going to lay down on his stomach on the massage bed.

You grab an oil bottle from the stand right next to the bed, let a few drops coat your hands and start massaging his shoulders. The muscles are tense, you feel the knots under your loving touch. You hope to alleviate the pressure of the guns and armour he’s always carrying, carefully kneading one of your favourite parts of his gorgeous body. He sinks into the massage bed, completely abandoning himself to you, letting you take care of him and his needs, letting his guard down, trusting you. You slide your thumbs up, towards his neck, concentrating on his nape, hoping it will be a relief from always wearing the heavy beskar helmet.

You keep massaging him, sliding down slowly and softly towards his back. His tan skin is smooth and hot to the touch, and you can see and feel all the small dips formed by his muscles, which you diligently follow with your fingers, wanting to memorise every single one of them, and the scars that he has gained over the years, and you can’t help but think of how many enemies he has defeated in battle, how strong he is, how nothing bad could happen to you while you’re with him. His muscles are so tense and you take your time kneading them, releasing his knots, hoping that it will help him relax and feel less pain. He hums under your touch, enjoying it. 

“Feels so good.” he whispers, barely audible. He loves to feel your hands touching his body. “Will you also massage the front of my body, sweet girl?” he asks.

“Of course." you purr on his shoulder blade, planting a kiss there, making him shudder as you trace your fingers down his spine. "Turn around for me."

When he does, you let out in an exhale all the air in your lungs at the sight of that gorgeous body of his - thick and strong, the outline of his muscles peeks from under his golden, tan skin and is accentuated by the warm, dim light of the candles scattered around the room. There is a slight taper at his waist, making his shoulders the broadest part of his body, and when your eyes trail down, you notice his cock is rock hard for you, its tip deliciously glistening in precum. 

Just as you’re speechless looking at him - every time it’s like the first time, you won’t ever get used to how stunning he is - he folds his arms behind his head. He knows you love it when he does it - this position makes his muscles look even bigger.

"Why don't you start from my arms and shoulders? They've been killing me lately." he teases.

You know he's doing this on purpose, smirking under that damn helmet for sure, feeling how aroused you are at the sight of that devastatingly gorgeous masculine body.

You feel your clit pulsing right under your dress at his teasing, so you close your legs to try and alleviate the pressure so that you can focus on your task.

You start massaging his arms, accurately touching his biceps, oiling them, following the curve of his triceps until his elbow, running your fingers on him as he flexes his muscles on purpose, to make you feel how hard and strong they are, humming under your touch for the sole purpose of teasing you, to drive you crazy, to make you desperate begging for his cock. The look on your face must be of pure lust as you admire the wonder of him, knowing all of that it's only for your eyes to see and for you to touch. You squeeze his arms hard, groping his muscles with longing hands and close your eyes as you feel your pussy clenching in desperate need of attention.

"Is there something you want to ask me, pretty girl?" he taunts you as he sees how hard you're trying to contain yourself.

One of his hands travels to your knee, then up to your thigh, your legs spread for him until he reaches your slit, dripping wet.

“Take your dress off and sit on me.” he orders as he draws circles on your clit with his finger, making you moan loudly as your pussy produces the filthiest wet sounds. He takes his hand away, cleaning it by spreading your slick all over his erection, lazily and mercilessly stroking his cock in front of your eyes.

"Tell me to stop, or I won't." his voice is firm and authoritative, and you feel a blaze traversing your body, making your cunt ache with need.

The sight of him completely naked, giving himself pleasure with your very same arousal in front of you makes your blood boil.

"S-stop. Stop touching yourself." you say shyly as you slowly take off your dress, freeing your breasts and stepping out of it. 

"You don't sound very convincing. Seems like you enjoy watching me do it. Try again." he goads you, gripping his cock even tighter watching your exposed breasts.

Something inside of you snaps. If he wants you to give him orders, you will give him orders.

"I said" you go sit on his lap, straddling him. 

"Stop." you take the hand stroking his cock into yours. 

"Touching." you bring his hand up over his head, your body now is skin to skin against his. 

"Yourself." you look at him straight into the visor of his helmet, a flame burning in your eyes.

He growls under the helmet as your sudden power surge makes his cock throb under you.

"Fuck. You're so hot when you give me orders. Greedy whore. You want to be the only one touching this cock, don't you?"

You purposefully grind your pussy against his erection as you put his hand behind his head, same position as earlier.

"Fuck yes. I own it. It's mine. You're mine." you keep sliding your drenched cunt on its length, making him grunt. You cup his helmet in your hands, close your eyes and lift it enough just to kiss him on the lips. His lips part for you and you slide your tongue in. His mouth is welcoming, warm and passionate and it’s devastating how much he desires you, wanting more and more of you. You rub your body on his, making obscene sounds in his mouth. He swallows them greedily, humming under you. He sticks his tongue in your mouth, so heavily aroused by how authoritative you are in this moment, both with your words and your gestures, wanting to make you understand how much he's enjoying it. No one had ever lifted his helmet before and that little thrill of fear he felt when you did it, makes him even more feral for you.

You try to keep your cool, feeling his cock deliciously rubbing against your clit, so close to where you desperately want him. The mere rubbing gets you close to your orgasm so embarrassingly early, but you don't want to come just yet, not now that you're just getting started. You want it to be a pleasurable torment and tease him until he’s begging you.

