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freakrenaissance · 1 year ago

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All this talk about monster din 😍 I just had to revisit this fave! I adore him! This is so perfect

Pairing: Monster!Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 2k Warnings: monsterfucking, gruesome transformation, oral (f-receiving), squirting, unprotected p-in-v Summary: Din finally agrees to fuck you while transformed. Notes: This is based on @tuskens-mando's monster!Din and this post about him purring. Thank you to @absurdthirst and @torictailor for betaing!

Thank you to the endlessly talented @thepoisonofgod for the incredible art!! Full piece at the end of the fic.

His chest is warm and sturdy, his thick hair tickling your palms. It feels like the constant hum of a ship hurtling through hyperspace—a subtle reverberation, equal parts feeling and sound—under your splayed hands.

He’s purring.

Din rocks his hips up into you, his thrusts lazy and slow, a gentle grind of his massive cock inside you.

At some point, what began as lust ran and bled and faded into love.

***

It starts with an agreement: after months of pressing—of begging and reassuring, of convincing him that you love the part of himself he tries to hide from you—he finally acquiesces. Reluctantly, he agrees to give you what you want. Really, it’s what you both want, but he’s been too scared to give.

He takes you somewhere remote, a small cabin on a sparsely-populated planet. It’s miles from the closest town, the only structure visible in the middle of the dry, scrubby landscape. The enormous rock formations that jut upward are the burnt sienna of iron oxide. The sky is a cloudless cornflower blue until the sun sets, and it gives way to violet, then indigo, then star-spattered black.

He lays you out on the huge bed and eases you open gradually. First, in human form, with his fingers, he massages you until three slip inside with little resistance. He kisses you deeply—open-mouthed and sloppy, tongues tangling—because he doesn’t have to worry about nicking you with the cut glass of his incisors. He loves you recklessly while he still can, while it’s safe.

He works his hand between your legs like that, pressing up against that spot that makes you see gold behind your eyelids, until you flood his fingers.

And in that unwound state, you beg him with wide, pleading eyes to let himself go.

“I’m ready, and I want you,” you say. “All of you. Please.”

With traces of you dripping down his wrist, it takes very little coaxing to convince him. You can tell: it isn’t so much a choice to change as it is Din finally granting his body permission to do what it’s desperate to do.

He rips off the last pieces of his armor. His pauldrons, chestplate, and cuisses clatter to the floor then he strips off his clothes until he stands before you, bare.

Relief washes over him, and he shudders as he gives into it—an overwhelming, full-body tremor wracking his body.

You prop yourself up on your elbows on the bed and watch.

You’ve seen him change before. The transformation is grisly; it hurts to witness. He wails and roars as he grows, throwing his head back and metamorphosing right before your eyes. He convulses, and his spine lengthens with a revolting series of fractured sounds. His shoulders and chest widen and fill out, his skin stretching to accommodate his girth. The splintering tattoo of bones cracking and reforming makes you grit your teeth, but you don’t look away. Your gaze follows the bead of sweat that trails down his fevered temple.

He’s doing this for you.

His fingers elongate and sharpen and between his gnashing jaws, his teeth do too. His top lip pulls up in a snarl, and you catch a glimpse of jagged white. His eyes are shut tight, but you know behind his eyelids, they blacken. They go dark.

Coal-black. A fathomless night sky with no stars.

He howls, and enormous ebony wings burst from his shoulder blades with a sickening snap of overextended skin. They unfold, and flecks of black blood spatter the gray walls.

No matter how many times you’ve seen it, the process is always longer than you remember, always more painful.

Finally, with a growl and a pop of resetting bones, it’s over. His chest heaves from exertion, but he’s still Din like this—your Din. His handsome face looks the same, aside from the bottomless black of his eyes and the sheen of his pointed teeth. And his tongue, set behind the cage of his smile, is different too.

He’s huge...everywhere. Towering. The walls suddenly feel closer, the cabin tiny. He’s built, even wider and more muscular than his human form, his golden brown skin stretched over corded muscle and a soft middle. The two steep points of his wing joints loom over his shoulders. He’s dusted in the same dark hair; it covers his chest and thickens into a trail, leading down to where his cock hangs heavy—intimidating in both girth and length—between his powerful thighs. He stands over you, and the breadth of his shoulders fills your field of vision and eclipses the light of the lone lantern hanging from the ceiling—then he spreads his black wings and blots out the rest of the world.

All that’s left is him.

He leans over you, bracing on either side of your body, so you're both sheltered by the canopy of his wings, and the bed dips and creaks under his weight. You whimper when slides his hands inwards, his palms climbing the hills of your hips.

He’s careful. His hands are gigantic like this—he could shatter your fragile jaw with one of them if he wanted too—because they were built to inflict pain, not pleasure, each long finger ending in a cruel claw. They’re glossy black crescent moons, terminating in a keen point, so he handles your thighs like they’re overripe fruit that would bruise under the lightest pressure, as if your skin would tear like tissue paper. He opens your thighs wide, and his eyes—two dark voids—flick up to watch your face through the fan of his eyelashes… then back down at your displayed cunt.

The tip of his round tongue darts out to swipe across his bared teeth—long and razor sharp—as he regards his feast.

He’s salivating.

You feel like prey, your heart fluttering in the frantic rhythm of an insect’s wings, and you like it.

Because you know he’d never hurt you. You know you’re safe.

His tongue is long, like that of a wolf; it unfurls when he relaxes his jaw open. Spit drips down the edge of the flesh-pink ribbon, and he lunges.

He drops to his knees and devours you. It’s frenzied, the way he eats you out: he laves over the aching peak of your clit then dips down to spear his dexterous tongue inside the channel of your cunt. It slips in easily, past your finger-stretched walls. And he works it in and out, in and out as he hums deep and satisfied in his chest.

Slowly, he builds you back up to that same stormy peak.

You tense and arch, reaching down to tangle your hands in his hair. He growls and shoves his face into you more, the bridge of his curved nose grinding against your clit. You moan when the pleasure crests, and he pulls back just in time for every one of your lower muscles to flex out. You gush.

He drinks.

It’s obscene, the way he slurps up every drop you have to give him. He laps at you until you whimper and go still, limp against the bed. When you open your eyes again, he’s standing over you, his massive cock flushed and leaking, jutting stiffly upwards. He beckons you with two clawed fingers, gesturing down at the floor.

He’d warned you that a bed wouldn’t support his weight.

You scramble to your feet and lie down where he’d spread his cape out. He follows you and buckles, dropping to his knees, then crawling up the length of your body until he’s poised over you, his wingspan caging the two of you in place. For a moment, you just look at each other. The air is thick on the precipice.

Then you smile up at him, and the tension dissipates.

He smiles back, and the threatening gleam of his fangs doesn’t seem so scary when the corners of his eyes crinkle in that same familiar way. You smile wider, and he dips down to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, breathing deep to inhale your scent.

You reach between you and take him in hand—he’s heavy and throbbing, hefty and veined—and guide him to your entrance. He cants his hips forward and stretches you open with the blunt head of his cock. For a second, regret floods your mind.

This was a mistake. He’s too big.

But you’re so desperate for him that you let him ease forward a little further, and to your relief, the searing pain gives way to a pleasant stretch: an ache, an ache for more.

“Keep going,” you beg, tilting your pelvis up to meet him.

He sits back on his haunches, and his head lolls to the side, his jaw slack as he revels in the first taste of your cunt around him like this.

“So fucking tight,” he rasps. “Too-too good.”

His voice is different like this, deeper and huskier. It echoes. It sounds like thunder, like midnight, like heartache.

He’s panting. You’re holding your breath, exhaling involuntarily when you look down at where he’s splitting you open, his girth stretching your lips. You’ve swallowed almost all of him.

“More.”

He thrusts one last time and whines like he’s in pain when his hips hit yours. His head drops forward again, the black pools of his eyes searching your face.

“I’m okay,” you whimper. “Please.”

A pleased sound rumbles through his chest, and he adjusts, sitting back and pulling your lower half up onto his lap, so he can fuck you deeper. He drops his hands to the floor and lets the incessant push of his hips do all the work: a measured tempo of slap slap slap.

You get lost in it, eyes shut tight, focused only on the feeling of being so full.

A drawn out scraping sound makes you open your eyes.

When you look down, you see that he’s leaving gouges in the hard-packed floor. He knows he can’t hold you like this—you’re too delicate and soft and rippable—in his taloned hands, so he severs his pleasure into the surface of this planet, leaving deep gashes in the iron-red dirt, like tallies to count each piece of your fractured bliss.

Gradually, the snap of his hips turns brutal, his breathing gone ragged. When you look up at his anguished face, hunger flashes across his eyes, clouding the black pits, and you feel Din slipping away from you.

“Din,” you say, reaching up to cup his sharp jaw, “stay with me.”

Immediately, his eyes clear, and his pace slows at the sound of your voice. His features soften. He leans down to wrap you in his huge arms, careful not to scratch you, and flips you both over, so you're riding him—so you can control the pace.

You settle on top of him, hips splayed wide to accommodate him. He hits even deeper like this, spearing up into you, but you’re so pleasure-drunk and stretched out, that the intense pressure feels good. He’s barely moving beneath you, just tilting up to meet each lazy roll of your hips. There’s no more urgency. You bask in the languid ecstasy together. His ink-black eyes are hooded and unfocused: you can tell he’s fighting to keep them open to watch you.

Your hands look small when you brace them on his massive chest. His skin is feverish: he radiates heat, especially when he’s changed.

His leathery wings are fanned out beneath him, wrinkled in places like a wide expanse of tanned hide. When you slide one hand up his sternum, past his collarbone and wrap your fingers around his thick, muscular shoulder, you can feel the bony place where his wings ripped free during his transformation. It’s healed now, as if he’s always like this.

You run your hands over him, massaging your fingers into his giving flesh, scratching your nails lightly through his chest hair. Admiring him. Loving him.

You paint him with affection so maybe he'll finally believe you the next time you say you love all of him.

You meet his eyes, and his lips pull to the side in a slow smile. For a second you freeze, confused by a new unfamiliar sensation, then you realize he’s… vibrating.

He’s purring.

The constant rumble under your hands feels like a promise and a warning: like the first stirrings of something primordial and powerful, the muted quiver of the ground before an avalanche rends a picture-perfect landscape in two.

The tremor that precedes the quake.

***

monster!din taglist: @tuskens-mando @inkededucatednnerdy @mindidjarin @pitterpatkittycat @vaguely-here-wish-i-was-not @codleyjamgan @thatistheway @pumpkin-stars @keeper0fthestars @saradika @frodontyouletgo @hilarioustickles @mandocrasis @idealisticidiott @we-could-have-been @bearcina @letitrainathousandflames @prismaticpizza @holobandit @scram1326 @mysticclamgothalmond @the-timely-traveler @insomniamamma @wechaoticstudentcreator @sinmight @nips-out-for-mando @galaxy-romance @fatedeniedhope @shadesofnerdlygrace @adancedivasmom @sketchy-feeling @shirks-all-responsibilities @dincrypt @lexloon

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letstalkaboutshtufff · 7 months ago

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Night on the town

Mandalorian x reader

Pairing: Din Djarin Mandalorian x reader

Warning: mentions of alcohol and some 18+ themes. No minors please!

Summary: Reader doesn’t listen to Mandos warnings about staying on the ship, then wakes up with something new and a bit troubling…

****************************************************

“Don’t leave the ship” those four words had been echoing in your head all week.

For months you’d never really minded following your Mandalorians orders, most planets he landed on for bounties were backwater scugholes whose inhabitants were low level creeps and criminals. You were perfectly fine staying within the safe compounds of the ship normally…but this planet was different.

Ceralis 3 was known for its bustling city full of high quality clothing stalls, the tastiest food establishments, musical performances, and oh how you couldn’t stop thinking about the renowned city square that’s lit up like starlight when the suns go down and everyone gathers to dance. You’d seen so many brochures advertising Ceralis 3 as a top vacation spot. And now you were finally here… stuck on a ship.

“Must be nice..” you mumble head resting flat on your arms watching the suns set from behind the glass of the ships viewport. The twinkling lights in the distant mocking you as if to say “here we are shining so bright and you’re stuck in a dark smelly cockpit”.

Ok so maybe that’s an exaggeration.. but still you were minutes away from going crazy with boredom.

“Don’t leave the ship” he said from the bottom of the ramp like he always does before leaving for a bounty.

Bounty hunting usually doesn’t take a week though… ugh

You lean up on your arms watching the twinkling lights of the city getting brighter. What was everyone doing now? Drinking? Dancing? Having 1000x more fun than you were right now??

You glance at the small data pad that Din gave you. When he was finished with a bounty he usually sent a quick message through.

You checked it again for the millionth time.

No new messages…

What if you just went for a quick look… no

No you couldn’t do that, din would be angry if he found out.

If he found out…

If…

You check the data pad again. Every time he sent a message it usually took him a decent amount of time to get back to the ship, he’d usually stop for supplies and whatnot.

So you had time even if he messaged you while you were out…

But could you break his trust so easily-

*pop pop pop*

Bright strands of fiery light shot up from the skyline in the shapes of flowers.

Well he didn’t need to know everything…

You sprung up practically jumping down the ladder to your small closet.

You smirked pulling out the one nice “out for a night on the town outfit” you owned. A stark contrast to the usual travel outfits you donned.

You applied some light makeup, grabbed your satchel and were off the ship in record time.

You took note of the pathway, and kept the data pad close to your hip in case that all to familiar beep sounded and you needed to rush back..

You gasped nearing a well lit archway taller than anything you’d seen before.

Giddy with excitement you ran in and were immediately overtaken by a rush of… well everything.

The streets were lit bright with lanterns, full of laughing and singing people.

The smells were making your mouth water wondering what on earth could smell so heavenly, and the buildings.. oh the absolutely breathtaking carvings. You didn’t know what to do first!

So you did the first thing that you saw, you ate from several stalls, bought a bunch of jewelry and souvenirs that you absolutely didn’t need, watched a few performances, drank some juice being served on a tray that you didn’t realize had alcohol… and then made your way to the famous square.

Oh and what a sight it was… like someone had the most dazzling dream and brought it to life. Everyone was jumping and dancing to live musicians. You wondered briefly if your Mandalorian could dance. Probably not.. but maybe if you really asked nicely he would.. or if you just dragged him..

You wished he was here.. you usually weren’t separated that long so it’s been a little lonely.

You sighed watching the couples dance and hold each other warmly. Some kissing some just gazing into each others eyes…

Ok more than a little lonely..

Maybe you should head back..

You sipped on your juice walking back in the direction of the ship.

What lovely juice, so sweet and spicy at the same time..

Mmm juicy juice so lovely

Hmm you peeked at a stall in passing, maybe you should get him something? Yeah that’s right, he wouldn’t be mad at you for leaving if you got him a gift!

Maybe you’d get some more juice while you shopped and then maybe——-

************************************************

Ugh why is my head pounding so bad…

You wince sitting up in the cot holding your head with a hand.

You blink slowly regaining your senses, the previous nights memories ending in a blur. You didn’t even remember coming back to the ship…

Ugh you were so stupid, the “juice” was alcohol and you’d had so many of them..

You panicked a bit not seeing your satchel on the hook but then calmed seeing it on the floor.

With a sigh you reached in pulling out the data pad and pressing the button.

*new message*

Oh kriff..

*Heading back. Shouldn’t take more than half a day.*

Half a day… wait when did he send that!?

The sky was so bright outside how long had you been asleep?? You looked down seeing you were still dressed up from last night.

I better change before he gets-

You stumble a bit feeling your leg let out a painful throb.

Oh no was I stupid and injured myself last night?

Quickly you pull up your clothing expecting a bruise or a cut or something but instead what awaited you was infinitely worse.

“Oh maker what have I done…”

You vaguely remember wanting to get something for Din but why on earth did your drunken state think that was a good idea!?!?

Kriff what did I do!?!?

You wobble quickly to the mirror to get a better look at the new addition to your outer thigh.

An abstract outline of your mandalorians helmet with his name cursively written under it.

Oh now you remembered.. bits and pieces as you stumbled into a tattoo stall and scribbled on a paper demanding it be the bestest bestie best tattoo ever, you even remember the guy asking if you wanted to wait until you were sober but then you cried until he did it.

Kill me now…

Ugh Why why why!? How was I going to explain this to Din!?

As if the universe was punishing you even more you heard a familiar beeping and gasped feeling the vibrations of the ships ramp moving.

Of kriffing course he would arrive now!

You quickly pull your clothing down and try to look as nonchalant as you can watching as Din walks up the ramp into the hull.

His bounty blocked your view of him but he was fighting and throwing some curses but Din is quick to throw him in the carbonite freezer.

You gulp as he finally turns around to regard you.

“Welcome back..” you tried to sound like your normal self. Key word being tried.

Din stood still for a moment then his helmet slowly shifted from your face down to your body then up again.

Oh yeah my outfit and makeup…

“You look…nice” he said a bit confused.

Maybe you could spin this…

“Oh well I um wanted to um surprise you… I really missed you Din..”

You hoped your nervousness would be taken as you just being embarrassed to dress up for him.

He tilted his helmet a bit, his stance relaxing ever so slightly and he took a couple steps in your direction.

“Yeah?”

Oh how easy men could be sometimes…

“Yeah” you smiled stepping forward too and wrapping your arms around him. “You were gone a while this time..”

He pulled back a bit to see you but his strong arms were still held firm around you.

“Yeah the bounty was more work than I originally anticipated, sorry you had to be alone so long.”

“It’s alright..you’re back now that’s all that matters…” you smile up into his visor knowing his eyes are deeply peering into yours just as lovingly.

His hands slide a bit and he grips you a bit tighter “if I knew you were gonna dress up just for me, I would’ve forgotten all about the bounty and rushed here..”

“Mm I’ll have to remember that for next time…” you lean up tilting your head to the side to kiss the bare skin just under his helmet. He breathes in, deep and crackley through the modulator.

Your hands reach up about to lift his helmet off when suddenly his head moves to the side.

“Din?” You frown a bit following his gaze then when you do your eyes widen a bit at what you see.

A beautifully beaded tote bag overflowing with items leaned against the wall, a strand of pearls strewn across it along with a shimmery scarf and a bottle of “juice”. Oh Kriff just how drunk did you get last night!?!?

“What’s that?”

“Oh um just some old stuff I pulled out when I was trying stuff on for you..”

He pulled away and you knew you had messed up.

“Din..?”

He approached the bag and knelt down. He picked up the bottle with one hand.

“And you just happened to have an alcohol that’s only produced on this planet in your storage?” His voice had completely shifted from gentle and loving to interrogative typical pre meeting me Mando.

“Well…”

He abruptly stood up with a sigh.

“You left the ship” he stated with a huff.

You bite your lip looking away from the intense stare.

“…”

“What’s the one thing I told you never to do?” You could tell he was angry but was trying to hold it back.

“…go against your orders..”

“Go against my orders and what did you do?”

“I left the ship… I’m sorry but I was so bored and lonely and I just…” maker could you sound any more pathetic and whiny.

He let out a huff of annoyance, “you put yourself in danger because you were bored?”

“Din..”

“You don’t know this planet, and I have a million enemies, I don’t tell you to stay on the ship for the hell of it” he bit out getting more frustrated.

“I… I know… I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking..”

You heard a sigh again and hesitantly looked up. His shoulder relaxed a bit his tone a bit softer but still plenty stern. “I can’t go after bounties and worry about you too..”

Well now you felt like absolutely shit

“Oh Din I’m so sorry, of course you can’t, shouldn’t actually. It was dumb and stupid and reckless and I promise I won’t leave again. No matter how tempting it is..”

He stood for a moment deciding you were sincere in your words, he held out a single arm motioning for you to come closer again,

You do and hug him muttering another apology.

“So you didn’t dress up for me huh..?”

Oh..

You peek up from his chest finding his gaze on yours,

“Well… not exactly but my first thought when I looked in the mirror was how I wished you were by my side to see me… does that count?”

He lets out a scoff and lowers his hands “No”

You pout

“But I know how you can make it up to me”.

His hands are back on you stroking your thighs kneeding them softly when all the sudden you yelp.

He pulls away shocked “what’s wrong?”

“Oh uh nothing just got caught up in the moment…”

His head tilts and boy for someone with a helmet on his expressions were clear as day.

“Wanna run that by me again?”

“I had a cramp?” You lamely ask.

Seconds of silence pass before his hands are reaching for the tips of your dress.

“Ah wait no!”

You jump back not ready now or ever for him to see your latest mistake.

He freezes, now that’s something you’d never done before.

“You hurt yourself didn’t you?” He crosses his arms.

“I did not..”

“Then what are you hiding?”

“….”

He sighs again loudly “you have three seconds to show me before I do it myself.”

Kriff…

You hesitate not knowing what to do.

“One”

Ugh what now!?

“Two”

Maybe you could lock yourself in the fresher…

“Three”

You make a dash for the open door but make it all of two steps before strong arms pull you back.

“Really?” He huffs annoyed.

“Din wait!”

“Just relax what’s the worst it could be?”

No way you couldn’t show him, you catch him off guard by fighting his hold.

“Hey stop that”

“Enough!” His bark cuts through you like a knife and you freeze.

He spins you around, his hands locked onto your arms.

“Din...” you plead but he won’t budge.

He maneuvers your hands into one of his while his other reaches for your dress. You can’t help but try one more time to evade him and use the one move he taught you in self defense,

Of course because he’s who he is all it buys you is three seconds before he has you sprawled over his knees.

How ironic… if only he knew how you’d fantasized about this exact position.

“You really wanna make things hard don’t you?”

“Din please you don’t understand! Just leave me alone-“ and just like that the delicate freshly tattooed skin was exposed to the cool air of the ship and his searing gaze.

Then it was silent..

“I-I didn’t mean to I got drunk by accident and then wanted to get you a gift and for some crazy reason I thought a tattoo would be a good idea and…and…and-“ your nervous ramblings continued until you suck in a sharp breath feeling soft fingers caress the area just around the tender area.

“You did this…for me?”

“W-well yeah…”

You try to turn your head to see him but it’s impossible in your condition.

He silently caresses the area around it as if he…wait no way!?

“Do… do you like it?” You asked hesitantly.

He let out a breath.

“Can’t say I hate it…”

Oh my maker

“R-really?” You question an eyebrow raised.

“Mm” you flinch a bit feeling his fingers trace over the sore area.

He pulled you up so you were straddling him facing his visor.

“Sorry I left the ship…” you say after a few moments of silence.

“Swear you won’t do that again..”

“I promise..”

“Are you angry with me?”

“Yes” he said without hesitation.

“Really? After all the trouble I went through getting you your gift” you smirk a bit wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

His hands gripped your thighs squeezing softly, “Yes…” you smiled knowing by his voice he was all talk. You already had him in the palm of your hand.

“Want me to make it up to you?” You whisper near the side of his helmet.

He makes some sort of hum through the helmet and you take that as a yes, you push him back a bit so the distance between you is closed, your core pressed against him deliciously.

His hands travelled around squeezing and caressing in the ways only he knew how you liked. You’re about to lift his helmet up so you could finally kiss him when he pauses his movements.

Ugh not again

“What’s wrong?”

“You were drunk…?”

Ah Kriff, why did I have to let that part slip out.

“Y-yes but just a bit…”

He looks at you in a no nonsense way,

“Ok maybe more than a bit but it really wasn’t my fault, I didn’t know the drinks had alcohol..”

He sighs

Man if I had a credit for everytime I made this man sigh…

“I know I know, it was dumb and reckless and I won’t do it again, can we go back to what we were doing please? Remember the tattoo I got for you?”

I push his helmet towards my thigh.

He lets out a little laugh, “alright alright I get it”

His thumb strokes it again, “it suits you”

You let out a laugh, “I think it suits you more…didn’t realize you were that type of guy…but honestly it’s growing on me too, he did a good job didn’t he?” You peer down admiring the details. Not realizing Dins fingers had froze.

“He?”

“….”

Oh Kriff

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I’ve been on a huge Mandalorian kick lately and had this little idea. Hope you enjoyed! Also please excuse the lazy editing❤️

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cowboygenesis · 8 months ago

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1: kindness and coin | din djarin x reader

part 1 of the "brown eyes" series: masterlist and spotify playlist. | buy me a coffee?

pairing: din djarin x reader chapter warnings: none. word count: 6.2k series summary: din settles on the distant planet of lazure prime while seeking a safe-haven for his son. unbeknownst to him, the choice leads him to unforeseen threats—and a deeper connection he never thought possible. notes: this fic is set a while after the corvus arc in season 2, after din sets to find a teacher for grogu. there's tons of flavor-lore here, some of it canon, some of it completely made up (by me). smut happens late because im a slave to slow burn. but enjoy the mutual pining!

You have known this your entire life.

The air smells like fresh earth and wildflowers when you open your kitchen window that morning. The fog clings low to the ground as a cool breeze seeps into your home, making you swaddle yourself tighter within your knitted sweater.

Your cold-numbed fingers wrap tightly around the ceramic mug cupped in your hands, periodically bringing it to your lips for a languid sip. The caf scalds your tongue, but you persevere. Outside, the sun rises above the horizon, peeking over the tall treeline and illuminating the town with a subtle, golden glow.

Across your makeshift garden stands a small stripe of farmland, glistening with freshly sowed soil and soft patches of stray grass. You spot your elderly neighbor strolling about with a blanket-covered basket and wave her hello when she smiles at you. Her breath comes out in a thin cloud of condensation which you see as it mends with the dewy air.

