#paz must be out of his mind right now

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

hi idk if u take requests, but if u do could u write a Din x Reader where the reader gets really sunburnt and she doesn’t want to be a burden to Din so she doesn’t tell him, and then when he finds out he helps her treat it? I’d love if they admitted their feelings for each other in the end..

Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Warning: injury, mentions of blood and pain, self doubt and anxiety

Word Count: 1,890

a/n: i changed 'sunburnt' to a different injury and i hope that's okay. i only did that b/c if i wrote the reader as sunburnt i'd have to describe her skin color, and i like to keep my drabbles as inclusive as possible. hope you don't mind!

.

COMMON MISTAKE

"Pylades: I'll take care of you.

Orestes: It's rotten work.

Pylades: Not to me. Not if it's you."

.

Din told you to be careful. Actually, his exact words were, ‘Stop playing with your karking knife’. You, in all your excellent brilliance, had mouthed off a passive acknowledgement before continuing to play with your vibroblade. Although, ‘play’ was a strong word. You just wanted to get good at spinning it in your hand. Before you left Mandalore, you had seen Paz do it and since then you were determined to master that skill.

So, the summary was, Din told you to be careful, you had not been careful, and now you were bleeding. A lot. Dank farrik. In your defense, he had warned you that you were gonna cut your hand, and that was not what happened. You had tripped going up the ramp and accidentally skewered your thigh. Which, when worded that way, was ten thousand times worse. It was a good thing you hadn’t hit an artery because you would’ve bled to death before calling Din to let him know you were dying from an injury born of your own stupidity. 

“This is fine. I’m fine. No problem.” You mumbled to yourself as you wrapped your thigh with some padded gauze. You refused to use bacta on this. The thought of wasting the expensive and important medication on this injury only added guilt to your shame. “Everything is okay.” It looked good now all covered up and out of sight. Your pants were absolutely ruined with a hole in the thigh and blood that stained the entire length of your left leg, but it was fine. “I’m fine.”

If you repeated the word ‘fine’ enough times then it was bound to come true. Science.

You pushed off the cot to stand and nearly crumpled under the weight. Pain, hot and unbearable, rocketed from your hip down to your toes. Your entire left leg was angry and screaming at you. With a sharp breath, you forced yourself to walk and get a new pair of pants. Your communicator chirped a message that Din was on his way back with Grogu and that put a whole new level of panic on the situation. Getting your clothing situated, you chose to stand rather than sit. There was a solid chance if you sat down right now you wouldn’t be able to get back up.

Five minutes passed when Din came around the side of the ship to stand at the end of the ramp. Grogu was playing with an unfamiliar toy in the satchel by his side. The Mandalorian must have caved and bought the kid a new toy again.

“Hey,” Din called out without coming closer, “Are you done with the wiring?”

You had stayed behind to repair some loose wiring. Your sole job on the ship was to keep the damn thing in the air, and Maker did the Razor Crest fight you at every step. You nodded. “Yes. Yupp. All good.”

“Come with me.” Din motioned for you to follow after him. “I want to show you something in the town.”

You let out a quiet whimper as he slid out of view, and with a steadying breath you marched out with the most normal gait you could manage. Honestly, you were impressed with yourself. You’d be more impressed if you hadn’t stabbed yourself in the first place, but considering your situation you’d claim this victory. The town wasn’t far from where Din parked the ship and it was a small, but colorful village nestled in the wilds of Naboo. Somehow the fact that you injured yourself while the three of you were parked on one of the most relaxing and safe worlds out there only made your pride sting that much more. 

There was sweat beading on your forehead that you had to wipe away and your leg was burning in white, hot agony. Din continued to glance your way, you could feel his gaze, until he finally spoke. “You’re awfully quiet today, tranyc’ika.”

“Just… thinking.” You replied. It was a Maker damned miracle your words didn’t fall out with a whimper. Only a few paces ahead was a little shop that sold caf. Tables and chairs littered the outside patio and the second you and Din began to pass them, you drifted to take a seat. “Hey, how⏤ how about some caf, yeah?”

Din paused and just stared at you. You licked your lips and focused on taking slow breaths through your nose. Finally, Din shifted so he faced you dead on and his hands went to his hips. As if recognizing Din’s ‘lecture stance’, Grogu stopped playing to pay attention to what was happening.

“Walk to me.” He near demanded it.

“That’s a weird request.” You replied and made no move to stand. Din tilted his head at you. Dank farrik. Hands on hip and the head tilt. You were royally fucked. “Yeah, alright. Here I come.”

Just as you had guessed in the ship, the act of sitting down had ruined you. If your slow and shaky rise from the chair didn’t give you away, you took three steps before your left leg gave out on you completely. Before you could hit the ground, strong arms caught you with ease and you looked up to meet Din’s dark t-shaped visor.

“What did you kriffing do?”

“I, uh,” You offered him a sheepish smile, “I, maybe, stabbed myself. A little.”

You had gotten pretty good at reading Din’s body language which was why it was too easy to notice how his entire body stiffened. Without a word, he scooped you up into his arms, bridal style, and began to carry you back toward the ship. Grogu crawled up his dad’s side and found a home on your abdomen where he babbled at you in worry. The babbles were a fantastic distraction from the rage that seemed to waft off Din. When he got back into the cargo hold he carefully set you down after Grogu hopped off. His hands went back to his hip and you could only imagine he was glaring down at you through his visor. 

“Pants off. Now.” He snapped.

You had always dreamed of him saying that to you, but it always had a very different context than your current reality. With a pained sigh, you undid your belt then carefully shimmied out of your pants before leaning back on the metal crate behind you for balance. Din ripped his gloves off, tossing them down in a fit, but when his hands found your thigh his touch was soft and careful. 

Din peeled away the gauze you had applied and you realized you had nearly bled through more than half of the padding you had put down. The sound of a hiss escaped Din’s helmet when he saw your wound and you couldn’t help but wince as well. 

“Don’t move.” He said. Din’s voice left no room for argument as he drifted away. He returned with the first aid kit and you watched him pull out the bacta. You opened your mouth to argue, but the second a sound squeaked out of you his head snapped up to meet your eyes. You didn’t have to guess if he was glaring this time. You could feel the heat of it cutting through the visor and into your soul.

Moments after he applied the bacta, relief began to seep into your thigh. You couldn’t hold back the soft sigh that tumbled from your lips. Din carefully reapplied a new bandage once he was appeased with the amount of bacta he spread around and into the wound. You had hoped when he was finished he would just walk away and leave you to your misery, but you always had been a dumb, blind optimist and the galaxy loved to disappoint you.

Din set his hands on either side of you, knuckles white with how hard he gripped the edge of the crate, and he shook his head. “What happened?”

“I… I tripped. Fell on my knife.”

He sighed, “Are you out of your kriffing mind?”

“No.” You replied. “It’s not like I did it on purpose! I’m negligent, not insane.”

“You tripped, fell on your knife, stabbed yourself in the thigh, and then hid it from me?” Din’s voice grew louder with each event. His words pushing out in what was basically a growl.

You twisted your lips before nodding once. “That is an accurate description of events, yes.”

“Why⏤”

“Because Din!” You interrupted him. “First off, it’s the dumbest injury a person could possibly sustain so of course I didn’t tell you! Forget the karking wound, I nearly died of embarrassment.” You huffed a sigh and shook your head. “And, secondly, I’m so tired of feeling like a burden. You’re always there, taking care of me, and I just… I don’t want to be so dependent on you all the time.”

Din leaned in and you were surprised when he rested his head against your chest. Instinctively, your hands raised to wrap around his helmet, elbows resting on his shoulders. “Gar draar suvarir, tranyc’ika.” He mumbled and you only recognized your nickname. Din lightly shook his head against you. “I want to take care of you. I need to.”

“Why, Din? Why⏤”

“I don’t⏤” Din cut himself off with a grumble. Slowly, he lifted his head back up and your hands fell to his shoulders. “I’ve never been good at expressing myself with⏤ with words. But, I can take care of you. I can show you.”

“Oh.” You replied. Was he…? Did he…? You wondered if this was an admission or if your own feelings for him were biasing your thoughts. 

“So will you please, for the love the Maker, just let me take care of you?” Din breathed out.

You nodded. “Okay.”

Din’s body slumped with relief and he caught you off guard by pushing off the crate and pulling you into his arms for an embrace. His arms around you were tight⏤ as if desperate for the touch. When you leaned your weight into him, letting him hold you up, you heard him let out a soft sigh. One of his bare hands traced up your spine and cupped the back of your neck. Feeling the warmth of his hand press against your bare skin made your eyes flutter close.

“It’s a common mistake.” Din said quietly. It took you a moment to pull yourself out of the haze of bliss you had been lost in to hum out a reply. “I tripped and fell on my blade once.” 

Your lips pulled up into a smile. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, tranyc’ika.” Din replied. He chuckled. “Granted, it happened when I was seven.”

“Okay, touching moment of comfort, officially over.”

A laugh bubbled out from Din’s helmet, the sound comparable to a fresh breeze with the exhilaration it brought you. He pulled away from you, but left his hand on the back of your neck. Din quickly leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours for a few seconds, before his hand fell away an the moment truly ended. You stared at him as he collected the first aid kit to put away. Before he could leave, your hand shot out to grasp his wrist.

"I..." You paused. "I think I'm better with words. And I, I just want you to know that you're so important to me, Din."

"I know." Din nodded. He flipped his hand over so he could squeeze your hand, and it brought a smile back to your face. "Now put your pants back on. Your stab wound interrupted our date."

"Wait, our what??"

mando'a translations:

Gar draar suvarir: You don't (never) understand.

tranyc’ika: sunshine (sunny one)

[naavispider]

Obstinate

Missed the blorbos so made up a late night convo 🥺 This is very early on in Quaritch and Spider's dynamic, possibly the first night they spent in the forest together.

Words: 1,723

Read under the cut or read on AO3 💞💙💞💙

The boy sat lonesomely at the edge of the fire. It was almost enough to make Quaritch feel sorry for him. The rest of the Colonel’s squad were dispersed around the campsite - some setting up comfortable sleeping areas or tapping away on their holopads, but most were congregated around the flames, enjoying a card game or sharing stories. The reflection of the fire in their dark pupils highlighted something deep and dark that Quaritch couldn’t quite put his finger on. Since returning to this life as recombinants, something inside each and everyone of them had changed. Fundamentally they were all different people. 

Even Spider. He was no longer the baby that Quaritch remembered with such mixed emotions, but he was still capable of eliciting the same confusing feelings as he had when he was small enough to fit into the palm of Quaritch’s hand. Currently, the teenager looked deep in thought, his chin resting atop his folded up knees, the firelight dancing in the reflection of his mask. He’d been sitting like that for an hour or more, refusing to interact with anyone in the squad. 

They’d left him alone, mostly, preferring to let Quaritch himself deal with the kid. Quaritch didn’t know why they seemed wary of interacting with him. It was almost like they were afraid of stepping on Quaritch’s toes. He took a deep sigh, deciding that enough was enough. 

Spider didn’t shift as Quaritch approached. He didn’t even look at him. The recom took a seat on the soft ground next to the boy, bracing himself for whatever kind of pissy attitude he was about to mop up. 

“You a selective mute or somethin'?”

Spider continued staring forward, although he made half an attempt at a flat eyeroll.

“Ah, you got a lot on your mind,” Quaritch waved a hand in sympathy, speaking as if Spider had just given a full verbal response. He glanced sideways at the boy in time to see Spider chewing the inside of his mouth. The expression was so reminiscent of Paz that for a second Quaritch just stared. Eventually he looked away and let the silence stretch on, trying to think of something else to say. “You gonna sit here feeling sorry for yourself all night, kid?”

Spider closed his eyes in a way that could only be described as condescending. 

“You ain’t gonna accomplish anything like this, you know.”

Irritation flickered across Spider’s face. Success. 

“You may as well join the circle,” Quaritch pressed in an overly optimistic voice. “Get to know some folks.”

“Why would I want to do that?” 

Quarich’s heart sang. He shrugged. “I guess you wouldn’t. But it beats sitting here like a depressed loner.”

“I’ll take depressed loner over a traitor to my people any day, thanks.”

Quaritch let out a low whistle. “Damn, kid. You got some heart. But it ain’t all that. You’re just less likely to be eaten by a wolf if you’re closer to us.”

Finally, Spider turned to him, anger folded into every crease of his face. “You know nothing.”

That stumped Quaritch. He flexed his jaw. “They not in these parts then?”

Spider let out a dry laugh, but didn’t elaborate. 

Quaritch was starting to get frustrated. Spider was just a little shit after all. He forced himself to remember that Spider was under a lot of stress, and that he didn’t fully trust the recoms yet. For all the kid knew, they’d abandon him to the wildlife or throw him back in a cell without a second thought. 

“You’re feeling it right now, I get it. But come into the circle where I can at least keep an eye on you.”

“Why do you care what happens to me?”

Quaritch frowned. He thought Spider at least remembered the part where he’d pulled him from the neuroscanner. The kid had been out of it, but he must have remembered that it was Quaritch’s arms that carried him back to the cell? He sniffed. “It looks bad on my report, kid. Can’t have people thinking I can’t look after one moody teenager in the field, no matter how obstinate.”

“Your job is not to look after me.”

The confidence with which Spider said the words triggered something… sad inside Quaritch. It was clear the boy didn’t believe Quaritch had a shred of concern for him. “My job is to keep you safe so you can help us. That means protecting you.”

Spider muttered something under his breath - but Quaritch suspected it was Na’vi. 

“What was that?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Spider had turned back to face Quaritch, but the furious expression on his face was water off a duck’s back to the Colonel. “Explain then. You don’t need protection?”

“Faysawtute! Protection from what? From my home? My people?”

Your people? “Pandora’s no place for a kid, Spider.”

Spider made an incredulous gesture, looking around at the forest which had come alive at night. “You have eyes, but you don’t see,” was all he said. 

…Right. Quaritch had had enough of playing nice. “Get your ass closer to camp or I’ll drag you myself.”

Spider was clearly fuming, because he balled his fists and then carefully unclenched them, his jaw set and his eyes deep with mutinous thoughts. Quaritch watched the bioluminescence of the moss fade where Spider had been sitting, and immediately missed the boy’s presence, despite Spider doing what he was told. He watched the kid move closer to the campsite, although it still wasn’t quite close enough for Quaritch to be truly satisfied. 

It would have to do. 

He’d had to seriously consider what he’d do if Spider made a run for it in the night. He suspected the boy could be plotting something, but the type of resentment Spider was currently displaying put Quaritch strangely at ease. It was as if the boy had accepted his fate. Spider was smart after all - he knew that running would achieve nothing. 