You take a deep breath and bite his bottom lip, humming and lowering his helmet back on. After that, you reach for the oil and let a few drops fall on his chest and start massaging him, his firm pectoral muscles twitching under your touch, his erection softly brushing against your swollen core.

You can’t help thinking about how good it will feel to ride him just like that, but you want to torture him a bit more.

Later.

Later you'll ride him.

You slide your hands on his sides and see his abs contracting, showing you how deliciously in shape his body is. Your fingers can't stop touching his body and groping his muscles, exploring the soft dimples of his abdomen and feeling them twitching under the skin.

Your fingers slowly start to tease his lower belly, tracing that tempting v shape that goes on dying in his dark curls, making it glisten under the dim light in the most tempting way. You follow it with your oiled fingers and feel him tremble, ticklish and aroused at the same time, his breathing becoming heavier and heavier by the second, knowing your hands are so close to his erection.

"Why d-don't you go lower?" he asks. It sounds more like a beg than an order.

"Not so fast" you mock him as you trail your fingers desperately close to his erection without ever brushing it, making him grunt and throb under you. He wants you so much, he gives a thrust of his hips and you both moan at the same time.

"Patience, Mando." you tease him as you slide your body down between his legs to massage his muscular thighs. He goes crazy when he sees your mouth and your breasts so close, so damn close to his throbbing cock. You give him a long, excruciatingly thorough massage to his thighs, planting kisses on them until you get so close to his dick, but you won't touch it just yet. You feel his frustration grow stronger, and feel pleased with yourself at how much you're making him falter.

When you decide you made him suffer enough, you grab the oil again and let a few drops fall on his erection, his body marvellously answering by desperately twitching at that light stimulation. You spread the oil with your finger on his length, barely brushing it, just to tease him a little bit more and give him a taste of his own medicine for once.

"How does that feel?" you ask in a low voice, your lustful gaze steady on the dark visor.

He chokes a grunt when you wrap your thumb and index finger around his cock, stroking it painfully slow.

"D-damn, mesh'la. F-feels so, so fucking g-good"

All of his muscles go rigid as you wrap both of your hands around his throbbing dick, one on top of the other, and when you start slowly stroking it, he lets out a desperate groan.

"Do not move, or I'll stop. You look so fucking good like this. Oiled, naked and throbbing for me."

"M-mesh'la" his voice is begging you to pick up the pace, but he's enjoying this torture at the same time.

You have some fun with it, feeling so powerful and sadistic hearing the whining sounds he's making as you're touching him like this, seeing his chest moving, his abs contracting, imagining how desperate he'd look under the helmet.

"Do you want more?"

"Ngh- P-please" he pleads in a breathy voice.

That's when you start fucking him with your breasts. His cock is so oiled, it slips perfectly between your boobs as you look at him while licking your lips. They're so soft and tempting as you squeeze them in your hands, massaging his needy, throbbing dick. He groans desperately, muttering filth in his native language at the sight and the feeling. You make sure to give him the best view you could possibly offer - his cock slipping between your breasts as you never interrupt eye contact. You're starting to enjoy the control you have over him, feeling so powerful and seeing him so yielding and willing to let you have your fun at his expense.

You tease him for a bit like this, and then you go back straddling him. Your cunt is throbbing and needy and dripping wet as one of your hands is back slowly stroking his cock right in front of it.

He puts his hands on your hips, and one of his thumbs starts rubbing your clit, sending you to heaven. You keep touching each other, never breaking eye contact.

"Was I a - oh, fuck - Was I a good girl, Mando?"

"Y-yes. Yes, you're such a good girl." 

"Do I deserve your cock?"

"You do, fuck. You do."

"I want to ride you. Please. Let me ride your cock. I can't take it anymore. I need it." you whimper as you rock your hips and position his oiled cock in front of your entrance, making him feel how wet for him you are.

He hums in pleasure when you do so.

"Fuck. Do it. Ride me like it's my last night alive." he orders you in a gasp.

"Oh, I fucking will." You take in his cock and it slides perfectly inside of you, slow, smooth and you both let out a long, loud groan of pleasure that empties your lungs.

Being so full of him makes you speechless. His grip on your hips tightens as you start to move, riding him. You roll your head back as your hands rest on his chest and slowly trail towards his sides. You rarely ever see him from this perspective, you being in control of the rhythm of the thrusts and looking at his naked body under yours. You know his dominance is just dormant, he's letting you have a little bit of fun before it crawls out again, making you remember who is actually in charge - him. He loves to see you being in control right now, seeing how you handle him, the many ways you find to tease him, driving him insane. The thought of dominating such a menacing, dangerous man makes you afire with lust. Maker, you’re enjoying it so much that you dig your nails into his hips, scratching him, making him hiss, blending pleasure and pain in such a perfect way. His hips rock against yours, pushing his cock even deeper inside of you, making you gasp, leaving you breathless.

He grabs the oil bottle and pours some of it on your breasts, looking at the way the viscous fluid drips from your nipples to your belly. He then starts to massage them, groping and squeezing them in his hands as he starts to violently thrust into you, heavily aroused at the sight of your oiled, glistening body.

He lets out groans of pleasure and you can see his core tightening, the veins above his cock getting more pronounced. Seeing the shape of his abs sends a hot spark to your core and you put your hands on his, so as to squeeze your boobs even harder, and keep riding him in fluid motions rolling your hips.