You exhale. It’s unremarkable, peaceful. Predictable. The way it’s been for as long as you can remember.

You have known this your entire life. But today, the air feels thicker. Your hands slip against the polished wood when you reach for your hairbrush, and the Shiir fruit you have for breakfast tastes soured as you bite into the soft, dotted flesh.

It all started three days ago, when a small craft landed in the nearby woods. It was the dead of night, silent besides the howling of sifflings and a distant cricket song filling the empty void.

You didn't see it happen, nor did your neighbors, as the first whispers came from the children: wide-eyed and brimming with interest, they gossiped quietly of a strange craft that emerged just before dawn, sleek and noiseless, nestled beneath the canopy of trees that surround your little village. No one emerged from it, they chimed. The forest swallowed it whole as if it had always been hidden in the cloud of greenery.

At first, it was just another embellished story—a tale spun from boredom or fantasies, something for the local folk to entertain themselves with during the quieter nights at the cantina.

But as the hours turned into days, the usual vibrancy of your community turned subdued with the whispered rumors. And sure, people started talking, but nobody dared to see the ship for themselves. Such was their Maker-fearing nature.

You, like many others, grew quite curious as the stories spread. When you walked down the stone-laid path to the town’s square every morning, your eyes followed along the treeline, glimpsing between the foliage in a silent hope of catching something inexplicable: a metallic wing, a flailing cape, or even a hint of movement. But nothing ever came.

You finish your drink and place the cup in the sink, the clink of ceramic echoing in your quiet kitchen as you let the residual warmth of the caf envelop you. You make a mental note to stock up on the good stuff as soon as the Mon Gazza traders come through your town next time.

You lean against the wall in your chair, glancing over at the basket you'd prepared last night. It sits by the door, neatly packed with fresh bread, a few vegetables from your garden, and jars of homemade preserves. You’ve made it a habit to bring these goods to the village market as a small way to keep yourself busy and prevent the excess produce from spoiling. Cooking for one is no easy feat.

As you turn to the window again, you notice the sun has fully crested over the trees, casting long shadows down the strip of farmland in front of your home.

You stand up and stretch with a grunt, grabbing your cloak from the green-padded loveseat and tying the ribbon around your neck. You grab the basket, tie your boots neatly, and step out into the crisp morning air with a deep inhale. The bells hooked on your doorway jingle as you lock it behind you.

Lazure Prime’s climate is temperate, yet the mornings are notably chillier at this point of the solar cycle. It’s a good omen for the upcoming harvest, the farmers had always said; something about the condensation that makes the tartness decline. You’ve never been big on food science, but living in an agriculture-based town has illuminated many aspects of the topic over the years.

The walk to the village is unremarkable. Trees sway softly in the wind, their leaves dancing in the early daylight. You pass by familiar faces— fyrion melon farmers prepping the land for sowing and children making their daily hike to school. Each one of them flashes you a bright smile as you walk past, some calling out your name cheerfully.

Your eyes hover over the treeline again, watching the bark weave in and out of the lush greenery but… no metal. No ship. It’s the same as it’s always been. A part of you expects the visitor to be long gone, perhaps in a moment where nobody caught it.

As you near the market square, you catch the distant chatter of townsfolk. They weave in and out of the stalls, exchanging greetings and produce as a weekly ritual.

You skim through the stalls with your eyes and select one of the empty ones. You place your basket on top with a grunt, stunned at how robustly you managed to pack it this time around.

Your hands work quickly, unraveling the protective rag covering the inside and reaching for your produce. Four loaves of oat cakes, amber squash, a few bunches of carrots, and half a dozen jars of dew jam— a family recipe. Because it peddled so fast last time, you made sure to amp up the production this week to at least double the amount.

You hear your name be called, paired with a gentle touch on your arm. You turn around on your heel, gaze dropping to be met with the curious look of a young girl.

“Good morning Nissa,” you smile, giving the child a small wave. She beams at you, exposing a row of milk teeth, two of them missing. “Is your mom around?”

She shrugs half-heartedly, quick to dismiss your concern. “She’s here. Probably getting the stuff we need for this big, special dinner next week— we’re making yak stew. You know yak stew, right?” she explains, eyes suddenly widening, “Oh, you have to come! I’ll tell mom about it, I— We’d love to have you over!”

You chuckle warmly at her excitement, reaching a hand behind you to grab a round, cloth-enveloped parcel and hiding it behind your back as you crouch down to meet the girl at eye level.

“Yeah, I know it. Yak stew sounds lovely. I’ll have to ask your mom if that’s alright with her, though,” you reply with an apologetic look, toying with the package behind your back. “You know how she feels about surprise.”

Nissa rolls her eyes, arms crossed. “Whatever, she’ll have to say yes!” she insists, extending her hands as if to make a point, “You have to come, okay? You promised to show me how to shoot a bow last time, you promised!”

“Nini, I said I’ll show you how it works,” you grimace slightly at your own mistake of giving a child the idea to learn of a weapon in the first place. What can you say, you got overly excited as usual and spoke too much, too soon. “I don’t think your mom would like us toying around with a weapon in her home. And yes, I asked her already. It’s not gonna happen.”

She blows a raspberry at your reprimanding, followed by a loud huff. And then there’s that stare, the kind that you’re sure makes her mother scowl at how effective it is. “We don’t need to be in the house. We can go to the garden, right? It’s not technically the house anymore.”

“Technically? Who taught you that?” you chuckle, praying it’s enough to distract her hyperactive mind from the bow-shooting idea.

“Er— you did? Mom says I spend too much time with you, by the way. She doesn’t like that I pick up on the things you say, because now I can actually talk back. It’s great. You should teach me more,” She replies, going on a tangent. Works like clockwork.

You sigh, taking the parcel out from behind you and cupping it in front of the girl. “Hey, it’s not a good thing. We don’t want to upset her, right?” you reprimand gently, “Here. You told me you liked the oat cakes I made last week.”

Her mouth widens in profound excitement as she quickly grabs ahold of the wrapped gift. “No way, you baked an extra one just for me?”

“Yes— Hey, it’s for your family, alright? Make sure to share it with your brother, at least,” you wag your finger at her with a smile, your heart slowly warming at the raw reaction.

She nods, but you can tell she doesn’t catch a word you say. Her little fingers reach for the knot, ready to untie the morsel, but she’s stopped in her tracks at her name being called.

You peek behind her shoulder to see a woman striding towards you two with a hurried bounce in her step, a woven basket on her hip, and a young boy trailing behind her. She says your name as she approaches, and you can tell from the way her thick eyebrows stitch that Nissa is not supposed to be here alone.

“Morning!” she calls out, her voice carrying a pleasant, melodic lilt when she addresses you. “Ni, I told you to wait up. Help me out with this, will you?” she adds sternly, motioning to her basket with a tilt of her head.

The girl rolls her eyes but does as asked. She strains a little as her mother passes the basket over, a little grunt emitting from her mouth.

“I’m so sorry, but she’s been talking about you all of breakfast,” the woman speaks, breath still heavy from prancing around the market. “Didn’t cause you any trouble, I hope?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. You hope the bow idea doesn’t get a mention. “Not at all, Val. We had a nice little chat about your ‘special’ dinner plans.”

Valerie smiles warmly, though there’s a hint of jest in her dark eyes. “Ah, yes, dinner. Kids this age eat for two, it feels like. Half of this moon’s pay went directly to grocery costs, can you believe it? This one’s got the stomach of a bantha,” she motions to her daughter with a nod of her head, and you catch Nissa rolling her eyes again.

You chuckle, and the woman shakes her head. “Yak meat is a little pricey, but I promised the kids we’d indulge this week. I’d love to have you over, but only if you’re free. It’d be nice to catch up, I feel like it’s been a century since we got to sit down over a meal and a nice spotchka— Oh! I got this really fancy one from that one trader from Kashyyyk in the big city. Who knew Wookies had an appreciation for quality spirits?”

“Who knew,” you nod through a frivolous giggle, enjoying your friend’s little rant. Like mother like daughter. “And sure thing, I’m free. I’d love to join if it’s not a problem for you all,” you smile.

“No! Never a problem!” Nissa adds through a toothy grin, trying to cement the plans.

“Well then. I’ll make sure to bring some dessert, too,” you add with a wink at the little girl who beams at your generous suggestion. You survey your options, and quickly decide on a plum pie— you remember Nissa’s particular mention of her love of the tart ones.

“That’s too generous of you, as usual. You know the kids love your baking, and so do I,” she says, placing a hand against her son’s back and gently pushing him forward. “Right, Ki?”

The boy tucks a stray brunette lock behind his ear, glancing up at you with a coy nod. You smile, giving him a little wave of encouragement.

“Of course. I’ll whip up something good for you guys,” you respond, turning around to start organizing your produce on the wooden boards. “Thank you for the invite, by the way. I’ve been home-stuck for way too long, and I feel like it’s finally getting to my head,” you add, turning around to flash your friend a cheeky smile. She responds with a similar one, a hand now stroking down her daughter’s plaits.

Nissa tugs on her mother’s sleeve, eyebrows knitted. “Mom, we were supposed to get spice rolls today. You promised Kivan you’d buy them for us,” she complains, and Valerie chuckles warmly.

“Right, I guess I did make that promise at some point,” she shrugs, giving a knowing smile that you return absentmindedly. “Excuse us, but priorities call. On this note, you should really try Mrs. Veska’s spice rolls, I hear it’s an original family recipe from Batuu. Which, by the way, did you even know she’s from Batuu? Maker, the things I still find out after living here my whole life.”

You laugh at her small tirade, taking a step forward to place an affirming hand on her shoulder. “This town is a gift that keeps on giving, huh? I trust you have plenty more gossip to share with me over that drink you suggested.”

“More than I care to admit,” she winks, straightening out and adjusting the large messenger bag on her hip. “Anyway, I think we better scavenge this market before all the good stuff is wiped out. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“I’ll see you, Valerie. Bye, kids!” you lean down, waving enthusiastically. Kivan gives you a coy nod, while Nissa waves back with a wide grin, the wrapped oat cake now sitting safely within the basket she’s carrying. She watches over it with a honeyed gaze.

As you watch Valerie and the kids disappear into the bustling crowd, you exhale a small sigh of contentment. Dinner and some spotchka are exactly what you need after a long, lonesome week.

Your fingers resume their work, carefully arranging the last of your produce on the stall’s wooden boards. You lean back when you’re done, watching the colorful array with your hands on your hips and a satisfied smile across your face.

It pales when a dull shiver grazes at the nerves of your back. There’s a ringing in your ears as your surroundings fill with a thick, palpable aura.

That’s when you feel it— an abnormal sense of stillness settling over the market. Mutters, whispers, then silence.

The stillness hovers in the atmosphere like a prayer about to be spoken. You wait a beat, breathing in the thick air and swallowing down saliva. You turn around on your heel, the empty basket still clutched tightly in your hands.

That’s when you spot it.

You watch a sleek figure cut through the bustling market crowd, tall frame draped in armor shining brilliantly under the rising daylight. You catch it immediately, something besides the armor—it sends a surge of quiet fear through the townsfolk gathered around. The remaining whispers slowly dampen as the figure strides through.

People step aside as if instinctively, letting him pass through uninterrupted as Maker forbid a guy of his caliber gets interrupted. He seems used to the treatment, as his helmet stays fixed forward.

Your fingers wrap still against the edge of the wooden stall, knuckles white, watching the stranger approach.

You catch glimpses of villagers giving him a wide berth, murmuring amongst themselves, uncertain whether to approach, keep a safe distance, or run.

A small, rounded pod floats beside him, gently humming as it hovers by his right hip— you catch it gleam in the soft, morning sunlight when he makes a turn. You’ve never seen such a gadget before.

He draws nearer, and for a brief moment, his helmet turns in your direction. It… turns in your direction? Maker, it… is he looking at you?

Your breath hitches. You meet the opaque visor, your reflection staring right back: eyes wide, lips ajar.

There’s no nod, no words exchanged, just a brief moment where your gaze meets his; you can feel it boring into you even through the visor.

The moment passes instantly as his helmet finally tilts away from you. He continues on, stout boots thudding lightly against the packed dirt of the village square. You blink twice, his gaze lingering on your silhouette, or maybe it’s just your imagination.

Your jaw unclenches, though you don’t remember tightening it in the first place.

You dig into the depths of your brain, clawing at the grey matter. Something about his armor, or perhaps the blaster tucked at his side, makes him seem familiar.

You don’t exactly know why you decide to take a step forward, but as your foot rises from the ground, it’s already too late.

Be it primal curiosity or the quiet aura that clings to him like a shadow; regardless, you feel compelled to approach him, steadily nearing the armored stranger.

You take a slow breath, steadying yourself as you step forward and drop your emptied basket near the soil by your booth.

When you look up again, you see the armored figure ahead of you finally stop at one of the stalls. He stands silent and still, visor fixed on the selection of produce laid out before him. The stall owner, an older man with wiry hair and sun-weathered skin, toys nervously with the corner of his apron. You don’t hear the words exchanged.

Suddenly, a familiar silhouette emerges out of the cantina’s wooden doorway. His broad shoulders sway rhythmically, eyes piercing and focused as he trots down the soil. His weathered hand rests firmly atop his hip, cradling the only blaster the town has ever owned— as far as you and the townsfolk know.

It’s not something you had ever caught before, but the weapon paired with a tattered chest plate makes him stand out from the rest of the townsfolk. He looks modern, metropolitan, like a big-town sheriff rather than a community-voted overseer.

“Morning, traveler,” he calls out in a deep, gravelly voice, coming to a stop a few paces from the armored figure. His voice is enough to break the eery silence surrounding the market. A whisper picks up between the stalls again as the two men exchange looks. “First time seeing you around here.”

There’s a pause that lingers for a second too long. The stranger doesn’t respond right away, and you can feel the anticipation surging through the air as the marshal takes another step forward.

“What brings you to Terrine?” he continues, head tilted. You catch an ugly, strangely genuine smile painting his lips. Your nose scrunches.

The marshal steps from foot to foot, the blaster on his hip gleaming in the sunlight as if purposefully making its presence known. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you? Fine,”

The armored figure finally turns his head, the reflective visor of his helmet catching the morning sun. He doesn’t flinch or bristle at the marshal’s words—just stands there, towering and still. You feel unease mixing in your gut when you catch a glimpse of the stranger’s blaster resting in the holster on his hip, stagnantly.

“Bounty hunters and other scoundrels of your kind aren’t appreciated in these parts. I can see that weapon on your hip, don’t you find me foolish,” he motions to his blaster with a nod of his head, “What’s your business here?”

The question hangs in the air.

“You deaf under that helmet?” the marshal sneers, his tone sharp as he steps forward, shoving a hand against the stranger’s shoulder. The impact is solid as you can tell from the dull sound it makes, yet the figure barely flinches. “Huh?”

The crowd seems to hold its breath as the stranger pivots his stance ever so slightly, body shifting just enough to fully face the marshal. His hand moves slowly, almost deliberately, hovering near his blaster—just enough to be caught yet not enough to draw it— yet.

“You don’t want this,” the stranger finally says, voice low, gravelly, and calm as ever, carrying a weight that cuts through your tense body. It’s heavily modulated, yet it’s soft bass draws a crisp shiver down your spine.

The marshal pauses, his chest rising and falling rapidly, momentarily frozen in place as the air hangs heavy between them. You feel the tension peak, a bead of sweat forming on the marshal’s brow despite the cool morning breeze pouring into the market.

“I’m sick of you metal-clad fuckers causing mayhem where you don’t belong,” he suddenly hisses, sizing the stranger up as his hand slowly catches the handle of his blaster, “I’ve heard enough of your excuses for—” he draws it, and your heart drops.

A wave of adrenaline propels you forward, legs carrying you silently between the two men in a mindless, perhaps foolish, moment of clarity.

“Raan—” you call out desperately, cringing the way your voice shakes. “—Marshal.”

Both men turn their attention to you, but despite being shrouded by two deadly weapons, it’s the stranger’s unseen gaze that makes your stomach twist at that moment.

“Let’s not have this escalate,” you say, gaze soft yet determined as it connects with the marshal’s. Here we go. “We all know you’re just trying to maintain order and peace, but this man has done no harm. There’s no need for senseless violence.”

The marshal’s eyes lock onto yours. You hate this look he gives you.

His grip tightens on his blaster, knuckles white.

“Peace?” the marshal spits, his voice rough with your name on his lips. “—It’s people like him that disrupt the peace,”

The stranger remains eerily still, his helmet angled slightly towards you as if measuring your sincerity. The tension between the three of you feels almost tangible, and you can feel dozens of eyes boring into you expectantly. Briefly, you catch a glimpse of Valerie, her kids shielded behind the fabric of her dress.

“You know what kind of risk these types bring,” the marshal continues, voice rising slightly. “They come in, stir up trouble, then disappear without a trace. Worst damn case, they tell their little bounty-hunting friends about us so we can be plundered all over again. We don’t need that here, and you should know that better than anyone.”

Your eyes shoot wide open at his statement. Raan’s words sting, yet you take a deep breath, steeling yourself against the personal attacks. You’re too deep to withdraw now, and somehow, the little voice in your head you call intuition tells you the armor-clad figure is no ordinary plunderer.

Your eyes flicker to his visor, and for the briefest moment, you swear you catch something mild in the way his helmet tilts in your direction. Call it stress-induced delusion, but if he didn’t appreciate your interference, why didn’t he try to stop you yet?

“Marshal, I understand your concerns,” you start again, voice steady but firm. Your eyes linger on the visor for a second too long before returning to Raan. “But we can’t jump to conclusions based on fear alone. Not everyone who wears armor or carries a blaster is out to cause trouble, and you should know that better than anyone.” you bite back subtly, a self-satisfied smirk threatening to emerge at the way his eyebrows furrow at your remark.

His thumb drop from his holster, snaking up to rest firmly against his belt. He exhales sharply, giving the stranger a once-over before returning to you with a seemingly dampened mood.

“Listen to the girl,” the modulated voice comes again, lower this time. You can’t help the strange pang of adrenaline that shoots through your chest, but you keep your reaction at bay.

Raan squints at the stranger’s visor, then looks at you with a frown. You know all too damn well what it means.

“Fine,” he states firmly, taking a step back. His shoulders relax just a fraction, though the tension still simmers in his eyes. “But I’m keeping an eye on this one. If anything goes awry, we’ll deal with it one way or another.”

The stranger remains silent, his posture relaxed but you catch his visor fixed on the marshal as he withdraws.

The man huffs, and for a brief moment, it seems like he’s about to get a last word in but finally decides against it. He murmurs something under his breath, turning on his heel and making his way back into the quiet cantina.

The silence following the encounter lingers for a beat, before murmurs from the surrounding villagers slowly start up again, the crowd beginning to disperse as the scene deescalates.

When you breathe deeply to recalibrate, you can feel the weight of their stares, some curious, but most wary.

When you finally turn to face the armored man, you catch his visor pinning you in place.

Your breath hitches, your neck craning to appease his height as your eyes flicker for a moment in search of his. You don’t spot them through the darkness, but it doesn’t stop you from imagining them through the metal, like placing two pins on a map.

“I’m sorry,” You step forward, your voice steady but carrying a note of strain. “We don’t get many visitors here, and he’s just being cautious.”

The man doesn’t immediately respond. His visor remains locked on you, the helmet’s reflective surface making it impossible to gauge his opinion of your actions thus far. Somehow, you feel like he’s trying to determine your relationship to the marshal. It makes you queasy.

“Thank you,” he finally says, and the flatness of his tone makes it hard to catch at first but he seems… earnest. From what you can tell.

You give him a polite smile, feeling gratified by his small praise. “Keep browsing, if you like. We only hold this market biweekly, so it’s a bit of a treat every single time.”

He tilts his head slightly, considering your offer, but keeps silent. After a brief pause, he turns his attention back to the stalls, visor scanning down a selection of sweet pastries from Mrs. Veska. Your eyes flicker over pastry labeled ‘spice rolls’, and make a quick mental note to swing by later, once the crowd clears up a bit.

As you turn to walk back to your stall, you feel a quick, firm grasp on your forearm. “Wait,” the modulated voice calls out, making your gaze flicker to his helmet.

You give him that same smile again, his lingering grip making your gaze flicker to his gloved hand. It wraps around your arm effortlessly, the pressure treading dangerously between comfortable and tight. As if on cue, he withdraws, hands resting at his sides when he addresses you.

“Is there lodging here?”

Your eyebrows furrow at the question, your gaze flickering to the humming orb behind him. You catch a slit running along its length, and reason it must be some sort of… strangely extravagant basket.

“Lodging? You mean… rooms? Housing?” you question back, and his shoulders seem to imperceptibly drop at that.

“Yes. Available housing,” he clarifies, and you hum in thought. You’re about to ask him about his ship but realize it might be a little personal, especially as the feud feels fresh in your mind.

“It’s hard for me to say at this moment. Like you’ve heard before, we don’t get many visitors or tourists here, so most homes are permanently occupied by native residents. You could try the inn for a roo—”

“I need something permanent,” he cuts you off, making your lips tighten. Interesting.

“Okay,” you nod, searching your mind for a solution. “Permanent housing.”

His helmet tilts slightly, as if urging you to continue despite your hesitation. You meet the inscrutable visor with your gaze, feeling a sudden surge of sympathy.

You hesitate, realizing that the key to his problems might just blow up in his face if he tries it.

“I’m sorry, it’s probably the last thing you want to hear right now, but you’d have to ask the marshal about it. If there’s anything available, he’d be the one keeping tabs of it,” you finally explain, gaze growing apologetic as he takes in the announcement.

The armored man nods, his posture remaining quiet and ordered. “Okay,” he replies, the flatness of his tone giving you little to go off. You guess he’s not one to keep grudges, then.

“Listen, I… I know he came off pretty unfriendly back there, but he means well. If you explain your situation to him, I’m sure he’ll oblige,” you say, yet your eyebrows furrow. You suddenly realize that you don’t know this stranger’s situation yourself, and you’re not exactly in the position to ask, either.

The man’s helmet tilts slightly as if considering your words.

“Thank you for your help,” he says, voice steady and unyielding. You nod at him with a sympathetic smile. And that’s it.

Suddenly, you feel like you want to say something more; ask him a question, tell him about the town, anything to keep the conversation going despite it being long over. Then you realize.

You don’t even know his name.

Your lips hang slightly ajar as he nods at you in goodbye, turning to walk away. You can’t bring yourself to speak. His heavy boots make soft thuds against the packed dirt as you catch him mumbling something to one of the vendors.

You sigh, gaze lingering on him as you slowly withdraw towards your stall, the glint of armor disappearing between the crowd once you reach your produce.

You give them a once-over, a wave of tiredness washing over you out of nowhere. Your mind rushes to the stranger before you can tell it ‘no’, eyes glassy as you play over the feud over and over in your head… his figure clear when you picture it.

A full suit of armor, pristinely crafted to suit his body— one of his pauldrons harboring a strange symbol, the head of a horned animal you had never seen before.

You remember his low, stern voice addressing you with an indiscernible tone, something you can only compare to an unusual kindness. Perhaps it’s the dangerous nature of his supposed profession or the fact he stands out so drastically amongst simple townsfolk like you, but the truth is that your breath quickens as you think of his eyes on you through the slim, dark visor.

“Hey,” you hear, but the words seem muddled through your woolgathering.

You blink, the world around you snapping back into focus. The armored figure is standing right in front of your stall now, his imposing presence suddenly filling your bubble. You meet his gaze through the dim visor, the helmet almost intimate in its closeness.

“Hey,” he repeats, his voice modulated but softer now, gently waking you from your haze.

“Hey,” you reply. He… came back? Why?

“I need a favor.”

His request catches you off guard, your eyes widening slightly as you finally come fully to your senses. Your mind races, trying to moderate the intimidating figure.

“Favor?” you echo, frowning slightly. “Don’t tell me. He turned you down. Just… just come with me, I’ll try to talk some sense—”

“I didn’t go— We… didn’t talk,” he cuts you off, the initial softness disappearing from his voice. He shifts his weight slightly, arms crossed over his chest. “I… think I’ll manage without the lodging for a while.”

You give him a raised eyebrow but quickly muster up a sympathetic smile when he refuses to elaborate.

“Okay. What’s the plan, then?” you probe gently, watching him pull a pouch out of his messenger bag. It clinks softly as it rolls over his fingers.

“I need supplies,” he explains, tossing you the sack with a flick of his wrist. You yelp, straining to catch it mid-air. Once you feel the weight of it, you realize it’s a lot more than you bargained for. Your lip twitches.

“This is a small fortune,” you frown, withdrawing a singular coin from within. You pass it between your fingers, rubbing gently against the New Republic sigil engraved into the sleek metal. “I don’t have enough supplies to trade you for this.”

“I’ll take all you have,” he hums, helmet dropping slightly to glance at your small selection of produce. “And you can keep whatever coin is left.”

“What? No— of course I can’t,” you chuckle nervously, extending your palms with the coin pouch inside. “Why… why won’t you try the other vendors? Market’s open til noon, you’re granted some good cuts of meat and proper bread, at least,”

He looks at you. As always, you can’t tell for certain, but you feel his gaze on yours, boring into your very being as he shifts from one leg to another.

“My presence sparks fear in your people,” he says quietly. “They refuse to do business with me.”

Your heart twists a bit at his words. ‘None of them?’ you want to ask, but the silence between you speaks louder than any words ever could. You nod slowly, understanding dawning on you as your arms withdraw under your cloak, the small pouch with them.

