#mando's pov

[sillyromantic4ever]

Chapter II: "The City-Planet" from Beneath the Armor, Vol. II

Excerpt: "...the Mandalorian finds Talia gesturing to a squat-looking warehouse about three stories tall. Its design is a mixture of concrete blocks and durasteel platings... Din counts three durasteel doors leading into the base of the warehouse, each a different size. The larger and medium-sized entries are closed... His eyes veer to the smallest door, which is currently open.

"'No outside sign?' he off-handedly remarks.

"'Nenseko relies on word-of-mouth,” Talia replies, her gaze assessing as well.

"Bet he’s a gossiper, too."

Read here: Beneath the Armor, Vol. II - Chapter 2 - SillyRomantic4Ever - The Mandalorian (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

[nighttimepatrons]

Not Without Maedhros

Thinking about a Fingon fic set in Mandos where Fingon is ready for reembodiment but won't leave the halls without Maedhros. Never mind the fact that he hasn't actually seen Maedhros's spirit yet...

The only way he can tell the passage of time is the influx of spirits into the Halls, the halls get larger to accommodate them all. Surely Maedhros is around here somewhere.

It's about Fingon being asked if he's consider Life again and he says he has, but he'd like to wait for Maedhros first. He does not want to leave without Maedhros.

More spirits enter and he waits.

When asked again he is indeed ready for Life but it is disturbing to him that it as taken this long for Maedhros to find him. So he reaffirms that he is waiting, he will not leave without Maedhros.

Spirits come and some start to leave.

The asking stops, and in its place he is told: "it is to leave these halls", "you have lingered long enough", "you can feel the yearning for Life in you, go on, it's time to go". He always says the same: Not without Maedhros, not withouth Maedhros, not without Maedhros.

It seems impossible, but the population of the Halls actually seems to decrease.

And yet he waits. He waits until all of his family has walked out of those great, beckoning doors. He waits as his fellow spirits dwindle around him.

He waits, until he is alone in the vast, silent halls.

[cilil]

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞!𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒶𝓈 𝓉��ℯ𝒾𝓇𝓈

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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[tolkien-povs]

POV:

You're the Lord of The Dead, and while an angsty elf is having a mental breakdown on how he will be the first elf to be killed if he gives away his shiny rocks, you awkwardly stand there and say, "Not the first", alluding to his father.

[pascalsbby]

pov: lake date with pedro

[ryehouses]

paz pov at any point during the gathering? like reuniting w annika, discussing things w other children of the watch, his kids, how hes gonna throw down for his kids, pulling boba back when din goes thru the ice, paz’s thoughts about grogu, etc etc?

okay so i don't have any paz povs from the gathering, but a few weeks ago i started thinking about how mad paz is about missing the wedding that he thinks he definitely missed, and he learned about the whole "boba and din are married" thing at the gathering, and from there it snowballed into "paz vizsla attempts to find a passive-aggressive wedding gift" and. this happened. so.

in which paz attempts to be normal.  

Paz put his hands on his hips and stared at the wall of hydrospanners, trying not to think about why he’d ducked into the dusty, sand-strewn little shop in the first place. Irritation itched at him underneath his armor. 

The irritation was, like most things that got underneath Paz’s beskar, Din’s fault. Worse was the fact that Din was probably off somewhere else on Tatooine, up in the High House and buried up to his karking in chin in the problems of other Mandalorians or down in the palace and busy with Boba Fett’s business, blissfully unaware of how irritated Paz was. 

Din probably had no idea that Paz was here, in a run-down mechanic shop on the outskirts of Mos Eisley, trying to figure out what would make an acceptable wedding gift for a man who had, either through the legions of Mandalorians who kept bringing Din things to demonstrate their loyalty or through Boba karking Fett, who sometimes reminded Paz of the stories his father had told about bobbing little birds called moru’sen. 

Moru’sen, Pallas Vizsla had taught his son, spent all of their time collecting bits and baubles to present to their partners. They foraged for fresh sur’haai flowers and bright beskaryc beetles, spent days and days fussing over the placement of sticks and stones for their nests. 

They would even, the stories went, choose to forage for flowers or beetle shells over food for their young. They would fuss over the appearance of their nests even as a strill crept up on them from the shadows. 

Every time Paz saw Boba Fett these days – which was more often than Paz would like – Fett was giving Din something. A drink or a plate of food, a new verd knife to replace the one that Din had stuck in a krayt dragon’s side, a new cloak, a bit of armor polish. Little things, really, but things that Paz knew Din appreciated all the same. 

Paz’s irritation deepened. 

He was late, with his own gift. 

Well, that’s Din’s fault too, Paz thought sourly. If Din had wanted a wedding gift on time, he should’ve told Paz that he’d gotten married. He’d had the time to tell Paz – they’d lived in Fett’s palace together for weeks. 

Paz’s bad leg ached sharply. He shifted his weight over to his better one, trying to ease the pain. It’d been months since Paz had fallen and broken his leg. The bone had healed as much as it was ever going to heal. Paz had done a kark-poor job of patching himself up after he’d fallen, had been stubborn about letting his kids go out and look for medicine, and as a result Paz was now left with a limp and a persistent sort of pain in his leg that sharpened in cold weather. 

Tatooine was hotter than haran during its days, but its nights were cold and still. 