"Oh, fuck, you've never been hotter than this. Riding my dick like a princess warrior, taming me like I'm a wild animal, all while looking so hot. I want to stick it so deep inside of you. I want to come inside of you so hard. Fucking hell, tell me you want it. Tell me you want all my cum in that beautiful cunt." he says in an adoring voice.

Your body is shaking as it's getting dangerously close to your orgasm. "I want it. Please come inside me. Please go on. Don't stop, Mando. Oh, please make me come. I'm so, so close." you beg him.

"Damn, I can feel it getting tighter. So hot and wet for me, pretty girl. You're mine. My little whore. Gonna make you come so hard and then I'll fill you. Come. Come riding my cock, mesh’la."

You keep riding him, a few more thrusts and you come just like that, pleasure slowly building up until you reach your climax, your head rolling back and your mouth letting out the most filthy, nasty, loud groans of pleasure, as your hands grip his even tighter on your breasts, sustaining you. Everything turns black and only the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm exists in your world. You hear his voice, muffled and far away as you are absorbed by your own devastating pleasure, as it goes on muttering filth about how beautiful you look when you come riding his cock and how he has to restrain himself from bursting inside of you in this very moment because he wants to keep fucking your hot pussy.

After you ride out your orgasm and come back to your senses, you feel so worn out. You're panting, but you don’t stop riding him. He is so pleased to see that, and you also know he’s close too.

"I saw a hot spring before coming here. Did you see that?" you drawl, still panting.

"I-I did."

"I want you to fuck me there, in front of everyone. I know you want it too."

He grunts as he picks up the pace, aroused beyond limit at the mere thought.

"Let them see how good you fuck me, in a way they could never."

"F-fuck - Pretty girl - s-stop saying those things or I'm not gonna last-"

"Show them. Show them who I fucking belong to." you scratch his chest with your nails in your animalistic frenzy.

He snarls, wrapping his strong arms around your body, lowering your body on his and his pace picks up even more, making you roll your eyes and scream, your oiled bodies rubbing against each other, creating the most obscene sounds.

"Oh, you want to be fucked like this? In front of everyone? Remind them how they could never make you scream like I do? How they could never make you feel this good? How if they ever dare to touch you I'm gonna kill them with my bare hands?"

"Fuck, yes! Yes! Yes!" you scream in his chest, holding tight to his biceps, completely subjugated by the way he's handling you.

"What a fucking whore you are. I'll fuck you in front of everyone and remind them you're fucking mine." he grabs your butt, digging his fingers hard into the soft flesh and starts railing you violently, leaving you breathless. You just helplessly grab his oiled biceps harder, screaming loudly in his chest, your eyes completely rolled back. He's pulling another orgasm from you, and somehow it's even harder and more intense than the first one. Your pussy gets even tighter and starts uncontrollably spasming and you feel every single ridge and vein of his dick as he thrusts into you with a devastating force.

He's overwhelmed by the even tighter feeling, and he screams when he finally comes inside of you, cursing at how tight you are, how good it feels to have his dick in your grasp, how he can't ever get enough of you...

As you both ride out your orgasms, you just lay there, panting into his chest as he's still inside of you and caresses your back, completely exhausted, until both of your breathing goes back to normal, whispering tender words to each other as you enjoy the contact of your naked bodies.

The hot springs are the second main attraction of the healing baths, and for a good reason.

The water is naturally hot due to the volcanic nature of Nevarro and the luxurious room is dimly lit by candles, making the atmosphere suggestive and intimate. The walls are decorated with mirrors all over the surface to guarantee the best visual on everything that happens there. Some of the people present there are indulging in sexual behaviours, while others are just watching.

You two are too focused on each other to even think of paying attention to others. The sight of the Mandalorian’s gorgeous body only covered by a towel on his hips drives you wild and makes you ravenous with lust, and you know by the way he's tilting the helmet that he feels the same way. You undress each other slowly, letting your towels drop to the floor. You can see his cock is slowly getting hard once again at the sight of your oiled body, now bare in front of everyone.

He takes you by the hand as you climb the stairs down to get into the water and sit.

You go behind him and start massaging his back, cleaning his skin from the oil you used before, brushing him with your breasts as you go on massaging his shoulders, making him feel worshipped by your touch and adoring eyes. You cover his neck in kisses as you caress his strong arms.

Mando's visor does not abandon the mirror that reflects the both of you for one second, wanting to look at the way you take care of him so lovingly.

You move in front of him and start washing his chest, when he grabs your hand and puts it on his rock hard erection. You grin satisfied when you feel he's hard for you again and he starts touching one of your breasts, still oiled, making your nipple hard by circling it with his thumb.

He turns you around and starts trailing his hands all over your body, making you look at the image reflected in the mirror.

“Do you see how beautiful you are?” he whispers as he gropes your breasts, squeezing them in his strong hands. You lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder, looking at your barely visible figure lit by the candles of the thermal spring.

"All these men are looking at you, you know that?" he whispers in your ear. "How does that make you feel?"

The truth is you don’t feel uneasy, in fact it's quite the opposite, you feel beautiful and protected, but most of all, you feel powerful. Powerful in a unique, feminine way. You’re a goddess worshipped and loved by the most frightening warrior of the parsec. Nothing bad can happen to you while his hands softly caress your curves and he whispers the sweetest, dirtiest words into your ear. You really do feel beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the galaxy.