“Alright,” you say softly, taking a deep breath. “Alright… let me pack this up for you,”

He nods in acknowledgment, stepping away as you walk around your stall. You feel his presence by your side as your hands work at the jars, placing them gently within a patterned cloth. Next come the oat cakes, then the vegetables.

He watches you in silence, helmet tilted as you skillfully tie the parcel into a knot. You turn to him slowly, straining a bit at the weight in your hands as you present it to him with an encouraging smile.

“Guess I can go home early today,” you muse, chuckling half-heartedly at your nervous attempt at a joke. The helmet peers at you, but keeps silent. ‘Tough crowd,’ you think.

His gloved fingers move to cup the parcel, your thumbs grazing as you pass it to him. You jerk on instinct and pray to Maker he doesn’t notice.

“Thanks,” he nods, turning to briefly gaze at the humming orb behind him. “Keep the rest—”

No, you can’t. It’d be putting yourself in debt, one you can’t pay off. Besides, you already know he’s struggling with being acommodated, so who knows the next time he’ll be able to get supplies again? Taking the last of his coin would feel like the opposite of helping in this situation.

“Come with me,” you intercept, louder than planned. He turns to you, helmet tilting in question. You swallow thickly, hands at your hips as you think of a way to elaborate. Your eyes drop to his metal orb.

“I really can’t let you give away all this coin. I understand you’re in need, but I’m just… I’m not willing to exploit it, okay?” you continue, and his helmet tilts to the side in… amusement. Right, as if he’d let himself be exploited. It’s a conscious choice he made, not a business malpractice.

“I have nothing more to offer you, but I want us to be even,” you nod. You’re dragging this on for way too long, and you’re starting to fear impatience.

“Go on,” he nods, and you exhale slowly. There’s no good way of putting this.

“I’m inviting you to my home,” you proclaim, waiting a moment later to gauge his reaction.

Nothing. His tall stature holds lax as he keeps his visor on you. Unsurprisingly, you haven’t gotten any better at reading him through the helmet over the short-lived course of your conversation.

His silence leaves you with few options. Either you explain, or back out. But you know the latter is not who you are.

“I have more to offer at home,” you stupidly add, immediately noting the connotation that comes with your suggestion. Maker, you’re probably red— you feel the heat blossoming across your face as your lips fly ajar to explain.

The stranger tilts his head again. If he wasn’t amused then, this should’ve done it.

You breathe in, then exhale slowly. He might be intimidating, but you’ve dealt with worse. Plus, in your own words, a set of shiny armor and a loaded blaster don’t make for imminent danger.

“Let me cook for you,” you finally explain yourself, voice much steadier than before, “So we may call it even.”

Your body ripples with anxiety as the words leave your mouth. Part of you wants to retract your invite on the spot when you watch him take a step towards you, unnervingly silent, and— Maker, why does he have to be so damn silent?!

When he stops, a soft, cool breeze sweeps across the square. It tousles your hair and makes his cape flow serendipitously.

“Okay,” he speaks, voice stern yet laced with something untraceable. You glance up at him with wide eyes, visor pointed at you blankly. “Lead the way, then.”

You think you catch the orb behind him stir for a second, before the stranger’s penetrating, all-encompassing prominence catches your gaze once more.

You step back as the ghost of a smile crawls onto your shock-stricken face. You bow softly, words echoing his. “Okay.”

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doodle-pops · 3 months ago

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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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#namo fluff #namo x reader #namo imagine #namo scenario #namo x you #namo x y/n #namo mandos #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion fic #silmarillion fluff #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth fluff #middle earth fic #x reader insert #x reader fluff #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

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edensrose · 5 months ago

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⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ ( 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 )﹕*poofs in smoke* did y'all miss me?? lemme leave you with a little namo thought because I'm still madly in love with this man ( I've sadly fallen out of love with manwë. . . sobs ) anywaaayy | cw: smut . fem reader . penetrative sex . rough sex . pussy smacking ꒱

namo who's so stoic and blank until he's got you under him. this vala very quickly reminds you just how stressful it is to be not only the overseer of mandos, the doomsman but also a judge. with sharp thrusts smacking against the back of your thighs as though it's your fault there's a recent influx of souls!

he barely gets a break and you can be rest assured than when he does it's gonna be spent having you bent over his desk. clinging to the wood - or his back - while he's pumping you full of his divine cum.

so what if your moans are singing through his halls? let all that roam his realm know you're being split open by your darling vala's cock. that your eyes are rolling back and drool's dropping because he's murmuring the most filthy of things to your ears.

“such a sweet, tight thing, are you not darling?” the deep voice that thunders doom is all but a croon in your ear as a pale hand buries into your hair. a swift yank is all it takes to induce your back into an arch. give him a better angle to fuck into that one spot that has your eyes looping back. oh what beautiful lines you draw down his back with your nails.

“suppose I neglect it far too much - hah - she's far too needy for me. . . listen to her.”

his cock leaves your walls empty but his hand comes in to curb the loneliness. with a spank to your weeping pussy. another rumble of a chuckle echoes through his dreary, dark chambers.

poor you for being such a good stress relief. . . can you blame him for throwing your leg over his shoulder with the smallest of grins and fucking back into you with the stamina of a god?

#˚◞❀˳ 𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 '𝒏 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 ﹕ tolkien ꒱ ₊˚⊹#the silmarillion #silm smut #tolkien smut #the silmarillion x reader #namo mandos #smut #x reader #namo x reader #reader insert #valar #how do i tag fucking hell #tolkien #silmarillion smut

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backtothefanfiction · 1 year ago

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Brown Eyes | A Mandalorian Imagine

Summary- Turns out, there’s so much more at stake than just life or death if you get injured

Length- short

Warnings- mostly fluff, mentions of injury

A/N- this just popped into my head so I of course had to write it out for you guys before I can sleep.

You’ve been lucky. Real lucky. All this time spent travelling with him and the kid and you haven’t gotten injured once. Which is even more lucky when you think about what your travelling companion does for a living. Or at least that’s what you think to yourself as you now sit hold up in the hull of the ship, your hand holding tightly to the blaster wound at your side.

It was your own fault really. He had told you multiple times to not do wander off or let the kid roam around outside the ship when he was on missions like this- but did you listen… No of course not. It’s not like anything had happened the last 15 times you had let him stretch his legs and get some fresh air and Din had been none the wiser.

He had also told you before that people were looking for him and the kid, which was another reason to lie low, but you didn’t think the situation was a shoot on sight kind of deal. You had both just been enjoying the meadow Din had landed in and the nearby tree line when the first shot had burned its way through the side of a tree. Then came another- and another. You felt one of the blasts burn across your side, but you couldn’t stop, couldn’t acknowledge it. You just had to get out of there.

You had tried to shoot back, scooping the kid up in your arms and running for your life back to the razor crest. The moment you were through the doors you had closed the hatch and placed the kid safely in his cradle, closing the top for extra protection as blaster fire began to hit the side of the ship.

You had frantically began to press buttons to get it up in the air and away from them. As you just about cleared the tree line, the crest half protesting from your hasty take off, another beep, the beep of the coms, sent a new wave of adrenaline through your body.

“What’s happening? Why have-“

You don’t let him finish asking his questions. “They found us. They found the kid.” You quickly informed him. Although you were trying to block it out, you knew from the strained way you were talking he’d know you’d been hurt.

“Is he safe? Is the kid safe? Are you both safe?” He quickly asked through the com link.

“Yes.” You said quickly back, if not a bit breathily, as you fought to steady the ship in the air and move it away from the meadow and the wooded area, instead heading towards a mountain ridge, hoping it would provide some cover.

“I’m sending co-ordinates,” he said- and you could hear the beeping of him typing in the location to send to the crest through the com, “meet me there.”

“Okay.” You said, gritting your teeth against the pain in your side.

The adrenaline coursing through your body had been just enough to see you to the rendezvous point, a large cavern on the far side of the mountains. You just had enough focus to land the crest inside, shutting the engines back down, before climbing back down into the hull to check on the baby. When you opened the cradle, you weren’t surprised at all to find him sleeping in it, the stress of the situation exhausting him. Knowing he was safe though filled you with relief.

Finally safe, knowing Din was on his way, allowed you to finally relax. The only problem was, without the adrenaline coursing through you, you were becoming more and more aware of the pain in your side. You lifted your hand to cradle it protectively as you hobbled to a bench along the outer wall and sat yourself down.

You sneered as you took it in, all blood and charred skin. It made you light headed. And that’s where you were now, eyes closed, head tilted back, resting against the wall. Deep breathing your way through the pain trying to think of anything else to pass the time while you waited for Din to return. He’d know how to deal with this.

You must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew you were being jostled awake, a frantic voice calling your name between curses. It felt like a fight to open your eyes. They were so dry and heavy.

“Come on baby, I need you to wake up. Stay with me now.”

You felt him prod at your side and you let out a small groan as your head lulled heavily to one side. You just wanted to go back to sleep. It didn’t hurt when you were asleep.

“Fuck.” He groaned, his voice ragged and desperate.

As you continued to fight to get your eyes open, your body seemingly working completely separately to your brain right now, you heard his heavy feet begin to charge around the small space searching for what- you did not know with your eyes closed.

You felt him return to you, his hand resting on your thigh and you assumed he was resting on his knees before you. Knowing this was something you definitely had to see to believe, you finally fought to open your eyes. But it was difficult, they kept trying to close again, your head rolling from side to side as you fought to stay conscious, fought to look at him on his knees before you.

You knew his fingers were fumbling with something and you sneered as his fingers jabbed at the wound again.

“Uuuhhh owwwww.” You complained.

“Fuck.” He said again. “I can’t fucking see shit.” He complained.

Your eyes grew heavy again and you more sensed him lean away from you than saw him, but the sudden hiss of compressed air coming from his helmet had them seemingly fly open and you watched him lift the helmet from his head.

“Din-“ you groaned, but he didn’t respond. You watched him as he reached again for the med pack, getting out a pair of scissors and cutting away at the fabric of your top around the wound. He then grabbed a bottle of clear liquid, wetting a pad with it, which he then wiped carefully around the wound. Your eyes squeezed tight and you hissed in pain.

“Hold still now baby, hold still, I’m nearly done.” He says. Your only thought though is when did he start calling you baby?

There’s a reprieve as his hands move away again and your breathing starts to come back into your control. There’s a rustling sound of a packet and you open your eyes again to watch through blurry eyes as he removed a bacta patch from its packaging. You close your eyes and rest your head back against the wall again as he carefully lines it up, before sticking it down over the top of the wound.

You must have fallen asleep again, because when you wake next, you’re lying down on a cot with bandages wrapped around your middle. As you shift, the blanket placed over you shifts, exposing your skin to the cold air. You surmise you are back in hyperspace.

You pull yourself from the bed groggily. Your side still feels tender but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was, the bacta patch clearly doing its job. You slowly begin to follow the sounds of the kid’s babbling up to the cockpit where he is sat resting on Din’s knee. He quickly goes quiet when he sees you.

Din turns himself in his chair to check what he already knows. He’s relieved to see how much better you’re looking already. There’s more colour to you skin and the fact you are moving around speaks volumes to your alertness and body’s responsiveness.

But when you lock eyes on him your brain can only think of one thing. “You took it off.” You say, your eyes blinking at the vague memory as you take in his once again helmeted form in front of you.

“Yes.” He says as if it is merely just a matter of fact.

“You have brown eyes.”

“Yes.” He says again bluntly, clearly not wanting to give these facts more attention than they need.

You frown. “You called me baby.”

He’s silent then. There’s a long pause between you both as he turns himself away from you. “You scared me.” He says as firmly as he can. “Don’t do that again.” He says more strongly, but it just makes you smile.

For the first time since you boarded his ship, it’s clear to you he is able to care for someone other than the kid. “I won’t tell any one.” You reassure him.

He’s quiet for a moment- and you worry he’s not going to say anything at all- when he finally says, “Good.”

A few seconds later you’re dropping out of hyperspace and it’s like the whole ordeal never happened in the first place.

#the mandolorian #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #mandalorian imagine #pedro character imagines #pedro characters #Star Wars #reader insert fanfiction

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stardust-and-snickerdoodles · 9 months ago

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you're not in the dark; but far from the light pt. 2

part 1

fandom: The Mandalorian

pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

summary: After a bounty hunt gone wrong, Din must take care of your wounds and watch over your recovery. Things get dicey, buckle up! (Din's POV)

tags/warnings: angst, injury, blood, fevers, hallucinations, hurt/comfort

word count: 1977

Since your initial injury, Din has had an almost sixth sense that tells him when something is wrong. So when he wakes suddenly in the middle of the fourth night, his heart is already racing.

Before he's even up and out of bed, he hears you moving around restlessly. By the time he reaches you, you’re awake and shivering. The Mandalorian rests the back of his hand against your forehead. His stomach drops as he feels the burning heat radiating from you and the thin sheen of sweat on your brow. He lets out a curse as he retrieves the medpack.

Your normally clear and lucid voice is slurred as you call his name, and his heart breaks at the sound. He does his best to keep his own voice level as he explains your condition.

When he looks up at you again, you’ve already drifted back into sleep. Din peels back the blanket from your damp skin before pulling up the shirt to reveal your wound. He removes the dressings and swallows down the bile that threatens to make an appearance at the sight.

The stab wound is red and inflamed, leaking fluid from around his piss-poor suture job. Despite knowing there wasn’t much else he could do, Din kicks himself for not cleaning out the wound better. If he’d used more antiseptic, or if he’d gotten the blade out faster… it doesn’t matter now. What matters is getting the infection and your fever under control.

Din rustles through the medpack, hoping to find anything to help. He’s well stocked on the Crest, thankfully, due mostly to your overprotective nature (and perhaps your obsession with hoarding interesting supplies from every planet you visit). He manages to locate some ice packs that activate by air exposure, and quickly places them under your armpits, between your legs, and at the back of your neck. They won’t last long, but hopefully they can bring your temperature down quickly.

Din also finds some medicine that’s vaguely labeled as “fever.” For a moment he curses your lackluster organizational skills, because he’s not sure if these are supposed to induce fever or keep it down. He doesn’t want to take the chance though, and besides, there’s no way he could get you to swallow anything right now. He stuffs them back in the pack.

Din rustles through the other contents one more time, pulling out more supplies to change your dressing. He sets the medpack on the floor before going about cleaning up the wound as best he can.

You’re still shivering, and Din’s doing his best to be gentle. He carefully wipes away all the fluid and gives the whole thing a big douse with antiseptic before wrapping it back up with clean gauze. It’s a questionable job at best, but it’s the most he can do for now.

The Mandalorian settles cross-legged onto the floor to watch over you. He tries not to let his worries get the best of him. You’ll pull through this; you have to. Din doesn’t know what he’ll do if you don’t.

You bring an air of lightness and peace to the Crest. The idea of that being gone, of Din being on his own again… he doesn’t even want to entertain that.

So he keeps a watchful eye on you, through the night and well into the morning. You wake only for brief moments so Din can get you to drink some water, but even your sleep is restless as the fever and infection ravage your body. Each time you let a soft moan or move about, Din’s heartrate skyrockets. He has to reassure himself that you’re still here, still fighting.

Around midday, as Din is removing the now-warm ice packs, he notices your moans have turned into soft cries. The change is worrying, and it almost sounds like you’re in pain even while you’re asleep.

Din thinks it will settle eventually, but a few minutes later your cries have only grown louder and you’re beginning to roll around on the cot. The Mandalorian worries that you’ll tear your stitches by moving so much.

Din murmurs your name, resting a gentle hand on your cheek. “Wake up.”

Your eyes flutter open, but they’re glazed over and unfocused. Din can tell you’re not all there, but at least you’re semi-conscious.

“I’m awake,” your voice is quiet and hoarse. Without warning, you raise your hand and begin to wave it around your face. “Leave me ‘lone. Wan’ sleep.”

Din’s brow furrows with worry. The fever must be higher than he thought if you’re so disoriented. He’s not sure what you’re doing with your hand, but it almost looks like you’re trying to keep something away from your face. “Cyar’ika,” he murmurs, “you’re dreaming. You’re safe. I’m here.”

You don’t seem to register his voice. Instead, you bring your other hand up to your face as well. After a few moments, you start to scratch at the skin on your face weakly, and your nails leave raised red welts. Din doesn’t want you to hurt yourself further, so he gently pries your hands away and keeps a light grip around your wrists. He whispers soothing words to you as you mumble something about bees.

“I have you,” he reassures. “I have you. Rest now.”

Eventually you stop struggling against his hold and your eyes fall shut again. Once he’s sure that you won’t continue scratching, Din releases your wrists and examines the new marks on your face. They’re all surface level, and for once the Mandalorian is thankful that the fever has made you so weak. A bit of bacta spray and these will heal in no time.

Din takes care of the scratches with ease before placing fresh ice packs on you. He’s slightly worried that the fever doesn’t seem to be diminishing at all, despite the fact that it’s been almost 12 hours. In fact, when he rests a hand against your forehead, it seems you’ve grown even warmer.

He tries not to let worry get the best of him and instead keeps himself busy with changing your dressings again and placing a cool washcloth on your forehead. He settles back onto the floor, ever watchful and on guard.

Sometime before sunset, you begin mumbling in your sleep. For a moment Din thinks you’re awake again, but your eyes are closed and your breathing is still slow and even. Din shushes you gently, placing a hand on your forearm to reassure you of his presence. He isn’t even sure how cognizant you are, but he’d rather provide comfort anyway than let you think you’re alone.

Finally, Din is able to make out what you’re saying. You’re speaking broken Mando’a, just a few words and phrases that he’s been teaching you in your spare time.

“Gedet’ye…” your voice is soft and Din’s heart breaks just a little. “Me’bana…?”

“Shh,” Din replies, “Udesii; ni’m olar, mesh’la.”

His words seem to calm you because you go silent once more.

You remain asleep for the rest of the night, apart from one moment when you try to remove the washcloth. Still, Din stays at your side, checking your temperature with a hand to your forehead every hour. He almost feels confident that the fever will break soon.

Unfortunately it seems that this is wishful thinking because in the morning, before Din has even placed his hand on your head, he can already feel the heat coming off of you in waves. It’s the warmest you’ve been, and your clothes are drenched in sweat. The Mandalorian berates himself for not getting you into something cooler, for not noticing that your fever had skyrocketed sooner.

He quickly retrieves a change of clothes for you, a tank top and a pair of shorts, as well as another cool washcloth. A small part of him feels guilty for undressing you, but this is no time for modesty. Besides, you’ve seen each other in more revealing ways than this before.

Once he’s removed your sweat-soaked clothing, he glides the cool washcloth over your bare skin with great care. His movements are gentle and slow. Once he’s finished, he carefully sits you up to get you into the new clothes before placing even more ice packs on your shivering form. Through it all, your eyes remain closed and Din tries not to feel so scared at your lack of response.

Din feels incredibly useless as the hours pass and your fever shows no sign of reducing. He replaces the ice packs every hour like clockwork and sponges down your skin with a washcloth, but still you remain unconscious and burning. At this point, the Mandalorian worries about you cooking your brain and briefly considers taking you to see a doctor, but he doesn’t want to risk entering hyperspace with you so unstable. Not to mention piloting the ship would mean he would have to leave your side, and he doesn’t think he can handle that now.

After a few hours, he attempts to rouse you to get you to drink some water. He gently lifts you into a sitting position, one arm secure around your waist to keep you upright. Your eyes flutter open but fall closed almost immediately.

“Come on, cyar’ika,” Din insists. “Wake up.”

“Cold,” you mutter, and your voice is almost unrecognizable.

“I know, I know,” Din’s own voice breaks. “But I need you to have some water for me.” He thinks he sees you nod, and brings a cup with a straw up to your lips. “Drink,” he commands gently. You take a few sips before coughing most of it out. The water dribbles down your chin and Din uses the corner of a blanket to gently wipe it off. “Jate,” he praises. “One more time.” You manage to swallow a few sips before your eyes fall shut again.

Din rests you back down on the cot, rearranging the ice packs around you once more before taking up his now-familiar place on the floor. At this point, his own restlessness is getting the best of him. His limbs feel heavy and cumbersome, even without the beskar armor. Still, he is used to sleepless nights. He cannot rest until you’re well again.

The rest of the second day and night passes by slowly, with Din almost obsessively checking on you every hour. He feels a sliver of relief when he notes your breathing deepen and your shivering lessen. A hand to your forehead confirms that your temperature has gone down slightly.

The third morning while changing your dressings, Din notes that the inflammation around the wound has lessened and there’s no longer fluid seeping from the stitches. Just for good measure though, he covers the whole thing in bacta spray before rewrapping it.

You rest what seems to be peacefully for the entire day, waking to drink a small amount of water before falling back asleep. Your temperature continues to decrease and the tension very slowly leaves Din’s body.

It's impossible to describe the relief that washes over the Mandalorian when you finally wake the next day, eyes no longer glassy and skin no longer burning. It’s like there’s been an elephant sitting on his chest the past three days and now he can finally breathe again.

You’re still weak and forgetful, but it's a major improvement. Din doesn’t hesitate to oblige when you ask him to lay with you. Feeling your warm skin against his chest, hearing your breathing even out as you fall asleep again, it's the closest thing to comfort he's had in a long time. His hold on you tightens just a bit as he recalls how worried he was for you. But now that's over, and he can work on getting you back on your feet. As long as you don't throw any more surprises at him.

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 2 years ago

Text

A Fresh Start [24]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: [18+ only] controlled training combat, self defense lessons, smut (we're finally here, folks), oral female receiving

Word Count: 6,444

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

[a/n: so sorry this took nine thousand years. i probably have more announcements here but i'm bone tired so let's get on with it lolol also lowkey i did not edit this one to the degree in which i should have i am so sorry]

#24: RIGHT BETWEEN YOUR THIGHS

"i'm not sure what this is between us, but i am sure that i don't want it to stop, whatever it is." -j.a. redmerski

What does one wear on a date where combat was the plan? It wasn’t a question you thought you’d ever be asking yourself, yet here you were. After staring at your options for another beat, you grabbed something you’d be able to move in. The more athletic clothing you owned weren’t really the cutest, but your goal with them was focused on utility. You could always save the cute outfit for your part of the date tonight. The idea of impressing Din by being competent on his date and then pretty on yours was appealing to you.

Din was dropping Grogu off with Peli until tomorrow morning. With every second he was gone, you found yourself more nervous. Being with Din was always so easy. That was part of the reason why you fell for him so fast. Having him as a cemented part of your day was natural. So, it made no sense that you would be nervous at all, but it seemed the butterflies in your belly didn’t give a damn about logic.

You wandered back out into the main room of the house and let your eyes glance over the decor you had already set up. The second Din had left the house you had tossed up the decorations. In preparation for tonight, you had food prepped in the fridge for dinner and you had hung string lights all over the kitchen and living room. A blanket was laid out on the floor with a few pillows just for comfort. It was a simple set up and initially it had excited you, but in the time it took for you to get dressed for your combat date your anxiety had grown. What if it were too simple? What if you didn’t know Din as well as you thought you did?

Before you could second guess yourself any further, you hurried out of the house. Din had told you to meet him at the tarmac which caught you off guard. You assumed this would be taking place at least on world. It made you curious as to what he had planned exactly. On your way to the tarmac, you returned the greetings to those who waved to you. A few even tried to stop you to ask about something medical and you had to politely point them toward the clinic where they’d find Aayla. Any other day and you’d linger to help, but you had a Mandalorian waiting for you.

You had only stepped a few feet onto the tarmac when a hand was suddenly in yours and dragging you through rows of parked ships. “Din?” You questioned the shiny, beskar covered man. “Hi to you too, honey.”

“I’ve had three different people try and stop me to ask about one problem or another.” Din grunted.

“Aw,” You chuckled, “I had people try to stop me for medical advice! Look at us. Staples of the community.”

“Today, they need to make do without two staples.”

It had been a surprise when Din pulled you onto the little starship, but you were completely caught off guard when said ship broke through the atmosphere of a small, green world. You gazed out through the glass at the greenery that formed the large jungle you now flew over. He said he was taking you to a nearby, abandoned and uninhabited moon.

“Din…” You breathed in shock. Maker, this no named moon was gorgeous.

“You said you missed seeing the color green.” Din replied simply. Your eyes snapped to him in awe. It had been a toss away comment made quite some time ago. Growing up on Naboo, you had raised with forests and bodies of water. Then you bounced from Coruscant to Tatooine to Nevarro where the ground was non-existent or dry.

Din steered the ship toward a clearing in the jungle that sat on the edge of a cliff side where you had a view of the never ending trees. It was just shades of green and blue as far as your eyes could see. As soon as the ship was safely parked, you leapt out of your seat and rushed down the now lowering ramp.

The air was cool and humid. You took in a deep breath and marveled at how the smell of earth and vegetation filled your lungs. Din’s heavy steps came up behind you, and you glanced over your shoulder to give him a broad grin. You were beaming in the reflection of his visor.

“So, this is okay?” He asked with an almost nervous tinge to his voice.

“Okay?” You laughed. “Din, this is…” You shook your head and threw your arms around his neck. Din didn’t hesitate to wrap his own arms around your midsection and hold you close. “Thank you for this.”

“You may want to hold off on thanking me.” Din chuckled in your ear. “We haven’t even gotten to the rest of the date.”

You pulled back with a smirk and held a finger up at him. “I think you mean ‘courting session’.” Din let out a soft laugh before letting his hands fall from your side. You watched curiously as he began to unlatch portions of his armor. Your eyes widened and you glanced around outside the ship as if there would suddenly be a crowd where there hadn’t been one before. “What’re you doing?”