The leg, at least, isn’t Din’s fault, said a voice in Paz’s head that sounded much like Annika. Paz wished that she’d come to Mos Eisley with him. She’d know what sort of gift to get Din. 

But Annika had finally found a suitable cave in the canyonlands past Mos Pelgo for an armor-forge, and she’d spent the last several days with all of their children sanding the walls of the cave down to the right shape and moving things around. Paz was here alone, ostensibly to pick up some supplies but really just to get him out of the way.  

He’s not the one who knocked you off of that cliff, the voice in his head continued. You don’t need to blame Din for everything. 

Paz scowled underneath his helmet. He’d been losing that argument to Annika for years now – he didn’t need to lose it inside the privacy of his own bucket too. He wasn’t feeling particularly charitable towards Din right now, and he’d never really been able to take it easy on the little mir’sheb anyway. 

He pushed the voice that sounded like Annika out of his head and tried to master his irritation before it could deepen into true anger. Paz didn’t want to go back home angry. 

Then Paz realized that he’d inadvertently thought of Mos Pelgo – a tiny scrap of a town out in the middle of karking nowhere, full of people that Paz wasn’t allowed to punch no matter how much he wanted to – as home and grimaced. 

The hydrospanners didn’t notice. Paz forced himself to look all of them over, leaning, as he always did when the voices in his head clamored too loudly for his attention, on tradition. 

A warrior who wed another was given gifts by the rest of the tribe. Nothing extravagant, of course. Nothing bright or frivolous or pretty, the kind of useless dinu’ka that a moru’sen might collect, and nothing too expensive, either. No one – not even Din, who’d been a successful hunter for the tribe – had ever had many credits to spare for wedding gifts. 

Wedding gifts are supposed to be useful, anyway, Paz thought. The gifts were supposed to help the new couple start their lives together. To help strengthen the newly-made clan, and so strengthen the rest of the tribe. Gifts were supposed to be small but functional. A new holster for a blaster. A handmade cup. A handful of seeds to start cultivating a new garden, if the tribe was living in a place where a garden could be grown. Tools to fix things, blankets to keep warm, knives for the work of the day. Sometimes a little bit of beskar could be saved during armor-forging and fashioned into a promise-bell, which the new couple could hang above their sleeping quarters to remind them of their vows, but that was as much extravagance as tradition allowed. 

When Paz and Annika had married, Din had given them a lumpy but carefully-knit blanket which had been decorated with geometric patterns that Paz hadn’t recognized, even though he’d recognized the care, however clumsy, that had gone into every stitch. All of the knitted shapes had been lopsided and the blanket itself had been small, but Din had only said, shy in the way he got when he was doing something that made him uncomfortable, “For your children,” and had left it at that. 

Mirda still has that old thing, Paz thought, still staring at the hydrospanners. The ones at the bottom of the display were the cheapest. A handful of Huttese coins – Paz forgot what they were called, and didn’t particularly care enough to learn – would buy one, though Paz was sure that the cheapest ones would break before the week was out. 

Mirda’d kept that old blanket with her as the covert had fallen on Nevarro. As Paz had scooped the foundlings – then just children of the tribe, not his children – up into his arms and fled the system, as they had bounced from planet to planet, chased halfway across the known karking galaxy by Imperial Remnants. She loved that thing. 

Din probably doesn’t need a hydrospanner, Paz admitted to himself, disgruntled. Din definitely didn’t need a cheap one, with the way that Fett seemed to dote on Din. 

But wedding gifts aren’t supposed to be expensive. They were supposed to be a blessing. 

For your children, Din had said. 

Paz tried to think of a blessing that could be conveyed by a cheap plastoid hydrospanner and sighed heavily. 

May your ship never break in the middle of karking hyperspace? Paz thought. A lot of good that’ll do – Din doesn’t even leave Tatooine that often, these days. 

May you always have the tools that you need, maybe? 

Fett’d probably outfitted Din already, given him just about anything that Din could think to need. The last time that Paz had seen Din – just a few days ago, because Din came out to Mos Pelgo at least once a week on some business or other, usually trailing Jedi children, Fett’s people, Tusken raiders or Din’s own kriffing Mandalorian honor guard – Din hadn’t even needed new boots. The old pair that he’d worn for the last ten years – the pair that Paz and Annika had tried to convince him to replace for the last ten years, peeling apart at the soles and repaired time and again with duratape – had disappeared, replaced by a nice, sturdy pair of boots that would probably last Din another decade. 

“Dank ferrik,” Paz growled, thoroughly annoyed now. He turned away from the hydrospanners in disgust and swept his gaze over the rest of the shop, hoping that something – anything – would catch his eye. 

Tools of every shape and size hung along the shop’s walls and burst from crates, lined shelves, leaned up against the one counter in the back. Paz saw some power cells, saw half of a speeder engine, saw a handful of defunct droids. Nothing that Paz could give as a proper gift. 

“Dank ferrik,” he repeated, a little louder. He had to resist the urge to thump a fist against the wall. It was still strange, being in a place where Paz could walk aboveground without worrying too much about leading an enemy back to his covert. Tatooine was safe enough, for Mandalorians – the whole galaxy probably knew that Mandalore the Stupidly Karking Honest, or whatever it was that they were calling Din these days, lived here now. 