After a moment, Quaritch pushed himself off the ground and followed Spider back over to the camp. He took a seat next to Wainfleet on a fallen log, making sure the sulking teenager was in his line of sight. 

For the rest of the evening, Spider remained distant and solitary, facing away from him and curling up under some kind of giant, glowing mushroom. The sight was so ridiculous it reminded Quaritch of a scene from a fairytale. Only after the final embers had died and ninety percent of the squad had clocked off for the night did Quaritch approach Spider again. Half of him wanted to check if Spider was asleep, the other half was secretly hoping for another chance at conversation. 

Quaritch stretched widely and approached Spider’s spot cautiously. If Spider was asleep, he didn’t want to wake him. However quietly he thought he was being, it wasn’t enough. Spider’s head snapped around his body tensed, searching for the source of danger. 

“Easy tiger, it’s only me,” Quaritch reassured. 

“What do you want now?” Spider half sat up, the soft hissing of his exopack the only sounds in the vicinity. Above them, the faint light from Polyphemus shone delicately through the canopy. This moon didn’t seem to know true darkness. It was amazing that the boy was able to sleep properly. Then again, Spider had never experienced a truly black night, so he had nothing to compare it to. 

“Just checking up on you,” Quaritch mumbled.

“I still have two arms and two legs if that’s what you’re worried about. Haven’t been dragged off by nantang yet.”

Spider was almost endearing when he was trying to sound tough. Quaritch chuckled. “You be sure to let me know if they grab you in the night.”

“Have you ever considered that they’d more likely go for you? They’re smart.”

Quaritch wrinkled his nose playfully. “Nah, I’m too old and bitter.” And I’m fully armed with over 30 years of combat training and field experience. 

Spider turned over fully now, so he was facing Quaritch properly. Confusion flickered across his features. “How old are you?” he asked. 

Quaritch had to stop and think for a moment. “You’re gonna need to clarify the question, kid. I’m no philosopher.”

“Your body,” Spider emphasised. “When did they start growing you?” 

Quaritch couldn’t help the involuntary flinch that overtook his shoulders. He desperately hoped Spider hadn’t noticed. This was still a weird topic. “Twenty years young.”

“You’re literally only a few years older than me.”

“Bullshit. I’m fifty one.”

Spider frowned. “So old, yet still so dumb.”

Quaritch took a risk. He extended his hand and shoved Spider in what he hoped was a playful way. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a little shit?”

Spider didn’t even flinch. “All the time. Do better.”

Okay, Quaritch could play this game. “You’re a rude, bratty, hormonal teenager.”

“I am not fucking hormonal!”

“Who knows how this planet’s affected you.”

Spider was looking at him like Quaritch had just announced he was going to start classical ballet. “I’m bigger and healthier than other Sky People kids.”

Quaritch pulled a sarcastic expression. He could practically see Spider’s hackles rise. “Eh. You still got some growing to do.”

Spider’s face grew serious, as if he remembered where he was, and who he was talking to. “Leave me alone and I can get on with it then.”

He’d blown it. Spider turned away from him and returned to his fetal position on the floor, back to Quaritch. Still, they’d managed to have a half decent conversation and that was progress. Something kept Quaritch crouched on the ground, but he knew it was his cue to go. He reached out a hand and did something he’d never done before. He ruffled the kid’s hair. 

Spider squirmed away from him, but didn’t say anything. 

Quaritch took it as a win. 

When he returned to his pack a few yards away to finally get some shut eye, he couldn’t help but watch Spider’s sleeping form long into the night. He told himself he just needed to make sure the kid wouldn’t attempt a jailbreak. He told himself he was watching out for predators or God knows what kind of poisonous bugs Pandora harboured, despite Wainfleet standing duty. He would never be able to accept that maybe, just maybe, he was fascinated by the child that his previous life had borne.

[josefavomjaaga]

Hello, dear Josefa ✨

I hope you are doing well!

While Flower and myself were talking about our favourite couples of the napoleonic era, our conversation found its way to the Soults which we would love to group with couples like the Davouts or the Mortiers but can't because of the cheating on our monsieur le maréchal Soult's part.

With that in mind, we wondered: Do we know how madame Soult reacted to the cheating? How did her behaviour change through the first days, weeks, months after finding out? Did it even change?

We are aware that we don't know any details of the actual conversation where the couple discussed this matter but we still wanted to ask!

Thank you for your time and effort! c:

We do not really know, I fear. We do not even know when and how exactly she learned about Soult's little secondary Spanish family. It is quite possible that it did not come completely unexpected anymore, as people in Paris had been gossipping about Soult's alleged infidelities ever since 1810, and in one of his 1811 letters Soult kind of had admitted to a marital misstep.

If I remember correctly, Soult finally was granted permission to leave Spain by mid-February 1813, and could leave at the beginning of March. On his way through Southern France he took the occasion to go see his old mother in Saint-Amans, whom he originally had wanted to visit four years earlier, on his way into Spain. I do not remember (I'm not even sure if it is clear) if Louise and the kids already met with him in Saint-Amans or if they waited for him in Paris but I suspect they went to Saint-Amans and from there back to the capital that Soult reached at the beginning of April. He soon had to leave again, this time with Napoleon to Germany, on the 1813 campaign, and on 12 April he already gave full powers in all matters to his wife so she could handle affairs during his absence.

Did she at this point already know about the full extent of these affairs? It's likely, but we do not have any real clue.

She must have known by late June 1813, however (interestingly, that's the same time when, many miles away, Maria de la Paz Baylèn and her little baby son leave Spain and enter France). We know that because Soult in his letter fom 23 June at least vaguely hints at how hurt Louise must have been by his confessions. He invites her to come to meet with him at Dresden with their children, despite the fact that [...]

you will not be lodged very well, but you will be with me, your sorrows will cease, your cheerfulness will return, and you will be certain that, despite everything that has happened, you have never ceased to be tenderly loved [...]

"Despite everything that has happened" clearly means that by that point, Louise is fully aware of the existence of Maria de la Paz and her baby. And she had taken it badly, as was to be expected. Obviously, she doubted Soult's love for her, and she may have considered taking further steps, or at least that's something Soult feared:

I'm not talking about the other feelings, for nothing could add to their strength other than the step you're taking right now.

(All emphasis by me)

And then he continues to implore her to come and sit down with him and talk it all over.

So, obviously lots of trouble in honeymoon land. From the looks of it, I'd say Louise did not so much react with fury, but rather turned sad and depressed - which probably hit Soult far more. Her fury she apparently kept in stock for one French emperor to be used when she heard that her husband was about to be sent back to Spain again. But that's a different story 😁.

Thank you for the question, and I hope this kind of suffices, as it seems to be all information there is. (All quotes from N. Gotteri, "Le Maréchal Soult", as usual.)

[cobbssecondbelt]

Dincember 2023 - Day 11: Icicle

Din’s first outing away from Concordia had been far from a success. To put it lightly, it had been an absolute disaster.

First, his mentor thought an icy planet frozen in eternal winter was a great option for an initiation trip, which even thinking back on it thirty odd years later, Din could see how that idea was doomed from the start. Then their bounty took an entire day to find because Din misread the tracker’s information, and then he sprained his ankle while running after the mudscuffer, leaving Roen to finish the job and carry both his quarry and his apprentice back to their ship, said ship who decided to die while they were away and wouldn’t start anymore. Stupid Razor Crest.

Talk of an adventure.

The only crumb of relief Din could find in the situation was that Paz had refused to come with them. He would either have cursed or laughed at him the entire day for his incompetency. Probably both, simultaneously. Din might have been wrong about him: maybe he was smart after all, if even him could sense this mission was bound to be a total mess.

‘’The ship should be functional now.’’ Din turned slightly at the sound of his mentor’s voice to see the man coming towards him, way too easy-going for the situation.

He crouched by the pitiful bonfire Din had managed to light up while he was waiting for him to fix the ship. ‘’How’s your leg?’’

‘’Still hurts.’’

Roen hummed and rummaged through the pouch at his belt, pulling out a bacta patch who had seen better days. He unlaced Din’s boot and rolled up his pant leg. The boy’s ankle was beginning to swell. He had packed some snow over it to soothe the pain, but it had melted since, soaking through his sock. Another idea that sounded better in theory than it turned out to be in practice.

Din sucked in a sharp breath when the man held his ankle to wrap the bacta patch around the injured tissue. He plucked at a few icicles forming over the low branches of the tree he was sitting against, trying to keep his mind off the discomfort.

‘’You know what we used to called those when I was a boy?’’ Roen said while he bandaged his leg. ‘’Loth-wolf fangs.’’

Din scoffed unenthusiastically. He tossed the icicles and watched them sink into the wet snow with a muffled thud.

‘’My grandpa said they were unicorn horns.’’ He murmured.

Roen chuckled, then fell silent. He secured the bandage, and Din tied his boot himself. The humid leather felt awful against his skin, and his ankle pulsed angrily. He was cold.

‘’You must miss them.’’ He heard his buir say quietly.

The boy crossed his arms over his chest with a stiff shrug. ‘’It doesn’t matter. They’re gone.’’

He could see the man fidget beside him, struggling to find the right thing to say.

‘’I fixed the ship.’’ He finally settled on. ‘’We should get going.’’

He helped Din up and swung his arm over his shoulder to steady him as they made their way to the ship.

‘’Can I pilot?’’ Din asked as he hopped on the ramp.

‘’The Crest’s too complicated. We’ll stick with other one for now.’’

‘’But I like this one.’’

‘’It’s an old wreck, it will give out before the end of the cycle. I should sell it for parts.’’

‘’Can I have it?’’

Roen sighed.

[khaoticdax]

I Will Ferry Them

So! My finished NiteArmor fic is here!

If you guys like this, please let me know and I’d be happy to write more fics with this pairing. 

Read it down below, or here is the AO3 link https://archiveofourown.org/works/46734988

~

“These here are too weak to continue.

We must return to the Gauntlet and I will ferry them back to the fleet in the morning.”

That was one of the last things that The Armorer said to Bo-Katan before she boarded The Gauntlet with the wounded to take them back to the capital ship.

“This is the way.”

Were the actual last words, and they weren’t directed towards her.

As she watched The Gauntlet leave the atmosphere of Mandalore, the only thing on Bo-Katan’s mind was the interactions between the two of them. The oh-so-tense tension between them.

From the Armorer immediately accepting her into the Convert without question. To asking - if that’s what someone could even call it - Bo to remove her helmet in front of her at the forge after saving the foundling . The Armorer supporting her in bringing together all the clans of Mandalore under one roof. Volunteering to help take back their home planet. It had sparked something in her that she wasn't quite sure she appreciated.

It was only mere hours before the rest of the Mandalorians had been lured into an Imperial base just off the Great Forge.

Trapped.

Trapped is what they were. Din on the other side of the door. Moff Gideon alive, wearing beskar no less. Din was dragged away by Gideon's troops. As Bo-Katan opened a path in the door behind them with the Darksaber, Paz held his ground.

"This is the Way."

Running.

They had to run and hide. There was nothing they could do for Din now. Or Paz. Bo-Katan was almost convinced this attempt to retake Mandalore had failed.

“Lady Kryze, your reinforcements have arrived.”

There was that voice again. The voice that had led Bo-Katan through. The voice that had been able to calm her nerves when she needed it the most - and no one else could calm her down. The Armorer. A small smile crept up upon Bo-Katan’s lips and she replaced her helmet, getting ready to take back her homeworld.

Once outside, the site was not as pretty as one had would hope. The Imperials had launched TIE’s and a few of the ships had taken fire, crashing down to the barren ground in a big ball of flames.

One ship. Two ship. Maybe more?

That couldn’t be Kryze’s concern now. They all knew that danger that this mission would bring to them, but they all also understood how important it was. Following the remaining ships back to the Imperial base. With the reinforcements it seemed more likely that it would be a success. That Mandalore would finally be back in the hands of the Mandalorians once again. The pride of this idea swelled within Bo-Katan’s chest, and at the idea of being able to show the Armorer the Great Forge. Hope. It was something Bo had not allowed herself to feel in a very long time and she was very weary of feeling it now.

Ablaze.

The battle didn’t last very long. Axe Woves, and his quick thinking, had led to the defeat of Moff Gideon and the rest of the Imp’s on Mandalore. Even if it had meant the destruction of the Darksaber, and even Bo’s right hand. Luckily, the foundling Grogu was able to save her and Din from the blaze. They survived, scars and scratches to prove it. Once they finally reunited with the rest of the Mandalorians on the surface, Bo noticed someone missing. She assumed the Armorer was just tending to the wounded somewhere out of view. Walking up to Koska, Bo-Katan knew it was time to address their losses. She could take care of herself later when everything else was taken care of.

“How many ships did we lose to the Imps?” Her voice calm and collected, expecting it to be an impact but not a major one.

Koska turned, fear spread across her eyes as she looked at the red head. It was very rare for any Mandalorian to express fear, especially to a commanding officer. Bo had never seen Koska with this expression on her face.

“What?” Lady Kryze asked, hoping to pull the information out of her friend.

“Your ship…” Koska started, her voice quiet and her eyes trying their best to not make contact with the lady in front of her. “Was one of the ones to fall..”

Bo-Katan’s eyes widened, but if that was the cost of retaking her homeworld, it was only a small price to pay. “Such fear over a ship?” She joked towards the smaller women. Koska shook her head.

“No… It was who was flying your ship.” Koska stated plainly and stared directly into Bo-Katan’s eyes - hoping it would get the point across without having to say the words. A shocked gasp left the red head's lips and her eyes widened. No.

“Where?”

Koska pointed in a direction and before she could say something else, Bo had her helmet on and was sprinting to take off. The Mandalorian sighed and turned back to her work. There was no use in going after their leader, there was no stopping her.

Too far.

It seemed too far to the wreckage of her own ship. Her ship crashed in a blazing fury. Her people dying in her ship. Her Armorer?

Landing and continuing in a sprint, only stopping a few meters from the crash. The atmosphere had killed most of the flames by now, but it was still smoldering. The corpses smoking - the only thing left of them was their beskar. She took in the sight before her, steeling herself for what she had to do next.

Frantically, Bo-Katan searched the wreckage - hoping she wouldn’t find what Koska implied she would find. Tossing wreckage over her shoulders, trying her best to not injure her right hand anymore but there were more important things right now. It wasn’t until she reached what had once been the cockpit that she saw it. It stopped her right in her tracks.