“We’re going to spar.” Din replied simply. “I want to make sure you can defend yourself.”

“And you need to strip down… why?”

Din huffed, “I’m not stripping down. I’m just removing my beskar.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You crossed your arms with a quirk of your eyebrow, “Who says you’re not the one who is gonna get hurt here?” Din laughed while pulling off his chest piece. The laugh was accurate. There was no way in hell you were going to even land a hit on him unless he wanted you to, but you feigned shock and disbelief. “Wow. How smug of you, Mandalorian.”

Din tilted his helmet at you in a ‘really?’ manner while pulling his cloak off. It left him in just his dark brown flight suit and you shouldn’t have found the plain outfit as attractive as you did. You continued to stand there and stare with a smile as he pulled off his gloves and kicked off his boots. Din set his hands on his hips, and you motioned toward his clothes. “Feel free to keep going. I won’t mind.”

“Alright, enough.” Din chuckled and set his hands on your shoulder. He turned you around and lightly pushed you out of the ship. You laughed under your breath and once you stood where he wanted in the field by the ship, he let his hands drag down to your hips. You expected him to spin you to face him, but instead he just took a step closer. You sucked in a sharp breath through your nose at the feel of his chest against your back. In a softer voice, he leaned his head closer to the side of yours. “How much self-defense do you know?”

“Oh, you know, the basics.” You mumbled with a little shrug. If you had to quantify the self defense you knew it would probably add up to less than the basics. Suddenly, before you could even blink, Din’s right arm wrapped around your neck in a choke hold. Your eyes widened and your hands lifted to grip the crook of his elbow to try and pull him away. “Dank farrik!”

Din flexed his arm enough for you to feel it but it wasn’t cutting off your air flow. You felt nervous for a whole other reason. His helmet was pressed against the side of your face in this hold, and he was so close that you could hear the slight static hum of his modulator. “Escape me, ner kar’ta.” You swallowed nervously and tried uselessly to tug Din’s arm away from your throat. He chuckled and you tried to kick his legs but even when you did make contact he didn’t budge. “You can do better than that.”

You thrashed your shoulders with a grunt, but he locked his grip. Din lifted you up so your toes only barely brushed the ground and began to drag you backwards. You yelped in surprise and rapidly tapped against his arm⏤ the universal sign for giving in.

Din set you back down and loosened his arm to hold you by the arms, “You alright?”

“Yeah, I am.” You replied. “I just didn’t see myself getting out of that anytime soon.”

He chuckled and slipped his arm back where it had been. Din nudged you and your hands went back to the crook of his elbow. “Step one foot forward.” You stepped out with your left foot. “And use your other foot to slip to the side and turn around. You wanna⏤”

Without waiting for the rest of his sentence, you tried to slip to his right side, but the second you tried to turn you found his hold around your neck tighter as he pinned you to his side. Din let out a soft laugh, and you beat on his back a bit to try and pull out.

“You slipped out the wrong way.” Din said.

“I noticed, thanks.” You muttered.

Din loosened his hold enough that you could straighten back up. “Try the other way.” You did the same thing, but this time you spun toward the left. Now, you were facing Din’s chest with his arm resting on the back of your neck and shoulders. “Good. Now push me away.” With all your strength, you shoved against Din’s midsection and you stumbled apart. “Very good, ner kar’ta. Again.”

He made you do it a few more times with his arm tighter each pass, and it got easier and more smooth every time you did it. You did it one more time, grinning triumphantly when you pushed him away, but this time Din lunged to grab you. His leg hit the back of yours and you went sprawling back. A cry of surprise left your lips and you braced for the blow of hitting the ground. However, at last minute Din caught you and carefully laid you against the grass the two of you were practicing on.

You opened your mouth to complain, but found your voice missing. Din was straddling you with his knees pressed to the ground on either side of your hip. He held himself up so he was carrying his weight on his knees and not crushing you. The sight of Din towering over you like this made you ache with need. He was right there. You could drag your hands up his thick thighs and to his belt with such ease. If this was affecting him the same way it was you, he didn't show it.

The sound of overhead thunder from distant storm clouds made Din look up as he searched for the source. Seeing your opportunity, you sat up and threw yourself forward to push Din backwards. Caught off guard, he fell back and you threw yourself on top of him. “Ha! I⏤” You didn't register what Din did, his movements were a quick blur of color, and suddenly you were on your back again, “Hey!”

Din grabbed your wrists to pin on the ground by your head. Rather than straddling you, this time he was situated between your legs. Oh, Maker. This was worse in the best kind of way. Din tilted his head, “That was cheating.”

“Whoops?” You gave him a sheepish smile. Din shifted so his weight was pinning your arms down rather than resting on the back of his calves. You swallowed the lump in your throat. “You know, I thought combat meant I was gonna get to punch and kick you more.”

“Should I be worried about how eager you are to punch me?”

You laughed, “Really though.”

“The chances of you being in an actual fist fight is lower than you being placed in a hold.”

“I mean, I’m planning to avoid both of those options.”

“I like that plan, but it’ll help me sleep at night knowing you at least know how to free yourself.” Din replied with a low chuckle. His hands lifted off your wrists to place a light hold on your throat. Your chin tilted up, making room for his large hands, and your reflection in his visor showed you that you were not hiding how badly you wanted him. Din didn’t apply any more pressure than the light hold he already had on you, but he did lower his face closer to yours, “You think you can focus and get out of this hold before we get rained out?”

You squirmed under him, hips shifting against his, and you felt his body stiffen. A slow smile crossed your face as you moved your hips more deliberately this time. Din let out a soft grunt, and you chuckled, “Guess that depends. You think you can teach me how without getting distracted?”

“Wayii, ner kar’ta.” Din murmured. He lifted a hand off your neck to grab your right hand and set it on the wrist of the hand still pretending to choke you. “Hold here and…” Din set your other hand on his left shoulder. “With this hold, you’re gonna pivot out from under me and put me in an arm bar.”

“Um, sure.” You said skeptically.

Din nodded to your left leg, “Put that foot against my hip so you can lift your other. You need it across my shoulder blades.” You tried to do as he said and it forced your hips up from the ground in a position that felt unnatural. “Good, good. Now that foot on my hip? Lift it and throw it over my head so both your legs are resting on my same shoulder.” With a grunt you did just that and it left the arm you had been holding trapped between your arms. Naturally, the hand that was on his shoulder fell to hold his wrist and you pushed your hip back down to the ground and it forced Din onto his back as you straightened your body. “Good, that’s⏤ah!” He tapped the thigh laying on his throat. “Good.”

You let go of him, but the moment you did he was on top of you once more. You cried out, startled, but Din had his hands at your throats. “Again. Faster.”

He squeezed just enough to get you moving. You followed his instructions, trying to remember each step, and you successfully got him into another arm bar. You let go of his arm so you weren’t accidentally hurting him, but you kept your legs where they were. One rested over his neck, right under his helmet, and the other on his lower chest. His arm bent so he could rest his hand on your thigh and he gave it a playful squeeze.

Din began to laugh and the sound was so relaxed, so boyish, that it brought a warm smile to your face. You sat up, leaning back on your hands, and stared down at him. His entire body was relaxed as he lazily dragged his hand back and forth on your thigh.

“This position can’t possibly be comfortable.” You teased.

Din’s helmet turned to look back at you. “Ner kar’ta, I could spend the rest of my life right here.” He squeezed your thigh again and chuckled. “Right between your thighs.” Your face grew warm at his words and Din rubbed your leg. “You’re doing so good. Making me proud.”

You bit down on your bottom lip and watched as a drop of water plinked against Din’s helmet. Then there was a second, then a third, and then you and Din were in a downpour. You pulled your legs off him and the two of you scrambled off the ground and back to the cover of the ship.

“Just… Just give it a minute or two.” Din stood at the edge of the cover so he could peer up at the now dark sky. “It’ll pass.” The clouds had rolled in quick and sudden, but they lingered. A full ten minutes passed and Din stood in his frustrated dad pose at the end of the ramp. You wandered down to stand beside him. He sighed, “I'm so sorry. If I had known it was going to rain I would’ve taken us somewhere else.”

“Din, this place is perfect.”

“It’s storming.”

“Yeah, but,” You set your hand on his arm, “We’re together.” Din turned his head to glance at you. “That’s all that matters.” The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt. You held your hand out to feel the rain against your skin. A thought occurred to you. “When’s the last time you felt the rain on your face?”

Din shrugged, “I fell into the Living Waters.”

“That’s called drowning,” You shook your head, “And it doesn’t count.”

“I took a shower last night.”

“Still not the same.”

He shrugged in response.

You squeezed his arm, “Well, this moon is uninhabited according to you. I can sit in the ship with the ramp up, and give you a second.” He tilted his head in what you assumed was confusion. “Everyone deserves to feel the rain on their face. Just to⏤ to feel alive, and we’re not getting any rain storms in Nevarro anytime soon.”

Din nodded once. You turned to walk back into the ship, but his hand slipped into yours. He squeezed your hand and pulled you out into the rain. You flinched at the first few drops, the cold water startling even knowing it was coming, and on instinct you lifted your head up so the rain splattered across your face. Din’s hand left yours but it was quick to find your skin once more. He cupped your jawline and you tore your gaze from the sky to his visor. His thumb dragged against your cheekbone.

“Close your eyes.” Din whispered.

Without hesitation, you let your eyes fall shut. Din’s hand fell away from your face. You heard the hiss of his helmet followed by the soft thud of heavy beskar landing on soft grass. More than anything in the worlds, you wished you could watch him experience this. Din let out a quiet sigh, close to a soft moan, and your lips twitched up into a smile. A pair of hands cupped your face and your own hands rose to rest on top of his. Din was close⏤ his body radiated heat. The tip of his thumb traced your bottom lip.

“Gar're bid mesh'la.” Din murmured and he was close enough that you felt his warm breath fan across your mouth. “So beautiful, ner kar’ta.” Warm lips slotted against yours and you breathed Din in. As always, Din kissed you with every part of who he was⏤ every single time was its own unique experience. His hands roamed down your body, never leaving contact, until they found your hips. Din’s lips broke from yours but continued to brush against yours as he sucked in a breath, “I… You’re so important to me.” The hands on your hips slipped up and under your shirt. His touch hot against your cold, damp skin. “Everything, ner kar’ta.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull his lips back against yours. The kiss was bruising. A desperate tangle of teeth and tongue in a attempt to get closer⏤ as if he wasn’t already pinning the two of you chest to chest with his strong arms. The kiss began to simmer in desperation, but the passion remained. Even when it seemed slow as you caught your breath, he continued to lightly press his lips against yours in soft, chaste kisses. As if he couldn’t stand being apart.

“Din…” You murmured softly. Thunder rumbled overhead. The power of the sound competed with the pounding of your heart. Din nipped at your lower lip before dragging the tip of his tongue against the spot. You let out a soft sigh, and he pulled your lower lips between his own. His hands had slipped out of your shirt so they could instead cup your face and tilt your face at the ideal angle to allow him to continue his onslaught. He dragged his lips across your cheek until they pressed against the skin right under your ear. An involuntary shiver rocketed down your spine and you trembled enough that Din must have felt it.

“I need to get you out of the rain before you catch a cold.” Din mumbled against your skin.

You sighed and when he tried to pull back you trapped him by wrapping your arms around his torso, “That’s an old wives’ tale. Being in the rain doesn’t make you sick.”

“Fine, doc. I need to get you out of the rain before we get struck by lightning.”

“If you want I can make up some statistics about lightning strikes.”

Din chuckled, his chest rumbling with the sound, and you felt him kneel down. You stayed in place until the cool metal of his helmet pressed against your forehead. At the reassuring touch, you let your eyes flutter open. In his visor’s reflection, you saw what a mess you were. Soaked to the bone with swollen lips. You groaned, “Maker, I look like a drowned porg.”

“A very cute, drowned porg.”

You shoved at his chest with a laugh and Din chuckled and began to drag you back toward the ship. The two of you left puddles in the ship and you helped Din get his armor back on. It couldn’t possibly be comfortable with how wet his flight suit was, but he’d be parking in a populated area of Nevarro and couldn’t go without it.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.” Din said as you sat down in the co-pilot seat.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t you dare apologize for the best first ‘courting session’ ever.”

Din let out a soft laugh and brought the ship up into the air. His hand reached over to rest on your thigh⏤ fingers curling into your skin as his thumb rubbed back and forth. You leaned back in your seat and despite the gorgeous scenery right outside the window, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his form.

There was never a lull in the conversation with Din. Talking to him always came naturally. It made you silly for ever being nervous about your portion of the date in the first place. After getting back to Nevarro, the two of you had gone back home and when Din saw the decor you babbled through an anxious explanation of your plans. He had been delighted at the sound of it. It took no time for the two of you to clean up after the courting session episode. Din traded his armor for a t-shirt and sweatpants, and you had tosses aside the wet work out clothes to put on a simple dress that made you feel cute with buttons down the torso.

Din hovered over you while you made food and helped despite you telling him he didn’t need to. Then, the two of you just enjoyed one another’s company. Back to back, eating dinner, and basking in the glow of the string lights you had hung up.

“This really is so incredible. Thank you.” Din said.

You set aside your bowl with a chuckle, “You don’t have to thank me for that, Din.”

“No, I do. I know this isn’t…” Din paused and there was a tension in his voice you couldn’t quite place. He sighed, “This isn’t typical. I’m sorry I can’t take you to a restaurant in town and sit across from you for a normal meal.”

“Din, you don’t have to apologize for that.”

“But⏤”

“I don’t care about any of that.” You shook your head. “I’d have every single meal, for the rest of my life, hidden away or in private as long as it meant I got to have them with you. That’s all that matters.”

You felt him begin to turn and immediately shut your eyes with a mumble that he was safe. Din’s fingers found the side of your face and you allowed your body to follow his movements as he pulled you to face him. His lips were on yours again with no preamble or hesitation. It only lasted a brief moment, pure and chaste, before he separated to lean his forehead against yours.

“You’re too good to me.” Din’s voice sounded hoarse as his hand traced the side of your face. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve to be cared about⏤ you deserve to be…” The word ‘loved’ sat on the ip of your tongue, and you only barely caught it in your mouth before it tumbled out. You were confident of how you felt, and you were highly suspicious that Din was on the same page as you, but it was still terrifying to consider saying it out loud. “You deserve this and more, honey.”

“Have I told you how much I enjoy hearing you call me honey?” Din leaned back in and began to pepper kisses across your lower face.

“It’s come up a time or two.” You teased in response. He ghosted up your jawline, his breath hot on your skin, until they wrapped around your earlobe⏤ teeth nipping at it lightly. You couldn’t hold back a soft moan. “Maker, Din.” You felt his chuckle as he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck. Din carefully tilted your chin up and to the side so he could finish his line of kiss down your neck. “Keep this up and I’m… I’m not gonna want to get up, and I have dessert in the fridge for us.”

Din shook his head and dragged his nose up against the column of your neck to find your ear once more, “I have dessert right here, ner kar’ta.” His words, in that deep, honeyed voice, sent shivers down your spine. Want pooled in your belly as you melted into his hands. “Do you trust me?”

“Always.” You murmured. Din pulled away from you and you groaned at the loss. “Wait, no,” Din laughed at your whine and the sound was distant, “Come back.”

“Be patient!”

You heard his approach and felt him as he settled in front of you again. Din was wrapping something around your eyes and tied it behind your head. “That feel, alright?” You nodded in response and adjusted the blindfold to sit comfortably on your face. “Just want you to relax and not worry about accidentally opening your eyes or not. This okay?”

“Only if you start touching me again.” You grinned and tilted your chin up a hair.

“Oh, mesh’la,” Din was quick to cup your face once more and he pushed you back to settle on the blanket softly, “I’m more than happy to.” You had never been happier in your choice of clothing than now with Din unbuttoning the front of your dress. One large hand cupped your breast while the other stayed wrapped around the back of your neck. Din let out a breathless whisper of Mando’a before adding in Basic, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shook your head, “I swear to the Maker if you stop I’ll kick your ass.” Din chuckled and shifted so he could rest between your thighs. You accommodated him by letting your legs fall open to rest on either side of his hips. “I know how to do that now since you taught me.”

“Teaching you how to get out of two holds is a little different from kicking ass.” Din replied amused. His hand left your breast and you felt the tips of his fingers brush against the scar along your collarbone. You stiffened slightly⏤ more out of self consciousness rather than discomfort or fear. Din leaned down until his lips pressed against the skin there. “Do you know how beautiful you are, ner kar’ta? Absolutely gorgeous.” You buried your hand in his soft hair, letting out a sigh, and Din kissed your scar twice more before letting his lips taste the skin of your chest. “Breathtaking.”

His mouth found the curve of upper breast. Din was careful as he pulled your bra down and when the cold air met your now bare nipples you gasped. More breathless Mando’a filled the air and only ended when Din’s lips wrapped around your right nipple as his hand held the underside of your other so his thumb could trace lazy circles around that nipple. Din’s tongue circled your sensitive skin and you groaned⏤ hand tightening in his hair.

The Mandalorian was new to using his mouth, but just like with kissing he was quick to pick it up and passionate about exploring with his tongue. All of his movements were focused and completed with the discipline of a bounty hunter. Even in a situation that was new to him, he used his body with confidence by dedicating to the action. Din’s mouth spent ample time tasting the skin of both your breasts, sucking and licking, and your entire being felt like it was on fire. Every inch of you craved his touch, you were drunk on him and were left a squirming mess under his strong hands. Pinned to the ground under his broad body and blind to everything but the sound, feel, and smell of him.

“Maker.” You gasped and tugged on his hair. “You’re killing me, honey. It’s…” He let his teeth lightly graze your overly sensitive nipple and your back arched in an attempt to follow his mouth as he pulled up. “Fuck. It’s so much. Too much.”

Din squeezed the breast his mouth wasn’t on and then crawled up just enough to press a soft kiss to your lips, “Sorry.” He hummed and you could hear the smile he was wearing. “Just can’t help myself.” Suddenly, you felt Din’s hand brush against the outside of your leg. It trailed back and forth from your knee to where the edge of your dress laid. You were already an absolute mess but having his warm touch against your thigh was making the need for him a hundred times worse. “Can I taste you, ner mesh’la kar’ta?”

You sucked in a sharp breath nervously. Your teeth bit down on your lower lip briefly. It had been a little while since you had anyone go down on you, and with the way you felt about Din you wanted things to be perfect. The thought of Din not enjoying himself or just feeling obligated haunted your mind and the anxiety dulled the pleasure. “You know you don’t have to do that, right? It’s not⏤”

“Have to?” Din’s fingers squeezed into the meat of your thigh and your hips involuntarily rolled up marginally to find a source of friction to ease the ache in your core. “There is literally nothing I could want more. I cannot even begin to describe how often I’ve thought of this moment right here.” You gave a small, weak nod. He squeezed your thigh once more. “Wanna hear you say it, ner kar’ta.”

“Yes, Din. Want that⏤ want you now.” Your desire beat out any anxiety you may have felt.

Din crawled down until he could press a kiss to the inside of your knee. His strong arm wrapped around your thigh, settling on his left shoulder, and you found comfort in that hold. You let out a relaxed breath. Din was safe. There was no reason to feel any anxiety in the arms of this man. With that, the anxiety began to ebb away and with every kiss Din laid on the inside of your thigh gradually traveling up the ache worsened.

The edge of your dress was pushed up with his left hand and it splayed across your abdomen. “This is my first time doing this with my mouth, mesh’la. Tell me if I’m hurting you.” Goosebumps formed across your skin at the cool air that now washed over you, but the weight of his hand seemed to burn straight through you. Din’s mouth pressed against your clothed heat. He kissed through your sinfully soaked underwear.

“Din,” You gasped, your hand refinding his hair, “Fuck. Din.”

His right hand slipped under the side of your underwear to tug them down your thigh. Din kept your right leg on his left shoulder, unmoving, and he hummed, “Knee to your chest, mesh’la.” You did as he asked and he used the movement to slip your left leg out of your underwear. The second you were uncovered, Din groaned, “Good girl.”

He buried his face into your wet folds in desperation. What Din lacked in precision he made up for with eagerness. He mumbled words of Mando’a straight into your pussy between licking long stripes through your lips. Din worked in broad strokes of his tongue, and every few seconds his nose would find your clit. It’d either brush too lightly for you to fully enjoy or press firmly against it and send jolting strikes of pleasure straight up your spine.

“Din, Din.” You moaned and he pressed in deeper, his tongue circling your hole. He hadn’t come up for air in a bit and you wondered how he managed to keep this up. Regardless, it was driving you wild. “Baby, please.” Din lifted his head and the sound of him panting was unbelievably attractive to you. “Shit, Din.”

“You alright?”

“Yes. Maker, yes, but…” You groaned. “I know you’re probably not meaning to do this, but you’re teasing me and it’s got me right on the edge.” Din shifted, you heard him chuckle, and before you could try to explain to him what you meant specifically when it came to his mouth, his thumb dragged through your folds up and straight to your clit. He circled it with insane precision and your mouth fell open in a silent cry as the arousal pooling in your lower belly grew and the ache almost sent you over the edge. “Maker! Din!”

Din pulled his thumb away and you were breathless. He placed a chaste kiss to your thigh where he could reach, “I’m not that unfamiliar with it, ner kar’ta. I told you I've used my hands.”

“Gotcha. So you were teasing me on purpose?” You scoffed and Din chuckled. You tugged on his hair and his breathy laugh grew louder. You grinned and shook your head. “You ass.”

“How about I make it up to you?” Din’s lips were back on you and this time he wasn’t just broadly tasting you. His precision had turned deadly and it was devastating how fast he drove you right back to that edge. “Taste so fucking sweet, mesh’la.” His tongue circled your clit before he began to apply enough suction that stars filled your vision. Your body began to tense as you spiraled into your quickly approaching orgasm. Din hummed and spoke against your clit, teeth and tongue brushing against it as the vibrations of his words buzzed against you, “Gonna come, ner kar’ta? Fall apart for me. Let me devour you.”

His lips wrapped around your clit again and the onslaught of his mouth had your orgasm washing over you. You let out a loud cry, his name garbled on your tongue, and as you came down from your high it felt like you were falling into a soft cloud. It was only then that you realized Din hadn’t stopped for a second. The slurping sound of him devouring you was downright filthy and you moaned again.

“Just like I said before, ner kar’ta.” Din dragged his wet lips up to kiss your abdomen in any random spot he could reach. “Could spend eternity between these gorgeous legs.”

You sat up on one elbow and blindly reached out to grab the collar of his shirt. “My turn, honey.” You gave his shirt a few tugs. “Want to taste you too.”

“Who said I was done here?” Din teased. He crawled up your body, still between your legs, and his hips pressed against yours firmly. You felt his hard cock straining against his sweatpants and he let it grind against your messy pussy. You reached down for the waistband of his sweatpants and Din’s hand rested by your neck to hold himself up while his other caressed the column of your neck and along your jaw. “I’m not done eating dessert.”

Your lips curled into a broad smile as you recognized the similar position you were in to what had been going on earlier today. Quickly, your right hand grabbed his left, the one holding him up, and before you could second guess yourself you let your legs kick up just like in the courting session until you were able to push him off you into an arm bar. This was the exact position he had been in last time, but this time you were unable to see him. Still, you felt your legs across his chest as you held his arm between your thighs.

For a beat it was silent, and you were worried you had upset him in some way, but then he began to laugh. Without the modulator of his helmet, the sound was clear and downright musical. You’d trade your soul if it meant getting to see the way his face looked right now. You wanted to see his smile, wanted to see the lines that formed on his face when he laughed like this.

“Maker, you’re so perfect, ner kar’ta.” Din breathed as his free hand came up to caress your legs. “I can’t begin to… You’re… I…” He let out one more laugh. “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.”

“What does that mean?” You didn’t recognize those words.

“I’ll tell you one day. I promise.”

You chuckled, “Bold of you to deny someone who has you in an arm bar right now, honey.”

The hand you were holding between your legs suddenly tightened around your wrist and he pulled you toward him while pushing your legs off of him. With a yelp of surprise, he had you flipped so your arms and head were laying on his chest while your legs were sprawled out behind you. Din grasped the side of your face to pull you to his lips. His hand raked through your hair lovingly, and you sighed against his kiss. Din swallowed the sound of your content.

You felt so warm and comfortable against Din, and as if you hadn’t been aware of it before, it was startling how much you loved Din Djarin.

mando'a translations:

ner kar'ta: my heart Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum: I will know you forever Wayii: Good grief Gar're bid mesh'la: You're so beautiful mesh'la: beautiful

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#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #a fresh start #din djarin #reader insert #mando x reader #mando x you #star wars #din djarin smut

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wanderinginksplot-writes · 3 months ago

Text

Gar Cyare Chapter Twenty-One

The trial of Akridia Brid is mercifully short... for you and Alpha, at least.

Alpha-17 x fem!reader (no reader description, no use of 'Y/N')

Word Count: 4,800

Warnings: Fake courtroom drama stuff, accusations, victim blaming (kinda), vague threats, misunderstandings, suggestive conversations

Previous | Next | Masterlist

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Burk’yc Urcir (A Dangerous Meeting)

Your shirt itched terribly.

The seat at the front of the court was uncomfortable - even more so because you were currently in the middle of being cross-examined - but all that kept running through your mind was how itchy the shirt was. Not for the first time, you envied Alpha his armor. It probably wasn't comfortable, but at least it was protective. You could use a little protection just then.