But Paz didn’t need to cause a scene a town over from Fett’s palace, because he was sure that Fett would hear about it, and if he heard about it then Fett would be smug and shabuir’yc the next time that Paz saw him. 

I’m not allowed to melt him to slag, Paz reminded himself, turning to leave the shop. He wasn’t going to find what he wanted here. Honestly, Paz would probably have better luck hoping that a perfect wedding gift fell out of the sky – stranger things had happened on Tatooine. No matter how much I want to. 

Annika’d been very clear about that, when she’d heard about the incident between Paz, Fett and Paz’s plasma thrower. 

You try and melt your shabuir brother-by-marriage one karking time… 

Paz had only taken one heavy step towards the shop’s front door when he saw a flash of motion out of the corner of his visor. Instinct took over; Paz spun, managing to stay upright this time, and had a blaster out of its holster and aimed at the shape before the flash of motion registered as what it was. 

Paz blinked. His blaster was aimed at a human woman. Behind her a handful of pit droids huddled in her shadow. A small white droid with two legs and two mismatched eye lenses was perched on the woman’s shoulder. 

Paz cocked his blaster, mostly just to make a point. 

“Easy, easy!” the woman yelped, throwing her arms up to shield her face. “What are you doing?!” 

All of the droids trailing after her broke and scattered for cover, chattering to each other in binary. Only the little white droid stayed with the woman. 

Paz eyed her for a moment longer, his shoulders still tense with anticipated violence, but slowly lowered his blaster 

No scenes, he reminded himself. This woman – she’s probably not a threat. Or much of one, anyway. 

The woman was short and wiry and human, with curly brownish grey hair and a thin, sand-worn face. She was wearing a mechanic’s jumpsuit, also brownish and stained with grease, and she had a hyrdospanner shoved into her waistband instead of a blaster. A pair of goggles hung around her neck. She looked about as threatening as an underfed tooka. 

“What are you doing?” Paz challenged, annoyed that he’d been so startled. He should’ve been paying more attention to his surroundings – of course this shop had had an owner. No one left all of their wares out unattended for long, on Tatooine. 

That’s why you got shot off of a cliff, you or’dinii. You’re too busy worrying about Din karking Djarin. 

“It’s a bad idea to sneak up on Mandalorians,” Paz added in a growl. 

The woman cautiously dropped her hands and scowled at him. “This is my shop,” she said. “I wasn’t sneaking up on anybody.” One or two of the little pit droids peered out at Paz from behind the crates. 

Paz made a rough, noncommittal noise and holstered his blaster. The woman, thoroughly unimpressed now, put her hands on her hips. She stood like a ruus’alor, like tough old warrior in the Fighting Corps who’d seen just about everything that the newest crop of foundlings could do and wasn’t impressed. 

“You here to buy something, or just to scare the juice out of a Jawa?” the woman demanded. Paz didn’t know what that meant. He shrugged. 

“Didn’t find what I needed,” he said. “I’ll be on my way.” 

For a split second the woman looked like she was going to tell him not to let the door whack him in the shebs on the way out, but then her eyes flickered to a pouch on Paz’s belt, correctly guessing where he kept his credits, and she said, “Now, hold on.” 

Paz paused. Usually he would just leave. He didn’t like aruetiise much, and he hadn’t been able to find anything here that he could give to Din as a proper wedding gift. 

But I’m out of ideas, he thought. Maybe this aruetii has a better one. 

“What’re you lookin’ for?” the woman asked. “We’ve got just about everything here. Whatever you could want, if it’s tools or ship parts. I’ve even got speeders and ships. Just got a new starfighter in from the scrapyards, even. It needs a little work and, uh, it’s maybe a bit small for a Mandalorian of your stature, but if you give me a few weeks – ”

Paz held up his hand. “I don’t need a ship,” he said, firmly. Annika’d brought one with her when she’d relocated to Tatooine, freeing Paz from Strill Deshra’s truly awful Huntress, and he knew that Din didn’t need a ship either. 

“Well, what’re you lookin’ for, then?” the woman demanded, hands still on her hips. The rest of the pit droids were slowly creeping out from their various hiding places. 

Paz cocked his head to the side, thinking hard. As a rule, he told aruetiise as little as possible. Mandalorian traditions weren’t any of their business. 

It’s Din, though, Paz thought. He’s – well. Din wasn’t an aruetii. Paz had set all of that to rest. 

But he wasn’t quite Mandalorian either, anymore. Or at least Din wasn’t Mandalorian like Paz was Mandalorian. Din – he didn’t need things to be traditional, not anymore. 

“I’m looking for a gift,” Paz said, slowly. “For my brother. A – a marriage-gift.” 

The woman paused. 

“Oh,” she said. “Mandalorians get married?” 

Paz glared at her. 

The woman cleared her throat. “Right,” she said. “Right, Mandalorians get married. Makes sense. You give each other ship parts or tools as wedding gifts?” 

“We give each other useful things,” said Paz. 

“Useful things,” the woman repeated, her tone dubious. “Right. So you’re looking for a useful gift for your brother. Do you like his partner?” 

The audacity of this particular aruetii stunned Paz into a few seconds of silence. He forgot to glare at her entirely and said, when he managed to get over his shock, “What difference does it make?” 

The woman shrugged. “Well, if you like his partner, you can look for something that both of them’d use,” she said. “That’s how we do it here on Tatooine, anyway. But if you don’t like the new in-law, there’s a whole set of other gifts, things that your brother’d get some use out of but your in-law's probably hate.”