There it was. The golden horned helmet. Bo could almost feel her heart crack under her beskar chestplate, as a quiet sob left her throat. Slowly, as if to hope she would wake up from this nightmare, the Mandalorian approached the helmet and gently picked it up in her hands.

Spark.

A spark from the smoldering electronics lit ablaze again causing Kryze to rush away from the wreckage, cradling the helmet close to her chest.

Away. Away. Away.

As far away as her legs would carry her, she ran away from her dreams where they laid on fire. Dropping to her legs as they gave out, she placed the golden helmet down on the ground. Ripping off her own helmet, she tossed it aside - not caring for anything reminding her right now. Tears had already been falling from her eyes but the helmet had kept them from falling to the ground - now they did. Her eyes blurry, Bo-Katan slowly cradled the golden symbol in her hands.

“Why?..” A oh-so quiet question to the person who had once worn this - who was now buried due to Bo’s dream. Her right hand carefully caressed the right side of the helmet. Her broken hand and her broken heart touching.

“I thought I would get to tell you in person.” She chuckled, her voice hurt, “She did it. The Great Forge and all of Mandalore is ours again.”

Shaking where she kneel, Bo could feel her hope she was so weary to feel again finally leave her. Her pride was not far behind it either. All the times she could have said something to a living person had passed and now she was faced with the situation before her - holding it in her hands.

“I thought I would get to tell you how I felt in person…” She whispered, “How you made me feel and how you made me stronger.” Subconsciously, Kryze had started rocking back and forth, sobs leaving her chest without her even knowing it. There were so many more words that could be said, but they didn’t matter now did they? They would only fall on non-existent ears anymore.

“Maybe you already knew?...” Maybe. It was all she could think. Hope? No, she wouldn’t hope anymore. Hope had always led her to more pain.

Bo-Katan slowly lifted the golden heart up to her forehead and closed her eyes. It was the closest she would ever get to being able to show her affection for the Armorer.

She stayed that way for a good while before finally remembering she had people to take care of. If she was gone too long they would have to send someone to find her and the last thing she needed right now was for someone to see her in this state.

“I will do my best to make you proud… To lead our people as you would have.”

Slowly, the Mand’alor stood up straight, the golden sun still in her hands, and walked to pick up her own helmet - quickly placing it back on her head. No one would ever see her like this. She refused.

As she turned back in the direction of the camp, she muttered one last thing - she couldn’t talk to a human-less helmet when she was around anyone, “You’ll love the Great Forge. I’ll be sure to show you, at least once…”

As the fire of her own ship died down behind her, Bo-Katan of House Kryze walked back to her people - her only strength resting in her hands in that golden horned helmet.

[adancedivasmom]

Fuck Around and Find Out

An April Fools Smut Fic inspired by the Bad Sex Awards.

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explict 18+ (By proceeding to read beyond this point you are agreeing that you are 18 years or older)

Warnings: Very bad smut (that's the whole point of this writing challenge), pure filth, porn without plot, unprotected P in V sex, creampie, breeding kink, slight degradation, and truly awful cringey synonyms for male and female genitalia and semen throughout.

Word count: ~500

A/N: I've read some hilarious April Fools Smut fics today and thought, what the hell, I'll give it a go. I figured if it's awful, I'll just blame it on the challenge. Hope this makes you laugh. Unbetaed, and yeeted into the world like the future child of Paz and reader. 😘

If the Maker themselves had told you that you’d be in the position you’re in right now, you would have said they were insane.

But here you are, getting fucked boneless by the most intimidating warrior in the covert.

White hot pleasure explodes through your body as you claw at your wet, ruined sheets. You are powerless to do anything other than take the fat girthy schlong of the beast of a man behind you.

You’ve lost track of how many times Paz has blown his thick choad inside you. How can one man produce so much baby batter? It was beyond your comprehension.

It seems like you both have been going at it for hours now, with no indication of Paz slowing down any time soon.

You only have yourself to blame, really. You just had to tease him, had to challenge him. Well, this was taking “fuck around and find out” to a whole new level.

Paz grabs your hair, causing you to arch your back ridiculously as he pushes past your cervix and spills his hot spunk directly into your womb again with a roar.

How could he possibly fit more in there? If he kept this up, you would be dripping his cream of meat from your snatch for a week.

Surely he must be done with you, but no. In a move that has your mind reeling, he pulls out of your sugar walls and flips you onto your back.

You whine like a massiff bitch in heat and shamelessly beg him for more. You just can’t get enough of his one-eyed trouser snake.

Before he does anything else though, Paz bends down to get a bird’s eye view of his handy work.

To fuck with him, you clench your inner muscles and push a wad of his splooge out of your ruined meat flower.

“Oh no you don’t,” he playfully scolds you. “We’re not wasting one drop,” he says as he pushes his hot nutt back inside you while you keen at his words.

The next thing you register is your knees being thrown over his broad shoulders, heels on his back, as Paz plunges his fuck stick back into your soaked clam.

“Hang on, cyar'ika,” he warns as he starts to move again, determined to rearrange your guts. “You’re not leaving this bed until you’ve been successfully bred like the good little cum dumpster you are.”

The moral of the story, never tell a Mandalorian like Paz they are too old to get it up. Or that they are past their prime and probably shoot nothing but blanks. They will make it their mission to prove you wrong.

And to be honest, that was just fine and dandy with you.

[the-orion-scribe]

Find the Word...Love Edition!

Thanks @oceangirl24 for tagging me!

Words for me to find:

partner, proposal, adore, intimate, respect

Words for you to find:

sweet, card, swoon, ring, passion

No pressure tagging for: @isabel3710, @julietwiskey1, @detectivejigsawpines, @ligercat, @queereldritch, @bonpocalypse, @topheecoffee

Open tag for anyone else. If I forgot you or you would like to be included just let me know!

“We still have to face the real world.” Pacifica sighed. “Me and new investors. You and your…”

“Project. I’m gathering a few like-minded people to research and counter paranormal threats.”

“Sounds promising. Make sure you don’t disappoint me.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “You know I’m your patron.”

“And you’re my wife. My beautiful, awesome, rich princess,” I chuckled, leaning closer. “Let’s not discuss business here, Mrs. Pines. This is, after all, a night to ourselves.”

The waiter soon returned with the champagne and poured us a glass each.

“Come, let’s drink to our partnership.” She raised the glass by the stem, the tiny bubbles rising to the surface in the honey-coloured liquid. “To our marriage.”

“To our marriage.”

Flufftober 2022 VI. Candles, Lanterns, Fairy Lights

So that’s the answer to our rather mysterious Arabic-sounding names. Mom and Aunt Mabel are right to call Dad a ‘dorky nerd’. It’s funny that our Dad, nicknamed after a constellation, named us after three stars. Strange, but really poetic for sure.

The view from the peak is as lovely as Dad has described. My parents love to hang out here, savouring the tranquillity away from the hubbub of the town below. It was at this very place where Dad proposed to Mom many years ago. Or the other way round… that story’s complicated.

Three Stars Burning Bright

Mabel here! While my brother takes his much-needed rest, Kev and I are looking after his three little ones! The little Dippers and Pacificas! They’re so precious, I’m sure they will win awards for the most adorable (wait no, adorkable!) babies in the world! Soos, meanwhile, is fixing the problem with the washing machine plus the heater, since that has been making some ‘funny noises’ as well. That will be two fewer things for Dipper to worry about! Well, three, once Soos clears up the flood. I’ve contacted Paz, who said she should be returning soon after I told her about the situation.

All Taken Care of – A Father’s Day one-shot

“Rough day, wasn’t it?” Dipper asks after they break apart.

The children go back to watch their favourite cartoon of the evening. Pacifica nods, feeling a telltale sting in her eyes. Dipper raises a tender hand to wipe the tear away.

“Do you want comforts or solutions?”

“Comforts.” The couple squeezes into a hug once again, with Pacifica burying herself into her husband’s hair while he nuzzles against her shoulder. They remain that way – in that much-needed moment of comfort and intimacy – until the oven timer beeps.

“Come, dear. You must be hungry. You can talk to me about it later. It’s going to be okay.”

“Okay,” she says, and Dipper offers her a tired smile before going into the kitchen.

Those days of playacting are over. No longer does she have to act like a Northwest. She is now a Pines, a family of hugs.

Flufftober 2022 XXIV. All the Hugs

“Is there something else, pumpkin?” Dipper asked, interrupting Taka’s train of thoughts. His father must have noticed the slight frown on his face.

“No,” Taka lied. He flickered his gaze upwards, pretending to be interested in an eagle soaring its way over the boat.

Dipper continued to examine his son, then said, “Well, I can tell you’ve omitted a few things in your account, my sweet pumpkin. You can’t just hide things from me; I’m your Dad. Still, I respect your privacy, and wouldn’t inquire further.”

Taka did not reply.

“Why don’t you join your sisters?” Dipper suggested. He reached over and placed a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “And, by the way, Wendy is coming to visit on Tuesday. You can ask her about some boxing lessons. Meanwhile, I might have a talk with Gideon Gleeful. He’s an old friend of mine.”

Dipper gave Taka a knowing wink. Taka considered his Dad for a moment, then he eventually said, “Thanks, Dad.”

Episode II: Teacher's Pet (Chapter 10)

[vanishedangels]

Clan of Warriors

Click here for First chapter

Summary: While rebuilding Mandalore, Mand'alor Din Djarin is questioned by his people because of his beliefs and origins. In the dawn of a civil war, the council resolves that The Mand'alor must join in marriage with someone close to Bo-Katan Kryze. He’s forced to marry Koska Reeves and accept a loveless union. In the meantime, Din is having a secret relationship with his son’s Master, Jedi Luke Skywalker, his dream of having his own clan of warriors is about to fade away.

Pairing: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker

Characters: Din Djarin, Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Leia Organa, Cara Dune, Koska Reeves, Bo-Katan Kryze, Axe Woves, OC, Peli Motto, Fennec Shand, Boba Fett, Paz Vizsla, Owen Lars, Beru Whitesun, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Wedge Antilles, The Armorer.

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence. Explicit Smut.

Tags: Canon Compliant, Post Season 2 Finale, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Friends To Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Demisexual Din Djarin, Top Luke Skywalker, Bottom Din Djarin, Top Din Djarin, Bottom Luke Skywalker, Protective Din Djarin, BAMF Luke Skywalker, Adorable Baby Yoda, Sassy Leia Organa, Gai Bal Manda, Blindfolds, Sub Din Undertones, Fantasies, Jealous Luke, Keldabe Kiss, Smut, Jealous Din, Dirty Talk, Face Reveal, Luke Skywalker in Mandalorian Armour.

Chapters: 40/?

Navigation: <- Previous Chapter • Next Chapter ->

Din sighed closing his eyes slowly, lips parted, and Luke couldn't stop thinking that this man belonged to him, the most beautiful person in the galaxy was melting under his touch and he couldn't believe his luck.

What's the catch? The Jedi thought and his stomach clenched. He rubbed Din's scalp with the tips of his fingers, lovingly "Mine." He muttered under his breath. Fortunately, it seemed that Din couldn't hear him. "I should go now, love." Luke said pressing their foreheads together. The Mand'alor hummed tilting his head.

"Don't be such a good boy." Din said under his breath.

Chapter 40: Purpose

Luke was lying on the floor in Grogu's room staring up at the ceiling, legs crossed at the ankles and hands on his stomach, Grogu kept sending him memories of Din through the force.

"I missed this." The Jedi breathed in caressing Grogu's arm, thinking back to the days the child started to share anecdotes about his mandalorian guardian with him, he smiled realizing that he has been falling for Din since the beginning and his heart gave an extra beat.

"Grogu, I'm so proud of you." He said quietly finally moving his head to look at baby. The child tilted his head, eyes bright as usual, full of life and spirit, he babbled and Luke smiled "Yes, very proud, ad'ika."

Baby was sitting right beside him, he reached out his hand to caress Luke's cheek, making him sigh "That feels nice. Thank you, little one." He closed his eyes and suddenly, the vision of Din boring into his eyes filled his mind. He froze, then he swallowed hard when he understood that it was actually one of Grogu's memories, the kid was thinking about the moment he saw Din's face for the very first time, he could sense through the force that Grogu was feeling the same while caressing Luke, the same love and gratitude he felt when his little hand touched Din's cheek while they were saying goodbye. Luke remembered that moment very well — his stomach clenched, still regretting taking Grogu from Din without asking him to join them.

The Jedi's chest was rising and falling rapidly as he felt tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, he curled his fingers around Grogu's hand "Grogu? Is that true?" He sat up slowly, not breaking eye contact with the child "Do you feel that way about me?"

Grogu nodded and Luke crossed his legs ducking his head "You're important to me as well, kid." He smiled brushing his fingers across baby's forehead "I would be lying if I said you're my Padawan." He sighed hunching his shoulders "You're more than that, ad'ika... You're my clan-" A knock on the door cut him off, they looked at each other for a while "Who could that be? Do you think it's dad?" Luke asked and Grogu nodded babbling before heading to the living room.

The Jedi rose to his feet putting the helmet back on, understanding that if Din took the time to knock the door instead of walking in, he wasn't alone.

Grogu stood on his tiptoes pointing at the door command and Luke chuckled pressing the button, he bit his lower lip blinking, he was so ready to see Din, his heart had been aching for him since that gentle touch when the mandalorian teased him by stealthily brushing his knuckles with his own. Oh, the way it awakened something in Luke, it felt forbidden and even special, it felt like a promise. For the first time since they started their relationship, Luke found himself fantasizing about furtive encounters, and sparks shot up his spine at the mere thought of Din appearing out of the blue to shove him against a wall and taking whatever he wanted from him, maybe Din would cover his mouth with his hand while pleasuring him with the other one, shushing him by brushing his lips against his ear, whispering "Keep your mouth shut, baby, they would hear you. Now, be a good boy and keep quiet while I fuck you the way you deserve."

Luke sucked in a breath when the door slid open and the blue familiar helmet appeared in front of him. Grogu let out a deflated exhale that made him huff out a laugh.

While the kid started toddling — visible crestfallen — towards his bedroom, Paz' visor roamed all over the Jedi's form "Where's the Mand'alor?" He asked entering the chamber followed by Luke's younger version. He nodded at Miko and the guard closed the door behind them. "Damn, Jetii, you look even more irresistible now." He added elbowing Miko, the boy shook his head frowning.

Luke gaped behind his helmet "You can tell it's me?" If Paz was able to recognize him, maybe other people could as well.

Paz sat down on the couch unceremoniously, legs spread and elbows propped on his massive thighs "Hell no! Joako told me you were here with the little one." He said and Luke nodded closing his eyes, sighing relieved. "But wait, turn around."