“Administrator,” Brid’s lawyer reprimanded sharply. “I asked you a question.”

She had, actually. In fairness to you, though, you had already answered the same question multiple times.

“No, I didn't think it was overly strange that Brid didn't contact me about the additional help that was coming to Kamino,” you repeated, striving for patience. “Our previous communication had been strained, and I believed that she was trying to avoid contacting me directly.”

The lawyer, Myndel Sall, didn’t seem to appreciate your attempts to be gracious about the repeated questions. “So rather than do the slightest bit of investigation on your own behalf, you chose to believe that Ms. Brid had neglected her job duties in favor of relegating tasks to her own supervisor?”

You were so tired of this line of questioning, but a glance around the courtroom treated you to the sight of a silently fuming Alpha. Abruptly, you were struggling to keep from grinning. You turned back toward Sall, who was still watching you expectantly.

With a shrug, you admitted, “Yes.”

A stifled laugh went around the courtroom. Brid was not well-liked, and much of the trial had taken place before you were brought in.

Sall’s lips parted in a sneer and you braced for whatever rude question she would pose next, but she was interrupted by Dedric Trosteld, the lawer speaking on behalf of the Senate. “Objection, your honor and all members of the court. The administrator is not on trial here. I move to strike this line of questioning from the record as irrelevant.”

Sall interrupted before the judge could speak. “I would posit that the administrator’s choices are relevant, as we are here to assign blame for the attack on Kamino.”

“Counselor, we are here to discover whether or not your client knowingly and maliciously allowed outside forces onto Kamino,” the judge stiffly reminded Sall. “The administrator is not on trial.”

“On the contrary,” Sall insisted, “the fact that the administrator didn’t question the absence of her direct supervisor is a large part of the reason that Kamino was unprepared for an attack-”

“Counselor Sall,” the judge said, voice severe. “I will not correct your conduct again. Counselor Trosteld, your objections are sustained. This line of questioning will cease immediately. Counselor Sall, do you have any further relevant questions for the administrator?”

“No, Your Honor,” Sall admitted begrudgingly.

“Very well.” The judge looked to Trosteld. “Your witness, counselor.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Trosteld tucked his hands behind his back and paced steadily in front of you. “Administrator, how well do you know your supervisor, Akridia Brid?”

You considered that for a moment. “Not well. We never worked together prior to my assignment on Kamino. The contact we had was short due to the unreliability of long-distance transmissions and limited strictly to work-related matters.”

“I see,” Trosteld said with a nod. “And did you notice anything in Ms. Brid’s behavior or work that would suggest that she was disloyal to the Republic?”

“No,” you answered honestly. “As I said, I didn’t work with her closely enough to pick up on anything about the quality of her work.”

“And how about her behavior?”

Hm. That was more difficult. “Nothing stands out too strongly, but she did start to get more impatient as I continued writing the report. She accused me of wasting time on Kamino instead of working.”

Trosteld nodded. “In your written testimonies, both you and Captain Alpha-17 claimed that Ms. Brid tried to eject you from Kamino. Can you describe that incident to me?”

“Of course,” you agreed, taking a deep breath to remind yourself that impartiality was the most important thing. “Supervisor Brid was unhappy that I missed a deadline for my report on the Kaminoan cloning process. She asked me to resign. I believed she meant to remove me from the project and I initially accepted, but she attempted to have me resign from the Senate workforce altogether. I refused.”

“On what grounds?” Trosteld asked.

“My hours were far beyond what the Republic considers acceptable overtime,” you explained. “I offered to send my logged time to a Republic investigator as proof that the original deadlines were impossible, but Supervisor Brid didn’t seem to think that was necessary. She also opted not to request that I be removed from Kamino by the Senatorial Administration Office.”

“Why?”

You blinked. “I… I can’t begin to guess why Brid didn’t follow up on replacing me.”

“Forgive me,” Trosteld requested with a small smile. “I meant: why did you fight to stay on Kamino?”

“I believed that I could make a difference through my work on Kamino,” you told him, nonplussed. “How could I leave?”

Another glance around the courtroom showed smiles and approving nods from onlookers and the jury. Alpha gave you a warm look, smiling with his eyes alone, but you were distracted by a man at the back of the courtroom. He was standing beside the large doors, as if he had only stepped inside for a moment. He seemed to be wearing… armor under his long cloak. The single line of armor that was visible through the parted front of the cloak glinted golden in the light of the courtroom.

When the man saw that he had caught your eye, he offered a shallow tip of his head. The motion looked somehow familiar, but you couldn’t begin to place it.

“Esteemed members of the court, I have no further questions for this witness,” Trosteld announced, sweeping away from the raised booth where you sat. The judge dismissed you and that was that.

Since you and Alpha had both finished testifying, you were ordered to leave the court. You did so gladly, hurriedly changing into comfortable clothes at the hotel. Alpha lounged on the bed. He hadn’t seemed overly concerned about the trial, but now that it was over, you could see the way the near-invisible tension had melted from him.

“Do you think they’ll get her?” you asked, collapsing onto the bed beside Alpha. Even with the full force of your body hitting the mattress, he was barely jostled.

“Dunno,” he said, shrugging up at the ceiling. “Didn’t seem to have much of a case, did they?”

“Nora warned us about that, remember?” you reminded him. “She said that we would only see part of the case. Brid’s law team brought us there to prove that there were other people who wanted to destroy Kamino, but I’m sure the legal teams have other arguments.”

“I hope so.” Alpha turned slightly onto his side so he could watch you. “I want her in prison, but it should at least be a fair fight.”

You stared silently at the ceiling, considering that for a moment.

Brid was, in Alpha’s words, a di’kut. She had always been a di’kut, and trying to push blame for the attack on Kamino onto you? Well, if you had believed that you couldn’t think less of her, you had been mistaken.

But something about the situation didn’t feel right. You had gained a fine sense of when someone was taking advantage of a victim for their own ends, and that sense was tingling. Brid would be a terribly convenient scapegoat, and she hadn’t made many friends during her time at the Senate. With no one to side with her, Brid was vulnerable. And if she hadn’t orchestrated the attack on Kamino, the Republic wasn’t searching for the real perpetrator.

Before you could even start to articulate that, Alpha’s stomach gave a loud grumble. You grinned over at him. “Hungry?”

“Always,” Alpha agreed, rolling off the side of the bed and standing in the same motion. You would have been more impressed, but he had explained that it was basically the only way to stand up while wearing full armor.

“Come on,” you invited, standing in a less flashy way. “A lot has changed since the last time I was on Coruscant, but I’m sure I can track down something tasty, cheap, and filling for dinner.”

Alpha barked out a laugh. “How could I say no to an invitation like that?”

Skeptical as he was, you had managed to do exactly what you had promised. The street cart was nearly abandoned and it admittedly looked less than sanitary, but you had spent your time on Coruscant learning which carts were trustworthy and which were better to avoid. Somehow, this one met all your standards and you convinced Alpha to try it.

The cart boasted an assortment of skewers, each one with a variety of vegetables grilled to perfection. The vendor, a human female from Castilon, had briefly lamented to you that Coruscant’s seafood selection was so poor.

“There’s nothing like rokkna meat roasting over a wood fire,” she claimed, eyes bright with fervor. “But Coruscant is so far from a good ocean…”

You nodded sympathetically. With so many people in such a confined space, meat of any kind was uncommon on Coruscant, but seafood was especially rare. The nearest ocean planet was still too far for easy access, and most of the fishers on those planets charged a premium to the wealthy of Coruscant. Accordingly, seafood was a rare indulgence for the rich. The Coruscanti poor had no chance of affording it.

“Have you tried-?” you started, but Alpha’s fingers brushed your elbow before you could finish the thought.

“Neverd’ika,” he said lowly. “We need to go.”

You glanced around, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Still, you trusted Alpha, so you nodded, offering your thanks to the vendor as you started back in the vague direction of the hotel.

“What’s going on?” You had waited until you and Alpha cleared the square where you’d started, but you couldn’t stand the uncertainty any longer.

Alpha took a moment to answer, scanning your surroundings with a grim set to his mouth. “Thought I saw someone I know.”

“One of Obrim’s men?” you asked. When Alpha gave you a strange look, you shrugged. “That’s who was following Maze and I yesterday. Apparently, I’m a flight risk.”

Despite the tension in his posture, Alpha smirked. “That so, little one? I’m glad you warned me now. I’d hate to wake up one day and find that you’d stolen a transport and disappeared.”

You smiled back. “Could happen, but I hope that you wouldn’t make me disappear alone.”

“Never.” Alpha’s expression sobered as he looked around again. “Let’s continue this conversation when we get back to the hotel.”

For a large man, Alpha could move when he wanted to. He did the hard part of clearing a way through the crowd, even with his head ducked to help him blend in. All you had to do was stick close to his heels and get through the crowd before the halves re-merged behind him.

There was a noticeable decrease in the number of people as you approached the hotel. The area was mostly commercial zoning, so there were few housing complexes in the area. And apparently, not many tourists wanted to stay in the legal district.

When you and Alpha were two streets away from the hotel, a figure pushed steadily away from a wall. You could see it in silhouette - tall and lanky, but bulky in a way that seemed both familiar and utterly alien.

“Alpha,” you breathed, trying to keep the warning as low as possible.

“I know, neverd’ika,” he soothed, fingertips brushing over your forearm. “Keep an eye on ‘em - I have one back here, too.”

You eyed the figure nervously. “Do we stop?”

“Do anything but stop,” Alpha told you sternly. “Get to the hotel room and lock the door, even if I’m not with you. Don’t stop or wait for me. I’ll meet you there.”

“Alpha…”

“No time,” he hissed.

He was right. By that point, you were close enough to the figure ahead of you to see that it was wearing dark armor and a visor.

You did your best to skirt around the figure, clutching Alpha’s arm hard enough that your nails bit into the skin beneath his body glove. He slowed behind you just as the person reached out to grab your wrist in an iron grip.

“We need a word.” The modulated voice came from the helmeted face, sounding vaguely humanoid, but you didn’t recognize the tone. The accent was precise, almost polished, but dripping with menace and threats left unspoken.

It was hard to pinpoint when the change happened, but your mind was abruptly taken over by all of the training you had done with Trem. You let the figure keep a grip on your wrist, barrelling into their chest hard enough to knock them off-balance. One of your legs was planted slightly behind one of theirs, and when they stumbled backward, they tripped on your calf and fell heavily to the ground.

Initially, the figure didn’t let go of you, but working around clone troopers had left you with a keen understanding of armor and its weak points. With their arm extended upward to keep their hold on your wrist, their unarmored armpit was exposed. You planted the toe of your shoe against that unprotected joint and their grip faltered long enough for you to pull free.

“Su cuy’gar, Alpha,” someone greeted from behind you.

You were beyond the point of caring who these people were, tugging at Alpha’s arm so insistently that his shoulder joint probably hurt just as badly as that of the figure on the ground. Alpha, however, stopped short at the friendly voice.

Alpha’s solid body stopping halted you as well, if only because you had such a strong grip on his elbow. You collided heavily against Alpha’s chest and he caught you almost absent-mindedly, already turning to face the other person.

This one was much shorter. They were also wearing full armor and a helmet, though the gold plates of that armor were partially hidden behind a long cloak. Something tickled at the back of your mind, but the rumbling of Alpha’s voice through his chest distracted you before you could seize it.

“Skirata,” he greeted flatly in return.

You stared from the figure to Alpha and back again. “Skirata?”

“Alpha. Administrator.” The helmet inclined slightly, as if Skirata was eyeing the figure on the ground. “Alpha, my boy, you aren’t going to let an old man lie helplessly on the sidewalk, are you?”

A pang of guilt burned through the pit of your stomach. An old man? You had knocked down an old man? Armor or no, you were suddenly terrified that he had been hurt. Reflexively, you started forward, but Alpha’s hand on your shoulder stopped you from getting too close.

Instead, he glanced down at the man lying on the ground in his black armor and gave a loud snort. “Weren’t expecting that, were you, Vau? Suspect some of your boys would pay good credits to see you get taken down by a civvie.”

“I never did like you, Seventeen,” the dark-armored figure spat out, pushing himself up to his feet.

Alpha watched him, unimpressed. “The feeling is mutual.”

Skirata cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “Sorry to interrupt your evening, son, but I heard the two of you were going to be on Triple Zero and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet your charming friend.”

“I’m not your son, Skirata,” Alpha dismissed. “And my friend is no business of yours. Let us pass.”

“Oh, but she is,” Skirata insisted, reaching up to remove his helmet. His freshly revealed face wasn’t as old as you had expected from his statement about Vau, but you weren’t truly surprised. Skirata carried himself with an aura of capable menace that warned he was still well able to fight. The features were schooled into an expression of kindly consideration, but you weren’t entirely fooled. There was a glint in his eyes, one of both keen interest and deadly focus.

“Kal Skirata,” he said, by way of an introduction. You had already braced yourself for his opening salvo when he added, “My boys tell me that you read all of of Ko Sai’s notes on genetic manipulation.”

The mood turned to something dark and frozen. You could feel the way Alpha was getting ready to tear into the older Mandalorian man, but you couldn’t let him. This was nothing more than a bluff. An incredibly high-stakes bluff, but nothing more than that.

With your most professional smile, you shook your head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Skirata, but I think you were misinformed. I never read the notes, just saw that they existed. I was able to see the note headings briefly using my Kaminoan administrative password, but I never accessed any of the actual files.”

“That so?” he asked, sounding unsurprised by your denial.

“Sadly,” you agreed. “I tried to warn your boys not to try slicing into the files, but I couldn’t convince them to listen before they set off the self-destruct feature.”

“They’ve always been hasty,” Skirata agreed with despairing smile. “Comes with the accelerated aging, is my guess. They know how little time they have, so they’re more likely to jump into things with both feet. Can’t really blame them, can we?”

The casual tone of Skirata’s voice was belied by the staggering intensity in his gaze. He was testing you, probing to see whether you knew more than you were letting on. Unfortunately for everyone, you didn’t. You had technically seen Ko Sai’s notes, but for all that you had understood, you may as well have been reading Huttese.

So you deflected, not with another lie, but with a truth so deep and close to your heart that there was nothing more honest you could hope to give this stranger.

“I can’t blame them at all,” you agreed, emotion tightening your throat until your voice sounded almost painful. “The only ones I do blame are the Kaminoans. It’s a cruel and heartless thing, to give life but make sure it’s short as well as being painful and frightening. If I ever found a way to reverse the accelerated aging, I would risk everything I have to get it out of Kamino and to the right people. That’s the reason I agreed to help your sons.”

Alpha’s hand skimmed over your forearm, settling just below your elbow with a light squeeze. You took a shaking breath, relaxing your muscles and expression with effort. There was a fine line between fervor that would convince someone like Skirata, and giving him ammunition to have you locked away by the Republic if you made a move he disliked. You had likely crossed back and forth over that line several times so far, but you couldn’t pretend it wasn’t the truth.

“I feel the same way,” Skirata said when you had collected yourself. “I wish more people did, but more people see the clones as expendable than as living beings.”

“They’ll learn someday,” you insisted. “They’ll have to. This war won’t last forever.”

Skirata’s expression grew sad. “We’ll see.”

Alpha cleared his throat. “We won’t see anything if someone reports us talking and the Republic decides to pay closer attention to what we’re doing on Kamino. We should go.”

“Pragmatic as ever,” Vau admitted, scanning the area around you all. “And a good point. Let’s wrap this up, Skirata.”

“Alpha has always been able to cut through to the point,” Skirata told you, leaning in as if Alpha wouldn’t be able to hear him from a yard away. “I’m as proud of him as I am any of my boys.”

Alpha rolled his eyes and sighed loudly.

“It was nice to meet you,” Skirata said, offering his hand in a firm shake. “Always like to get the measure of the people my boys work with, especially when they say someone is trustworthy.”

You tilted your head at that, but returned his handshake. If the Nulls found you trustworthy, you would think it was a shock, but you decided against saying it. Instead, you stared into Skirata’s face, attempting to get a sense of him in the same way he was trying with you.

He wasn’t as kindly and paternal as he pretended to be. You had realized that almost immediately. And now that you had spoken with him, Skirata’s air of harmlessness was laughable. He made you wary. He was a good man who loved his sons as fiercely as any parent you had ever met, and he was willing to do anything to keep them safe. If you were ever in the way of him doing so, you were as good as dead.

“Nice to meet you, too,” you agreed. “Always nice to see the ways children take after a parent.”

The corners of Skirata’s lips curled up in an appreciative smile. He seemed like a man who liked to speak plainly when possible, but he also seemed the type to enjoy a good verbal spar. “One last piece of advice? It’s a little harder to make changes from outside the system, but not impossible. And it takes care of any privacy agreements you may have signed. Working in the private sector means that you can rally the public to your side when you need to.”

“How-?”

You had stopped yourself before fully admitting that you had gotten a job offer from Nora, but Skirata still gave you a knowing smile. “It pays to have friends in strange places.”

“I’m sure she appreciates career advice from a mercenary,” Alpha interrupted, clearly having reached the end of his patience. “If you have any other wisdom to pass along, comm us.”

No one got in the way as you and Alpha left, but you didn’t exactly give them the chance. Your quick steps didn’t stop until you reached the safety of your hotel room, and you locked the door the moment you and Alpha were inside.

“How much of that was a threat?” you asked in the artificial silence of the room.

“Plenty,” Alpha said shortly, checking the locks on everything from the windows to the hatches covering the climate control vents. You watched in silence, antsy from the heavy tension of the room.

Sure enough, Alpha turned expectantly to you when he had finished. “Something you need to tell me?”

You took a breath to steel yourself. “After you left the restaurant last night, Nora told me about a group that might be interested in hiring me.”

“Are you going to finish the report first, or leave immediately?” he asked and you flinched at the blank expression he wore. Even his tone was flat, distant. “Are you coming back to Kamino at all, or do you want me to pack up your things and ship them back here for you?”

“No, Alpha,” you pleaded softly. “I’m not leaving. That’s the point. I wanted to talk to you about this myself after I knew a little more-”

“Is that why you didn’t tell me?”

You stared at him, aghast. “I just found out about this last night! And we were a little busy today. But I would have said something tomorrow or the next day. Don’t forget, we have another three days on a transport to get back to Kamino.”

Alpha didn’t join in with your nervous laughter. “I don’t like that Skirata knew before I did. And Czajak - did she purposefully wait until I had left?”

“No…” you said uncomfortably, but you couldn’t let the lie stand. “Well, yes, but not because you weren’t supposed to be part of my decision. She just wanted me to have the chance to turn it down without anyone else weighing in. And I have no idea how Skirata knew about it.”

Alpha’s spine was painfully straight as he turned to check the locks on the window again. It took a long moment before he spoke again. “I would never force you to stay on Kamino. You know that, don’t you?”

The raw vulnerability in the question made your heart ache.

“Of course I know that, Alpha,” you reassured, starting toward him. You stopped when you saw the way he tensed even more at your approach. “Nora was trying to look out for me, but she doesn’t know how our relationship works. I’ve been terrified about finishing the report for months. Now I have a chance to stay on Kamino - to stay with you - if I play my cards right. I want that so badly, but I don’t want to get your hopes up in case they don’t want to keep me.”

“They would be di’kuts if they didn’t keep you,” Alpha said with a scowl.

You smiled despite yourself. “You don’t even know who they are.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he grumbled. He sighed a moment later. “I’ve been worried about you finishing the report, too.”

You did an inelegant double-take. “You were-? You never said anything.”

Alpha shrugged. “It wouldn’t have helped. You were already worried. You didn’t need me making it worse. Who wants to hire you?”

“Some group called Sentient Rights,” you explained haltingly. “I haven’t heard of them, but Nora said she works with them quite a bit. They’ve read my report and they like that I treat the troopers as… people. They want to use some pull to keep me on Kamino as a way of preventing any violations of your rights.”

“We’re clones,” Alpha reminded harshly. “We don’t have rights.”

“Right now, the Senate hasn’t made any ruling on you except that you can be used as soldiers in the Grand Army of the Republic,” you countered. “Until they make an official decision, you don’t have rights, but you don’t not have rights.”

“That makes no sense,” he grumbled after a long moment of trying to find a gap in your logic.

“The Republic rarely does,” you agreed. Alpha’s lips twisted in a suppressed smile.

“What’s your plan?” he asked instead of remarking on your opinion of the Republic. “Work with them and hope they can keep you on Kamino?”

“I’m hoping to get confirmation that I’ll stay on Kamino before I submit the report,” you admitted. “I want to comm them before we leave Coruscant in case they want to meet in-person. I know the Kaminoans will kick me off-planet as soon as the report is done, and I don’t want to give them a chance to bar me before I get a permanent post.”

“Smart,” Alpha said with a nod. “Just as smart as hiding from Skirata that you read Nala Se’s notes.”

You grimaced, sitting heavily on the bed. Your knees felt a little weak at the reminder. “Hopefully, the misdirection was enough to throw him off. He definitely seemed suspicious.”

“He won’t waste time chasing down a lead like that if he doesn’t believe it’ll pay off,” Alpha reassured, sitting down beside you. “I don’t think you have to worry about him. At least, not in that way.”

“Good,” you said fervently.

There were ways to recapture information that a human or humanoid had seen, even if they couldn’t consciously remember it. But those ways were never pleasant and they were frequently dangerous. No sane being would willingly submit to the process. Unfortunately, it often happened to beings who were less than willing. If nothing else, Skirata seemed like the type who wouldn’t necessarily care about little things like ‘coercion’ or ‘war crimes’.

“Don’t worry, little one,” Alpha said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and squeezing as if he could hear your internal worries. “I said I would always keep you safe and I meant it.”

“I know, Alpha,” you agreed, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck and smirking when he shuddered a bit.

“Keep that up and you’re going to be in for a night,” he warned lowly, voice rumbling delightfully next to your ear.

“I know, Alpha,” you repeated, smiling as you pressed another kiss to his neck.

It was impossible to know how full the hotel was, but your neighbors - if you had them - probably weren’t thrilled at your pleased squeal as he flipped you onto the bed.

---

Author's Note - Hey, friends! I'm going to start with a few disclaimers in case anyone is upset.

No, Brid's trial is not going to be a major plot point moving forward. It and the outcome will be mentioned in passing, but only in relation to other changes. This story is already running longer than I meant it to and we have other places to be.

Walon Vau is a certified badass, not a feeble old man who could be knocked down by a civvie. We're chalking it up to him expecting Alpha to cause problems and momentarily shifting his focus away from the administrator, who he expected to be rather helpless.

Kal Skirata is not someone to be fooled by an impassioned speech from a stranger, but he and the administrator were speaking their own little language in that scene. It was less about what they said than about getting the measure of each other, and giving the right impression in return.

The next chapter will be a spicy one, and I intend for it to be out next week if I can get my life together long enough to write it. It's been a busy few weeks (also my excuse for why this wasn't posted on Wednesday like I had originally intended).

Thanks for reading! I'll see you all soon!

#gar cyare #gar cyare fic #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars legends #star wars fanfiction #alpha 17 #alpha 17 fic #sw tcw #reader insert #captain alpha 17 #alpha x reader #alpha x you #alpha 17 x reader #alpha 17 x you #mando jumpscare #kal skirata #walon vau

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kyberblade · 2 years ago

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I Can Help With That (Din x Reader) - A Back To You Drabble

A/N: This is part of my Phantom 1k Celebration. It’s a combination of three requests, which can be found here, here, and here. It takes place after Part 19 of Back To You, sometime after they get Grogu back in TBoBF, and is the closest thing to smut I’ve really written. (Thanks a lot, you know who you are.) It’s really actually just spice and domestic intimacy more than anything with an implied fade to black, but…. So I’m just gonna drop this here and run. 😬 Have a nice day! (There will be a few more, less spicy, here.)

I do not own Star Wars or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.

Summary: After a messy bounty leaves your clan of three staying overnight in a dingy room on Daiyu, feelings come bubbling up that have been otherwise too scared to see the light of day.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, Grogu being the cutest thing you ever did see, and Din is once again a warning in and of himself in this one. Swearing. Space swearing. Arguing? Spoilers? (But if you’re here, you know how this works.) Lots of angst. Tears. Brief mention of injury. Reader is having a Tough Time™️ mentally, but it’s discussed and processed. As mentioned above, some spice and alluded to Fun Times. (They are in the shower together, per the request, so nudity? But it’s not discussed? Not really?) Helmetless Din. What? Who said that?

Word count: 4,913

Thank you to @fordo-kixed-rex for reading this over a bazillion times and not strangling me when I stressed over five words not being exactly what I wanted.

(Tagging @grippingbeskar and @darkroastjoel, these are yours.)

Xxx

It hadn’t taken long for you to find out that Din enjoyed lingering touches.

He always found an excuse for his hand to be on your lower back, guiding you through crowded markets, wooded planets; curling around your waist and holding you tight to his side to keep you warm when the temperature dropped lower.

His fingers found their practiced patterns quickly, tracing laps around your upper arm, your hip. Racing up and down your forearm until goosebumps rose along every surface he’d dared to trace.

He wasn’t satisfied until you’d shudder from the lightest touches, groan into his cowl as his fingers kneaded into a sore muscle in your neck, or your breath would hitch as his hand closed around your own.

Though the Crest was small, he made it smaller still, crowding into your space whenever he deemed you had too much of it.

Whenever you worked on a panel, digging through wires, you’d feel him hovering just behind you, a breath away from sealing his chest along your spine.

If you laid on the floor to work in the cramped space under the console, a mess of wires hanging in your face, you’d sense his presence looming near your feet, the toes of his boots resting against the heels of your own.