Paz hesitated for a fraction of a second, then said, “I hate his husband.” 

It was true. Paz despised Boba Fett. Paz didn’t particularly care who knew that, either. He hated Fett and would probably cheerfully continue to hate him until one or both of them dropped karking dead. Paz was pretty sure that Fett hated him too, which was fine with Paz. Blood feuds were just as much a Mandalorian tradition as marriage-gifts were. 

The woman squinted at Paz. “Are all Mandalorians this honest?” she asked. 

Paz didn’t know what other Mandalorians the woman had talked to. Din, probably, since this was Mos Eisley and Din and Fett lived within sight of the city. 

Mandalore the Stupidly Karking Honest is right. 

“Most of us,” Paz admitted. 

She snorted. “I’ll bet,” she said. She probably had met Din, then. “So, what? You interested in an anooba-gift?” 

“A what?” 

The woman waved a hand. “Something that your brother’d like, but his husband won’t,” she said. “A laughing-gift. Something an anooba’d bring you, so the pack can track your scent through the desert.” 

“That’d be – that’d be good,” Paz muttered. He swept his gaze over the hydrospanners again, then turned away. None of them would work. “But something useful, at least.” Din didn’t have to like his wedding gift. He just had to get some use out of it, otherwise it was just – dinu’ka. Clutter. A waste. 

“You’re probably not gonna find anything here, then,” said the woman, sourly. She spread her hands. “All I’ve got are tools and droids that probably outta be scrapped.” 

The smallest droid, still perched on her shoulder, let out a shrill, offended beep. 

Paz sighed. 

“Just bring him – I dunno, matching mugs or something,” the woman suggested. “Or an ugly light cell, or an oboxious toy for their kids, if they’ve got any. Something that squeaks or sings when you shake it, maybe.” 

“I’m not buying him a mug,” Paz growled. “Or a light cell. And his kid – ”

Then Paz paused. 

Din had given the blanket to Paz and Annika as a gift for their children, even though they hadn’t had any when they’d gotten married. He’d given it to them so that their children could grow up with the blanket, so that it could be there for them when they’d needed it. 

Din’s son, Paz thought, blinking at the little woman in surprise, didn’t have any weapons, when he came to the summit. 

Paz had plenty of gear. Knives, blasters, a grappling hook; as a child he’d trained with a stave and a kad and heavy ordnance of all kinds. 

My kids have knives, Paz thought. And Kieran, Dagny and Tollak are all old enough to carry their own blasters. But Din’s son – 

The woman couldn’t see Paz’s face, so she couldn’t see what Paz was thinking. She kept going. “What about – I dunno, you got anything that might mean one thing to your brother and something different to your in-laws?” 

For your children, Din had said. 

Mirda still uses that blanket, Paz thought. What if I don’t get Din anything? What if I get something for his son? 

Something, Paz thought, that Fett would hate? Or that he’d at least – that he would at least make him remember where it came from. That would remind him, every time he looked at it, that he’s not the only one who cares about Din? Who’s looking out for Din and his clan? 

Months ago, when Paz and his battered little family had been hiding in Boba Fett’s palace, Fett and Paz had gotten into a – disagreement, over Din. That disagreement had ended with Paz trying his level best to melt Fett to slag with his plasma thrower and Fett tackling Paz to the ground. Now Paz could admit, at least to himself, that he’d been a stubborn old shabuir and had picked a fight with Fett that he shouldn’t have, but at the time Paz had felt justified in what he’d done. 

For your children. A blessing, Din had given Paz. Something that had later brought Paz’s children some comfort. 

Din’s son wasn’t lacking for comfort. But for protection – 

Annika’d learned a bit of forge-craft. She’d been chosen as the future leader of the tribe and had started to learn the forge just before Nevarro fell. If Paz could get his hands on some beskar, some plasma charges, if he could figure out a way to shrink the cooling array inside of his own vambrace down into a much-smaller gauntlet, so that the kid could use a plasma thrower without melting his own karking arm off – 

Every Mandalorian warrior, Paz reasoned, needs their weapons. Most Mandalorian children started with verd knives, but for the son of the mand’alor –

For the son of the mand’alor, I bet an exception could be made. 

“Now that,” said Paz, thoughtfully, “is a pretty good idea.”

[triplehmunson]

𝐏𝐎𝐕: Your ex-boyfriend Pedro complains to his "best friend" since he began to invent gossip where they said that you were cheating on him with a friend of yours, everything turned into chaos and the worst thing is that Pedro believed those lies and they ended up on bad terms.

[galactic-star-bruiser]

Fear pt.1

Din Djarin x f!reader

both POVs

summary:

You walk into a cantina, searching for the bounty you were after, only to be taken up on an unexpected partnership

*Angst, fluff, flirting, a bit of an overconfident reader (lmao)

much love,

Rose xx

I walked into the cantina on Tatooine, scanning through the filthy crowd of criminals for any sign of the bounty I was after “...damn” I curse to myself, when I was suddenly cut off my a cold, modulated voice behind me. 

“Can I be of assistance” asks a man in full beskar armor. 

“I don’t think so...” I respond, moving to get out of his way. 

“Are you sure?” He asked. He had obviously heard you cursing to yourself.

