#touch starved and feral din

[fettuccin-e]

Just This Once

Kinktober Day 18: Squirting + Dacryphilia

Tags: Din Djarin x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv (pls wrap it before you tap it irl), fingering (r!recieving), squirting, light dacryphilia, Din being feral but also emotionally stunted (w/c: 1.7K)

A/N: Guess who fell behind on Kinktober again, womp womp. I will not give up though!! I am determined to finish, so please enjoy this Din fic that I may or may not have gotten too invested in while writing it and stay tuned for some more filth coming (and cumming hahaha) soon!! (for Kinktober I have been using this list from flightlessangelwings!)

There’s something about the coldness of space, the loneliness of it, that makes you so desperate.

When the Crest is quiet, the baby asleep, all you can feel is the vastness of the universe around you, your body cold and needy for touch. And Maker, the Mandalorian notices immediately, the way you cross and uncross your legs in the seat behind him, curling your fingers into your thighs as the stars fly past the ship. You don’t mean to be obvious, but Din always notices.

He knows how to treat you when you get like this, all needy and desperate for his touch, even when you don’t want to admit it. Din is willing to admit that you are far more than just a friend to him, but you both narrowly avoid the strength of the feelings between you both, the bond that drags you together. But still, Din knows exactly what you need, and he has absolutely no problem giving it to you.

He has you splayed across his lap, your back pressed against his chestplate, your head lolling back onto his shoulder. He’d lost his gloves the moment you’d peeled off your pants, his hands the only skin he’ll allow himself to touch you with. It’s a wonderful loophole for you, but an exercise in torture for him. He wants to feel your back pressed against his bare chest, trace his lips down your neck. Wants to feel your heartbeat against his, quick and warm and alive. 

This is the Way, he reminds himself, despite knowing, deep down, that he’s already broken something just by touching you without his gloves. But stars, how can he resist when your pretty, desperate little cunt pulses beneath his fingertips, begging for more, more, more.

He ghosts his fingers up the slick seam of your pussy, and has to hold back his own groan at the way you whine, pressing back against him as your hips twitch uncontrollably.

“Stars, you’re wet,” he grunts, pressing a thick finger into your entrance, already gaping with your need for something, anything to clutch onto. “Needed me this bad, cyar’ika?”

“‘M so- so empty, Din, fuck, it’s like,” you cut yourself off with a gasp as he starts fucking you with that one thick finger, feeling it drag across your walls. “It’s like I can’t fucking breathe without you touching me, Maker, I need it all the time, Din.” 

And it’s true. When you’d first started traveling with Din and the baby, you’d barely even noticed the loneliness. You’d been lonely your whole life, eager to escape your desolate little planet and see the stars.

But then Din had done this for the first time, when tensions had run too high, when things had gone just a little too far.

“Just this once,” he’d muttered, “Can I touch you?” he’d asked, and you’d said yes without a thought.

He’d peeled off his glove, touching your face gently, so gently with those calloused fingers. He’d laid you out on his small mattress, pressing the front of his helmet to your forehead as he let his hand roam the expanse of your body, squeezing your skin over your clothes before brushing them over your clit through your pants. When you’d jerked up and moaned, he could only let out a shaky exhale through his visor as he rubbed tight circles into it, enraptured by the way you whimpered and squirmed beneath him.

“Just once,” he kept muttering, even as he worked one, two orgasms out of your body, “just once.”

Except it happened again. And again. And again.

And now you can barely sleep without wanting, needing Din to touch you. He hasn’t fucked you; there’s an unspoken rule that he’s broken enough of the Creed for you, telling you his name, touching you like he does. You don’t question it, not when you’re the one getting fucked on his fingers until you’re in tears, ravenous for his hands on your body.

It’s like it gets worse as time goes on, your need for him. Even now, pressed against his chest as his thick thighs spread you wide for his hands, it’s like the first time. You writhe against him as he works another finger into your hot cunt, your slick covering his hand. You hump forward into them without meaning to, and you turn your head to tuck it into his cowl as he works you over.

Din fucks his fingers furiously into you, using his other arm to brace across your hips, keeping you pinned to him. He’s practically growling as he pumps his hand between your legs, crooking his fingers up to press against the spot that makes you cry so beautiful for him. He keeps his fingers pressed deep for a moment, just grinding the tips of them into that spot relentlessly and relishing in the way you cry his name so prettily.