Sometimes when you’d tucked the kid in at night, watching his eyes droop more and more slowly as you gently rocked his hammock back and forth, humming a soft tune, you’d feel the temperature of the hull rise as his shadow crossed over you soundlessly, cutting out the little light the Crest had to offer. A smirk would twist its way up your face as you felt him hovering nearer.

Tonight was one of those nights.

So it was no surprise when he let out a hum of amusement as you turned into his chest after closing the door to the cot and a sleeping Grogu.

You both played the game, still, like this wasn’t the easiest thing either of you had ever fallen into. Still tiptoeing around the other as if nothing had been said, no secrets had been shared, no Creeds broken. That last thought sobered you up every time it crossed your mind, making your breath catch in your chest.

Pushing away thoughts of Creeds and Mandalore, you grinned up at him, resting your chin against his chest plate to keep your gaze steady.

“What’s this?” He mumbled as your arms circled around his back, disengaging his jet pack.

“Love and affection.” The pack swung your arm down, pulling an oomph out of you. Setting it down to the side with a thump, you smirked up at him, circling your arms back around his waist slowly, chin once again perched on his beskar. “Deal with it.”

“Mesh’la, you don’t want to do that….” He groaned, melting into your embrace, but also trying to lean back at the same time.

You hummed, face scrunched in mock displeasure. “You should know by now you shouldn’t tell me what to do. It doesn’t work….”

Din snorted. “No, mesh’la, I mean….” He extricated himself from your grip, delicately pushing your arms away as he pulled the rest of his body back with a small twisting maneuver. “I need to shower. That last bounty wasn’t a, er….” He hesitated, his voice going tight. “A clean kill.”

Narrowing your brows at him, you lifted your eyes to study him from head to toe, finding no trace of anything on his beskar. “You don’t look dirty.” Closing the distance once again with a single step forward, you lifted his arms up to peer under them as if that would reveal the dirt and grime in question, bending forward slightly to get a better look. Next was his cape. You tilted to the side dramatically to see underneath.

He snapped it out of your hands, spinning out of your hold and took several steps away before turning to face you again. “You wouldn’t see anything. The blood is bioluminescent. You’d need to kick on the-”

“Oh! The special work lights, yeah.” You were already moving toward the ladder up to the cockpit. “They are in my tool box, I’ll go get the-”

“No!” You stopped at his abrupt protest, one hand on a ladder rung by your head, one foot already about to push up a rung, but it slipped off with a soft thunk when you turned to look at him with raised brows. “No,” he offered again, this time softer. “You’re not gonna want to do that.” His voice lowered. “Trust me.”

You hesitated. Despite him trying to keep away, you took a step closer, brows knit together in confusion. “Why?”

He shifted his weight from side to side, voice tight in apprehension. “‘Cause now it’s on you, too.”

Holding your arms out to the sides, slowly, you looked down at your body that looked the same as it did five minutes ago, only now, it felt like you were caked in filth. Looking back up into his visor, you ignored his hands held up to try and placate you, voice raising with each word. “You could have warned me!”

“I tried!” Din almost whined, exasperated, taking a step back to maintain the distance he had tried to create. “I really did,” he added softly.

Eyes fluttering shut, you took a deep breath before letting it out through your nose. Your voice had lowered back to something closer to normal when you spoke again; hands gesturing smally, still out at your sides as you did. “Let’s just go to the room and get a shower. You go first, leave your armor outside the fresher door and I’ll clean it while you’re in there-”

“We don’t need to go all the way back to the room. I can use the sink here on the ship-” Din stopped short when your eyes flew open, landing on him with a hard stare. He sighed, the sound resigned. “Let’s get going, then. It’s at least half a mile to get there….”

You nodded, small smirk working its way up one side of your face. “Thank you.” After you began to gather a few things, you mused to him proudly, “Aren’t you glad I convinced you to get a room?” He grunted, making you scoff softly and roll your eyes before turning back to the satchel you were packing. “I mean, it’s not every day we’re on….” Your hand froze midway into the bag, the other clutching the strap of it tightly. Keeping your eyes on the bag, you didn’t dare to lift them back up as you studied its weave hoping it held your answers.

With a sigh, you lifted your head and shut your eyes briefly before cutting your gaze Din’s way, making sure to narrow your eyes preemptively.

He slowly swiveled his visor up to level you with a look. “You don’t even know where we are?” His tone was incredulous. One hip popped out to the side, his head tilting to the side as he stared at you.

“I know,” you defended, inclining your chin to peer down your nose at him before turning your attention back to the bag.

Arms crossed over his chest, he stood up straight, keeping the glare of his visor squarely on you. “You should. You picked it out.”

Making your way over to the bunk, satchel across your chest, you jumped in to correct him. “No, technically the bounty did.” You hesitated. “I only picked the puck. Which was all you. You said I was lucky or something. So this is technically on you.”

Tossing his head with a groan, Din turned away from you, grabbing the essentials while you grabbed the kid.

“Daiyu!”

Din spun around to see the kid blinking bleary eyes up at you as you looked down at him apologetically, one finger held up beside your head for emphasis.

Lifting your eyes back up to meet the T of Din’s visor, you shrugged one shoulder sheepishly, mumbling. “Daiyu, I remembered.”

Xxx

Once you got into the room, the kid had promptly fallen back asleep, allowing you to seal him safely away in his floating cradle for the night.

Turning to face Din, hands on your hips, you watched him set the bags of supplies down on a small table in the corner. “Want any help taking the armor off?”

“No, I’ll manage,” he spoke softly, not looking up at you once. His gaze stayed down toward the table, his visor angled toward the smooth surface. With a quiet groan, he walked to the other side of the room and began removing the armor piece by piece. It collected against the wall beside the fresher door in a small pile, a soft thunk with each new piece as the tower of beskar grew.

You watched in silence from across the room, sorting mindlessly through the bag of rations. He moved so stiffly once he began to set the armor down, his movements stilted and slow, like every breath was an effort. Din twisted to the side, puffing up his chest to try and keep it from you, but you noticed. The quarry must have gotten him somehow. The closer you looked, the more you saw; he had a slight hitch in his step and favored his left side more than his right, bracing on the door frame as he passed through to start the water in the shower.

Since he’d removed his helmet for Grogu and you’d seen his face, he’d been a lot less careful about taking it off in front of you. He still kept it on most of the time, it was after all what he was used to, and you didn’t mind that at all. But the few times he removed it, like right now, you found your eyes straying away from his face, unable to look without an obvious invitation. It still felt like something forbidden.

That’s why when his bare forehead pressed against yours, it caught you off guard and made you jump.

He chuckled. “Sorry.” In nothing but his flight suit, sleeves pushed up his forearms, he crowded into your space like he always did, bringing his right hand up to cup your cheek. His left arm wound around your waist to pull you tight, as his breath fanned across your face.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” he agreed, words overlapping your own eagerly as he shook his head against yours, his nose brushing against your own. The smile pulling up the side of his face was contagious, and it tugged up your cheek under the soft ministrations of his thumb.

You expected him to back you into a wall like he usually did, but the two of you stood quietly in the middle of the room, simply being. It was nice to have a moment to just breathe.

Your arms made their way up to wrap around his neck, nearly all the way around when he hissed, sucking air in through his teeth as he flinched away from you. Cradling both cheeks in your hands, you held his face firmly as your eyes scanned over every part of him you could see for any obvious injury.

“Din? What is it? What hurts?”

His eyes stayed downcast, almost in shame, his chin tucked down toward his chest.

“Din?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled. You’d grown used to his unmodulated voice recently, but you weren’t used to this tone. Dejected. Broken. Subdued.

You simply blinked a few times, scanning his face for any sign of what was wrong, besides the obvious, while he leaned to his left just slightly, enough that you noticed. “Din…. What?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” He cleared his throat, bringing his hands up to thread his fingers through yours and lift them off his face. He gave you a gentle squeeze before he let go. His movements were soft and kind, but left no room for question.

Eyes never pulling up from the floor, Din rubbed the back of his neck in something that looked like nerves, then turned toward the fresher, disappearing behind the door as it hissed shut behind him.

Xxx

You waited a few minutes before you followed him, the soft drone of running water filling the room with a constant hum. Leaving your vambraces with his pile of armor by the fresher door, you smiled softly as you surveyed the large pile of beskar. We’ll clean them in the morning.

After you made sure the room was secure, the kid tucked away in his cradle fast asleep, you stripped down the rest of the way, before wrapping yourself in a towel provided by the room. The fresher door opened with a wave of your hand, a wall of steam curling out like you’d relieved some sort of exhaust pressure.

Walking silently into the room like Din had taught you, you closed the door behind you with a wave of your hand, the unseen force causing the steam to swirl in fascinating tendrils in the process.

Your Mandalorian was tucked away in the shower, his back to you, oblivious to your presence as you watched him, studying him from head to toe with more than just your eyes to make sure he was okay. You reached out through the Force to try and read him, something he always made so easy for you, he was an open book, but right now, he was closed off.

Furrowing your brow, you set your towel off to the side and walked closer toward the shower stall.

Din was leaning on his hands against the wall, his silhouette behind the glass dividing the shower from the rest of the room obscured from the steam already billowing around the edges.

His breathing looked labored, every breath an effort as he stood deep in thought.

He obviously hadn’t wanted you to see him like this. Battered, probably bruised. You knew it all amounted to one thing in his eyes. He felt broken.

Stepping under the spray, you blinked twice as stray droplets hit your lashes.

Din was so distracted he still didn’t even know you were here, leaning forward against the opposite wall of the shower, hands braced against the cool wall, head hung low between rounded shoulders.

Reaching out slowly, you lightly traced your fingertips up his left side, pausing when he went stiff. “It’s just me,” you muttered quietly, your right hand coming up to race against your left along his ribs.

Spreading your fingers out so your whole hand could dance along his skin, gliding along with the water droplets cascading down his sides, you pressed more firmly into him, stepping closer.

In the dim light of the shower stall you could see bruises blooming along his rib cage, contrasting brilliantly under your fingertips and against his warm skin tone.

“These are new.” Keeping your voice quiet, you let your eyes find the rest without your hands having to trace their paths.

He only grunted in acknowledgment.

“I can help with that, you know.”

“No,” he said instantly. After shifting his weight back and forth for a moment, he turned his head just slightly to look at you over his shoulder before looking back forward, and lowered his voice. “No.” Din shook his head for emphasis, his fingers flexing against the wall.

Resting your chin against his spine, careful to avoid the bruises, you wrapped your arms around to rest on his chest, bending over to drape yourself over him like a blanket. “How come?”

“That always tires you out so much.” His hands flexed again. “Plus….”

After waiting for him to go on, you pushed gently. “Yeah?”

“Plus…. When you do too much of that stuff…. Sometimes it…. Changes you….”

“How so?”

He took a deep breath, pushing off the wall to stand up straighter, unable to straighten all the way as one of the bruises pulled his spine forward slightly. You kept your arms around him, your body pressed tightly to his as you felt his heartbeat pick up under your palm.

Closing your eyes, you reached out through the Force, offering him some of your light to mend his darkness, the battered and broken skin along his sides mending back to a warm shade of health.

His pulse rose even more under your fingers, and he sighed in frustration. “Mesh’la….”

“What’s one more time,” you mumbled into his shoulder blade, tucking your face into his spine whether to hide away or simply because it made you feel safer, you didn’t know. “I don’t like seeing you hurt, Din. I’m not going to break from healing the ones I love.” You turned so just your forehead was resting against his back. “At least I don’t think.” Your voice was barely a whisper.

Din only nodded after a moment. He understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. Another sigh passed his lips as he brought one hand up to pat yours over his heart lightly, pulling it up to kiss your palm before placing it back on his chest. Then he put his hand back on the wall in front of him. Almost like a reflex. You were there, so he had to reach out and touch you somehow. It made the corner of your mouth quirk up if only for a second before it fell once again.

A long moment of silence stretched between you two until you finally ventured again, “You never explained. How? What is it that changes in me?”

Din kept staring at the wall in front of him, his voice echoing off the shower stall when he finally spoke again, but barely loud enough to be heard over the quiet drone of the running water.

“Sometimes…. Sometimes there’s a darkness to you. I don’t think you’re aware of it, it’s definitely not a conscious decision, but this…. Thing takes over, and your eyes…. They look cold.”

“When?” Your hands moved back to his rib cage. “When was the last time you saw it?”

“With Gideon. At first I thought it was just some sort of fierce protectiveness. But when you held your saber at his throat, I could feel it.” His hands came up over yours and squeezed softly, pulling them back around his chest to place them over his heart again. “The room shifted. You went somewhere dark.”

Resting your forehead against his shoulder blade, you took a deep, shuddering breath, before bringing your mouth to simply rest against his skin. Breathing as slowly as you could through your nose, your eyes screwed tightly shut, you focused on the things around you.

The smell of the soap from the room. The smell that was undeniably him that no amount of scrubbing could remove. The heat from the water. The warmth of his hold on your hands. The comfort of his body pressed into yours.

“Mesh’la?” He asked quietly after a moment, gently squeezing your hands still held in his.

“I’m fine,” you whispered. “That’s…. It’s…. I’m not….” Your breath caught in your throat, another sharp inhale coming to a sudden stop making your eyes screw even more tightly shut. You couldn’t tell if it was from the shower or if you were crying, but droplets were cascading down your cheeks.

Din wasted no time, turning in your hold and gently pressing you into the wall, his forehead resting against yours as your spine sealed against the cold tile, making you gasp.

“I’m sorry,” you finally managed on a broken whisper.

“That’s not-”

“No, it is,” you cut him off, opening your eyes to stare blankly forward, catching a glimpse of his facial hair but not daring to look any higher. Not brave enough to see what you’d find there. “It means I am not in as much control as I thought. And…. That’s not safe. For any of us. I need to do better.”

“Then I’ll help you,” Din mumbled, leaning further into you, his arms circling around your waist to pull you tighter as he simultaneously pressed you further into the cold tile wall. It was a sharp contrast, his warm skin at your front, the cold wall at your back, and somewhere in the middle the warm water of the shower melding it all together in a sea of steam. It was hard to tell where he ended and you began. Every bit of him a part of every bit of you. “We both will.”

“No, Din. No.” You shook your head, rocking it back and forth against the wall, only stopping when Din pressed his forehead more firmly into yours. Swallowing roughly, you let your eyes close tightly once again. “That’s not…. It’s not the kid’s place. Or yours.” Swallowing again to try and keep the emotions down and away from your steadily wobbling voice, you sniffled before going on. “This is something I need to do on my own.”

“Dank farrik, mesh’la!” Din hissed, one hand leaving your waist to hit the wall beside your head in frustration, making you jump. You shushed him, shaking your head slightly as he mumbled gentle apologies, his hand coming back to snake around your waist where it belonged. “Don’t you see? That’s why this is a problem!”

Opening your eyes, you still hadn’t quite found the strength to look up, but you did it anyway, deciding you’d rather just see whatever was waiting for you and face it straight on than let it torment you in the back of your mind from quiet shadows.

Warm brown eyes were waiting for you, relief washing over them as they crinkled at the sides from the tentative smile crawling up his face.

No judgment, no disappointment, no fear, only something that resembled hope as they traced the lines of your face in search of something you weren’t quite sure.

“That’s why,” he reiterated, arms squeezing you gently for emphasis. “You’ve been trying to do all of this alone, and you can’t.”

Your eyes fell down to his chest and you sighed, pulling your head away from his and leaning away slightly. “Din-”

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m saying it can’t.” Lifting your eyes back up to his, you found him tilting his head slightly to try and catch your gaze again. He smirked slightly when he did. “This is something that’s meant to be shared. From what I’ve seen, Jedi aren’t solitary creatures. At least they aren’t supposed to be. The ones that are left have adapted after years of training.”

You couldn’t help the grin that was working its way up your face. “A Mandalorian and a Jedi…. What could go wrong?”

“You're forgetting the fifty year old Jedi baby.”

“Ah yes, and the fifty year old Jedi baby,” you chuckled.

“And the answer is, I’m sure, absolutely everything.” You huffed, rolling your eyes as he reached for the shampoo. “But until then, we’re still covered in bioluminescent blood, so….” Squeezing some of the liquid onto his palm, he pulled your hand from where it rested on his waist to in between you and put some in your waiting palm as well. “….for now, I’ll help you if you’ll help me?”

You hummed in amusement. “Oh, poor Mandalorian. I think I finally found the one thing your armor can’t do.”

“Nah.” He shook his head, scrunching his face up. “I’m sure I could find a way to figure it out. It’s just….” He groaned as your fingers started to massage the shampoo into his damp hair, making your grin grow.

“It’s just….” You repeated, teasingly.

“You do it so much better,” he finished on a sigh, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulder with a thump, giving you easier access to continue working it into his curls.

“What about me? I thought this was a you help me if I help you thing? You even have shampoo in your ha-” You’re cut short when his hand comes up and plops the glob of soap on your hair, making your jaw drop.

“I’ll do it after. There’s a whole bottle. Just…. Please?” He was almost whining by the end, leaning further into you. His head turned so his lips were pressed into the crook of your neck. “Please, please, please….”

Suddenly you felt him drifting, the scruff of his facial hair prickling the skin near your clavicle as he chased it with soft kisses. Working his way across toward your other shoulder, your fingers stalled in his hair as you sighed.

“If you keep doing that, I’m not gonna be able to keep going.”

Din hummed into the crook of your neck, the vibrations tickling the skin as he began his climb upward toward your ear. His words were mumbled into your skin, causing goosebumps to spring up all over despite the still hot water. “Won’t be able to keep doing what?”

“This,” you said through gritted teeth, tugging on his hair to pull him away from your neck and send him a playful glare.

Din smirked as he leaned further back into the spray of the shower to rinse the suds from his hair, shaking his head and tossing droplets everywhere before he was back at your side. You could feel his lips turning up into a smile as they brushed against the shell of your ear, his nose tucked into your hair. “Then don’t.”

His unmodulated voice was something you’d never quite get used to, no matter what you told yourself, particularly so close to you and so quiet.

“Turn around,” he murmured, his hands smoothing down your sides to land on your hips. Gently applying pressure to reorient you with your back to him, he nudged you under the spray of the shower.

“This better be the part when you wash my hair, Tin Can,” you teased playfully.

“We’re getting there,” he rumbled quietly. “But first….” His hands left your hips, his body following after them, and despite the warmth of the water, you found yourself already missing the heat that always radiated off of him in waves.

You began to realize all the times you leaned into his quiet touches, while you told yourself it was just to appease him, to speak his language, it was every bit for yourself as well. It made you feel safe. Every time his arms silently wound around you, he lingered at your back, hovered at your side, or you felt his eyes quietly watching from across the room…. It was the safety you’d never felt anywhere else that you craved.

The warmth that encased you, that trailed over your skin with just a look, a brush of a hand in passing. You craved it. He was your addiction. And you were longing for a hit.

Taking a step back toward him in search of his warmth, you only made it half a stride before bumping into him, both of you chuckling as his hands came out to steady you on your upper arms.

“Can I help you?” He drawled.

“Uh,” you eloquently said, staring straight forward as you searched for the words, any words. “Was just looking for the soap.”

Din chuckled knowingly. “I’ve got it, mesh’la.” He dropped his chin down to rest on your shoulder. “But you knew that.”

Tilting your head back to look down your nose at the wall of the shower in front of you, you huffed. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

The Mandalorian turned his face down into your skin, circling his arms around your waist to hold you close. As he peppered gentle kisses across your left shoulder blade, he offered a compromise between each one. “Well. You know…. The kid’s gonna wake up soon. And I already used the soap. Haven’t rinsed it off yet. We could…. Share.”

The slide of his skin against yours sent a shiver down your spine, his huff of amusement next to your ear making you grin.

“We should do this more often.”

You groaned as his fingers began to massage shampoo into your hair.

“You won’t hear me complaining,” his voice was soft, tucked into your neck as he massaged the soap into your roots.

“That means getting a room more often,” you mused, leaning further back into him, your grin of amusement growing at his grumble of annoyance. “Less bumbling around the Crest, camping on backwater planets, hiding out on-”

“If I told you,” he cut in, his voice conspiratorial, “that I know all the good spots-”

“Spots?”

He pinched your hip before continuing pointedly. “Yes, all the spots, on all the backwater planets, as you so nicely called them. Some beautiful waterfalls…. Hot springs…. They’re no dingy Daiyu room shower, but-”

You turned in his grip, arms coming up around his neck as you leaned your forehead against his. “They sound wonderful, Din.”

He grinned. “Then it’s settled. Next place we stop, I’ll take you on a tour of all my favorite places.” He leaned forward, brushing his nose against yours. “Well, they used to be my favorite. Now I have a new one.”

Slowly rolling up onto the balls of your feet, cinching your arms around him tighter, you huffed out a quiet laugh. “Oh yeah? And where’s that?”

The sneaky smile turning up his face continued to grow as he leaned closer to you, his lips ghosting over yours as he whispered, “I’ll just let you take a wild guess,” before they pressed firmly to yours.

Xxx

Tags to come!

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kaysfanficcorner · 2 months ago

Text

Out of this World Chapter 11: There's No Other Way

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Earthling Reader/OC

Summary: The Mandalorian and The Earthling travel back to Nevarro to ask Greef Karga for a favor. They soon find that they are not the only visitors to Nevarro this time around.

Author's Note: Welcome back to my little corner of the fanfiction realm! This chapter was another fun one to write. Again, I am drawing from the second season of the show while following the plot I have mapped out, so keep that in mind as I continue to somewhat bastardize the cannon events. As always Din is a sweet soft boy, but in this chapter I played around with a fun side of him for a moment. The relationship between these two is so sweet that my teeth are starting to rot. I hope ya'll are here for it as much as I am!

***** = a break in the scene or a switch between character pov.

Mando'a: Ner - my Burc’ya - friend Cyare - beloved Cyar'ika - darling Dush - bad Jate - good Dala - woman Verd - warrior Vor entye - thank you Yooba solus - you are Ni ganar ori'jate bajurad - I have an excellent teacher (roughly translated)

Warnings: SMUT - 🌶️🌶️🌶️ This chapter is the spiciest yet, rough blowjob, rough sex, slightly dom!Din, bratty earthling, dirty talk; FLUFF - I'm telling you, rotten teeth from this shit; the usual cursing; jealousy; lots of feelings; I guess me changing the show's plot around is a warning?

Minors DNI, Strictly 18+

AO3

*****

Once again Din Djarin finds himself making a trip across the vast galaxy to the planet of Nevarro with you by his side. The strange Earthling woman who somehow managed to collect the bounty he hadn't realized was up for grabs on his heart. It's been a few days since the departure from Tatooine. The Razor Crest and her crew are still several days away from their next destination, and life feels good for the little makeshift family.

Things are back to normal, while also feeling somewhat foreign at the same time. Din's inner turmoil about the child remains the same, at the forefront of his mind, but things between you and himself feel so incredible. So easy. The trust between the two of you feels more solidified, at least from Din's perspective of the relationship. Though he suspects you've been feeling the same way based on how affectionate you've been towards him. It's similar to how things were before Tatooine, only dialed up to a ten.

He assumes it has something to do with the subject of marriage being brought up, and the good conversation that had spurred between the two of you because of it. It's still wild to him that it's even a conversation that's been had already. When Din really stops to think about it, back on his beloved Razor Crest where he can think clearly, he's glad that the subject was addressed so soon. If you were to wake up tomorrow and tell him you wanted to end things, Din would be heartbroken but he would know that it is your right to do so at any time. That fact had been a possibility in the back of his head so much at the beginning of this, especially when he thought you may still want to return to Earth one day. But to know that you want him enough to consider being his wife in the future, that makes things feel different for him. To Din, since that conversation you've felt more like his wife than anything else he can think to label you.

Maker, what did he do to deserve the devoted love of another person like this? Did saving the kid right every wrong he's ever committed? In all his years Din would have never guessed this for his future. Especially since he'd written off the idea of ever being truly with someone in this way so long ago. Even as a young man who'd perhaps wanted this sort of thing with another at one time, he'd never imagined that it could feel like this. It's so peaceful, in a way that continues to surprise him the longer it lingers within his chest. That peaceful contentment fills Din Djarin's body with a new kind of warmth which sinks all the way down into his once weary bones, making him feel more and more like a new man each day.

Currently dressed in very casual clothing he does not wear very often, he's attempting to feel completely relaxed without the several pounds of beskar that usually adorns his person. Being without his armor used to make him feel the opposite of relaxed, so he's trying his best to maintain a calm mind in spite of his instincts to fidget uncomfortably. Ever since you came into his life he seems to find himself without armor more and more. He's in a plain dark short sleeved tunic, a light pair of dark pants, and nothing else save for the helmet.

Din is seated in front of you while you direct him through the various yoga poses you're attempting to teach him. This isn't the first time you've shown him how to do this Earth exercise, but this is the first time Din is taking the learning of it completely seriously. It was his idea, wanting to share in more of your life with you while discovering a new way to move his body. He figured it would be good for him. He also figured that giving you a chance to be his instructor for once may be a fun change of pace for you, considering how increasingly vigorous his Mandalorian teachings have been over the last few days. After Berav, Din realized you were ready to handle much more than what he was throwing at you before. He's no longer scared to push you too far, trusting that you will tell him when or if you've had enough. And so if you're going to follow his lessons with reverence, it's only natural that he does the same in return.