"No, Vizsla."

"Oh, c'mon kih Jetii, even the spirit of Mandalore The First knows I would recognize your perfect tiny bottom in pitch-dark." Paz chuckled slapping his own knee.

Choosing to ignore Paz' cheekiness, Luke moved his visor to Miko's face, the boy smiled handing him a bag "Thank you Jedi Master, sir, here, your robes and cloak." Luke outstretched his arm taking the bag from the guard.

"No, Miko, thank you." He nodded at him "I'm so relieved now that you're back."

"Safe and sound, sir." The boy replied eliciting a chuckle from Luke.

The main door slid open and the three of them snapped their heads towards the entrance, Din stormed in and then he slowed down the pace.

"Vod!" Paz exclaimed standing up and spreading his arms wide, he closed the distance between them and hugged Din, tightening the grip around him.

"Good to see you, Vizsla." He said pulling away "Miko." He added nodding at the guard. "Now that you're here, we need to, uh, discuss the plan. Meet me in an hour."

"Sure." Paz said taking a few steps back, then he wrapped an arm around Luke's shoulders "See you later, then." He said as he started to walk but Luke remained in his place, the Jedi ducked his head to get rid of him.

"What are you doing, Paz?" Din asked swaying on his feet, a hint of annoyance in the tone of his voice.

The big mandalorian tossed his head back sighing deeply "We talked about this." He said pointing at Luke "I don't trust you around the kih jetii, he won't be in the same room as you. You agreed to stay away from him." He walked towards Din and jabbed his forefinger in his chest plate "You won't ruin our plan." Paz grunted bumping Din's pauldron with his own as he walked past him "Don't blame you for trying tho, but the jetii is coming with us." He stated, reaching the door command.

Din lowered his head sighing, resting his hands on his hips "I'll see you later." He said as his visor found Luke's.

"I count on it." Luke whispered as he brushed past him, his fingers tickling, eager to feel Din's beskar, still he didn't act on his emotions, he remained composed. Years of training and meditation allowed Luke to remain level-headed and practical even when the world seemed to fall down around him.

Another little victory. Luke smiled behind his helmet as he left the chamber, certain that he could experience strong feelings without compromising his own balance.

He was still immersed in his thoughts when he followed Paz into his bedroom, accidentally bumping his only pauldron against the doorframe, the tall mandalorian turned around when he heard the screeching sound of the beskar against the metal structure.

"Poor kih jetii." He chuckled sitting down on his bed "Don't worry, you'll get used to your new bulkiness."

Luke narrowed his eyes fixing them on Paz "I've been doing just fine till now. Thank you anyway." Granted, wearing mandalorian armour was a bit of a challenge, especially when it came to the helmet, Luke found himself using the force to be conscious about his surroundings since the size of the visor didn't allow him to use his peripheral vision. Indeed, he collided with doorframes and furniture a few times that day, but it only happened because he got distracted.

"Now, jetii, we need to talk about the wedding day." He said as Luke took his helmet off, running a hand through his hair and sighing deeply, squeezing his eyes shut. Paz went silent, his hands resting on the mattress at the sides of his thighs.

"What?" Luke asked once he opened his eyes and realized the mandalorian was staring. Even when the helmet was covering his face, it was pretty obvious that Paz was gawking at him.

Vizsla shrugged and tilted his head "Nothing." He cleared his throat "It's just... You look gorgeous like that."

Luke blinked and pressed his lips together, leaving his helmet on the mattress avoiding Paz' visor.

"Never mind, let's work." Vizsla added disregarding his previous statement. The Jedi nodded sitting on a chair in front of him.

"Alright, Paz. I'm listening."

~

Luke came back to the royal chamber that night to take care of Grogu, he woke up to Din's gentle touch "Good morning, cyar'ika." He whispered, his lovely face close to his helmet, fingers finding the skin of his neck "You can take this off." He added, running his hand up and down the back of Luke's helmet. "Have breakfast with us."

Luke adjusted his eyes, lips curling up when he found Din's brown eyes, he reached out a hand to cup his cheek, running his thumb over his mustache "I should't." He said quietly.

"They won't know." Din told him, leaning in, pressing a kiss on his visor "Stay with us." He leaned back stroking Luke's waist.

The blonde Jedi was basking in the sight of Din kneeling on the floor by the bed, so close, so warm, caressing him and staring at him with such loving eyes, making something warm settle in his belly as his heartbeat went impossible faster.

He propped himself up on his elbows, frowning "Wait, you spent the whole night working with the council?"

"Yes." Din nodded, his voice sounded a little rough, now Luke could notice the dark circles under his eyes.

"You look tired... you even sound tired, Din." He sighed, stroking his patchy beard "Besides, the Armorer must be waiting for me as we speak."

Din moved his head slightly in order to kiss Luke's thumb earning him a chuckle from the Jedi "Are you trying to convince me to stay with you?"

"Is it working?" Din asked playfully, looking at him through lowered lashes.

"Fuck, yes." Luke groaned reaching his hand up behind Din to cradle the back of his head with his palm.

Din sighed closing his eyes slowly, lips parted, and Luke couldn't stop thinking that this man belonged to him, the most beautiful person in the galaxy was melting under his touch and he couldn't believe his luck.

What's the catch? The Jedi thought and his stomach clenched. He rubbed Din's scalp with the tips of his fingers, lovingly "Mine." He muttered under his breath. Fortunately, it seemed that Din couldn't hear him. "I should go now, love." Luke said pressing their foreheads together. The Mand'alor hummed tilting his head.

"Don't be such a good boy." Din said under his breath and Luke's brain short-circuited, maybe — that same afternoon — he was daydreaming about the moment Din would call him a good boy, but hearing him saying it, really saying it, even when the context was completely different, was something else entirely.

"Stars!" Luke rubbed the cheek of his helmet against Din's face "Say it again." He pleaded, closing his eyes.

"Don't be such a good boy?" Din asked arching his brows.

Fuck!

"Just the last part..." Luke said moving to kneel on the mattress and sitting on his heels, Din rested his hands flat on his thigh plates looking up at him while Luke held the back of his head with both hands "Say it, Din."

"Good boy." Din said in a low-pitched voice, a knowing smile appearing on his face as he stared at Luke with half lidded eyes.

The Jedi nodded drawing in a long breath, he blinked behind his helmet realizing he wanted to hear Din saying those words forever, and all of a sudden a thought popped up into his mind unbidden. What if he couldn't hear Din calling him his cyare, his cyar'ika, his good boy forever? He grimaced as intrusive thoughts started taking him over, images of a badly injured Din lying on the floor trying to protect Grogu with his last ounce of strength. He swallowed hard knowing quite well that it wasn't actually a vision, however he started to feel uneasy.

"Good. Good." He said stretching out one leg to leave the bed "Uh, now, I should-" He stood beside Din who was getting on his feet "Should get on with my day now, huh?" He added looking at Grogu over his shoulder, baby was still snoring snuggled up in the big bed.

"Are you alright?" Din asked trying to grab his hand.

"Yes, it's just, well, you know. Grogu's here and I'm feeling a little-" Luke looked down at his boots, mouth pressed into a thin line behind his helmet. That wasn't the first time he lied to Din, but there and then, it felt utterly wrong.

Realization seemed to hit Din "Oh." He whispered raising his eyebrows "Fine." He shrugged and shook his head "Don't worry, I'm feeling the same." He grinned and Luke's chest tightened. Of course Din wasn't feeling the same, essentially because he wasn't being honest with him, Luke wasn't aroused at all, he was actually distressed.

"See you later." The Jedi sputtered, he spun on his heels and walked away. He barely heard Din saying something, the sound of his own pulse pounding in his ears was deafening him.

When he stepped out of the chamber Miko flinched slightly, staring at him. Luke kept walking until he turned the corner of the hallway and he rested his hand on the wall, lowering his head, he frowned balling his hands into fists. He cursed himself under his breath, that idea again, maybe he was fooling himself thinking that he got it under control, maybe he could walk away from Din the day before without touching him, even when he was dying to do so, only because he knew that it was temporary. Since he embraced his feelings for Din he had this false belief that he overcame that initial concern — and the reason why he had been stubbornly holding back his love for Din for so long — the possibility of becoming so vulnerable that his emotions could cloud his thoughts, spiraling him into darkness.

He shook his head unclenching his fits. You're not your father. He said to himself, thinking back to Leia's words.

~

That evening the Jedi was wandering aimlessly down a corridor after a long day when someone shoved him out of the way grabbing him by his arm. Luke looked over his shoulder meeting Din's visor and he dropped his guard immediately. The Mand'alor opened a door dragging Luke into the room, pressing a hand on Luke's chest plate pinning him against the nearest wall. The Jedi chuckled, he'd been missing Din the entire day.

"You know how lucky you are Mand'alor? I was a second away from annihilating you right on the spot." He joked, running his forefinger down the edge of Din's helmet. "Ah, you should stop fulfilling my fantasies, you're spoiling me rotten." He whispered smirking.

"What?" Din asked and he sounded amused.

The Jedi shook his head slowly "Nothing." He looked around, his brows drew together "Where are we?"

"I don't know." Din said glancing over his shoulder "I was looking for an empty room and I found this one." His visor on Luke's again "How was your day?"

"Good." Luke answered slipping his fingers between Din's chest plate's straps and his flight suit "Spent hours walking around Mandalore with the Armorer, she identified all of them, Din." He smiled even when Din couldn't see it.

"That's great, cyar'ika." He cupped the back of Luke's helmet in his gloved hand "It's weird."

"What's weird?" Luke shrugged.

"Meeting you in secret... Shouldn't be this way." He sighed.

The Jedi huffed out a laugh "I kinda like it though." Luke said, brazenly pressing the inner side of his knee against Din's calf. Then he stopped in his tracks "Where's Grogu?" He asked concerned.

"He's with Vizsla and Reeves, don't worry."

"And... You're planning on-" His lips twitched, it was unlikely of him, Din would never leave the child under his friends' care in order to have a romantic encounter with Luke.

"Vizsla told me you're bumping into everything, I didn't consider that. You need to get familiar with the beskar armour. I'm gonna help you."

The Jedi sighed tossing his head back, rolling his eyes "It only happened a couple of times-"

Din cut him off "I think it's adorable." Luke's heart leapt in his chest, now he couldn't bring himself to burst his bubble, if Din wanted to believe that Luke, a force-user above all things, needed his help, he would play along.

"Meet me in the training room." The Mand'alor said hitting the door command. "Go now."

"What?"

"Please." Din nodded and pointed at the corridor, Luke walked out of the room casting a glance at him over his shoulder "Wait for me there." The mandalorian added. Luke shook his head smiling, it was a little funny, but he was finding Din adorable as well, as a matter of fact, he was specifically finding Din's protectiveness adorable.

At the age of nineteen a lonely farm boy left Tatooine behind him, mourning his uncle and his aunt. Everything was new and exciting, he met people that eventually became his family — even Leia became family to him way before he discovered she was his twin sister. Luke hasn't spent a single day of his life ignoring how receiving the love of someone close to his heart felt like, still, romantic love was a foreign concept to him. It remained that way until Din Djarin entered his life.

While being a part of the rebel alliance, a whole new world opened up for him. Luke had many casual partners until he went to Dagobah to train in the ways of the force. Eventually, he became more and more introverted after the redemption and death of his biological father, Anakin Skywalker. Luke devoted his life to rebuild the Jedi order, convinced that he wasn't the only force-sensitive living being in such a vast galaxy.

And he was right.

Grogu, the most unique little creature, found him and to Luke's satisfaction, the little replica of Master Yoda gave him something new to put his effort towards — becoming a Jedi Master once and for all. Little did he know that meeting the little one would also lead him to the love of his life, a mandalorian that seemed rough around the edges at first sight but once Luke saw him through Grogu's eyes, he began to grow on him. Luke found himself thinking about the mysterious mandalorian more often than not. When he thought back to those days, it felt like a previous life. Din and Grogu changed everything for good, and now, Luke couldn't imagine his life without his little clan in it.

And there he was, as Din requested, sitting on the floor of the training room, legs crossed and gloved hands resting on his knees, waiting for him. He closed his eyes behind the helmet, breathing in, it felt good, soothing. He slowly opened his eyes when he heard a sound coming from the entrance. Din was standing by the door, holding Grogu close to his chest with one arm, baby tilted his head making a lovely sound, his big brown eyes fixed on Luke.

Din turned around, Miko and Joako were standing behind him, still in the corridor "No one gets inside, understood?" He said to his guards, the two young men nodded before Din closed the door behind him.

Luke took a deep breath, a feeling of extreme gladness washing over him as he saw Din crouching down to put Grogu on the floor and his heart skipped a beat when baby started walking towards him with grabby hands, he held his arms out to the baby finally holding him tight, the child giggled rubbing his little face against his chest plate. Luke looked up, meeting Din's visor.

"Are you ready, cyare?" Din asked, gesturing with a hand around the training room.

"Always, love." Luke answered choked with emotion, cradling his baby in his arms.

[moon-sang]

O M L Moon..... where do I start XD

I CANNOT EXPRESS IN WORDS HOW MUCH I LOVE UR FANFICTION AND I WOULD BE HONOURED IF U COULD DO MY REQUEST!!

Request:

I know it's a bit gory but I just need this shock/angst from Mando right now :)

So whilst mando is out on a bounty, the reader is left at the covert where Paz in a way bullies her (I have nothing against Paz I just dunno any other Mandalorian other than the armourer, him, Boba, and Din XD) anyway and reader has bad coping habits so they lock themselves in a room and does self harm? I know it's bad I just want to see how you would write about Din's shock when he sees reader with blood all over them and on the floor holding a knife.

Also THANK U SO MUCH FOR PART TWO ON I FEEL COLD I LOVE THAT STORY THE ANGST IN IT I JUST CAN'T!

Thank you so much anon, thank you for also requesting something, I've been super bored lately. I would imagine Din being super shocked to see someone he travels with doing that to themselves and would get the absolute shits with Paz XD

Don't Listen To Him

SUMMARY: You are already insecure about yourself, Paz doesn't help and you have some really bad habits with coping with things.

WARNINGS: Self-harm (not explicit), gender-neutral reader, angst, shcoked Din, slightly angry Din, typical violence if you squint, reader is described shorter than Din, pls tell me if I miss anything.

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

Pls remember that there is always help out there if u ever need it. Feel free to contact me if your having suicidal/self-harmful thoughts, you deserve so much in this world, i would be happy to help, and listen to you, even if it doesn't seem like much, this is just a request I DO NOT promote any self harm.