His hands start descending towards your abdomen and then lower, caressing your folds, indulging on your outer lips, slowly teasing you and exploring your beautiful cunt as his visor is locked on you.

"Who do you belong to?" he whispers as one of his hands touches your clit and the other one circles one of your nipples.

"You." there's no hesitation in your voice.

"Good girl." he stands up, bringing you with him, then takes his cock in his hand and slowly slides it inside of you. Air leaves your lungs completely as you let out a moan that makes quite a few heads turn.

"Yes. Let them know. Let them look at you." he encourages you to abandon yourself completely.

He lifts your leg with his arm, spreading your cunt open to show everyone the way his thick cock slips inside of you with every thrust.

"You're by far the best whore out here. Stars, can't ever imagine fucking a more perfect cunt. Let everyone hear how good I'm fucking you. Let them know you're only mine. They can hear and look at you as much as they want, but only I can touch your body and fuck your wet cunt. You belong to me. If anybody ever touches you, I'm going to fucking kill them." he does not only want to assert his dominance over you, he also wants you to enjoy it, to make you feel protected as he fucks you while you just have to take his cock and not worry about anything else.

"No one could ever make me feel this good, Mando." you let out in a shaky, breathy voice.

"Yes, cyar'ika, like this." he wraps his hand around your neck.

At first his thrusts are painfully, deliciously slow and you can't help resting your head on his shoulder, moaning close to his ear. He slowly picks up the pace until he's pounding you hard, making a lot of sloshing sounds in the water, making you scream, making everyone look at you two.

"Fucking look at her. Look at that perfect cunt. Hear her scream. Hear how fucking good I'm fucking her. She's fucking mine. Mine. Only mine." he snarls at all the men there who have been looking at you the whole time, thinking they might own you.

"Mando - oh, f-fuck - s-stop saying those things-" you whisper, pretending to be shy, but loving being treated like his whore, your body completely exposed to all the other people in there, feeling their envy eyes on you both.

"I will say whatever the fuck I want about you. Because I fucking own you. Did you hear that?! I fucking own her." he growls like a vicious animal while grabbing your throat even tighter.

And when you thought you couldn't get any more aroused, he starts to rub your clit. You lose it completely and let out desperate, loud groans.

"Want to come like this? In front of everyone? Let them know how much of a slut you are?"

"Yes!" you plead in a desperate, loud cry.

"Then come. Come for me. Scream my name and let everyone know who is making you come so hard."

You do. You scream the only name you know of him in a loud cry, as your cunt desperately clenches around his throbbing erection.

"Yes. Yes. Like this. Come on my cock. Stars, you're so beautiful, ner cyar'ika."

Your screams echo in the thermal bath as you feel the eyes of every single person on you two. He never stops looking at your face as you come, entranced by how stunning you look when he takes you to the highest pleasure, in a state of pure ecstasy. He feels your muscles clenching around his cock, your swollen clit under his fingers and your yielding body leaning on his. The sounds you make are the most beautiful and heady he's ever heard, he's addicted to how sweet your voice sounds when you moan his name in the ecstatic trance of your orgasm.

After you come back from your high, you lean on one side of the bath, panting, bent in half as he keeps thrusting into you from behind.

"I want to come all over your pretty face and I want you to eat it all. Show them who you belong to." he keeps thrusting into you as he grips your hair.

“Do it. Come on my face.” you pant, completely exhausted.

He gets feral when he hears that, and in an instant he takes his cock out and turns you around, stroking it with his hand.

“Give this filthy whore what she deserves.” you smirk at him.

He grunts as he hears you saying that, stroking his cock even harder.

"Open your mouth for me, mesh'la." You do, and you also stick out your tongue. You look at him stroking his soaking wet dick in front of your face. You close your eyes as you feel his hot release painting your face, hearing him groan loudly.

When he's done coming, you take his cock into your mouth and suck it clean, earning a grunt from him.

You pass your finger on your face and bring all his cum to your mouth, savouring it for his pleasure.

"What an obedient little whore you are." 

"Your whore, Mando." you smile at him as you swallow his seed.

[therapyandprozac]

Title: Eager Are We?

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY minors DNI)

Words: 4.8k

Warnings: Consent king, size kink, slight angst, honorifics, light dom/sub, spanking, fingering w/ four fingers, oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, gun kink, cream pie, dirty talk, canon typical violence, mentions of masterbation, fluffy snuggly ending

Description: You make him lose a collar and he accepts another form of payment. Or Din finally has an excuse to make a move after months in way too tight quarters. Or Din being a pleasure dom. Take your pick, they’re all true🙈

A/N: Did not intend on the size kink but…it’s here(You could say Din is packing more than just an arsenal…😏that’s the only pun I promise hehe😜) ANYWAY smutty smut smut, more plot than i usually write but its just Din teasing the reader through the scope of his sniper rifle. There’s so much in this, I’m sorry or you’re welcome depending on what you think about it. Heed the warnings and enjoy!

“Dank Farrik!” He shouts as a green sludge covered alien escapes his sight and slips into an alley and disappears into the morning dawn. You step on a stick alerting it to your location and it bolts. “You!” He turns on his heels and points at you, you want to bury yourself into the sands of this dune covered planet. “Ship now.” He says no further words and just walks past you. The long way back, he remains in complete silence, nothing, while you apologize fervently in the blank mirror of his visor the whole way back.