He's definitely not as flexible as you are, so some of the poses are difficult for him to grasp at first. You're doing a very good job of explaining how his body should feel in each pose, which eventually helps him to improve his form. What doesn't help is the fact that you are completely distracting when you gracefully bend and shape your body with ease. You're wearing those black yoga pants from Earth and your cropped black sweater from Nar Shaddaa, the dark purple under garment covering your breasts revealing itself to him every time you do an upside down v pose you call 'downward facing dog'.

The names of these poses all sound so utterly ridiculous, but he's given up on trying to make any sense of them as he attempts to concentrate on your instructions. For reasons that elude him, focusing feels especially difficult today. Din thinks that he finally understands how you've felt in the past when watching his body move during training would cause you to become so easily distracted. He is completely preoccupied by you. Your body looks so strong to him as it easily flows through the moves. That little peek of your bra and the swell of your breasts were the problem at first, but as you move in various different forward folds with your legs straightened out in front of you, the rest of your body soon joins in on his misplaced focus.

Din's sitting paralleled to your left, his own legs stretched before him as he attempts to fold forward the same way. There is a gap of about three feet between the two of you, and he can't help but marvel at how much shorter your legs are than his. How much daintier your feet are. Din's eyes keep flicking to those small bare feet, the toenails painted that shimmery black varnish from Earth that somehow hasn't run out yet. Fuck, he could really use to kiss the soft soles and work his way slowly up from the toes to the bony ankles to the plump calves, all the way up the thick thighs to the delicious prize that lies between them.

Shit. He's already getting a little hard just thinking about it.

“Hey, Chrome Dome, are you listening to me over there?” You say this with an amused look on your face, which is staring at him from its odd position on the ground. You're folded so completely in half over your one bent leg that your torso is pressed all the way to the floor, and you're clearly at least a pose or two ahead of where Din left off. “You know, if you crane your neck like that too much in these poses you'll hurt yourself.”

Slowly pulling his abdomen in, he rolls his spine to sit back up with the proper form you've strictly instructed him to use when coming out of these folds. Din moves to a comfortable seated position facing you, a loud sigh escaping him with a hiss through his modulator as he shakes his head. “Now I know how it feels to be you, getting distracted during training.”

“I don't do that nearly as often anymore,” you say, moving slowly to reposition yourself to a seated position as well. Your feet are flat on the floor and your knees are drawn in towards you a little, hands also flat on the floor behind your back to prop you up. A haughty little smirk crosses your features as you take on that awful accent you do from time to time when you're being intentionally funny. “Did I,” you say your name, gesturing to yourself, “manage to distract the galaxy's fiercest Mandalorian warrior with my unbelievably desirable body and witty charm? Oh my, is that a big bulge in his pants I see? All because of little old me? I do declare!”

“Mm, it's because of you alright. And I had a mind to give it to you nicely, but now you're just acting like a brat,” Din says, head tilting to the side as he mulls over the impulse he's feeling in his gut. Your little routine was indeed funny to him, but the ache of desire stirring in his core wants to guide this in a very particular direction. “I think I may need to put you in your place for that, ner dush cyar'ika.”

A lustful look crosses your features and Din feels pleased with himself for causing it. That's the look you get when he knows you'll do practically anything for a taste of his cock. Din truly loves it so much, the way you can transform into a hungry little heathen at a moment's notice. He enjoys the lascivious desperation in your eyes when you mewl, begging for him to take you in that whining wanton voice you use only for him in the most private of moments. Suddenly he's ready to make those noises emerge from your delicate throat once again, and it's all he can do not to lunge forward to rip the clothes from your body.

Instead he decides to play a little more, “What's the matter, love? Nothing to say now?”

Shaking your head, you look right into the visor at his hidden eyes. Then your legs part a few inches, exposing your clothed mound to him. Perhaps it's on purpose, but more than likely Din thinks it's involuntary. He can tell your body is already reacting to him and he hasn't even touched you yet. Having this effect on you is so intoxicating.

“Come on,” he begins to crawl forward, “you speak more than anyone I've ever met. There's got to be something you can think of to say. Where's that bratty fucking mouth of yours now, huh?”

Your eyes suddenly glance anxiously to the ceiling, expression shifting as you look at him seriously. “You think the kid will stay asleep upstairs?”

Din's tone easily slips back into the softer one he uses normally, his body softening a little. “I'd say we've got about an hour.”

Nodding, you've suddenly returned to that concupiscent countenance and your own tone finds its way back to the bratty one you'd used a moment ago. “And just how does a big strong Mandalorian put a little Earthling brat in her place anyway? Especially without all of his fancy accouterments?”

Din growls, voice becoming slightly domineering again, “What does that word mean?”

You grin, the look of it completely prideful. “It's from a country on my world called France. It means additional equipment used for a particular activity. So without all your fancy Mando gear, I mean. The handcuffs would be a nice accouterment right about now. Yeah that might just be enough to put me in my place. But I dunno, I am feeling pretty bratty today.”

There it is. That's the thing Din needed to send him over the edge.

*****

Din descends on you so quickly that you're completely taken off guard when he's right in front of you and his swollen cock is suddenly in your face, the engorged tip of it emerging from the soft foreskin. You hadn't even seen him unfasten his pants let alone stand up. His left hand is wrapped around the base, positioning himself right in front of your eyes. You look up at him, the sight of his beskar helmet tilted down to look at you enough to make the heat between your legs become a full fledged fire.

“Up on your knees. I thought of a better use for that mouth,” he says down to you with that commanding tone he uses from time to time, the thumb of his right hand tracing your bottom lip while he cradles your chin as you comply.

Even with the rough rouse he's putting on, the way Din touches your face is so deliberately gentle and loving. It feels so good to trust him this much, to know that he's being this way with you and at the end of the day it all still just stems from a place of deep love and friendship. The two of you may not have been sleeping together for that long, but you've learned enough about what makes him tick to know that this is just a kinky little act. You like rough sex sprinkled in with passionate emotional sex, and so does he. But neither of you have any intention of ever hurting the other physically or emotionally. It's all in good fun, and if it ever were to not feel fun you know he would stop and vice versa.

And right now? This feels fucking fun. With Din you're able to play in a way that you haven't played with anyone, and you know in your heart of hearts that he's the playmate you've always hoped for. The one you can easily see yourself doing kinky shit with for the rest of your weird life.

Parting your lips, you grin as his thumb enters your mouth, pressing down onto your tongue while you suckle the appendage gently. When he removes the thumb and leans forward some, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in anticipation.

“You ready to be a good girl for me or are you still feeling like a fucking brat?” Din asks, his voice working you over with how sexy it sounds when he's like this.

“Can't I be both?” You ask not-so-innocently, your tongue snaking out from between your teeth to flick at the precum leaking from him.

Then his free hand finds your hair, longer now by a few months and easier for him to yank at. Imagining him holding on to a ponytail in a similar fashion makes you wish it would grow out that much faster. So yank he does, pulling enough to cause a dull bit of pain but not enough to really hurt you. You gasp at the shock of it, and when your lips part even more he uses the opportunity to guide himself into your open mouth.

Working him with your mouth doesn't even feel possible, not when Din is fucking your face more than he ever has before. Your hands fly to his strong thighs to steady yourself as he holds your head, thrusting his length down your throat as far as it can go without making you gag too harshly. The girth of him doesn't help much either, causing you to have to open as widely as you can to take him all the way in. All the way isn't even the whole thing. There's about an inch and a half between your lips and the base. It feels like a complete mystery as to how the whole thing fits inside you without tearing you open each time.

Gagging and drooling, you take as much of his relentless bucking as you can until he suddenly stops and holds himself down your throat for a good long moment. Tears begin to well in your eyes from the lack of steady air and the slight pain of it, but just as you think you need to beg him to stop he lays off. He's sliding himself slowly out of your mouth, so you're sure to apply a light amount of pressure to aid his pleasure as he exits. The whining groan that escapes him makes you feel so proud.

That hand in your hair yanks again, gently this time. This one is meant to coax you into looking up at him. When your wet eyes meet the visor you feel as if you can hear him grinning from the other side of the beskar before he even speaks.

“How about now, ner cyar'ika? Good girl or brat? I'd choose wisely if I were you.”

A part of you wants to say 'brat' to really test the limits of this new semi-dominant side of Din he's showing you today, but the ache between your legs has become too great to ignore. If he doesn't touch you soon the pressure of it may actually break you. Relief is the only thing motivating you now.

“Good girl,” you breathe, squirming against his touch.

“Good answer,” he replies, pushing you over to bend at the waist. Thank fuck you put the padding down for your knees before yoga.

Propping yourself up on your forearms with your hips lifted, ass facing Din, a sharp feeling electrifies your body when you feel a hand brush the sensitive flesh between your legs. It causes you to shudder and moan, which in turn causes Din to laugh from behind you. He's not mocking you, he's simply just amused. You're pretty sure at this point that Din Djarin would never mock you for anything.

“Over the clothes and she's practically ready to cum on the spot,” he says through a hearty, rumbling chuckle. “Remember when you were afraid you'd never get to do that? Aren't you so grateful that I make you cum whenever you want now?”

“Yes, Din. So grateful,” you moan between words, the pressure of his fingertips increasing around your steadily swelling clit.

“Let's see just how grateful she is, then,” he replies.

His hands are at the waist of your yoga pants, tugging the fabric over the swell of your ass and stopping halfway down your thighs. You'd foregone underwear so the maneuver feels swift. When two of his fingers enter your warm and welcoming entrance without warning, a loud gasp fills your lungs.

“That's it, cyar'ika, need to get you ready for me.” Din coos, his voice sounding so lovely. “Mm. Very wet today. Perhaps I was not the only one watching the other with lustful eyes. Were you watching me, cyar'ika? Is all this for me?”

“Of course it's for you. How can you expect me to not feel constantly horny around you?” You ask in a sassy tone, looking back at him a little as you pout. “That's just not fair.”

“Is that complaining I hear?” He smacks your ass with his free hand, another sharp gasp escaping you. “What happened to being a good girl, huh? Ner jate dala?”

“I am a good girl,” you whine, pouting even more. He slaps it again and you yelp.

“I'm not convinced. Still needs to be put in her place, I think,” Din grumbles, positioning his cock at your entrance.

When he slides all the way in and a loud moan escapes your lips at the combined pain and pleasure of it, his hand comes around your head to cover your mouth. His palm stifles your cries until they subside and it suddenly slides to the back of your head, fingers once again gripping the tuft of hair. The hand really begins to yank, a little harder than before, and you're forced to arch your back to relieve a little bit of the ache.

Din's cock is pressing painfully into your cervix and he's leaning his head down to speak directly into your ear. God it's so hard to focus when there are so many different feelings assaulting your nerve endings. The hiss of his modulator causes goose-flesh to pepper the skin of your neck and arms.

“I'm going to make one thing perfectly clear and I need to make sure you're listening. Are you listening, love? I know it's hard when I'm buried inside your perfect tight little cunt like this, but I need you to try for me.”

Barely able to think straight, you really have to force yourself to say the word 'yes' in a gooey voice.

A smack to your ass and he's asking, “Yes, what? Need to make sure you're paying attention.”

“Yes, Din,” you hiss his name, breathing heavily as you try in vain to wiggle around into a more comfortable position. It's an impossible task, the grip he has on your hair and his length fastened deep inside of you keeping you glued in place. “I'm paying attention, I swear. Tell me, Din. Please.”

“Good, cyare. Now hear me when I say this: My cock is the only accouterment you'll ever fucking need. Do I make myself clear?”

The sound of his voice and the nature of the words coming out of his mouth are enough to make you feel close to the edge already, like a few pumps of his cock and finger strokes to your throbbing clit will be all it takes to make you crest over into orgasm.

“Yes, Din, yes! Crystal clear! I understand!”

Without another word he begins fucking you so hard that all you can do is stay in the position he's trapped you in and allow your body to get lost in the ecstasy of it.

*****

A few hours later Din is working out the tight muscles of your hamstrings while you lay on the same mat that was rolled out for the short-lived yoga session. After the training he's been putting you through for the last couple of days and the fucking of your life he just gave you, your body is in desperate need of some deep rest and relaxation.

Din's natural sense of what you need from him is so wild to you sometimes. Without needing the concept of 'after-care' explained to him, your cosmic companion made quick work of ensuring that you felt completely safe and secure once the both of you reached satisfying climaxes. He'd been rougher and more domineering than he's been with you up to this point, and somehow he just understood that you would require some extra soft attention from him in the aftermath of such an encounter.

And so he'd held you and said all of the loving things he could think to say, stroking your hair all the while. After he checked on both the ship and the kid, he made the two of you a cup of tea which you drank sitting back to back. Now he's giving you a massage to soothe the muscles he's been causing you to strain for days on end, all the while recounting stories from his younger days. He told you several days ago that the past has been on his mind, specifically the time he spent learning the Way of the Mandalore from his mentor as a kid. Naturally you've been encouraging him to share whatever memories he feels comfortable sharing.

The kid is awake from his nap at this point, happily hanging out with his two foster parents and his favorite feline friend while some soft music plays in the background from Din's little L0 device. It's instrumental, from one of the many film scores in your music library. Din seems to like those quite a bit, much to your enjoyment. Now that he has his own device it's been interesting to listen to your music from the perspective of it being Din's library as well.

It feels so incredibly good to be here in this moment. In your metal home, floating through outer space with the ones you love so dearly that it hurts sometimes.

Jupiter is chasing the new toy that you and Green Bean made for her during the stay on Tatooine. Improvised with spare junk you'd found in a pile back at Hangar 3-5, it's the equivalent to those fishing rod toys from back on Earth. A metal rod with a strong piece of thin cord attached to one end, and a frilly thing made of coiled wires and scraps of fabric on the other. You've been showing him how to tease her with it over the last few days, slowly running it along the floor to encourage her pounce. Only to quickly jerk the toy away at the last second, driving her mad for a chance to pounce again.

The kid is trying to do it the way you showed him, the movement of it awkward considering how small he is. But he's getting the hang of it, and when he successfully yanks it away at the last second the little cheer of triumph he makes causes Din to chuckle warmly at him from where he sits behind and to your side.

“Great job, kid! You really got her that time,” he says, all the while still rubbing the tender knots of your tight thighs.

You really have to hold back moans of pain when he hits sensitive areas. Even in the midst of feeling like your muscles are being split in two, though, you still manage to throw the kid a genuine smile. “Yeah, buddy! You're doing great with that thing. Just like I taught you.”

Din's hands halt their movements for longer a second, a strained little noise erupting from him. The sound of it alarms you enough to look back at him.

“Are you okay, Din?”

“Yeah, just feeling a lot,” he says, looking down at you with tight shoulders.

That odd sense that you can feel him judging himself comes back to you. It's been happening quite a bit since Tatooine. He'll say something and, depending on the context, it'll come off like he's second guessing himself. It's mildly concerning, but you trust him to come to whatever conclusions he needs to in due time. Until then, you just make sure to remind him, “I'm here for you, ner verd.”

“Likewise, cyare.”

*****

“Ah, my sweet Nevarro. So good to be back.”

Din observes you say this happily to yourself from where he's standing both beside and a little behind you. You're seated in the pilot's seat, hands confidently maneuvering the ship through the planet's atmosphere as you bring her in for a landing in the docking area outside of the city gates. Surprisingly there are a few ships, more than usual, also docked on Nevarro today, but you land far enough away from the rest to give space. You've gotten a lot better at flying the ship, just as you've gotten better at so many things in this new life you've chosen to live by his side.

“Excellent landing, love,” Din praises, watching as you power down all the flight systems correctly before standing to face him.

With a respectful bow of the head you say in Mando'a, “Vor entye, ner burc'ya. I learned from the best. Ni ganar ori'jate bajurad.”

Both impressed and endeared, Din melts a little into his words, “Mm, and don't you forget it.”

You shoot him an attractively playful look, causing Din's heart to flutter a little at the sight of it. “Gather the kid so we can go see our friends and help my grandfather,” you order, tone light.

“Yes, ma'am,” he nods dutifully. Din regards you both seriously and fondly beneath his helmet as he adds, “and might I say, your Mando'a is sounding better and better with each day that passes.”

“I feel like my accent is awful,” you respond bashfully, eyes flicking away from his unseen gaze.

Din reaches forward, a gloved hand gently caressing your cheek as he guides you to look at him again. When your big eyes meet his visor he feels the sudden urge to tell you that he loves you, and so he does. He doesn't wait for you to say it back before continuing on, “The quality of your accent makes no difference to me. I am grateful that you are trying. Speaking Mando'a is not something that I need from you, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

Smiling up at him, your voice takes on a soft tone of affection. “It's nice to communicate with you in the language of your people. Plus it feels like it's our private way of communicating. I guess if we do find another Mandalorian it wouldn't be private, but you get what I mean. I've also never made myself learn another language like this. I took a few classes on other Earth dialects when I was younger but I can't really speak much of it now. Feels good to actually take this seriously.”

Din nods in understanding, “When I was first learning to speak Mando'a my accent wasn't good either. As I've told you, it is not my native tongue. But knowing Mando'a and many other dialects is essential for a Mandalorian to navigate the galaxy efficiently.”

“Once I get Mando'a down, we can see about learning others,” you say with a little chuckle. “One thing at a time, please.”

“Of course. By the way, I wanted to ask you something,” Din says with an excited tone that immediately catches your attention. Your eyes seem to light up at him.

“What's that, Chrome Dome?”

“What do you think about renting a room at the Inn again? At least for a night or two? We're running low on funds but I can see how good my credit is with Karga. Perhaps something can be worked out.”

Din adores your little squeal of delight and the brightness of your features as you leap forward to throw your arms around his waist. It knocks him backwards a step and he takes a moment to readjust before hugging you back, arms circling you as you nuzzle lovingly into his chest plate. He chuckles when you let out a long happy sounding sigh and say, “A real bed.”

*****

Upon exiting the Space RV with your cosmic companion and alien foster child in tow, you see that your first true friend in this galaxy is standing at the base of the ramp waiting to receive your party. She looks formidable as ever, arm muscles on display in the short sleeved tunic under her armor. You can't help but feel that she's put extra care into her appearance today, but you also can't put your finger on what exactly seems to be different about her to begin with.

“Hi, Cara,” you say happily, rushing forward to greet your friend with a strong hug.

“Hey, stranger,” she greets in return, embracing you fondly. Then her hands find your biceps, squeezing them with a look of approval on her features. “Whoa there, those feel like they've gotten bigger.”

Shrugging, you beam and jab a thumb in Din's direction beside you where he stands holding the kid. “Mando's training has been really paying off. I'm definitely a lot stronger than I was the last time you saw me, but still nowhere near you Ms. Bad-ass.”

Cara grins, “At this rate you'll look like me in no time.” Then she turns her attention to the Mandalorian companion you've chosen to travel the galaxy with. “Mando,” she nods and he returns it, “I am glad to see that you've kept up with her training. I take it she's improved?”

Din's voice sounds so fond as he speaks of you, causing your heart to swell for him. “You should see her in action,” he says, “Certainly an improvement from our last visit. Are you still enjoying your position as Marshal of Nevarro?”

Cara nods, but squints at Din with a tight-lipped frown. “I am, but cleaning this place up by myself is getting old. Just the other day I had to take care of some ne'er-do-wells hanging around in the caves your old Mando group lived in. Could sure use a deputy if you're looking for a long-term job around here. It's going to be awhile before seedy types take the hint that they are no longer welcome on this planet.”

“I appreciate the offer, but a job is not why we have come,” Din replies, looking at you.

You interject, “We need a favor from Greef, and we have a lot to fill you in on.”

“Then let us see if the busy High Magistrate will grant us an audience,” Cara says somewhat sarcastically, motioning for you and Din to follow.

*****

“Mando!” Greef Karga greets in that booming bass of his as your party enters his new and quite large office. You always liked the way the older man greets your cosmic companion with the same enthusiasm each time. The office is not what you were expecting and not what his office was like the last time you had been on this planet. It's an impressive room, impeccably decorated for someone of high stature to show off said stature a little. The open door to the balcony overlooking the city provides you with a glimpse of a beautiful view, and Nevarro looks so pretty to you in that short moment.

“Greef,” Din says with a respectful nod, moving to shake the man's hand. “Good to see you.”

“Likewise, my friend.” Greef turns his attention to you, smiling kindly. “And you, my dear, are lovely as ever. It seems like life with Mando and the little one here is treating you well after all?”

The kid coos up at the old man from your arms, causing you to smile down at him before sending a knowing glance Din's way. Then you turn your attention back to Karga, returning the warmth of his smile with one of your own. Taking in his appearance, you can tell that this new official position has been good for him. He seems happy, and enthusiastic as ever in his red ceremonial robes and fancy looking adornments. You may not know much about local governments in this galaxy but you understand enough to know that this outfit must come with the job. When you first landed on Nevarro and met Greef Karga, he had told you of his great plans for his beloved planet. You're happy to see that dream come to life for him. The city looked so clean and picturesque as Cara had led you to the new government building, even nicer than it had been during the festival of lights a few months back.

Bowing your head, you say, “I can't thank you enough for encouraging this arrangement, Greef. Life with my boys has indeed been treating me well, but not as well as Magistrate life seems to be treating you. Look at this office, look at that fancy uniform! Well done.”

Looking away almost bashfully, you can tell that Greef adores his new position as what is essentially the city mayor but is trying desperately to remain humble about it. “The people of Nevarro are happy, and that's all I care about. Besides, Marshal Dune gets to have all the fun cleaning this place up from miscreants who haven't gotten the memo that Nevarro is off-limits. I, on the other hand, am drowning in paperwork.”

Cara sends a pointed look Greef's way, crossing her arms over her chest with a tilt of the head. “And my job doesn't have any paperwork? There's more to it than beating up scoundrels.”

“So, what is it I can do for you?” Greef asks, laughing a little at Cara as he speaks to you and Din. “Have the two of you finally decided to settle down here? Nevarro would love to have you.”

You sit the kid down on the gray leather chair at Greef's desk, moving so that the group of adults are all facing each other. “Well we actually came here to ask you for a favor. It pertains to something dear to me.”

“Go on,” he urges you, eyebrows raising with curiosity.

And so both you and Din assist one another in the recounting of everything that lead to your return to the lava planet. You describe the resurgence of your grandfather, much to the shock of both Cara and Greef. Din describes the bounty hunters to Karga and the ex-guild member knows exactly who Din is talking about when Berav's name gets dropped. Then you ask him if there is anything that can be done to make the bounty on your grandfather go away. Greef explains that there is one person who he thinks may be able to help, someone who owes the High Magistrate a favor he has yet to cash in. Hope rises in your chest at that.

“Let me make a few calls and see what I can do,” Greef says with a reassuring hand to your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you say, giving the man a small hug.

“I can't believe your grandfather was here the whole time,” Cara marvels, head shaking.

“Neither can I,” you say with a curt laugh.

Din walks over to the kid, who has been using his ability to spin Greef's office chair for the last minute and a half straight. He stops the chair and the kid begins to wobble uneasily. “That's enough, buddy,” Din lightly commands in a parental tone. Then he turns his attention to the adults again, specifically Greef. “We wanted to stay at the inn tonight but things are getting tight without any bounties. What's my credit like around here?”

“I will arrange for the three of you to have a room, on the office of the Magistrate's tab. Stay for a few nights if it suits you to do so,” Karga offers with a nod. “But if you're in need of credits to further your journey along, Marshal Dune and I have a proposition of our own to present you with and we'd be willing to pay.”

“I'm listening,” Din says expectantly.

Cara takes a step forward, looking directly at Din. “I think that there's someone you ought to meet before we explain. We've had some very interesting visitors these last few days, visitors I think you specifically will want to speak with, Mando.”

*****

Carasynthia Dune leads the group back out to the docking bay outside of town, much to the surprise of the Mandalorian. Din's not sure what or whom to expect. Cara had acted oddly when she mentioned strangers that Din 'ought to meet', and he's felt suspicious about whatever this is since she brought it up.

Upon entering the docking bay, Din notices the other ships scattered around the Razor Crest more than he had bothered to before. Among various ships of all shapes and sizes, he notices a formidable Gauntlet starfighter in the crowd. That one catches his attention. It's not a model often seen these days, the rotating wings of it standing up like the wings of some great bird.

Of course, this is the ship that Cara happens to be leading them to. With you holding the kid as you walk beside him, he reaches out to brush your arm a little.

You look over to him with a puzzled expression, most likely surprised by his outward display of affection in such a public place. “Everything okay, Chrome Dome?”

“Thinking about sleeping in a real bed tonight,” Din confirms, smiling warmly. “Hopefully whatever this is won't take long.”

“Hopefully. As soon as my body hits that mattress I'm going to sleep for ten hours straight. At least.” You reply with a dreamy sigh, looking down to the child with a warm grin of your own. “And I know you will try to wake me up but it'll be no use. I'll just be too comfortable.”

Din laughs, “Ah, but if I tempt you with those sweet breakfast cakes from the restaurant I think you'll rise quite easily. I may even pick them up while you're sleeping just to make it that much easier.”

“I can't believe you would use my love of Nevarro pancakes against me. That's cruel, Mando. Truly cruel.” As you say this, you shove at his shoulder with your free hand before placing it to your heart, making a hurt facial expression.

Din's hearty chuckles are followed by a shake of the head as they near the ship.

“We're here,” Cara says, looking back to the two of you with a smirk.

When Din looks up and sees three Mandalorians walking towards him, his heart nearly stops beating from the shock of it. All three are in similar blue and gray colors but have armor that is unique to each wearer. Two of them appear to be female, one of which appears to be the leader.

He vaguely hears your voice somewhere to his right saying, “Cara, what is going on here?”