It hurt. Not the fresh cuts engraved in your skin, but his words. "You really think you mean anything to Din? What rock do you live under to think you mean anything to him, you're not even half his size, tiny." The words still rung clearly in your mind. "Din is a cold hearted hunter and to think you're blind enough that you think he likes you is absurd, you're probably just holding him back, like you do to everyone else." You can't help but choke out a loud sob, the words felt like acid burning through your skin, and left a salty taste on your tongue.

Absent-mindedly you run your knife through your wrist, cutting through a vein at the same time. Blood spills over your whole hand. Usually you would stop by now, but you couldn't, you still felt so empty and you were beginning to think Paz was right. After all you had seen the way Din slashed his darksaber through a bounty, maybe.... you did hold him back.

You felt like you couldn't breathe. Sobs racked your body and you couldn't suck a proper amount of air in when you sob again. Taking in a shaky breath you bring the small pocket knife to your throat. Maybe if you disappeared... Din would have it better, just him and the kid, no one to hold him back, no liabilities. Just as you begin to apply enough pressure for a small amount of crimson blood to trail down your neck the hatch (which must have been hacked into to unlock) opened. You can't even react to Din's appearance when your knife is whacked right out of your hand, scattering to the floor. You gasp, your body tensing. "What the hell are you doing?!" Din yells, half in shock, half in anger. You can't even answer, the only thing you can do is splutter out meaningless words. Din grabs your wrist, gently inspecting it. The wound is definitely deep, Din notes. He examines you with laser focus. You want to turn away from him, embarrassed at yourself for letting him catch you in this state. His thumb kept your head in place though. "Tell-me, now." He growls, not angry at you, but at himself for possibly doing something to make you want to hurt yourself. The only word you can get out is his very name. you can't help but burst into tears at his gaze. A worried Din pulls you in for a tight hug. Unaware at all the anxiety that had been building up in you you began to feel dizzy, and eventually passed out in his arms.

The next time you wake up your in bed, your wrist is bandaged, and everywhere else you had managed to bring harm to. You blink your eyes, getting rid of the morning blur. "Say it." Din's voice startled you, and you jump up out of the bed you rested in. In front of Din stood Paz, head cocked slightly down. "Say it!" Din snarls again. Din's blaster was pushed to Vizla's neck, cocked. "Din w-what are you doing-" Din cuts you off. "I looked over the tape, this bastard thinks he has some right to tell you what you mean to me?" He growls pushing the blaster further up his neck. Paz freaking out finally breaks. "Ok i'll say it!" he screams. "Y/n, i'm sorry, what i said- it- I was being an idiot, Din cares for you so much!" he shouts. Din puts the blaster back in his holster and pushes Paz foward. Vizla stumbles to the ground. "Din you didn't have to do tha-" "yes.. I did." he cuts you off. "If anyone says anything to you that makes you want to do that again... I want your o come straight to me or comm me, ok?" You nod and give Din a quick hug.

Ok I have to say this isn't my best story but I hope it does the job anon!

[martianbugsbunny]

We Are Mandalorians: Our Love Must Be Forged (An AxePaz Fic)—Chapter 9

Righty-ho, this is the chapter where things get worse for like a second but in a really fun way and then everything is gonna turn out great. It’s literally my favorite part of the entire fic tbh, except maybe the happy ending (which I promise is coming eventually!) Also, I don’t remember if I’ve used any Mando’a before in this fic, but I don’t think I have, so the rule for big phrases is Mando’a is the actual dialogue and the translation follows in italics. Singular words that are probably common knowledge among Mando fic fans are just as-is, but here is a link to the Wookieepedia page about Mando’a just in case. Anything I use can be found there. Enjoy!!!

“Paz, will you say the vows with me?” Axe asked.

Paz was weary; Axe could see it the way he nodded. And yes, it seemed futile to do it in a pit, at the end; but if not then, it would be never.

“Mhi solus tome,” Axe began. We are one when together.

“Mhi solus dar’tome.” Paz took the next line, his breathing labored and his voice hoarse with exhaustion. We are one when parted.

“Mhi me’dinui an.” We will share all. Including death.

“Mhi—ba’juri verde,” Paz said, and Axe’s heart ached when he heard how Paz’s voice stumbled on this part. We will raise warriors. He took Paz’s hand and squeezed it tight.

The footsteps in the cavern above came closer to the edge of the pit. Paz leaned his helmet against Axe’s. “I love you,” he whispered. “With all the strength of my heart.”

Axe longed to prolong the Keldabe kiss until the end, but he was tired and he was afraid and his nerves were absolutely bare. “Let me hold you,” he said, his voice trembling. “Let me die with you in my arms.”

Paz laid down with his head in Axe’s lap, his breathing slow. His right arm seemed stiff, and he curled his left around Axe’s knees. Was it the most comfortable of positions?…No, not really, but it wouldn’t matter for long anyway. Axe draped his arm across Paz’s upper body, fingers clutching at the cloth beneath his armor in hopes of feeling his pulse one last time past all the garments of war.

Just as the footfalls above reached the edge of the pit, the sound of blaster fire split the air. Bodies collapsed, beskar alloy ringing out against rock, and Axe held Paz tighter. “I love you too,” he said. He didn’t know what was happening up there, but he couldn’t let Paz die without him hearing that.

The noise died down and Axe heard a jetpack fire. Seconds later, a Mandalorian in shiny silver armor landed in front of them: the notorious redeemed apostate Din Djarin. “They’re alive!” he called up to the edge. “They need medical attention!” He knelt down in front of Axe and pulled off his helmet to make half-direct eye contact. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Axe didn’t know what to do, what to say, so he shook his head. “Take care of Paz first,” he insisted. “I can wait. He needs help.”

Din pulled Paz to his feet. The strain of the past few days had definitely caught up with him; he looked like he was about to pass out. Axe didn’t feel much better than Paz looked, but like hell was he going to let himself be attended before he knew his husband would be healed. As Din left the crater, holding Paz securely by the waist, Bo-Katan dropped down next to Axe.

“Where’s the fleet?” he asked. His tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth. “They were gone, or I would’ve come back with—”

“Easy. TIE bombers attacked and they were forced to flee. They’re back in orbit now, and the Imperial base has been destroyed. Gideon is dead and what remains of the Imperials are being hunted down and eliminated, including the ones who were about to shoot you like ducks in a barrel.” Bo-Katan tilted his chin up. “You rescued a Child of the Watch instead of fighting?”

Axe inhaled and took a moment to clear his mind before responding, to make sure his words would come out without being jumbled. “He’s my riduur,” he said. “I couldn’t—leave him to die.”

Then he blacked out, falling face-first into Bo-Katan’s arms.

[maybege]

Hi May! I’m sorry you aren’t feeling well right now 🤧🤒. I thought I’d stop by with some Trucker!Paz AU thoughts to hopefully take your mind off being sick.

I actually work for a trucking company doing accounts receiving so this AU hits close to home for me. But since A/B/O doesn’t exist irl 😔, I imagine things a bit differently…and heads up, this is shamefully self indulgent. I mean I’m being completely ridiculous here, but I had a shitty day and I need to lose myself in a world where Paz exists so please indulge me 😏.

Instead of Paz being a OTR trucker in your AU, I picture him spending his days running loaded containers of liquor from a large distribution center to the rail. At the end of the day he usually scans his gate tickets and his signed BOLs to his billing person. But maybe his scanner is old and isn’t working right and the images aren’t coming over clearly and it’s causing issues with the customer paying their invoices which causes issues with AR.

This is where you enter the picture. You feel bad and want to do everything you can to help out Paz so he won’t get deducted for his unpaid loads. At your suggestion, Paz starts dropping off his paperwork in person. You help him get all his unpaid loads cleared up but more importantly, he discovers how pretty his billing person is 😉.

You and Paz hit it off immediately and Paz looks forward to seeing you every time he stops by. And even when Paz finally buys a new scanner, he still wants to drop his paperwork off in person so he can keep seeing and talking to you.

And you can’t stop thinking about him. He’s just so kind and sweet and has the cutest smile that makes his eyes crinkle. You’re constantly thinking about how big he is and how good he always smells. He always wears really comfy looking flannels that make you think about how warm he must be. His hair looks so soft you just want to comb your fingers through it. And his voice…his voice makes you dizzy and horny. And then one day your brain gets all fuzzy when he looks extra gorgeous and Paz catches you staring at his extremely kissable lips and things get really sexually charged 🥵 and you don’t know if you want to die of embarrassment or just confess how much you like him and want to get to know him outside of work. Paz decides to help you out and asks you out on a date first and you practically shout out “YES!” which makes Paz chuckle warmly. He tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear and tells you he’ll pick you up Friday night and calls you “Love” and you feel like you’re going to melt right there on the spot 🫠. You barely can focus for the rest of the week because all you can think about is how it’s actually happening, you’re finally going out on a date with the big beautiful man of your dreams. 🥰

Anyway, hope this brightened your day ☀️ and that you are feeling better soon. Have some chicken noodle soup and drink some tea with lemon and honey. Stay hydrated and get lots of rest. Thinking of you and sending virtual hugs your way. 🤗

This the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever read and I’m so in love with this 😭😭😭😭 He’s so soft and warm and kind and hopelessly in love with you and when you both work late, he walks you to your car and when Friday comes around he wears one of his dress shirts and gets you flowers and everything 🥺👉👈

[naavispider]

A follow up to this post, which is a bonus scene from Quaritch's POV at the end of The Cat's in the Cradle. This one was egged on by @hyperfixatedfandomer who always manages to inspire me!

It’s been four years since Spider decided to stay with the Sullys, effectively cutting his father out of his life. Quaritch has been coping the best way he knows how, but it’s been rough and life moves on. He always hoped that someday his son might change his mind and miraculously show up on the doorstep. What he didn’t count on was that day being today.

Quaritch sighed wearily as he resigned himself to another afternoon sorting out Selfidge's mess. The RDA had welcomed him back with open arms when he'd got of prison six years ago, but he'd been too obsessed with trying to get custody of his son back for the first two. Then, Spider had turned his back on him and Quaritch had slipped into a dark place; his loneliness and self-hatred had driven him to the verge of insanity. Only Lyle had been able to reason with him. He'd turned up at the door after Quaritch was re-arrested and hammered some sense into his superior officer.

And Quaritch was grateful. Getting stuck back in at the RDA was a chore - especially when working with civvie pencil pushers like Selfridge - but a welcome distraction from the pit of sadness that had found a home in his guts. He cleaned himself up, dusted himself down and focused on commanding his squad. Eventually, time stitched over some of the deepest cuts Spider had left him with, and Quaritch simply grew used to living with the pain.

It had been four years since he'd seen his son, and even though it killed him, he'd kept his word. If I get out… you draw the shots. No more plots behind your back. If you want nothing to do with me… I’ll leave. He hadn't tried to contact Spider. The boy had made his choice, and the biggest mistake of Quaritch's life was that he once didn't respect that.

He would now, even if killed him.

At that moment, the doorbell rang, rousing Quaritch from his thoughts. He frowned, unsure who was calling. It was probably Lyle - the man was always dropping in unannounced. He left his laptop open and went to the door. But wait. Just as he was about to open the latch, he realised that couldn't be right. Lyle was out of state on RDA business. Must be one of the others he shrugged, though his hand hovered over the Beretta in his waistband just in case. He opened the door.

For four years he had waited for a moment like this. He stared at the young man in front of him. He just stared.

"Um... Hi, Dad."

Quaritch focused his eyes on every aspect of the boy's face, taking in every inch of his appearance. If he didn't know his son like the back of his hand he would have believed it to be trick from the enemy. Spider was here. He was really here.

"Son..."

Spider's hair fell carelessly in a messy half up, half down style. The years had matured the angle of his jaw, the arch of his brows. This wasn't the sixteen year old boy that Quaritch remembered. This was a twenty year old man.

Spider smiled awkwardly, dreadfully reminiscent of the way Paz used to, and for a moment Quaritch couldn't speak.

Spider looked like he understood, and shifted awkwardly on his feet. "Can I come in?" he asked. God, his voice was deeper. He had to reach out and touch him... make sure he really was here....

He nodded, stepping back slowly to let Spider in the house. He couldn't take his eyes off him as Spider stepped over the threshold. In a daze, Quaritch shut the door and walked to the living room. "Sit down..." It should have come out as in instruction, but instead it sounded more like a question.

Spider tentatively crossed the room and sat on the edge of the comfortable sofa. Quaritch couldn't remember the last person other than Lyle to sit on that sofa. Was his son really here?

Spider's eyes drifted down to Quaritch's hands. Without realising it, Quaritch had started to run the MJ tattoo on his wrist, like he always did when he was stressed. He immediately stopped, not wanting to freak Spider out. They were both quiet for a moment, before Quaritch followed Spider's suit and sat next to him on the couch. He measured the distance between them carefully. There wasn't quite enough room for a third person between them, but there was plenty of space. He took a deep breath as he stared at the floor, trying to pull himself together.

"This is weird," Spider stated.

Quaritch let out a dry chuckle. That was one word for it.

"I'm sorry for... dropping in."

Quaritch forced himself to look up and meet Spider's eyes. He was met with the familiar blaze that burned behind his chestnut irises. A necklace dangled around Spider's neck, catching the light. The sight of him was breath-taking. Spider was an adult. He'd outgrown him in the most complete sense imaginable. It made Quaritch's heart yearn for the years he'd missed. He wasn't sure if he could do this. Suddenly, all he wanted was that fiesty sixteen year old back.

He wanted to be cussed out, insulted. He wanted to know that the best place for Spider was by his side. He didn't want to see that Spider was doing fine without him. It was breaking him.

"What are you doing here?" Quaritch finally managed to say.

Now it was Spider's turn to avert his eyes. He looked... ashamed. "I... I wanted to explain. I wanted to see you."

"It's been a long time, son," Quaritch reminded him.

"I know. And I'm sorry." He paused, clearly unsure what to say next. "You really hurt me."

Quaritch closed his eyes slowly, pursing his lips. "I know." He did. He knew what he'd caused.

Thankfully, Spider continued. "I didn't know how to handle that. You were supposed to be there for me. You were supposed to love me because I'm your son, not because you wanted to be a father."

Quaritch nodded. Spider was being completely fair.

"Would you have done it?"

Quaritch looked up. He knew what Spider was referring to. The reason he'd decided to maintain the restraining order in the first place. He sighed. "I don't know. I was a desperate man who'd lost eleven years of his son's life. I wanted you back, but I don't know how far I could have gone through with it. Not if you weren't cooperative."