“Din, please- oh fuck! Stars, it’s too much, it’s too much oh my- ah-” you wine, feeling tears start to build in your eyes as you edge dangerously close to that peak you need so bad.

“C’mon, mesh’la, let go for me, squeeze my fingers with this little cunt,” he growls, and fuck, you can’t even breathe as you let him work you over, making you cum so hard that you can’t do anything but gasp for air.

And Din can’t fucking take it anymore.

“Fuck, I-” you hear him say, and you turn your head to look at him, even as aftershocks wrack your body, even as his fingers stay buried inside.

“What, Din?” you whisper, and Din nearly curses at the sight of you. Your lashes are wet with tears, stars, why do you have to look at him like that? It wears at his carefully honed control, and fuck, he can practically feel it snap at the sight of you, as the feeling of you.

“Can I fuck you?” he rasps, and you hear him suck in a breath, “please let me fuck you.” You can't hold back the keening whine that leaves your mouth, and Din shivers behind you at the sound of it.

“Please,” you breathe, and Din pulls his fingers out of you without missing a beat, reaching behind you, between your bodies to pull his cock out of his pants haphazardly. You feel the hardness of it press against your lower back, and resist the urge to look. You don’t want to cross any more lines than he’s given you.

“Just this once,” he mutters, pulling your hips back over him, notching the thick head of his cock to your entrance. “Just need to feel you, once, fuck, just once,” and he pulls you down, down, letting his cock stretch you so wide, so perfect.

Months in space, just weeks of having Din touch you, stars, it’s nothing compared to this. You eyes roll to the back of your head as he settles deep inside, so fucking deep that it makes your toes curl.

“Dank farrik, that’s fucking tight-” he grunts, the hot, wet heat of your cunt pulsing around him almost making him fill you up right then and there. He bites his tongue, praying to the Maker that the pain stops him from ending this far too fucking soon.

He uses his hard, strong grip on your hips to roll you into him, grinding you down hard onto his cock. You can only take it as he punches his hips up in aborted, desperate little thrusts that grind into your sweet spot.

“Fuck, Din, it’s so big, I can’t-” you whine, but Din only growls beneath his visor, fucking up into you harder, and your head falls back onto his shoulder plate at the feeling of it. It’s so perfect, it’s everything you’ve needed, stars, how will you survive without him filling you up like this?

“Give me another one, cyare,” he mutters, and he uses one of his hands to bring his fingers to your clit, just like he did that first night. Except this time, his cock is inside you, spreading you so wide and pressing up into your g-spot with every fucking thrust in. You gasp for air, little whines punching out of your throat every time Din shoves in all the way. 

He’s a violent man, always has been, and fucking you is no exception. He fucks you like he hunts: fast, rough, fucking monstrous. Tears finally start to pour down your cheeks, and you hiccup through your moans.

“Look at you,” he rasps, “sobbing on my cock like the needy whore you are.” He doesn’t know what’s happened to him, he’s never talked like this, let alone to you. But stars, the way you moan for him has his head spinning, has words pouring out of his mouth like they’ve been trapped there all this time. “Mesh’la, squeezing me so perfect, never want to leave this perfect cunt.”

“Din, fuck, Din, I’m gonna- stars, I’m gonna-” you gasp, your hands scrabbling at the one hand he has rubbing at your swollen clit.

“C’mon, c’mon, let me feel it, need to fucking feel it-” he mutters, and oh-

You’re pretty sure you scream as you cum, but it’s hard to hear it over the ringing in your ears as you thrash in Din’s lap. You can feel him still inside you, his horrible fingers still rubbing dexterous circles into your clit as he floods your cunt with his cum. Your orgasm feels fucking endless, your thighs trying to close but still held wide by Din’s between them. 

When you finally start to hear again, the blurriness fading from your vision, you can hear Din behind you, muttering, “fuck, so beautiful, didn’t- didn’t know you could do that.”

“Do- do what?” you slur, still groggy, but as you look in front of yourself, you can see the mess you’ve made. You’d fucking squirted, your wetness drenching his thighs and the floor of the hull. The sight makes your head spin, and you hide your face in his cowl as he wraps his arms around you, hugging you close to him. The coolness of his armor is soothing to your overly-heated body.

“So good, you did so good for me, cyar’ika,” he mumbles beneath the visor. “So pretty, can’t believe- you looked so beautiful.”