“Mando I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching what was under my boot, it’ll never happen again. Please don’t ditch me, this is my best and favorite gig.” He stays silent and you attempt to do the same, but as you approach the ship you break again. “I’ll do anything to make it up to you! I love the kiddo and this apprentice-ship.” You trail off placing your hand on the Razer Crest followed by your forehead. Mando lowers the ramp and prepares her for boarding, when he’s finished he comes up behind you.

“Instantly assumed I’d abandon you?” His voice is laced with disappointment, but it doesn’t seem to be pointed at you.

“Maybe not stranded, but definitely not with you anymore.” You say under your breath, but loud enough for him to hear.

“You’re too hard on yourself, there’s no need for it. I know it’ll never happen again,” he puts his gloved finger under your chin and forces you to look into his visor, letting a pause sit in this air. “You’re not going to let it. You know how many womprats have asked to apprentice with me? While I do admit your beauty was a minor factor in my final decision.” Your heart flutters as he continues. “Your work in the field is why you’re here, you are a natural bounty hunter. It is my honor to train you through all of it, even the mistakes, especially the ones that we all make.” His voice is modulated but solid and secure looking down at you.

“How do you always know what to say?” You want to reach out and hug him, wondering what it would feel like to feel his cool chest plate against your cheek. A tear falls from your eye but before it can even pass your lips a gloved hand the size of your face gently absorbs the droplet and rubs his thumb pad against your cheek in sweet sweeping motions. When he doesn’t pull his hand away you make a spur decision to wrap your arms as far around his frame as you can. He sighs from deep within himself, you can’t tell if it’s relief, anger, or something else. Soon his arms are wrapped around your back holding you firmly against his beskar.

“Now that you know your position here is secure.” He pauses and asks a devious question. “You said you’d do anything to make it up to me,” Lifting up your eyes to catch his visor in your gaze, he continues. “Did you mean that?” His voice drops as his fingers traces delicate lines on your arm.

“Of course Mando.”

“Din. You may call me by my name, please. Off this ship I’m still Mando, understand?” His voice hardens by the end of the sentence making you realize how soft and genuine the beginning of his statement was.

“I will guard your name with my life, Din.” His name sat perfectly in your mouth.

“Good girl.” His voice was laced with that gravel, making you think of something else that would fit just perfectly in your mouth. Your eyes travel down his body taking in the beskar clad hunk of a man in front of you. He reaches his hand into one of many pockets and gives you a small pink vibrator keeping a small matching remote in his gloved hand. You can feel the smirk hidden beneath his helmet even though you can’t see it.

“You go to the market, I’ll watch you through my rifle, playing with and teasing you.” He toys with the object in his hand. “When I’m satisfied you’ll come back to complete your payment, understood?” The echo from his voice modulator made you want to drop to your knees right there.

“Yes sir.” You purr as he hands you a com unit and spins you toward your living quarters.

“20 minutes.” He utters walking toward where Grogu is sleeping in the cockpit of the ship, you smirk as a giant ball of anxiety forms in your core. If this is what he wants, you can play too, opening your dressing trunk for a semblance of control.

A short skirt won’t stand out too bad on a desert planet you think to yourself while forming your outfit. Gazing into the mirror you look yourself up and down satisfied with your ensemble. Long legs in cloth wrapping with a deep brown skirt that barely covers your ass, a shirt that hugs you in all the right ways and a cloak shorter than the skirt. You spin on a dime and love the way the skirt spins, exposing you more than slightly. You tuck the little vibrator into your pale pink panties, turning it on but setting it to 0 before you do. Walking out of the curtained off area you approach the cockpit, a large intimidating chair with a silver dome peaking over the top you smile before breaking the ambiance of the ship.

“What do you think?” You say to the back of his helmet, his chair turns around toward you and before you can blink your back slams into the wall behind you. A hand in the center of your chest pins you firmly, before he covers your eyes with his free hand. Moving his first hand from your chest to take off his helmet, you assume, only hearing a light hiss and then the softest lips are mashed against yours. Not in a desperation but in a deep longing of gathered glances, collected giggles, and months of endless flirting.

The give and take of the kiss pulls both ways as neither of you back down. You reach up to touch his hair or head, he could look like anything under there you realize as his tongue is exploring your mouth. He blocks your hand and shoves you back against the wall, apparently your ‘give and take’ had more give than either of you had realized as your head hits the wall again. He moves your own hand from his hip to cover your own eyes, as his hand remains glued to your chest.

“Meshla, I will never look unless you wish for me to.” You drop your hand to your side revealing eyes both gently but firmly pressed closed. The pressure from the hand on your chest softens for a moment before lips meet yours for multiple soft and sweet kisses before he licks his way into your mouth. You’ve kissed him before but never like this, if this is what is in store for the day you’re happy it’s only 9am. With a light hiss, silver matches your freshly open eyes.

“There’s my sweet boy.” Taking his metal covered cheek in your hand, gazing into your warped reflection has never felt so warm. His hand rests on your back before caressing your ass with his fabric adorned hands, gently slapping your ass pushing you into his chest.

“Okay, temptress,” He hisses punctuated with another, more aggressive slap.

“A vendor at the bizzare has a blade he tried to overcharge me for. You’re going to go over there, gorgeous and tempting as hell, and talk him down.”