“Marshal Dune. High Magistrate Karga.” The apparent leader greets Din's two friends with a respectful nod. “And who do we have here?” She turns to address Din, “Greetings, brother. It is good to see beskar this far out on the rim.”

“You are truly Mandalorians?” Din asks skeptically, and the way you look at him lets him know that the surprise must be evident in his voice.

“In his defense the last couple of people we met in beskar weren't really Mandos,” you interject, looking at Din as if to say that you're trying to be helpful.

“We are as Mandalorian as they come,” the leader says, just as she proceeds to remove her helmet. The other two remove theirs as well, revealing three unique faces to him.

“You show your faces,” Din practically snarls, “you are not Mandalorian. Where did you get that armor?”

The leader, a woman with red hair pulled back in a headband, lets out a great sigh as her face drops into a frown of disappointment. With the helmet cradled under her right arm, the leader's eyes narrow at Din as she coolly states, “This armor has been in my family for three generations.”

The male of her group, a plain looking man with dark hair looks at Din with disgust as he says, “He's one of them!”

The second female of the group, a younger woman with darker skin and braided hair glares at him as she curses, “Dank farrik!”

“I am so confused,” you mutter angrily beside Din, sending sharp glares of your own back at them as you place half of yourself in front of him protectively. He does not move to stop you, feeling both surprised and moved by how fiercely you are ready to defend him. “What do you mean 'he's one of them?' Just who the hell are you?”

The redheaded woman gives you a look up and down with a raised eyebrow, saying fiercely, “I am Lady Bo-Katan of Clan Kryze. I was born on Mandalore and fought in the purge. I am the last of my line.” Bo-Katan turns her attention swiftly on Din, “You were raised by a cult of religious zealots. Your people broke away from mainstream Mandalorian society and their goal was to re-establish the ancient way.”

Din feels heat rise to his face, and angry blush finding him as his temper also rises. Mainstream Mandalorian society? Religious zealots? What lies are these strangers trying to poison him with?

“There is only one Way. The Way of the Mandalore.” Din says curtly, motioning to you that it is time to leave before spinning on his heel to walk away from the offending impostors.

Cara and Greef look at each other with worried expressions for a moment before Greef reaches out to stop Din from passing by with a hand to his right pauldron, his palm resting over the mudhorn skull. The look he fixes Din with is grave. “Mando, you stubborn bastard. Can you at least hear us out on the matter we need help with? Having all your skills combined is just the kind of manpower I need to get rid of the last Empire base here on Nevarro. I know you care about this planet just as much as I do, Mando. I want my planet to be free of old oppressors and unsavory scoundrels once and for all, dammit. Give me that and I will not only doubly ensure the safety of her grandfather but I will once again offer you permanent residency and citizenship here on Nevarro if you ever wish to stay here.”

Din takes in the seriousness of Greef Karga's expression and realizes that this must be more dire than anyone was letting on. “There's an Empire base still active here on Nevarro? How long have you known about this?”

Cara steps forward to interject, “The base seemed abandoned for a while, but lately I've been picking up on unusual activity out that way. Unusual activity for an unpopulated area with high lava tides being any activity that is,” she adds a little sarcastically.

Din turns back sharply to face the group of 'Mandalorians' again, looking at Bo-Katan as he addresses them. “And what do you get out of this? It does not seem to me that you're simply here to assist from a sense of creed.”

Bo-Katan replies in that same serious tone she'd used before. “There are two reasons that the base is precious to me. The Empire's remnants are in possession of weapons bought and sold with the plunders of Mandalore. We are on a quest across the outer rim to collect these weapons and ships to aid us in the retaking of our homeworld. I intend to unite our people again and for a new Mand'alor to take the throne.”

Din openly and loudly scoffs, shaking his head, “The planet is cursed. Everyone who goes there dies. If you were truly born there you should know that better than anyone.”

The look on Bo-Katan's face becomes icy as she replies, “I do know that better than anyone. But do not believe everything you hear. Our enemies want us separated because they know that Mandalorians are stronger together.”

“What is the second reason?” You ask from Din's side, eyeing the woman with a look Din cannot place.

Bo-Katan eyes you back and continues, “I have been hunting an Empire officer named Moff Gideon. He has something that belongs to me. I intend to kill him and take it back.”

Din feels himself turn white, gasping at the sound of the name. “Gideon is alive?! Gideon is here?!”

Bo-Katan shakes her head, “No, he is not here on Nevarro. But I believe the next clue as to his whereabouts lies within the walls of that base.”

Din feels your hand on his forearm, pulling him to reality a little bit with your voice as well. “Mando, do you think that Gideon guy knows that the kid is alive?”

“I do not know, but we need to find out.” Din says, patting the kid on the head protectively from where he is perched in your arms. “Don't worry, buddy. We're gonna protect you.”

Bo-Katan's female crew member looks at the child with a raised brow. “What would Moff Gideon want with a small child?”

Din replies cryptically and evenly, not trusting of these strangers. “He was hunting the kid last year, and that's all that matters.”

Just as Din says this, someone from town comes running towards the group across the docking bay, shouting for Marshal Dune and Magistrate Karga to come quickly.

*****

You're so taken aback by everything that just happened with Din and the other Mandos that nothing really registers for you until people are shouting and once again weapons are being drawn all around you. Looking around to finally take in your surroundings, you see that you're in front of the school you once worked at and a group of rough looking aliens seem to be causing trouble. One with a bunch of spikes all over his face and what sounds, to only you obviously, like an off-brand British accent seems to be the one causing the most trouble. The alien threatens Greef and demands to be served an alcoholic beverage, which is when Din intervenes looking sexy as ever as he takes charge of the situation. You swear that the sun is shining just on him for a second as he addresses the group of galactic troublemakers, the glint on his silver beskar both blinding and beautiful at the same time.

It's actually laughable how quickly this fight is over with Din Djarin, Cara Dune, and a group of rogue Mandalorian warriors up against a handful of dopey pirates. You stand there holding the kid in one arm and a blaster in your opposite hand, but a need to fire it never comes.

Just as it had been with Cobb Vanth and Boba Fett, Din and the Mandalorian woman Bo-Katan seem to be more civil after fighting alongside each other in battle, albeit a very small one. The other two seem to openly not care for Din, but Bo seems to mean what she says about thinking that Mandalorians are stronger together. Though she does not agree with Din's religious beliefs when it comes to wearing the helmet at one's discretion, she is not being as disrespectful about it as the other two are.

That is the most wild revelation of all. The possibility that there could be two ways of Mandalorian life and that Din was both not privy to, and doesn't believe in the one that would allow you to see his face. Nothing about this changes how you feel about him or his helmet, and you hope to convey that to him later if he needs reassurance. But the fact remains that this changes things, and you wonder how Din is feeling about this under all that beskar of his.

Right now he sits across from you at the restaurant where you've sat across from one another many times at this point. The child is in your arms, wiggling around as he waits for his food to come. Normally you'd be talking to the kid more but right now you're listening to the plan to take down this Empire base. There's a blue alien at the table whom you met once when you lived on Nevarro for that first month or so after the incident which brought you here. The only thing you know about him is that he's Karga's bookkeeper. He's at one end seat while the dude Mandalorian, Axe his name is, sits at the other. Cara sits next to you with Greef Karga on your other side. Across the table from you, Bo-Katan and her associate Koska Reeves are seated on either side of your cosmic companion.

You can't even figure out how the seating arrangements ended up this way, they just did. Suddenly everyone was just sitting. Looking at the sight before your eyes of two Mandalorian women seated to the left and right of your Mandalorian makes you feel insanely jealous for a moment. Luckily, for Din's sake, he looks so utterly miserable and you do not need to see his face to know that it's true. You know he's not enjoying a single moment of having to listen to Bo explain how she is basically royalty while Cara looks at her like a wolf with hearts for eyes from your side of the table. This entire social interaction is wildly uncomfortable and you cannot wait to get out of there.

Once the food comes, Bo-Katan is suddenly asking Din if he would like to join her crew after the siege is over, stating again that she believes Mandalorians are stronger together. She says that perhaps Children of the Watch and mainstream Mandalorians can find a way to unite for the sake of their kind's survival. You can't help but notice how when she says this, the other two in her crew seem to make small faces of disapproval.

For a second your heart skips a beat, stomach lurching a little as you consider a possibility that Din could and has every right to say yes to such a proposal. It causes that jealousy to rise in you again, fierce and electric as you stare the woman down with an intense look from across the table. The kid coos in your lap, slurping up his food, and Din looks over at the two of you.

Din looks back at Bo with a shake of the head. “I cannot join this quest to take Mandalore. I am on a quest of my own, to bring this child to the Jedi.”

“What do you know of the Jedi?” She asks, eyeing him skeptically.

“Nothing, I was hoping you might help me by creed. If there is anything you know that could assist me in locating one,” Din replies honestly.

“Live through tomorrow and I will give you what information I have,” she bargains confidently.

Sitting there stewing, you can't help but think that you don't really care for Bo-Katan and you would very much like for her to leave your Mandalorian alone.

Eventually the meal is over and the plan is set. At first light the group will gather and make quick work of taking down the base. They will retrieve the Mandalorian weaponry, then overload the lava core to melt the place down and destroy it. Din and Bo-Katan will look for any evidence as to Moff Gideon's location and whatever knowledge he may have of the kid. The kid isn't to go anywhere near the base for fear of alerting anyone as to his living status, and therefore it's decided that you will stay behind with him. This only adds to your frustration with these new Mandos being here.

As everyone leaves to go their separate ways for the night, you are not surprised to see that Bo and Cara take off to speak in private, heading in the direction of Cara's house. As much as the Mandalorian royal annoys you, you are glad to see that Cara seems to have found someone that she likes. Definitely explains her appearance today, hair and make up done up more than usual.

None of that changes the fact that Bo and Koska made you incredibly jealous this evening, and that in turn is leaving you feeling irritable with your beloved when you don't really mean to be. He's trying to make conversation with you as you head towards the inn and you know that you don't sound like yourself as you respond to him, the answers you're giving coming out curtly.

*****

Din has no idea why you’re suddenly in a horrible, snippy mood with him. It takes him aback a little, considering how loving and kind you had been with him on the ship earlier this morning or when you'd so quickly defended his honor to Bo-Katan. He’s not interested in letting this simmer for a long time, waiting patiently for you to explain yourself as he would have done several months ago. No, the level of trust and communication between you has increased so much recently that he no longer feels trepidation about approaching you.

And so he plans to do just that as soon as the room at the inn is sorted out and the three of you are safely tucked away inside. Not the same room as last time, but nearly identical in every way. The plan is to rest for the night and execute the mission the following morning at first light. It's late enough that the kid has fallen asleep in your arms, but not late enough for the two of you to go to sleep yet. He's certainly not going to feel relaxed enough to even try until whatever this is gets resolved. So, if he can at all help it, he’s not going to spend the entire evening in the comfortable hotel room he's been looking forward to all day feeling wildly on edge because of your sudden change in mood.

You're already making quick work of tucking the child in the dark orange comforter, placed in the very center to sleep between the Din and yourself just as things had been last time. He'd been so worried that the two of you were going to suffocate the tiny kid that first night, but when he'd woken in the morning the child had been sleeping safely in the adults' embrace. Din recalls how that morning had felt, waking up facing the two of you. The sunlight softly lighting your peaceful face, the child tucked under yours and Din's touching hands.

Din uses that memory to steady himself as you kiss the child's forehead and stand back up. He notices right away that you're not facing him on purpose. Coming from a place of love, he softly asks you, “Cyar’ika?”

“Yes?” You respond, tone slightly bitter. You still will not look over at him, which Din knows by now to be a sign of just how upset you really are.

“Can I ask why you seem to be angry with me all of the sudden?”

You let out a long sigh, eyes shutting tightly. “I’m not angry with you.”

“But your demeanor towards me suggests otherwise,” Din counters.

With fingertips to your temples, you begin to rub small circles into the flesh there as you finally look at Din again. He's relieved to see that your features have softened a little as you speak. “I feel insecure, which makes me angry. So I guess I’m projecting that a little bit. But you haven’t done anything wrong, darling. I'm sorry for worrying you. I feel silly for even feeling this bad in the first place.”

“Do you know when it started?” He asks.

You sigh again, “When we met two very attractive female Mandalorians today and they kicked that pirate's ass.”

Din’s taken aback by that, completely unaware that the Bo-Katan and Koska had been the cause of this. He can’t help it, a little smile creeps up his lips under the beskar and his voice takes on a joyful tone, eyebrows rising. “Cyar’ika... are you... jealous?”

Covering your face with your hands, a groan erupts from your throat. “Ugh this is so embarrassing. Yes, you got me. I am jealous. I’m never going to be as bad-ass as those women. Seeing Bo-Katan stand there and talk to you with all of her muscles and beskar was driving me fucking crazy, Din.”

“Love, I have no idea where this is coming from but please trust me when I tell you that I felt nothing when I looked at those women other than confusion and a little bit of disdain. They are not true Mandalorians to me.”

“But they are from Mandalore, Din. She's the fucking Mandalorian princess, for fucks sake!”

“So because I grew up on one of its moons and not the planet itself my claim to the creed doesn’t mean as much? And just so you are aware, her bloodline means absolutely nothing to me. It may mean something in her culture, but in my culture foundlings are our future. We do not bow to kings or queens simply based on biological lineage.” He knows he sounds defensive but he also knows he can’t help it.

You give a shake of the head, frowning. “You misunderstand me. What I’m saying is that they were raised in your culture from birth, even if they take their helmets off and you don’t consider them to be legitimately Mandalorian in the way that you are. What if there are truly two ways of Mandalorian life? Even without walking The Way like you do, they know how to do everything I’ve been trying so hard to learn like the backs of their hands. How can I compete with that?”

“When did this become a competition to win my favor?” Din asks seriously, crossing his arms over his chest.

You shrug, groaning a little with frustration. “I don’t know, I guess I’m the only one making it one.”

Din looks at you squarely in spite of the fact that you cannot see his expression. “You've already won my favor a dozen times over. Those women didn’t look twice at me, but more significantly, I did not look twice at them. I think it is clear that you and I are together, even to strangers.”

Sighing, your shoulders relax a little. But Din knows you're still on edge as you speak, “I know, I know. Like I said, I feel embarrassed for even getting this worked up. I think Bo-Katan did look twice at Cara though.”

Din nods, “I saw that. Seems like a good fit for someone like Dune.”

“Cara likes her too, I could tell,” you agree.

Din says your name, tone dropping to a patient one. “You’ve changed the subject because this makes you uncomfortable, I can see it in your face. But I do not want to end this discussion without saying this: You are more than enough for me. I don’t think I could ever look at another person the way that I look at you. Yooba solus ner cyare.”

“You better remember that when those girls are using their jetpacks and acting all cool tomorrow.” You say, an uncomfortable, forced smile trying to find its way up your lips. Din can tell you're still feeling self conscious from the way you sound.

He moves forward, reaching his gloved hand out to cup your cheek. Once again he finds himself longing for his facial expression to be seen, the shame of that notion feeling odd considering the day's events. These new Mandalorians and their blasphemous lifestyle have him vexed for more reasons than just the fact that they flaunt their faces. But even still, a very teeny tiny part of him feels envious of Bo-Katan and her crew at this moment. Din has no interest in showing his face to the general population whatsoever, but dank farrik he wishes he could show it to you and the kid at times like this.

Din steadies himself, remembering that he's been able to communicate with you so well up to this point without his face playing a role in that. He reminds himself of how easy you are to talk to as he leans in to press his helmeted forehead to yours.

“I promise you that your face is the only one I want to see when I wake in the morning, and your voice is the last thing I want to hear when I fall asleep each night,” he says earnestly. “I love you very dearly.”

A little noise escapes your throat, and the way your eyes soften tells Din everything he needs to know. You're no longer concerned with jealousy as your arms come to wrap around his neck and he feels your body melt into his. “You really know how to charm a girl, Djarin,” you say in that voice you tend to use when the two of you are feeling particularly sentimental.

“To charm implies to manipulate and deceive, so I'm not entirely sure I understand.” Din says with confusion.

Laughing a little you lift up from the Mandalorian kiss to look at him more in the visor, in the eyes. “Its just another Earth phrase. I assure you in this context it's positive and intended to be romantic. I love you too, Chrome Dome.”

“Earth must be such a strange place,” Din muses jokingly.

“Concordia must be even stranger for the likes of you to come from it,” you say this just as teasingly, poking your tongue out at him.

“Hey now,” Din pretends to warn, “remember what happened the last time you were a brat to me.”

Pressing your body even closer to his, you smirk up at him knowingly. “I hope I never forget.”

*****

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Masterlist

*****

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cilil · 2 years ago

Text

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞!𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ𝒾𝓇𝓈

Characters: Manwë, Varda, Oromë, Námo and Irmo; reader's gender is unspecified - all up to your imagination~

Featuring: Dom/sub dynamics/undertones, predator/prey kink, soul sex

Warnings: Possessive themes, bit of rough foreplay and sex, smut/suggestive

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who voted on my recent polls. I'll be trying out a bit of a new format, combining headcanons with small scenes/imagines, with this one and hope you'll find it enjoyable. If there are other characters you'd like to see for this, feel free to suggest and keep an eye out for future polls!♡

Manwë

ଘ The Elder King is a romantic lover and enjoys courting you, though even during these early stages he finds ways to subtly claim you for himself: He showers you with gifts like jewellery with sapphires (his signature gemstone), robes in his colours, objects decorated with feathers or bird-shaped items and writes poetry for you which he recites and sings for you both in private and in public.

ଘ Once Manwë has successfully conquered your heart, he makes sure to publicly display his affection for you by making you sit on his lap, kissing you and wrapping his wings around you at every opportunity.

ଘ In the bedroom, little remains of Manwë's calm, serene demeanour. He loves marking your body with his talons, covering you in love bites and engaging in breath play to make you feel just how much you need his element - need him.

ଘ Manwë has a breeding kink that gets particularly strong when he's in heat or nearing it and loves filling you up to make sure that his essence remains inside you as long as possible and his scent stays on you, deterring any other suitors from approaching you.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Your lips part to release a soft gasp when Manwë pulls you closer and presses open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck, biting and sucking gently to leave blossoming marks. His mighty talons draw patterns on the naked skin of your back, causing you to arch and lean into his embrace; he is careful not to hurt you, though you already know you will be covered in thin red lines once he's done with you.

"My little dove," Manwë croons between kisses, his voice deceptively soft; he caresses you like a warm, gentle breeze, though you know a mighty storm is slumbering underneath his calm exterior, ready to be unleashed, should anyone else attempt to touch what is his.

"Yours," you whisper. Your hands claws at his robes as Manwë continues to mark you as his for all to see; the Elder King's mate and lover that no other would ever dare to lay claim to.

Varda

✧ The Queen of Stars is often absent from the daily affairs of Valinor in favour of tending to her creations in the depths of Eä, but she makes sure everyone knows exactly who you belong to even when she's not present.

✧ Varda loves giving you pretty necklaces, bracelets and other jewellery adorned with charms that are filled with her starlight, protecting you and burning anyone who attempts to touch you without her permission.

✧ When she makes love to you, she ensures that you will remember her touch and others see the marks she left on you as will - in case anyone was doubting that you are hers - by painting luminous constellations on your skin with her fingers, twinkling little stars reminiscent of notes in a song of her love for you.

✧ Varda also gives you water from her wells to drink, enjoying the thought of her essence filling you and providing you with light and refreshment. She will stop at nothing to make sure the powers of darkness and evil stay far away from you.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"Hold still, my little light," the Queen orders, pushing you down and into the soft sheets of her bed with gentle authority.

You blink nervously when you see the tip of her index finger glowing with sacred, primordial light, ready to paint the canvas of your bare chest with tiny, glittering stars.

"Will it hurt?"

Varda smiles and leans down to kiss your brow. "Of course not. There is no evil in your heart, dearest; my light would never hurt you."

Her starlit touch is hot, and for a moment you fear it'll sear your skin, but as soon as she begins caressing you, reminiscent of the gentle strokes of a paintbrush, the sensation changes to a comfortable heat. You raise your head to watch as she turns you into another one of her masterpieces, and your beloved Queen looks pleased whenever her nimble fingers elicit small noises from you, her luminous eyes holding your gaze while she slowly works her way lower and lower.

Oromë

♘ Oromë is a hunter with all his heart, so once he has caught you, he certainly won't let anyone take away his favourite prey. He loves giving you trophies from his hunting trips to wear as accessories, a not-so-subtle message to all that you now belong to him.

♘ But that won't satisfy him for too long. The huntsman of the Valar is a wild and passionate lover and covers you in bite and scratch marks every time he takes you, making sure they are visible too.

♘ Oromë loves all sorts of cuddling and physical affection and actively initiates it whenever an opportunity presents itself. While this is certainly done for his and your enjoyment, he also wants others to see that you are his and his alone and ensure that his scent will be all over you even when he isn't around, in order to ward off unwanted attention from other suitors. For the same reason, he also breeds you thoroughly.

♘ If you are a good little pet for him, Oromë will reward you with a lovely collar he made specifically for you, letting everyone know that he has claimed you and intends to keep you.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Oromë's large hands hold on to your hips with a strong, bruising grip that has you whining into the moss below. You already know not to expect mercy whenever you play his favourite game of hunting and catching his prey, a symbolic earning of his right to claim you.

"What a lovely little deer," Oromë purrs and leans forward to bite the juncture between your neck and shoulder while he enters you with the fierce determination of a feral beast.

Your cries and moans only spur him on to thrust deeper and harder, his hands keeping you in place with the strength and steadiness of an experienced hunter. As far as you know, you two are alone in this part of his woods, yet something tells you that he wouldn't mind if one of the other hunting parties found you – to see him taking you, marking you, filling you with his seed to ensure that his scent you be on you for days to come.

Námo

☯ The mark of a Fëantur may be subtle, though no less intense than those visible on your skin. Once Námo has taken you as his lover, he binds your fëa to his, leaving an echo of his song and a ghost of his touch with you wherever you go. Those proficient in ósanwe and/or attuned to spiritual matters feel the Doomsman's presence wherever you go, no more than one call through your bond away.

☯ Nevertheless, Námo knows that not all Incarnates are able to sense and heed his silent warning, so he also presents you with clothes and jewellery to adorn your body. He likes long, flowing robes in dark colours, veils and little charms shaped like crows and ravens, similar to his own attire, and greatly enjoys seeing you wearing those, an unmistakable sign of belonging to him.

☯ When he isn't present and you are outside of his halls, Námo may occasionally guide your fate in whichever way he sees fit to make sure you return safely. Those who attempt to harm you will face the Doomsman's wrath.

☯ Yet as much as he wishes to protect you, Námo wants nothing more than to own and mark you in the most intimate way possible - which is your fëa. Should you ever be slain, or once his need and longing overwhelm him, he will whisk you away to Mandos, keep you there until the end of the world and fill your spirit with his song and essence time and time again until you know no other than him.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

Cool lips kiss the nape of your neck when Námo takes you, slowly and deliberately, enjoying the way your smaller form trembles in his arms. He's sitting on his throne with you on his lap, your robes covering the illicit image of the Master of Fate penetrating you, yet the small moans falling from your lips and the movement of his hips betray the truth.

"Let me have you," Námo whispers, and you know he wants more than to claim just your body, so you open your mind to him as well.

The sensation of his fëa reaching out to touch and intertwine with yours is just as intense as the joining of your bodily forms. Your helpless noises increase in volume despite your best efforts to hold back, yet Námo doesn't seem to mind – in fact, you begin to suspect that he wants the residents of Mandos to look up at his throne and watch, so they will know who you belong to for all ages to come.

Irmo

☾ No one has escaped the loving arms of the Lord of Dreams without remnants of glittering dream dust on their clothes and skin, and you are certainly no exception, quite the contrary: As Irmo's favourite little butterfly, he makes sure to touch, embrace and cuddle you to his heart's content, and ever since your courtship started, you feel like the dream dust has never left you again. He feigns innocence, yet you suspect that this is very much his intention, so everyone can see his touch upon you even when he isn't around.

☾ Irmo crafts a special dream catcher for you and makes sure you wear it at all times, an unmistakable sign of his love for you. It contains a small part of himself and his power, and he taps into it to ward off nightmares.

☾ He also likes entering your dreams, spending time with you there and, most importantly, ensuring that no other suitors may ever find their way there, because you belong to him and him alone. When you sleep in his gardens, you often wake up feeling his lips and hands kissing and caressing your body, leaving trails of dream dust and, at times, colourful patterns on your skin.

☾ As much as he enjoys claiming your body, he desires nothing more than to possess you in spirit as well, so that the union of your fëar leaves a permanent mark on your very being, filling you with his song and his essence.

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"Here? In the middle of your garden?"

Irmo merely laughs in response and rolls you over on your back to climb on top of you, his iridescent butterfly wings fluttering excitedly.

"Why not, my darling petal? Is our love not the fairest and most beautiful thing my garden has ever seen?"

Glittering dream dust falls from his wings and hair as he leans forward to kiss you, and you soon find yourself feeling both soothed and excited by his presence and the comfortable weight of his fána on top of you.

Sensing your emotions, Irmo's gentle hand sneaks between your legs and finds you willing and eager for him, ready to be taken. He breaks the kiss to gaze at your face, delighting in your blushing cheeks, half-lidded eyes and parted, wet lips, panting softly as you look up at him.

"I will make love to you until you fall asleep in my arms," Irmo whispers, "and when you do, I will continue to make love to you in your dreams."

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