I rolled my eyes, “fine. Have you seen this man”, I asked holding up a hologram with the face of a the crime lord I was after. 

The man’s helmeted gaze never left the hologram... he was genuinely trying to analyze it. I was taken aback by the fact that he was actually trying to help me.

“Yes”, the man responded flatly. 

“Yes... what?” I asked, looking for a bit more context to his answer. 

“Yes. I have seen this man.” The armored man said, his helmeted face now directly facing mine. I couldn’t help the chill it sent down my spine. 

“If you aid me in finding him... I’ll split the bounty with you... I assume you’re a bounty hunter as well” I said in a serious tone, indicating I would stay true to my word.

“Deal... but if you double cross me I will not hesitate to bring you in as bounty too....”

My breath hitched. Was he making a vague threat or did he actually know who I was? I decided to let it go... not eager to hear either possibility. 

As we walked out of the cantina the armor clad man let out a chuckle “I’ve never met any man so unafraid of working with a mandalorian...”

I stopped in my tracks, removing the helmet I wore in order to hide my identity when following a bounty... “I am no man.” I say flatly, letting my hair fall around my shoulders. 

If it weren’t for his helmet I would’ve sworn a look of shock crossed his face. He took a small step back as if to examine me better... “impressive”.

I rolled my eyes... “I better be impressive for my skilled combat rather than the fact that I’m a woman”

A low, modulated, chuckle came from the mandalorian’s mask, “of course”. 

We walked to the ship the mandalorian insisted we take... a razor crest

“Damn... I haven’t seen one of these bad boys in a long time” I say in an impressed tone, giving the ship a small love tap before walking inside.

the ship was neat and smelled of blaster fire and a clean, musky soap

“So...”, I speak up, unable to shake the feeling that the eyes behind the man’s mask followed even my slightest of movements. 

He ignored my attempt to start conversation, but I was persistent and refused to let him ignore me. 

“C’mon handsome, you’re stuck with me now” I said with a smirk. 

The mandalorian stiffened in the pilots seat, “don’t call me that.” He said flatly, and continued charting your course. 

“What... handsome?” I asked in a mocking tone, only to be ignored once again.

A few hours pass as we sit in complete silence, an awkward tension hanging in the air

“We’re here”, the Mandalorian said.

“So... he speaks” I teased... ignored again 

I follow the large man out onto the planet he brought me to...

“Wow... it’s great” I added sarcastically as I scanned the frozen wastelands of Hoth. This earned a chuckle from my stoic partner.

“We will have to start a two hour trek.... You prepared for that” He said with a slight mockery.

I simply started walking ahead of him.

“Wrong way, princess” 

Dank farrik I curse under my breath, trailing behind him.

we continued our silent trek and the few times that I tripped in the snow, the Mandalorian instinctively reached out and grabbed me... I could get used to that 

“So, if we are going to work together, what should I call you,” I asked in earnest.

“Mando is fine”

“No, I was asking for your name”

“... Mando is fine”

I was confused, but then I remembered how secretive his people could be... I let it slide.

His voice broke into my line of thought, “What should I call you”

“Y/N” I answered, “*nickname*, if you’d like. Though to get my last name you’ll have to torture it out of me first” I ended with a quick chuckle. I hadn’t given anyone my last name for as long as I could remember, I was...too traceable.

“Y/N”

“Mando”

“It’s settled then”, he replied in a way that signaled the conversation was over. 

////////////////

I looked down at the woman trudging next to me, trying my best not to kick snow up onto her as she was already sinking waist deep into it. 

I wanted to say something... anything, but there was something about her that made me nervous. Maybe it was the fact that she was too trusting, or because she was another bounty hunter littered with battle scars... or maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t afraid to flirt with me, even in jest.

It was moments like this that I was grateful to the creed and my loyalty to it... the helmet was nice when you act like a touch starved school boy at any slightly flirtatious comment from a pretty girl. 

[omaano]

I wouldn’t have been mad if this was the first or second episode of the season tbh

[lamaenthel]

I saw your tags about Karen Travis, is that why people don’t like her?

yeah she's uhhhhhhhhhhh i'll try to say this nicely but she legitimately thinks that the Jedi were a bunch of superpowered fascist babysnatchers who thought their powers gave them inherent superiority over other sentient beings. she portrayed them in her repcomm novel series as incompetent clowns who were actively complicit in enslaving the clones and deserved order 66 as comeuppance. also any poor sap who thinks the Jedi were good is actually engaging in nazi groupthink and they need to take a long look at their lives

i do enjoy the characters and stories that she created and i think she did great with making up a whole ass language that's genuinely easy to learn and expand upon, but she definitely missed the boat on the Jedi completely

[merrysithmas]

here's hoping Mando3 is gonna end up as the We Don't Talk About Bruno season of Din Djarin's continued adventures

clinkclink

[sillyromantic4ever]

Chapter I: "Ponderings" from Beneath the Armor, Vol. II

Excerpt: "[Din] smirks to himself beneath his helmet. When he had first met Talia on Cholganna over five months ago, he had kicked and punched against the intrusion of his privacy. But after time passed and after seeing that this perplexing woman was being kind, understanding, and simply herself, he had stopped. Even now, he does not quite remember when he did. And after a moment, he calmly realizes that he does not care.

"Not anymore."