“Hmm and what do I get if I do?” Drawing out the last vowel, teasing him but not enough, you crave to tease him until he’s screaming your name.

“First your debt will be paid.” His hand dances from your ass around your hip flipping over his hand with surprising delicacy. He runs his gloves against your panties feeling the vibrator. A rumble escapes his chest “Good kitten.”

“You could have asked!” You shout, reaching your hand down to cover his.

“I could have, yes.” He responds, furthering his point by increasing the intensity of his shuffling fingers. You crumble into him, his touch reminding you that you haven’t been with anyone for a number of years and haven’t even masterbated since you got this job. It’s such a small ship and though you hear the echoes of him pleasuring himself booming through the hull multiple times a week, you’ve been too exposed to do anything but squeezing your thighs together, at least Din had living quarters you thought.

“Oh it's too early for that meshla, we have a long day ahead.”

“Wait, wait, Din. Can I have one before I leave for the mission?” A dark modulated laugh in your ear, before the hand with the remote shifts, the vibration starts, and your head rolls forward finding the crook of his neck as you moan. “Oh gods yes,” rolling your hips. “Din please, yes fuck!” Riding his hand you are already almost cumming.

“You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever had unraveling on my fingers.” He whispers and you moan through your first orgasam of the day and in like eleven months. Turning the toy to zero, he keeps his hand to your cunt letting you ride out your blissful aftershocks.

“Been a while huh, sweet thing?” His voice is surprisingly light.

“How could you tell?” You cover your face with your hand.

“I barely touched you and you were writhing in my arms ner cyar’ika, it was both incredibly hot and quite obvious. If you’d like,’ His hand is playing with the turned off toy. “When you come back you’re going to properly take my fingers, meshla.” His words mixed with that voice teases a shudder through your whole body. You stand at full attention. “Eager are we?” You nod shortly, standing tall, hands behind your back. Din makes a mental note of this position and shifts his erection, before lowering the massive door to the outside world. You walk down the ramp step by step feeling his visored gaze on your ever moving body. Hearing the door hiss closed behind you and starting your bee line for the market

“Visual achieved.” A low voice comes through your ear piece.

“Like what you see bounty hunter?” You coo and shake your ass a little bit, hearing him groan, an evil smile covers your face. Looking down the scope of his sniper rifle, your shimmering hair in the breeze and a bright smile adorns your face.

The market is still far enough away that no one is around to see, so you decide to tease Mando. You spin carelessly knowing he’s the only one around to see what you’re showing off. Doing a cartwheel and landing it, you turn around and flip off seemingly nobody, he’s gonna hate that you laugh to yourself.

“You’re going to regret that.” A bass heavy voice rips from your left earpiece, as if on queue.

“Make me daddy.” You whisper under your breath, oh stars you can’t wait for the repercussions of that one. You’ve always had a thing for snipers, there’s something really hot about being in a threatening situation where the person holding the gun is miles away. But it is a whole other damn story when Din is the one behind the scope and trigger.

“Don’t forget, kitten.” The calmness in his voice sent a chill up your spine, immediately followed by the vibrator activating on its low setting.

“Finally! It’s been massaging my clit for the whole walk.” You say between your light whimpers. Finally seeing the market within view you walk through the crowds and ignore the stares and gawks at your ass. Focusing on your task you scan stands and search for the weapon when a man approaches you, he is absolutely filthy, the stench of him burns your nose. His hand is outstretched toward you, as he moves rapidly and with purpose.

“Non lethal, wait.” Knowing he was watching, the orders slipped from your lips with ease, commanding a Mandalorian is soaking your panties. What was not quite as hot was when the man’s finned hand touched your ass. “Fire.” Under your breath, the man's face shifts from horny to confused to expressionless. Not a moment passes before the man clunks onto the floor. “I would’ve taken him down if it wouldn’t have caused a scene.”

“Oh I know sweet thing,” a pause. “I’d pay to see that.” You blush but say nothing, only removing the evidence from the guy’s body. As you do you spot the target at a nearby booth.

“Eyes on the cargo. Guess it’s time to cause a scene.” An evil smirk on your face violently shifts into a wide grimace. “HELP! Help! Medic!” As a man rushes up with a hand raised, a crowd gathers behind you as you continue. “Oh thank the stars!” Intentionally loud your voice carries through the bizarre. “He just collapsed, he approached me and then fell like a stone at my feet.” In your peripheral vision you see your commotion was a success as all of the merchants in their booths had their eyes on you, instead of on all of their potential customers. “Please doctor please help him, I don’t know this man.” You slip through the shuffle as people surround the man on the ground.

“You okay, darling?” A voice from behind you pulls you toward your target, as you turn around. You see a tall lanky human man with the beautiful blade hanging behind him.

“Oh gods that was so scary!” You play him like a fiddle.

“Did you know him?” His voice softens.

“No, he just walked up to me.” You let the panic flow under your words.

“Sounds like a curse,” he backs up slightly.

“Maybe you’re right,” You feign contemplation, looking around his booth as if it was the first time you’d seen it. “I’ve been thinking about a blade, do you think you could provide one for me?”

“Of course sweet thing,” It takes all of your strength to not roll your eyes as he hands you a tiny switchblade. “Something light and delicate for a flower such as yourself.”