Spider pursed his lips. "I wish I'd never found out."

"That I was gonna take you?"

His son nodded. Quaritch's heart bled. "For the record, I wish I'd never come up with it."

Spider half smiled.

The damn that had been waiting to burst since Quaritch first opened the door reared its head at last. "Is it really you?" he whispered.

On the couch, Spider turned to face him full on. "It's me, Dad."

His arm moved of its own accord, reaching up slowly to rest his hand on Spider's shoulder, then slowly, making sure Spider could pull away if he wanted, up Spider's neck until he was cupping his son's face. It took Spider a moment to give him eye contact, but when he did it was all he needed. Warmth flooded his insides as light filled up the bottomless pit of despair he'd worked so hard to live with all these years. Spider's presence alone was enough to cure it all. He could see him melting into his touch, and without realising it he'd shuffled closer and was enveloping his son in a fierce embrace. Spider's shoulders shook with emotion and Quaritch held him tighter. If anyone ever tried to take his son away again, he'd see them in Hell. "Shh, it's okay." He breathed in the scent of Spider's hair, wrapped his arms around his boy as if his touch was the only thing keeping him alive.

"I'm sorry-" Spider choked out, but Quaritch shushed him, letting him cry it out. Quaritch didn't cry, he just thanked his lucky stars that his son had returned home. "I'm so glad you came back," he murmured, because it was the only thought he was capable of holding.

When Spider's breathing finally seemed to return to normal, Quaritch released him. "Stay here," he ordered, making his way to the kitchen. He didn't want to leave Spider, not for one second, but he needed to make him comfortable. They had a lot of catching up to do. He returned with two cups of tea, and his adult son kicked his feet up onto the couch, making himself at home. He took the mug as Quaritch sat back at his end of the couch.

"Tell me everything."

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

Hoping you're doing well my Lady💜💜💜💜

This just popped in to my head as an idea for a one-shot and I just had to get it out;

"What-If AU Dez finds out that someone called his adoptive daughter Limita ugly."

I am doing well, but quite frustrated as my laptop just went belly-up AGAIN! Augh! Luckily the warranty will take care of it, but it's only three months since it last died! AUGH!

This is why it has taken forever and a day for me to get to this ask, because I absolutely LOVED your one-shot idea and I wanted to write it but had to do it by hand, like some 14th century scribe T-T Anyways, thank you so much for the kind words and for giving me the one-shot idea! <3 <3 <3

-

Words have power

Sitting outside at a good distance from the busy house, savoring solace and the blissful silence, Dez is doing maintenance on his blasters, minding his own business, when Liita appears out of nowhere and sits down next to him. He glances over at her with half-hearted curiosity that instantly morphs into watchfulness when he sees the usual frown on her face is accompanied by a clenched jaw. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.” Liita replies.

She does sound more annoyed than upset, but she might be hiding something. She's a lot like him that way, so Dez decides to prod a little. “Well, you look even more grumpy than usual so something must be bothering you.”

Liita rolls her eyes. “It's just...” She exhales with no small amount of frustration and... something else. “How come not all planets have life, but those that do always have idiots on them?”

“Idiots?” Dez asks, absently putting his blaster back together. He can be a decent guy and listen to the girl's troubles while finishing his work at the same time. Dez always knew how to multitask.

“Yeah.” Liita confirms. “I go to get some parts for the ship at the marked in town, but instead of getting something useful; I get told I'm ugly.”

Dez has no idea what happens to his face, but it makes Liita's eyes widen and she launches herself towards him at the same time as Dez slaps the final piece of his blaster into place and gets up on his feet. She grabs a hold of his right arm with both hands and tries to prevent him from stalking towards town, but that's not going to happen. Because Dez is going to KILL that guy. And then, he is going to revive that foul-mouthed cretin, so he can kill him again. Red rage is roaring inside his skull and the blood is boiling in his veins. First, Dez will use his blade on him, then his blaster, then maybe his flame thrower...

“Sit your ass back down.” Liita growls, straining with all of her might and not even slowing him down. “Don't you be an idiot too!”

Ignoring her ranting and efforts to hold him back, Dez is halfway through his fifth plan on how to skin the cretin alive at the marked when it happens.

“Dad, stop!” Liita shouts.

It's like someone hits him with a stun-gun. Dez comes to such an abrupt halt that Liita smacks into him, but he barely notices. He's too surprised by her words.

Sure, he'd mentioned adoption, but she'd said she'd think about it and never mentioned it again. Dez merely figured that she'd decided she did not want him as her father after all. (Considering what he'd done to Paz, he didn't blame her. He's not as shitty as his own dad, but Liita could get adopted by Davarax in a heartbeat and they both know it. Why choose the lesser option?)

Now Dez is staring at her, stunned, while she still holds on to his arm for dear life and glares at him with pure defiance.

“You...” Dez doesn't know what to say.

“No.” Liita cuts him off. “YOU are not going to go after that guy, you hear me?”

Shock is instantly replaced with the anger he had momentarily forgotten about and Dez snarls. “If that guy thinks he can disrespect m... you, then he is about to-”

“Listen to me, you big oaf; I don't care!” Liita declares, loud and clear. “Don't you go and create a mess because some guy said something stupid that I. Don't. Care. About.”

Dez' eyes narrows. He places a finger under Liita's chin to make her keep eye contact with him as he expects she'll try to avoid confirming what he suspects. “You do the same thing I do, Liit'ika: You try to hide it with anger when it hurts. That's why I know you care.”

Liita's dark eyes flicker for a second. She's tougher and meaner than most creatures Dez has met in his life time, but she is also very young and not made out of Beskar.

Glaring into her eyes, willing her to believe him, putting all of his heart and anger into his words, Dez states the truth: “You are NOT ugly, Liita.”

Liita starts to smile but quickly clamps down on it and glares at him instead. “I know.” She tries to sound haughty. “Now, promise me you won't kill that guy. You're still establishing a new Covert here and we don't need any trouble from family or friends of that loud-mouthed idiot.”

Dez grins. Putting the Covert ahead of her own hurt? The girl IS a Mandalorian.

“What are you smiling for?” Liita huffs as her face turns an even deeper red. She smacks a hard palm to his chest. “Promise me you won't run over there and kill him like some macho idiot.” She smacks him again. Even harder. “Promise me.”

Fighting back a laugh, Dez lifts his left hand in an amiable gesture of giving his word. “Fine. I promise I won't kill him.”

Liita eyes him suspiciously for a couple of seconds longer before she actually lets go of his right arm with an approving nod.

A little of the amusement he's feeling bleeds out and is replaced with a touch of anxious hope when Dez forces the next words out of his mouth: “You... You called me 'Dad'. Does that mean you've decided?”

Liita crosses her arms defensively and glares even harder at him. “Unless you've changed your mind? Being a newly married man and having your big, beefy, perfect son back and all.”

Dez doesn't hesitate. “Of course I haven't changed my mind. Any father would be grateful to have you as their daughter.”

The bitter laugh escapes Liita's lips before she can stop it. “My father didn't think so. He couldn't run away fast enough.”

“Then your father was an idiot too, just like that guy in town.” Dez concludes, feeling a hard lump of resentment in his chest, just like when Skade had left without even saying goodbye to their son.

Now Liita finally does smile, but she lowers her head to hide it and then merely leans forward until her forehead thumps lightly against his chest and she stays like that, resting against him.

Warm affection floods Dez and he gently cradles the back of her neck with his hand. “Liita Vizla. The one with the scary Mando dad. Sounds right, don't you think?”

Liita makes a slight nodding motion.

Dez runs his hand over her hair as he suspects she's every bit as emotional as he is feeling right now. He tries to distract them both. “You're going to have to learn a lot of names. You'll have a lot of family from now on, Liit'ika.” And she's probably going to like less than half of them, just like Dez. They may be family, but a lot of them are still morons. “Just remember that you outrank them all. You keep on not taking any crap from anyone, especially not them, and they'll fall into line eventually.”

Liita looks up at him with a quizzical frown. “Why would I outrank them? I don't even have armour.”

Moving his hand to cup the side of her face, Dez smirks with smug confidence and delights in at least having one thing to offer the girl willing to become his child. “Your dad is their king, that makes you a princess and princesses don't take no crap.”

Again Liita has to fight against a smile and she scoffs, but without much ire in it. “You sound like such a dork. Mandalorians don't have a king.”

“Our clan does and that is me.” Dez counters without hesitation or doubt, and still with a grin on his face. He's earned that title, dank farrik, paid for it with blood and sweat, and nothing will prevent him from making sure his kids will benefit from it. Besides, Paz, Raga and Liita are strong and honourable souls, excellent leaders, who will bring order and prosperity to their clan, which tends to start self-destructing if not supervised, so it will be a win-win situation for them all, really. “By the way, are you okay with making the adoption official in front of Davarax at dinner tonight?”

Liita rolls her eyes, clearly not surprised by his need to flaunt in front of his eternal rival. “Fine.”

“Excellent.” Dez crows, ruffling her hair and making her back away with a disapproving huff. “Now, you run along. I've got something important to take care of.”

Proving once again how clever she is, Liita eyes him suspiciously. “Where are you going?”

Dez shrugs one shoulder. “I promised I wouldn't kill him. I never said anything about maiming.”

“No, don't you dare! Turn off that jetpack and get back down here. Now!”

“Nobody hurts my daughter and gets away with it, Liit'ika. Nobody.” Dez replies, turning in the air to face the direction of the marked place before heading towards his target. “That's also a promise.”

And while a lot of souls can say bad things about Dez Vizla, most of them probably true, there is one universal truth no one can deny: Dez always keeps his word.

[sytortuga]

Final sacrifice (Chapter 10)

This is maybe a slow chapter, and I apologize for that, but I think that Omera needed the time to reflect on all the new revelations from Din’s past. Specially before what there is to come! ^^

Posted on AO3 on the following link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38372269/chapters/97135575

Comments are always very appreciated! 😁

Final sacrifice

General synopsis: AU universe, in which removing your helmet is punished by death if the members of the covert esteem it so. Otherwise all canon compliant until E16 “The Rescue”, where Skywalker doesn’t show up but Din fights the Dark Troopers with the Darksaber. Din and Grogu, together, they find the covert, mostly as occurs in E5 of TBOBF. This fanfic takes off from where Din accepts Paz’s duel for the DarkSaber.

Relationships: Mando x Omera

Characters: Din Djarin, Grogu, Omera, Winta. Eventually Cara, Fennec, Boba Fett

Warnings: references to child abuse, violence against children, medical procedures, brain injury.

Link to chapter 9

Link to chapter 11

Later that evening, the droid brought a still unconscious Din back to the room, accompanied by Omera, who after settling the children for the night, had returned to the Mandalorian’s side. The droid reattached the IV line while she helped settling him back on his bed and putting him again the restraints on wrists and ankles. It felt so wrong to restrain the man despite what had happened, and made her chest fill with grief. When reaching for his right hand, she saw a large scar on the back of his hand. Hesitantly, she turned his hand around to find a similar scar on the palm, making her blood freeze. She realized with horror that all the “dreams” –nightmares rather, he’d been having in the tank were actually memories, and that made her shiver. She held his hand in both of hers, not baring to let him go. Her mind flew to the conversation she heard from the other Mandalorians. The clans’ leaders, she recalled. None wanted to adopt him because of being… mute had they said? Autistic? He surely was not very talkative now, but he was certainly not mute.

-“Droid” she addressed the machine. “Do you know what the causes of mutism in children are?”

-“Please precise the species” it answered.

-“In human children”.

-“Problems in sound processing can cause mutism at young age. Some mental disorders can also lead to the same outcome. Most often the physical inability to speak is determined by external factors, for example a traumatic event. Anxiogenic situations induce an over-excitation of the amygdala region of the brain which can lead to impaired speech.”

Omera’s thoughts went straight to what the woman’s voice had revealed, about Din witnessing everybody he knew be killed before his own eyes. What must have he been through as a child to lose his capacity to speak during enough time to need to learn sign language and be considered by everybody as autistic? Her eyes silently spilled tears that she could no longer hold. But the woman had talked about their responsibility, about “controlling droids”. She couldn’t figure out what type of droids would have been involved in rescuing children from a war zone.

-“Did I answer satisfactorily your question”, said the droid interrupting her thoughts.

-“Yes, thank you”. She found that it was getting increasingly more difficult to reason, her eyes were growing tired. She couldn’t remember when was the last time she had actually laid down to sleep.

---

Next thing she knew, she was waking up with her head laid on the Mandalorian’s bed side, still holding the man’s hand. She opened her eyes to realize that it was still the middle of the night and that a slight movement had woken her up. She quickly sat back up to find Din pulling sluggishly from the bind on his right wrist, as if wanting to raise his hand. His eyes started to slowly open, his head moving around clearly trying to make out where he was.

-“Din, hey…” she gently said, cupping softly his cheek.

The contact with his face’s skin seemed to alert the Mandalorian, who opened his eyes in surprise and started pulling from wrists and ankles more violently, now aware that he was bound to the bed where he was lying.

-“Shhh, you’re safe”, she tried to calm him while looking around for the medical droid. With her gaze, she found him shut off on the far corner of the room. “Droid!” she called.

The droid was fast at restarting and approached the injured man. Upon reaching the Mandalorian’s field of view the man got increasingly distressed, pulling harder on his bindings.

-“Din Djarin”, started the droid. “Please remain calm. You’ve sustained ischemic brain damage and I need to assess your cognitive function.”

The droid’s words had the opposite effect on the man, who kept trying to get himself free, although his energy was clearly decreasing with each passing moment.

-“Din, you’re safe. Let the droid do his assessment and after I can release you”, she insisted.

His strength almost depleted, with half closed eyes, he continued pulling from the bindings, now more slowly and clearly with much more difficulty.

-“Look at me, Din!” she ordered with authority. The Mandalorian slowly reacted to her words ---or maybe her tone of voice?-- and turned to look at her.

-“You’re safe" she reassured. "Let the droid do its job. It’s okay, I’m here for you”.

Regaining control of his breath, he finally looked to droid and slightly nodded.

-“Very well. Do you know who this woman is?”

The Mandalorian shifted his gaze back to Omera, and after a couple of seconds, where Omera feared he might lose consciousness again, eyes half closed, he nodded.

-“Do you know where you are?”

The Mandalorian slowly moved his gaze around, aiming to get a look at his surroundings. He started blinking longer than normal, but it was still clear he was making an effort to determine where he was. After some seconds, he finally closed his eyes took some deep breaths, and Omera realized he was trying to smell something in the air. Could he infer on where he was by the smell of it? She had to admit that she quickly realized when arriving to Tatooine that its air had a very particular smell to it.