Read here: Beneath the Armor, Vol. II - Chapter 1 - SillyRomantic4Ever - The Mandalorian (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

[pedropascalforpresident]

Summary: Din knows better than to drag Grogu into the line of fire. But the little guy can get into trouble on his own just fine!

Part 2 of The Collective fanfiction series. Main story.

And if you prefer; FF.net

[cilil]

Námo x reader - 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Author's Note: Suggested by @singleteapot. Thank you so much! Hope you like what I came up with♡

☯ For the most part, Námo lets you do your thing. He trusts that you are smart and competent and usually doesn't consider it necessary to interfere

☯ But he soon notices your bad habits, sees how tired you are, how you sometimes forget to eat or don't get as much rest as you need to stay happy and healthy and it worries him

☯ Námo starts by asking if you're alright and if you need anything and will accept it if you decline, though he may be a bit more careful and gentle with you than normal, trying to be supportive and subtly show you that he cares

☯ If your condition doesn't improve, he'll soon get more blunt, telling you what he's been observing and that he's worried about you. Being the strict judge that he is, he won't hear excuses forever

☯ Regardless of what your answer is, Námo decides to take charge, his protective instincts kicking in. Many in Valinor have forgotten about it over the years, but he practically raised Irmo when they were young, so he developed strong feelings of responsibility for his loved ones

☯ Námo consults with Irmo and Estë to figure out what he should do. He proceeds to carry you to your shared bed, bring you your favourite food and drinks and make sure you're warm and comfortable

☯ If work was troubling you, he'll have it taken care of, and if someone was bothering you or causing problems, they'll get a stern warning from the Doomsman himself

☯ You get to experience his soft, affectionate side more than ever before. Námo sometimes has trouble expressing his feelings, but you can see how his face softens when he's around you, hear the tone of his voice changing and feel the affection in his touch

☯ Námo loves to reward your for good behaviour and progress, but he won't do so until you've earned it. He watches over you with loving strictness, making sure that his little raven recovers and feels better soon

. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭. . . . . ◟੭

"I'm fine," you insist, squirming on his lap in an attempt to turn around and glare at your lover. "I can go to work tomorrow -"

"Mmh..." Námo muses, pulling you closer and kissing your parting. "As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, I am not convinced."

"But the work is just going to pile up -"

"It won't. I will see to that, little raven; do not concern yourself with these things now."

"But I want -"

"Motion denied." A low chuckle rumbles in Námo's chest after he utters his final verdict, and you can't help smiling as well. It's rare for him to make jokes, and you appreciate seeing this side of him, one reserved only for his loved ones.

You lean back and snuggle up to him, finally admitting defeat. "Can I have a kiss at least?"

Námo smiles when he leans in to grant your request. "You may."

taglist: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @asianbutnotjapanese @bluezenzennie @edensrose @floraroselaughter @melkors-defense-attorney @singleteapot

[chaotic-iguana]

HI OMG UR FICS ARE INTOXICATING WTH!!!

Can I please req a Din Djarin where he and the reader are travelling together and reader is bubbly/sunshine personality and then she admits her feelings and Din doesn’t reciprocate at first.. then her personality changes and she’s all sad and he can’t stand it!!!! Cause he does love her and he can’t bare to see her that way!!!

Super angst and fluff please 😭😭😭😭 THANK H IF U DECIDE TO WRITE THIS 🤍🤍

HELLO THANK YOU SO MUCH!! ofc im writing anything u request lysm ur the best plus the prompt is so adorable ahufsdkfjhfs. just to try sumth new, im gonna switch it up and do this one from din’s pov. lmk what you think!!

Enough

Summary: Din rejects reader when she confesses her feelings to him even though he feels the same, only to regret it later.

Pairing: Grumpy! Din x Sunshine! Reader (no use of y/n)

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings: none, just a lot of angst and fluff

masterlist

——————————————————————————————————

Din Djarin was not a good man. He was aware of this, which is why he was careful not to get to close. Not to taint things with his darkness; the destruction that seemed to shadow him wherever he went. He learned to turn his head away when you sung softly to the child, to clench his fists and keep himself from reaching for you when you giggled at your own terrible (adorable) jokes, to steel himself against your pleas to purchase every single fuzzy fabric you saw, no matter the form. Socks, blankets, shirts, trousers, even a kriffing hat, which Din stopped and let you buy just to stop the stares he was getting from people at the way you were practically jumping in your spot, pointing at the shop’s display. 

But despite his best wishes, Din was not a strong man, either. Not as strong as he needed to be, to resist you. You, with a beaming smile that never failed to make him blush under his helmet; with tender, caring hands that looked so soft that Din wanted to rip his beskar off so you could brush them against him, just once. Your hair, which smelled so sweet that Din could catch traces of it through the beskar. Your eyes, almost siren-like when you blinked up at him while rambling away about something. The way you scrunched your nose with a snort when you couldn’t hold in a laugh. The fact that you had never, ever asked for his name - or an explanation of his helmet, for that matter - even when he knew you hadn’t heard of Mandalorians before. The lilting notes of laughter in your voice before you turned to him with a sly smile, offering him with a witty quip he would have killed others for voicing, before throwing back your head and howling. No, Din was nowhere near strong enough to stand a single damn chance against you. 