“Can I shoot him?” A voice mostly joking comes through your com, making you chuckle under your breath.

“No.” Responding to both men, before continuing with the merchant. “That one.” Pointing to the target, he tries to talk you out of it and reassures you the small one is plenty enough for ‘someone like you.’ Deciding to play into his blatant misogyny you pull your doe eyes and soften your voice. “Please sir, when that man approached me I was so scared and I couldn’t take my eyes off of that blade, I needed it.” Leaning over the makeshift counter you get close to his face. “Haven’t you ever had something you needed, like,” A deep sigh at this angle makes your chest rise with the glow of your skin reflecting the sunlight, the eye contact solidifies the deal. “Desperately needed?” He nods aggressively, blushing like a virgin.

“Y-yes m-ma’am, I do.” He reaches behind him and grabs the weapon. “On the house please.” A gentle smile and misplaced pity underlined his face.

“Thank you, your kindness will never be forgotten.” You turn around in a bee line for the ship. Hearing the man get screamed at by who you assume is or was his boss. “I think he got fired.” You say as you escape the loud sounds of the market.

“For the better, he was weak.” He says blankly, silently nodding in agreement with the man who you believe still has his weapon trained on you. You turn facing where the bizarre disappears behind the horizon and lift your skirt up exposing your ass underneath. “You that desperate sweet one?”

“Just making sure you’re still there, and for you, always.” You say matter of factly, earning another dark chuckle through your ear piece. The huge ship comes into view and you start sprinting, he chuckles watching you get closer before opening the door. “Yes yes I know I'm eager, just kiss me already!” You say holding the blade out to him with wide palms. With a hidden smirk he grasps the blade and tosses it carelessly to the floor. Your eyes go wide as you gasp before smiling and closing them tightly. A familiar hiss before he wastes no time to caress your lips with his, they dance over yours with a deep patience and gentleness.

One of his hands reaches and roams your ass, playing with the hem of your skirt, a second glove covered hand covers your pussy. His middle finger dances over your panties, before you left they were a baby pink, now your panties are a dark pink, soaking and waiting desperately for him. He puts his hand under your ass and lifts you onto a cargo container before spreading your thighs and admiring the sight of the toy bulging.

“I should close this.” A smirk you can hear pulling at one side of his lip as he walks to the control panel and closes the door. You shuffle and squeeze your thighs together as the seam of the hull seals shut. Soft warm light from the interior lights bounces off of his beskar as he saunters back over to you. “Open my love.” His modulator sings as he hums. “You did so good,” His fingers spread over your thighs as he slots himself between your legs. “Close your gorgeous eyes so I can reward you properly.” He finishes, drawing his complete focus to your cunt.

Your eyes pressed firmly closed the already dark environment now completely black, all you can sense is him. His fingers run over your ruined panties and take them off along with the vibrator, while pulling you to the edge of the crate. A familiar hiss makes you desperate for what he has in store. His two large hands hold you in place at the hips and you hear his beskar clad knees hit the floor.

You noticed his facial hair when he kissed you of course but this, so intimate, the fine coarse hairs add something you’ve never had before. As he kisses up your thighs closer and closer to where you want his beautiful full lips. His beard scratches your inner thigh and you can’t hold back the groan, needing him. You feel his smile against your leg and he nibbles at the piece he's currently loving.

Diving into your sweet cunt with a desperation you’ve never seen from him, has he wanted this as much as you have. When you heard the echoes of him masterbating throughout the ship, could he have been thinking about you? The thought makes you need to touch him and appreciate that you can actually, finally touch him, blindly reach down for your crotch and find his soft curly hair.

“Gods yes, Din please.” Grasping at his hair between your fingers and holding him against your cunt, he hums in response. Never slowing down he eats you like you’re the most delicious fruit, unable to hold yourself back your moans echo through the ship. Hearing your voice bounce off the ship makes you blush more than his luxurious tongue sending electric pulses through your spine and limbs. As you cum your hands pull him into you, as your legs wrap fully around his head. Not sure if he can breathe but not really caring as his fingers firmly hold you in place. Sweet kitten licks carry you through the waves of your orgasam.

In one swift motion he picks you up and carries you to his sleeping quarters. Opening your eyes once you hear him situate himself just behind you. Grogu’s hammock has been moved from its usual place above his bed, he thought this through, you smile and crawl in as he extends his hand for you. Once you crawl in you lay on your back, looking at his large figure strip from bottom to top, you follow his lead. When his cock springs free your mouth waters and you spread your legs even if you’re wondering if he’ll fit.

“Oh fuck Din! My eyes are closed, please take me.” You close your eyes groaning and rolling your hips, presenting yourself in a way that should be embarrassing. Wide open and splayed just for him.

“Do you want me to stretch you meshla, use my fingers?” His ungloved fingers wiggle against your thigh in a way that’s both adorable and wildly hot.

“Please.” You clench around nothing, pushing your leg into his hands.

“Want to prep you a little bit.” He coos, his voice unmodulated was new but deeply welcome.

“Thank you, I watched you undress and I wasn’t sure if you’d fit.” You try to press your thighs together and squish the man you didn’t feel get between your legs.

“Naughty girl.” That name makes something melt within you. He presses his hands onto your thighs, spreading you wide just for him.

“I couldn’t see your face cyar’ika, promise.” You swear as three of his large fingers ran through your slick. One finger plunges into you a few times before he adds another, scissoring the two together. Your whines and groans build as he stretches you beautifully.