-“Tatooine?” he finally asked, frowning.

-“Indeed. Do you recall what happened to you, why are you under medical treatment?”

Frowning, after some long seconds, he shook his head indicating he didn’t.      

-“You arrived with a large slash in the gut which required surgery. You suffered from major blood loss which caused hypoxic damage to your heart and brain due to lack of enough oxygen perfusion. Two bacta tank sessions have already been completed and at least two more will be required ”.

At this point Omera was certain that the Mandalorian was not following any more what was being said. He was trying repeatedly to swallow which he finally managed with difficulty. Short in breath and with half closed eyes, he kept pulling lazily from the wrist bindings.

-“Head… hurts” he managed to say with a grunt.

The droid turned around to collect a vial and inject a part of its contents on the IV line connected to his hand.

-“I’ve injected you with a pain reliever. You should feel the effects within the next minutes”. Addressing Omera, the droid continued. “You may release him now. Rest under supervision is required”.

The droid moved slightly away from the couple but stayed engaged and within a reasonable distance allowing it to quickly intervene if necessary. Omera did a quick job in releasing the Mandalorian's restraints. She could see that the pain killers were clearly kicking in, his eyes starting to close.

-"Rest, Din. I'm here"

The Mandalorian was gone within seconds, looking as if he was finally resting. Regaining her seat next to the Mandalorian’s bed, Omera laid her head on his now free arm. She held his right hand, gently stroking it with her thumb, caressing the scar on the back of his hand. She closed her eyes trying to regain control of the feelings invading her and fell asleep before she knew it.

---

Morning came and Omera woke up to someone gently caressing her hair. She opened her eyes to see the Mandalorian awake, reaching to her with his free arm. She felt embarrassed when she realized she had fallen asleep on his arm, but the feeling got quickly wiped away by the happiness of seeing him awake and clearly more aware.

-"Hey, how are you feeling?" she said trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes.

He seemed to make an effort to say something. He cleared his throat and retried, but still couldn't. Seeing her worry, with the faintest of smiles he nodded to reassure her.

-"Do you want some water?"

He nodded and Omera was quick to get him a glass of water which he managed to drink with her help.

-"Th-thank you" he finally managed finally while lying down again. "Grogu?"

-"He must be still sleeping with Winta in their room ".

-"What happ'ned, my armor?"

-"I hoped you could tell me" she said. "You left after speaking with the big blue Mandalorian. You never really explained what was going on. I decided to follow you to understand where you were going. That's when I found you bleeding out."

Omera could see Din being confused.

-"What were you doing in Glavis?"

Omera couldn't follow.

-"Din, what is the last thing you remember?"

-"Hunting a Klatoonian in the ring world. I—" Din closed his eyes strongly, with a clear effort of remembering more details.

-"You don't recall coming to Sorgan?"

-"Sorgan?", he said raising his eyebrows.

Omera was in awe about the expressiveness of the man's face. She thought how his feelings could be read like an open book. But she saw how he then fixed his gaze somewhere in the background, as if he would find the answers there. Frowning, he continued shaking his head. After a brief time he grabbed his head with both his hands.

-"I don't know, my… my head… it hurts".

-"Shhhh, take it easy, we will figure it out".

---

Omera came back a bit later into Din's room with the kids in tow. Grogu ran as fast as he could towards his buir, but was easily bet by Winta, who got to the edge of the Mandalorian's bed faster.

-"How are you feeling, Mr. Mandalorian?” Winta said worriedly.

Before he could manage any answer, Grogu jumped on Din's chest, and spreading his small arms as wide as he could, he hugged the man.

-"Hey, glad to see you too, pal. To see you both".

Grogu reached for Din's face and gently caressed one of his cheeks. Omera witnessed the Mandalorian respond with surprise. She wondered if the kid had ever been allowed to touch the man’s face before. The man’s surprise shifted to show the shyest of smiles, one that wiped in one second the anguish, fatigue and worry she had endured since she found the man dying in the forest.

Taking Grogu in one of his arms, Din attempted to lift himself up from the bed, which caused him to grunt from engaging his abdominal muscles.

-“What are you doing?” said Omera trying to keep him lying down.

-“’fresher”, Din was able to say between grunts. He shifted his legs out the side of the bed where Omera was standing.

The medical droid approached the bed, but coming from his back he surprised the man with his words.

-“Additional rest is highly recommended” it said.

Omera saw how the man almost jumped out of the bed upon hearing the droid’s voice, turning quickly around to face the machine. Pulling his IV lines, he tried hard to keep his balance, but it was evident to Omera that he couldn’t maintain himself upright. With his free arm, he taunted around, as if blindly searching for an anchoring point. Omera was fast at clutching his arm to support him.

-“Get… get the baby” he said panting, and Omera was quick to welcome the baby with her free arm while holding Din with the other as best as she could. She easily understood that the man was scared to hurt the child should he fall to the ground.

-“Your shortness of breath indicates your heart is still recovering for the hypoxic injury. Loss of balance can be both due to the brain injury and a deficient blood flow. Are you experiencing any dizziness?” said the droid proceeding to approach the man.

-“Don’t get any closer”, he panted.

The droid stopped in his tracks. “Additional rest is highly recommended” it repeated. “Without the IV input, liquid and nutrients should be administered orally as soon as possible”.

Omera handled the baby to Winta and focused on helping the Mandalorian who had started making his way to the refresher with unsteady steps. Insisting that he could go in by himself, Omera stayed outside just in case he needed any help. The minutes she spent standing outside the refresher’s door were enough to make all the images of Din’s last nightmare come back to the front of her mind. She hated how a couple minutes of inactivity along with a now more rested mind were enough for her traitorous brain to throw everything back at her again. She wondered if the droids mentioned by the female Mandalorian had anything to do with the three times he had already seen the Mandalorian react with hostility against the medical droid.

Her line of thought was interrupted by the clinking sound of something falling to the ground inside the refresher. She was tempted to knock on the door and make sure Din was okay but decided against it.  She couldn’t avoid thinking of how, despite his injuries and how insecure he felt—after all he had handed over the baby to her, unsure of his stability—he forced himself to manage on his own. The images of him stitching his stabbed hand on his own flooded her mind making her chest tight in pain for the man. She thought how he must have been only but a child back then and made her think on how he was formatted to depend on no one but himself.

Once out of the refresher, and with Omera's help, he made it to a nearby chair just as Cara stepped into the room.

-“Mando! Good to see you up and about, buddy”.

Head filled with dizziness, he bent forward to rest his head between his knees.

-“You okay there?” Cara continued, putting a hand on his shoulder, causing him to slightly flinch against the contact.

-“Been better”, he murmured trying to catch his breath.            

-“Additional rest is highly recommended” said the droid from where it had been stopped before. “Liquid and nutrients should be administered orally as soon as possible”.

Omera, who was now kneeling next to the sitting man, heard him exhale in annoyance. He really did not like droids. But it was right, and if he was going to get up and move around, he would need to keep up with his food and water intakes.

-“What do you say”, she said to him softly, trying to find his gaze. “Main hall is just across the corridor, you can eat something while getting some droid-free time”.

To her surprise, she heard him chuckle, and made the most subtle of nods.

-“What do you say, kids? Should we all go get first meal?” Cara said.

The children responded with excitement and with the help of Cara and Omera, they all headed out the door.

---

In the main hall they met Boba and Fennec talking lively about some altercation reported in Aqualish sector of Mos Espa. The sight of Cara and Omera helping the Mandalorian sit at a table clearly interrupted their conversation.

-“Djarin, it’s good to see you awake, vod”, Boba was fast at greeting him.

-“Thank you… for all the help”, Din returned, short of breath from the effort of moving.

-“Should you even be up walking to quickly?” said Shand with a worried look.

-“From what I understand, I’ve been lying for enough time already”.

After making sure that the Mandalorian was well settled on the table, Omera sat next to him and checked that the kids were helping themselves to different foods that were displayed in front of them. Omera and Cara were not far behind. She chuckled at the thought that they were all clearly already used to the routine since they arrived.

After a while Omera realized that the Mandalorian just sat, his hands on the table, looking at the kids eat with a sweet, though tired expression on his face. She fell immediately in love at the way he was looking at Grogu, doing something so mundane as eating. She thought of all the times she missed that expression, and so many others, while being concealed by the privacy of his helmet. Noticing that he had no intention to help himself to the food, Omera took it to herself to prepare him a small plate and a glass full of water which she placed in front of him, breaking his line of thought. Looking at the plate and then to Omera, he thanked her.

-“So what happened?” he finally said, still not touching his food. “Can you fill me in?”

-“You really remember nothing?” said Cara surprised while chewing on some kind of meat.

Din shook his head.

-“The droid said that memory loss is not uncommon in these situations”, reassured Boba.

Omera took it as a cue to start relating everything that had happened in Sorgan and how Cara had answered her call and brought them urgently to Tatooine. A couple of minutes into her tale, she could see that the Mandalorian was having troubling focusing on her words, although she felt slightly reassured when he looked like he was still understanding the general idea.

-“And my armor?”

Omera was sure this question was going to arise, and she had given it much thought since they arrived in Tatooine.

-“Honestly? I’m not sure, but I think it was taken by the blue-armored Mandalorian that came searching for you” Omera explained. “I can’t say I’m certain, but when he left he was carrying a big bag which contents clinked when he walked”.

The Mandalorian nodded absentmindedly, still looking at the children eat. Once the kid had finished his plate, he smiled.

-“Still hungry, huh?” he told the child sweetly and offered him his plate. The kid chirped in excitement with the perspective of having another full serving.

-“You know there is enough food for everybody right?” said Fennec, amused by his behavior. “You don’t need to give up your plate”.

-“Force of habit, I guess”, was all she got from the man.

Omera’s heart skipped a beat. Did he often give up his food to ensure the kid was satisfied? In which kind of cruel galaxy they lived, she thought to herself.

-“I’m not hungry anyway” the man continued retuning his gaze to the kid, now devouring his serving.

Both women looked at each other briefly. Surely it must be hard for him to eat in front of others, Omera thought to herself. She recalled how during his stay in Sorgan she would bring his food to the privacy of the barn for him to eat. She wondered if he was still hurting too much to eat, or if it was really because of the lack of habit of eating in the presence of others.

Without any notice, some service droids came into the room with some more plates full of food. Omera noticed how their presence, once again, startled Din.

-“It never ceases to amaze me how much food these droids serve at each meal. But again, knowing that this place belonged to the Hutts…” laughed Cara to herself.

Omera put her hand on the Din’s arm to attract his attention away from the droids, determined for him to eat and drink as the medical droid had suggested he should do.

-“Do you prefer that I help you to one of the rooms so you can eat in privacy, away from the droids?”.

Din looked directly into her eyes. She had the impression he was trying to read her mind, figure out something. Had she overstepped by suggesting that he was disturbed by the presence of the droids? Did she somehow insult the warrior by assuming that he was uncomfortable with their presence?

-“Your kindness knows no limits” he finally said, almost like a whisper, “but I’m really not hungry, thank you.” Looking back at where Cara, Boba and Fennec were sitting, he continued. “Thank you all for what you did for me”, he said a bit stronger this time. “I owe you all my life”.

[fandom-blackhole]

Di'kut - Soulmate AU

AN: Well, you guys didn't care for my angsty Soulmate AU, so here is another one! I'd say its happier than last time though, at least it ends on a happier note. I honestly feel a bit bad, because for the life of me I can not let Paz be happy.... if there is enough requests, i might write a part 2 for this. Oh, this is also my last fic for @maybege May's Birthday Bash and I just wanted to say I had a lot of fun writing these fics and I hope I didn't break your hearts that badly with the other two Paz fics ;). Love you all!

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x GN!Mandalorian!Reader

Words: ~4k (this was supposed to be short...)

Rating: Everyone

Summary: Paz Vizsla is the biggest di'kut you have ever had the misfortune of meeting, and it is just your luck that he is your soulmate. (Soulmate AU-the first words your soulmate say to you are tattooed on your body)

Warnings: Paz is an asshole, descriptions of using blasters, someone gets shot but the blaster is on stun so they don't get hurt, some angst, bit of an enemies to lovers (let me know if I missed anything!!)

Masterlist

When the black smudge on your arm finally became legible you were still young enough that the inky black taunt written in scratchy penmanship made you spiteful, and made you form a prepubescent anger towards your soulmate. The words mocked you morning and night, through all your training and lessons,, through your free time, every second of every day the words, “You are no mandalorian,” flowed through your head on repeat, and made you want to give anything to smash your soulmate’s face in. You were just as much of a mandalorian as the rest of your family, you fought for the title, trained for the title, memorized and lived by the tenants of the Resol'nare, and like thousands of mandalorians before you, you mourned and watched as your family was taken from you as you had barely reached adulthood.

Your mother used to worry about you, about how instead of the love your soulmate’s words were supposed to bring you, you became spiteful. She used to whisper to you, try and calm you, with soothing words she would say, “Whoever they are they will know they are wrong quickly, ad’ika, your soulmate will love you and learn to regret all the pain these words have caused you. Plus I bet whoever they are, are just saying these words out of jealousy, because you are the strongest, most bright little warrior I have ever met and I, along with your father, are so proud of you.” And her words helped, at times that the words hurt the most, when they caused rage to flare up, you would let her words flow through your mind and they would quiet your thoughts, even now years after she was taken from you.

Over time your pettiness for your soulmate softened, though it never fully disappeared, now the words just hurt, so you covered them, always. Never looked at them, and only took off your long shirts when you bathed, still taking care to keep your eyes from drifting to your arm. To help yourself ignore the words, to ignore the pain that came with them, you threw yourself into work, anything you could find, all the while searching for other mandalorians, as your heart yearned to be back among your people and drained for living years on your own.

And that is what led you to Nevarro. Rumors whisper in the wind that several mandalorians have been spotted on the planet, though never more than one at a time, and usually a younger, more reckless one donned in red and silver armor. It took you a few days, longer than you had liked, as you were eager and impatient to not be alone anymore, but eventually, that mandalorian in red and silver armor cornered you, and you must have said all the right things, you must have proven you weren’t a threat, because he had led you to where his tribe hid away from everyone, and once you entered the tunnels you had to bite your tongue and swallow back the tears that wanted to escape from the overwhelming feeling of safety that immediately washed over you.