He could hear you humming to yourself and the baby while you heated some broth, stopping to lean down and pepper kisses all over Grogu’s face as he cooed happily. Walking into the cockpit, he grunted in acknowledgement of your “Hey, Mando! Sleep well?” before turning to the child and nudging his helmet against his wrinkly forehead. When he turned around to see a gentle smile gracing your face in acknowledgement of the scene in front of you, he straightened up and cocked his helmet as if daring you to comment. 

He was itching for a fight: something, anything to stop the sweet torture of your presence which seemed to breathe life into your surroundings, no matter where you stood. You’d find a way to brighten a graveyard, Cyar’ika. Your smile tightened slightly before you presented him with a bowl of his own, brushing past him to take the child in your arms and leave the cockpit. Every muscle in his body was tense, his mind begging him to let you stay, to apologise for his hostility. To hear you prattle on about something menial while he ate, to revel in the domesticity of being with you. Not like that, of course. You were simply too good for him. Too perfect; too pristine. Your eyes too bright and your heart too soft for him to be worthy of your love. And so Din slipped off his helmet, ducked his head, and ate in silence.

He had noticed that lately, you still spoke to him, but you’d leave with the child more often. He could hear conspiratorial whispers sometimes, the child nodding and babbling his own input as if the two of you were hiding something. You weren’t awkward around him, per se, just less readily giving of your laughter, your jokes, your mindless chatter. All Din knew was that his mind would not rest unless he confronted you, and soon. A restless yearning for your erratic, unnecessarily bright gestures gave way to the anxiety spooling in his gut. Had you finally seen him for what he is?

So later that day, after the supply run when you had fed and put Grogu to sleep, he approached you in the cockpit. He shuffled uneasily behind you, shifting his weight from side to side as he waited for you to break the silence. But uncharacteristically, you just continued to stare into hyperspace without a word. When Din cleared his throat, you turned your head his way. But your gaze was flitting around; your hands fiddling nervously in your lap. Why were you apprehensive? 

“Are you…” Din swallowed, unsure of how to phrase his question, “okay?” Are we okay?You looked up at him then, your eyes wide with anxiety, before looking down at your lap again. Could you be…scared? Of me? 

But then you took a deep breath; the nerves fading from your face and giving way to a look of complete resignation, your shoulders slumping with the weight of inevitability. Your gaze met his visor, and he could see that your fingers were lightly curled into fists.

“I don’t really know how to do this, Mando.” Another deep breath. The colour has faded from your face and suddenly you seemed so small, folded in on yourself, that Din had never had to wrestle harder with his own self-control to stop himself from pulling you into his chest and holding you; comforting you, until you’re back to your bouncy self. “You know that I like most people, right?” He nods; you do seem to like and be liked by most people he’s come across, even the ones he would deem unworthy to so much as look at you. 

“I’ve always really enjoyed meeting new people, and making friends. Life is easier when you’ve got people, right?” You’re rambling again, but instead of the usual enthusiasm lacing your tone, crippling worry dripped from your every word. Are you leaving him? 

“I think-I know that I like you more than I like everyone else. Anyone else. I like everything about you more than I’ve ever liked about anyone else and I just…” you trailed off, gulping. “It feels like you and Grogu are my family, already. And I guess I just can’t help but wonder if you might want more than this, like I do. I-fuck it-I’m in love with you, Mando.” And then you’re shying away from him again, biting your lip as you search his visor for a reaction. 

You’re in love with him? This has to be a joke. Din waited for the catch, standing unmovingly in front of you as if waiting for one of your signature punchlines to come tumbling out of your mouth. When it doesn’t, he just gaped at you, his mind overwhelmed with too many thoughts to even say anything. A part of him had never been happier than this moment right here; never loved you more than right now. But the other, more dominant part of him was practically reprimanding him. And what now, idiot? Profess your undying love to her and subject her to a life as the wife of a bounty hunter? No comfortable homes, no proper vacations or even neighbors. A life on the run. With you, dikuit - a man who has never been loved enough to understand how to reciprocate. There is nothing you can give her. There is nothing you can do. 

Din bristled under your gaze, suppressing a wince at the words that came out of his mouth next. “You mean to tell me that you are in love with a man you have never even see the face of? A man who hasn’t even told you his name? Stop lying to yourself. There is no ‘family’. You are the child’s caretaker, and nothing more. It would be best for you not to forget that in the future.” He wanted to slap a hand to his mouth, to bite his tongue - anything, anything not to see the way you wilted in front of him as his words registered. You slumped further in the chair, shoulders curving inwards as you brought your knees to your chest to curl up into a protective position, as if he was hurting you. Frustrated by the fact that he could neither pull you in his arms to comfort you, nor find it in himself to continue spewing bullshit he didn’t mean, Din just turned and walked away. He pretended not to hear the muffled crying echoing through the ship that night. 

——————————————————————————————————

That had been three weeks ago. He’d gone for a hunt right after, returning within the week. What he found back at the ship made a part of him wish he wouldn’t have returned at all. Your eyes sat bloodshot on hollow cheeks, sunken in your face as dark blotches formed under them. You were quiet, even with the concerned child - all the singing, humming goneas if it had never been. Grogu kept gesturing to you when he father looked his way, as if asking what was wrong. Din knew what was wrong. He just didn’t know how to fix it. He couldn’t find it in himself to leave you alone again, so he’d been mumbling excuses to you each morning as to why he was still on the ship. You’d never answer, just offering him the barest dip of your chin. Din hadn’t just rejected you-he’d been cruel about it. And he hadn’t slept since the night he’d spat those pathetic words at you in an effort of self-preservation, either. The moment kept replaying in his head over and over: your initial nervousness, the words you’d said to him, and your wince at the ones he’d reciprocated with. 