“Ready for another sweet thing?” He whispers while his third finger toys threateningly with the tight ring of your pussy.

“Gods yes please, Din, more more!” You moan loudly, glad for the closed cabin door that dampens your noise to the outside world. He says nothing until he’s two more fingers simultaneously deep inside of you. Curling his four fingers to that sweet spongy spot that makes your back arch completely off of the bed. “Fuck fuck fuck Din fuck!!” You grunt and groan as his thumb begins tormenting his clit. Every muscle in your body tightens, your hands grasp at his sheets making fists of flesh and fabric.

“Cum for me kitten, around my fingers,” You do as you're told, having been staving off your orgasam thus far. “Such a good girl.” Twisting as much as he’ll allow with both his arms over your legs and one hand buried nearly fist deep within your cunt. His thumb runs gentle circles around your clit, the aftershocks flutter through each of your limbs. His fingers leave your pussy with a groan from both of you, leaving you gaping and ready for his cock.

You want nothing more than to open your eyes and take in the form of the man about to claim you. You keep them sealed shut if you did open them though, you’d see him looking down at you. The corner of his mouth upturned in a crooked smile, eyes warm and full of pride scanning over your whole body. Anticipation and desperation is all he feels as his chest heaves, having given himself no release by this point.

“Din if you don’t fuck me already I’ll kill you.” You say, only mostly joking. His laugh is beautiful unmodulated, the only thing better is his soft whispers in your ear as he is suddenly on top of you. His hand snakes down your skin to pull you drag the tip of his cock against your clit over and over.

“I’d like to see you try.” He purrs against your ear.

“You know I could,” You pant as he positions his dick where you’ve been yearning for him. “please!” He teases his tip in nice and slow, watching you intently, when he sees no pain he lets go.

“I think you’d get the closest.” He bottoms out with a hollow grunt while you shout and moan, all consumed by the sensation of him so deep inside you. His fingers were slightly wider than his shaft but lengthwise his cock is twice as long as his fingers. He fits in easier, still tight but not as painful as it could have been. Hopeful for a round two where he just rips you open without any foreplay, snapping back to reality, rolling your hips as you whimper under him.

Again if you were to open your eyes you’d see his wide brown eyes staring down at where he’s disappearing into you, skirt up around your waist, his hands grasping the fabric tight to your skin. Pulling you onto him just as much as he is thrusting into you, either way you’re more full than you’ve ever been in your life. He puts your legs up on his shoulders and resorts to just pummeling your pussy, you cum hard around him but he shows no sign of fatigue.

He slots his elbows on the bed just above your shoulders, you’re completely encased in him. His smell envelops you and you feel your hips involuntarily grinding on him again despite your overstimulation. He makes deliberate use of this compromising position and uses his elbows to hold you in place, his hips give no pause as he relentlessly fucks into you. He’s put you in a place where you can’t escape. Every thrust pushes your body up and immediately into his strong triceps, leaving you nowhere to go but further back onto his cock.

“I’m close, cyar’ika. Where do you want me to-,” He can’t even finish the question before you wrap your legs behind him, locking your ankles, squeezing him tighter.

“In me, please daddy.” That same dark chuckle from earlier only now unmodified, nothing coming between you, with a newly forming hickey on your pulse point.

“You sure kitten?” He pants, when you just nod furiously. “Words my meshla.” he states.

“Please gods fill me, make me yours Din!” No further conversation is needed, you’re so close, he growls burying his head into your neck. He resumes his rapid, almost rabid thrusting into your already sore cunt. “Fuck Din don’t stop, almost.”

“Let go baby I’ve got you,” He buttons his comment by pushing your shoulders down further, you’ve never felt so safe yet so utterly exposed to one person. “so good for me sweet girl.” He coos while his cock ripped so perfectly against your walls, pulling your final orgasam of the night out of you. A string of curses you couldn’t begin to understand flow off his tongue as he cums deep inside you, you squeeze around him desprate for every drop of him. He kisses your chest as he lets his body rest on top of you fucked out blissfully.

“Wait,” You whisper as he tries to pull out.

“Yes kitten?” He asks, his cock spent and softening slowly inside you.

“Don’t want it to end, don’t want to wake up tomorrow without you.”

“Love if you’ll let me, you’ll never wake up alone again.” He says, you can tell his eyes are on your face, when you smile he pulls out of you. Snuggling in next to you he laughs before saying “If you kept me in there any longer i was gonna have to fuck you again.” You groan playfully, snuggling and crawling onto him.

“How long have you wanted to do that?” You ask him, without seeing his eyes drift close with you on his bare chest.

“Since the first time I saw you in a skirt. It was at a bar on your day off. I left early, couldn’t stop imagining,” He pauses and you wish you could see the images he’s clearly seeing in his head. “You stretched wide around my cock, skirt teasing glances at your ass.” His thoughts and voice ebb and flow as he slips in and out of consciousness. Making a mental note to wear skirts more often. “Couldn’t sleep last night, we rest for a while?” His voice is just a whisper, you smirk as you snuggle into the bulky man.

“Guess I chose the right outfit. Sleep long and deep my dear Din.” You smirk to yourself before falling asleep, already picking out what skirt you’re going to wear tomorrow in your head.

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My longest fic to date, let me know what you thought 💖