It had taken a while for the red mandalorian to lead you to the tribe, and a few more to take you to their leader, their armorer, the mandalorian explained how he had found you, and once the armorer nodded he turned and left. Neither of you said anything for a few minutes, and you found yourself intimidated by the woman in front of you, but you also couldn’t help but feel respect for her as the air that surrounded you was something you had never felt before, but knew deep down she has earned every ounce of respect that her tribe gave her. Then you heard her sturdy, and calm voice echo through the forge, “Why are you here, mandalorian?”

Bowing your head, you responded as evenly as possible, given your racing heart and trembling fingers, “I heard rumors of other mandalorians here on Nevarro….I came to see if there was a tribe I may join, and I must say my heart is full knowing that I have found more of my people.”

“You want to join our tribe,” she paused long enough for you to look up into her pitch-black visor and give a small nod, “Well then, tell me, is there a reason you are not with your original tribe?”

You bit your lip under your helmet, taking a shaky breath before giving a bit of a jerky nod. “Yes… my tribe… my family were found and wiped out by the empire.”

“How long have you been alone and searching for another tribe, my child?”

“Years… I...I do not have an exact number to give you, I lost track as I threw myself into searching and working.”

The armorer gave a single nod, and you could see her shoulders relax slightly before she spoke again, “You will be welcomed into our tribe, it is an honor to be able to bring a lost mandalorian back to their people.”

You let out a shaky breath, one that you had not realized you had been holding, and bowed your head again, “Thank you, I promise you will not regret this. I was very well learned in my tribe and one of the top warriors in my age group, I can help the tribe in any way you need me to, wherever you need help, I can be of service.”

“That is a relief to hear, especially with our need for a teacher for our foundlings. Once you are settled, we can discuss what all you know and assign you an age group to work with.”

“Thank you again...it is nice knowing I am not alone anymore," and in reply, she only nodded.

In a few short days, you had met with the armorer a few more times and went over everything you had been taught and what all you were confident in teaching, which was quite a lot and had even surprised her and resulted in a bit of praise of your knowledge. Quickly you started teaching the foundlings, each taking to you like a duckling to water, and finally, you started feeling at peace for the first time since you could remember. But then you made an important discovery, something that should have honestly clicked sooner.

In your small classroom, you would often take off your helmet so that you could talk with the children face to face. The children all loved it and in your opinion, you always thought that it was easier to learn when you could see your instructor’s face, read their emotions. But when lessons were over, you would put your helmet back on and nod to the parents they picked up their children, or to the foundlings who would walk themselves to and from lessons. It was a habit to wear your helmet by this point, it felt like a safety blanket after practically living in it all these years, and you just never really put two and two together that you had never seen any of the other mandalorians in your new tribe without their helmets, too oblivious in your newly found peace. Then one day, as you were sitting on the floor with the youngest foundlings, the older ones at training, you were telling them stories your mother had told you, each of them completely entranced in your words, and you were too caught up in telling the story to notice the man sneaking into the room. Before you even knew what was happening, there was a solid hand wrapping around the back of your neck and another pulling your dominant hand behind your back and forcing you to stand and walk out of your classroom. You didn’t react, not out of shock, not because you couldn’t, but because your little foundlings all started freaking out and you knew if you went quietly and left them with reassuring words they wouldn’t be as scared.

Your capturer did not take you far, only escorting you a few doors down and into the forge where they threw you to the floor at the armorer’s feet snarling out, “I caught them helmetless in front of the foundlings.”

Looking at the floor, tears in your eyes from the rough treatment, things finally clicked in your brain, and you whispered, “You’re children of the watch.”

You could feel the armorer’s eyes on you, and when you finally looked up, she told you to stand, before asking, “You never took the creed, did you?”

You only shook your head and swallowed when the armorer nodded. The room quieted, only the soft roar of the flames from the forage could be heard, before you swallowed and set your head back, looking forward at the leader you have come to respect. “I am sorry I did not realize what tribe I had been brought into, had I known I was being welcomed into a tribe of children of the watch, I would have taken care to follow your rules. I may not have taken your creed, but I still respect you and your culture as a fellow mandalorian-”

“You are no mandalorian,” the man who had dragged you here spit out, interrupting you and making your blood freeze in your veins. The stories always romanticize the warmth that was supposed to come from hearing your soulmate's words, but you could only feel ice run through your veins at the hatred in his voice. You are sure that your eyes widened, and a bit of panic and anger spread on your face tells which the armorer in front of you noted, before looking past you and saying, “Paz Vizsla, what were you doing when you made this discovery?”

The man, Paz, scoffed behind you. “The older foundlings were talking nonstop about the new teacher during training, praising them, and saying how much they loved them so I wanted to see what was so great about the new teacher. Only when I walked in did I find this traitor sitting in front of our children.”

“So you are telling me that you left your post, where you were supposed to be helping train the older foundlings, so you could run around and investigate the newest member of the tribe. Then you thought it wise to humiliate them by dragging them here to me?”

You did not hear a reply, not caring enough to really process what was being said, as your brain was still processing the words that he, Paz Vizsla, your soulmate, had spit at you only moments prior. Your heart still thundering in your ears as you barely hearing the rest of the exchange between the armorer and the man behind you.

“Where are the young foundlings now?”

“Back in the-”

“You left them there alone… of course you did. Go sit with them until I am finished here, then we will be having a talk.”

Again, you heard no reply, but you did hear his footsteps retreating from the room. Not long after the faded, the armorer turned back to you. “You knew we were children of the watch, knew of our creed, how?”

Taking a deep breath, you looked towards the armorer, though you could not hold her gaze long. “My father, he had met some mandalorians that followed your way of life before. In fact he met many different mandalorians who each followed a different interpretation of the Resol'nare. He...he taught each of them to me, telling me, “We are all mandalorians, even if we view the way of life differently, we each live by the tenants. Accept each mandalorian you meet, do not judge, judging is what broke us all apart, and caused many deaths of our people. If we are to be one people again, we must learn acceptance.” And I have always taken great care to not forget those words or teachings.”

The armorer nodded her head, before softly saying, “Your father was a wise man, he taught you well,” she stayed quiet, the two of you thinking over everything that had happened and what you had said, but eventually, she continued, “I am not making you leave. There are not many of us mandalorians left, and while I do not entirely believe in your way of life, I will take a page from your book and respect it regardless, if you are willing to respect ours. All I ask is that you wear your helmet around the others, as you learned with Paz’s outburst, many are not accepting here.”

You nodded, giving a short, “Of course,” before she dismissed you to your room, saying that someone would bring your helmet to you.

After the incident, you avoided Paz Vizsla with everything you had, the sight of his blue armor immediately sparking rage in you. Never once staying in his presence long enough to speak to him, refusing to allow him to find out you were his soulmate. Through each passing insult, or demeaning comment he threw in your direction you just bit your tongue and walked away, taking the time later to curse his existence as you tore through and ruined several training dummies as you took your anger out on them. And you endured this, taking his scathing comments for months, years even.

Then you reached your boiling point. Paz Vizsla finally reached the limit of your patience. One of your students had been struggling in shooting training and was too shy to ask for more help from the instructor, not that you blamed them considering who the instructor was at the moment, Paz Vizsla. Instead, they had asked you, and you had agreed because you wanted nothing more than for all of your students to succeed, and felt honored that they felt safe enough with you to ask for your help. You had barely gone over the different parts of the blaster, having the student repeat it back to you twice, and had just started giving a small lecture over blaster safety when Din walked in, and you just nodded at him as he did the same before settling a few paces away. Din wasn’t home at the tribe often, so getting to see him was nice, the two of you being friendly, and it was an added bonus that with his marksmanship if you needed to, you knew he would be willing to come over and help in your little tutoring session. Turning back to your student, you asked them to show you how they had been shooting, to see what you were working with. Slowly, they picked up the blaster and shot at the target, barely hitting the outside ring, and you nodded at them when they looked over to you for approval.

“That wasn’t bad at all, ad’ika, but there are some things I think I can help you with,” stepping to the stall next to them, you pulled out your blaster and held it to the target, before looking to your student again. “First, I need you to relax, don’t be tense. The blaster is dangerous, yes, but you must respect it and treat it correctly and you will not be in danger. If you are tense, it makes the recoil worse, if your arms are relaxed though, your arms will absorb some of that recoil and you won’t jerk back so hard. Next, widen your stance just a little bit, okay? See how I am standing, and how my arms are slightly bent, not completely stiff? I want you to try shooting like that, and remember to use the sights on the barrel to aim.”

Your student nodded, fixing their stance as you safely put your blaster away. Their next shot hit much closer to the bullseyes eye, not hitting it, but hitting in between it and the ring just outside of it, and you smiled, opening your mouth to praise the foundling, but you weren’t able to get it out before a chuckle sounded out behind you, turning your stomach sour as your least favorite mandalorian spoke up, “I am surprised you even know how to hold a blaster, let alone how to teach someone to use one.”

Clenching your teeth, you let out a frustrated huff, whipping out your blaster and turning to look the man who has caused you nothing but hell the last few years right in the eye, before pointing your blaster at the target and shooting three shots without looking, and judging by the shocked laugh and the whispered, “That was kriffing amazing,” that came from your student, you think it was safe to say each shot found the middle of the target. Paz stayed silent though, and you could feel the glare he was shooting at you, but you just turned to Din, who was watching silently, and said, “Would you mind taking over for me? For some reason, I am starting to get a migraine.”

“Running away, as always, how very mandalorian of you,” Paz scoffed out as you passed him, and finally you were done. So before you could even think to stop yourself, you whipped your head to look at him, growling out, “You are the biggest di'kut of a mandalorian, Paz Viszla,” before stomping away. You of course too caught up in your anger to notice how he froze at your words, but you weren’t too out of sorts to hear his own angry stomping following after you. He caught up to you in no time, his stride longer longer than your own, but he made the mistake of trying to grab you again like he had a couple of years ago, but this time, you didn’t let him get past loosely wrapping his fingers around your wrist, immediately angling and throwing your elbow back so it would hit him in his unarmored side. He let out a very pained grunt and let go of you. He recovered faster than you could get away, though, so as he reached for you again, you whipped out your blaster and aimed it at him which caused him to freeze. Carefully, you set the blaster to stun, making sure he wouldn’t notice, but the thick-skulled mandalorian seemed distracted.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” he grumbled out, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, and you just looked him dead in the eye, before saying, “Why would I tell the person I hate the most that we are stuck together? Wasn’t a curse enough to know my soulmate, the person who is supposed to love me was the same person that hated me most in this world?”

Once you were finished speaking, still running on anger, not just from the encounter, but from every encounter since he drug you to the armorer, anger from the moment you could read his words, a lifetime of anger that had built up to this point, so you simply turned you blaster down, shooting the small area on his thigh that was uncovered twice, which was thankfully enough to drop him as he cursed. You just turned and walked away from him. You didn't know where you were going, but anywhere away from him was exactly where you wanted to be, and you took a bit of joy in him yelling after you and hearing him struggling to follow you.

You managed to avoid him for the rest of the day, just walking the tunnels that the tribe lived in, sticking to the most abandoned ones so you weren’t spotted. The few times you passed halls close to the covert you could hear his shouts and stomping, but you only quietly turned to go deeper into the tunnels. But it got late, and your anger had long since turned to exhaustion when Din found you wandering the tunnels slowly. He didn’t say anything, just walked beside you for a bit. Eventually, he did break the silence, though, “He’s sitting outside your door, convinced you’ve hidden yourself away in there and refusing to speak to him.”

You only laughed, the thought getting to you in your tired state to the point you found yourself leaning against the wall and holding your side from laughing so hard. It took a few minutes, but when the laughing subsided, you looked at Din and said, “Well I guess we know why you’re the bounty hunter. We’d have no money if he was the one out there tracking people down.”

Din chuckled, and the two of you started walking again, quiet following the two of you again. You zigzagged through a few halls, not really caring where you were heading still when Din broke the silence again, “Why did you never tell Paz you were his soulmate? He would have stopped if he had known.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, letting out a sigh before answering, “It doesn’t really matter, does it? What would have changed? Because the way I see it, he hates me, soulmates or not, I am just a traitor to my people in his eyes, so what would the rose-colored lens of being his soulmate change? Why wouldn’t he still hate me? And if he did stop, and he did suddenly start caring for me, would it only be because I am his soulmate that I would suddenly be enough for him?....... Din, I didn’t...don’t see him changing his opinion of me because of our soulmate status. My father always said that the Vizslas weren’t shit.”

Din quietly led you through the tunnels, not saying anything until he finally stopped and turned to you, “While I agree with what your father said, I think you should at least hear him out. In fact, he's been listening the entire time,” and with that he tapped the side of his helmet, before he turned and left you standing there alone. It took a few seconds, but you realized that Din had led you to the end of the tunnel that led to your room, and like Din said, right beside your door looking directly at you stood the one person you did not want to talk to, but it was far too late to leave now. Instead, you held your head high and started towards your room, towards Paz. When you were only a foot or two away, he took a step forward, making you freeze.

“I should apologize.”

You didn’t say anything, too tired to deal with this, and your heart still full of bitterness for the man. But, you listened, not for Paz, not for yourself, but because Din had asked you to.

“What I did to you, what I have said to you was not okay….I should have listened to the armorer years ago when she berated me for treating you the way I did, and there is no excuse for it….. But what you said to Din...just because you’re my soulmate doesn’t mean I am instantly going to like you now...because I have always liked you, and I have hated myself for it, because you were so different from what I was raised to believe I wanted to hate you, but...but I never could.”

You took a deep breath and moved around Paz quietly reaching to put in your door code and stepping inside. Once you passed the threshold, you turned back to look at Paz, and only said, “I can’t forgive you Paz, not right now. What you have said to me...there is no justification for it,” you let that hang in the air for a few minutes, before looking him in the eye, “But… if you are willing to work to gain my trust, to gain my love, to gain my respect, and you learn to respect me, then, eventually, I think I could forgive you.”

Paz responded with a small head nod, and a quiet, “Of course, anything.”

Nodding back, you reached for the door panel, and before closing it, you said softly, “Good night, Paz.”

And as you closed the door, you heard him echo the sentiment back, softly saying your name at the end, before you heard his footsteps echo down the tunnel as he walked away, and for the first time since you were welcomed into the tribe, you felt yourself fill with hope for the possibility of a happier future.

Mando'a Translations:

Di'kut - idiot

ad'ika - little one, daughter/son

Everything Tags: @mysticalgalaxysalad @phoenixhalliwell @moodsare @perpetual-fangirl900 @night-snows00 @dumbass-simp-for-fredweasley @stargazingthenightaway @meabravo @just-here-for-the-moment @masteracewindu @litakino

Paz Tags: @bunny-fair @elinedjarin @shellyc9 @blackmarketmummy @djarin-junk

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[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

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