But like he’d admitted: Din Djarin was not a strong man. For you; only for you, he would crumble. To see your usual cheeriness replaced by this emptiness nearly made his knees buckle. You’d stopped eating, too - quietly slipping your food to Grogu, whose concern was overridden by his constant hunger. He’d done this: out of fear of hurting you, he’d reduced you to a mere shadow of what you used to be by doing it anyways. Out of his fear of fucking it up, he’d gone and done that exact thing without even trying to make it work. It was unacceptable to him, to go without hearing your laugh or your jokes or your humming. Not to see you giggling with Grogu. Fix it then, dikuit. So he would. 

Din walked into the cockpit, picked Grogu up from his place on the floor, and whispered a soft apology to him before shutting him in his cot. Grogu, ever-understanding, had just pressed a claw to his helmet and nodded as if wishing him luck. Thanks kid, I’m going to need it. He’d seen your confusion when he had taken Grogu out of the cockpit, but youremained mute. Walking back towards you, Din could feel his chest hurting at the way your hands shook and your eyes glossed over when he got closer. 

“I’m sorry.” His words have no effect; a tilt of your head is the only proof you offer to show that you heard him. Ironic, isn’t it, to be at the receiving end of what I do to others all the time? “For how harsh I was. I didn’t mean it.” Your mouth opens this time, but he raises a hand to stop you. If he doesn’t get this out now, he never will. “I was the one lying to myself, not you. I fell in love with you a long, long time ago, ner’karta. But I was scared-still am-because I have nothing good to give you. Not like what you deserve. My creed alone means that I can’t show you my face until we get married. My job doesn’t allow me stability. I have never been…loved. I do not know how to love you properly. All I know is that it doesn’t feel like a good morning until you say it, that I feel myself flushing under my beskar when you smile at me, that I have to bite my lip to stop a chuckle when you tell me your jokes. All I know is that since you’ve come into my life and made it brighter, it seems I can’t face the darkness alone again. These past two weeks have been hell, cyar’ika. I cannot bear to see you like this. Please forgive me. I will drop you off anywhere you wish to go.” 

And then your face is twisting and you’re sobbing - large, shuddering sobs that alarm Din when they begin. He reaches a tentative hand out towards you slowly, giving you more than enough opportunity to slap it away. When you don’t, he steps closer and pulls you into his chest. As I should have done then. You shake with the force of your hiccups, and Din reaches to rip off his gloves before wrapping his arms around you, a warm hand coming to cradle your head against him. All he can say is a feverish repetition of “I’m sorry, I’m sorrymy love, please forgive me”. 

By the time your tears subside, you can hear sniffs coming from under the helmet too; his modulated voice cracking and giving away his own crying. “Y-you don’t get to-to decide for me. You can’t decide whether or not you can offer enough or whether you can love me properly or not. Just love me, Mando. All you have to do is try.” Your voice is so fragile, so tentative as you speak into his chest that Din’s heart aches at the pain he can hear in it. You continue, “I don’t need stability from you, nor do I need your name or face. To have your heart is enough.” And though you can’t see it, Din has to shut his eyes and brace himself against the weight of his own tears this time. His chest warming, butterflies in his stomach as he tucks you impossible closer.

“Like I said, cyar’ika, you’ve had it for a very long time.” And then you’re smiling again, as Din’s knees threaten to buckle from the force of emotion that wells up at the sight. You’ve pulled back from his chest, but stay close enough to graze his helmet with your nose.

“Is that so, Mando? Do I want to know how long?” You whisper back, somehow looking straight into his eyes despite the visor. 

“Din.” At your frown, he clarifies hesitantly. “My name, cyar’ika. Din Djarin.” You beam brighter, repeating it to yourself. “Wait - cyar’ika? You started calling me that last year, when you were annoyed I bought that fuzzy green hat with frog ear and Grogu tried to eat it on the way home. I thought it was like a swear word, or something -not that I think you would swear at me, you just seemed very annoyed, you know?”

A chuckle slips past his modulator, before he gives in completely. “Close your eyes, please.” When you comply, he rips his helmet off and cups your jaw with his hand, thumb stroking your cheek. Leaning in, he presses his mouth to yours gently, leaning back to look at you. “Beloved, cyare. It means beloved.” Before he can say anything else, your hands tangle in his hair, and suddenly you’re pulling him back into another kiss. And another. And another. 

You two remain so wrapped up in each other that you actually forget to leave the cockpit until Grogu stomps in, having apparently broken out of his cot, and begins babbling at you both angrily, before seeing the smile on your face after so long and hurtling towards you at full speed, nearly tripping on his robes in the process before you catch him in your arms. 

It was true, though. You didn’t need Din to go out of his way to give you anything. This was enough. 

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore

[lovexjoe]

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

Damsel In Distress

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

Warnings: Violence, some fluffy fluff

Y/N POV

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

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

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

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

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

"Thinks? Oh he definitely does" Rita says.

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

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

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

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

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

Armando POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oops" You wink.

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

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

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

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