You let yourself relax into his hold, and he doesn’t let you go. “Didn’t know I could do that either,” you mumble, sleep already weighing down your eyelids, exhaustion flooding your body. “We’ll have to try again later,” you mumble. “Don’t think once is enough.”

“It will never be enough,” you hear him whisper, “not with you.”

[psyzook]

Everyone is so thirsty over Din Djarin, and because of it there is so. much. smut fanfiction. And I’m absolutely astounded by it.

You’re telling me this guy is feral and horny? I don’t believe it. He is a anxious, touch-starved, gentleman who has no idea how to express emotion. He’s the nervousness of Jenna Marbles’s dog, Kermit, personified and in a tin can.

[spiderlyla]

hot and bothered (miguel o'hara × female!reader)— inspired by this post.

"Mig, what are you—" You weren't sure where he was leading you. One minute, you're standing in the doorway of your bedroom, telling him to take it easy, that you won't be late for that gala Alchemax are throwing in honour of his promotion, and the next, you find his fingers wrapping around your wrist, dragging you outside towards the dinning table.

He pulls one of the chairs out and sits down, eyes glued to your figure, and now you notice it, what exactly shut him up.

You were still in your underwear—or rather, the white lingerie you specifically wore for him to take off you later that night. It was rather flattering, with small flowers embroidered on the cups of your bra and the matching panties that came with it. You matched them with a pair of sheer white stockings that hugged your thighs a little too tightly, knowing how Miguel goes absolutely feral when he sees your skin spilling out of a rather small garment. "This was supposed to be a surprise, for later tonight—Oh!"

He intruppts you rather quickly, pulling you into his lap, his thighs bouncing you up and down a little when you sat. You almost lose your balance if it wasn't for his tight grip around your waist. He squeezed your skin, his wedding ring band cold against your body. "Or we could skip the waiting." He grins, pearly white fangs poking his lower lip. You were about to object, tell him that he's the one that's been so prissy about going to the gala on time, tell him that if you don't get dressed within 10 minutes, you'll surely be late, but he doesn't let you.

His lips find yours before you can even speak. Over and over again, he kisses you like a man starved. It's messy and hot, and his hands are roaming down your back to squeeze at the supple skin of your rear, making everything a blissful haze.

Every time you try to pull away, he pulls you back in, like you'd dissappear if he stops touching you, like you'd vanish if he stops kissing you. "Mig–Ah—we're gonna be late—" He bounces his leg, his thigh pressing against your core. "Pueden esperar." He replies simply against your lips, then he kisses you again. [They can wait]

His hands are calloused and warm. His talons are protruding just in the slightest, digging into your skin. His lips leave yours–reluctantly– and his mouth finds your jaw, trailing kisses all over your neck and past your collarbones.

His breath tickles, and you arch your back a little, giggles escaping your throat. Miguel looks up, a small smile playing at his lips. "¿Qué es tan divertido, hermosa? " Your fingers find his perfectly styled hair, and you free his brown locks from the hold of the gel. Before you could even reply, you heard a tearing noise, and suddenly, his warm hands are under your stockings, toying with the band of your panties. [What's so funny, gorgeous?]

"Miguel—" It's hard to scold him when he looks up at you like that, lips on the curve of your breast, crimson eyes blown wide with desire, his hair a mess from all your tugging. You try to keep your composure, "That was expensive—" He nips on your skin, and you yelp, tugging a little harder on his hair. "It was a gift for me, no? I think I can do whatever I want with it." Goosebumps rise on your arms, and you gasp as he kisses you again, and again, and again.

"¿No eres una provocación, hm?" One of his talons tugged at the thin lace of the panties, while his other hand propped your neck up, his mouth never leaving your skin, not without leaving his mark anyway. "I told you I don't want to be late, but you're leaving me no choice." [Aren't you a tease?]

You could hear the fabric slowly tear as Miguel continued to pull it, "Ah, so this is my fault now—Mm, Mig, that's going to be hard to cover up—" His laugh made your belly flutter (as well as the fact that he keeps squeezing your ass everytime he speaks), and then he got up, placing you down on the dining table. "Has been your fault for an hour now. You're the reason we're running late in the first place." He nuzzles your neck, breath fanning against your skin.

And just as you hear the fabric tearing, and a coldness between your legs, something rings.

Miguel lets out a pained groan, hastily stuffing his hand in his pocket to grab his buzzing phone. "Oh, fuck no." He doesn't move away from you and his fingers trail across your stomach mindlessly as he contemplates answering. "Who is it?"

"Peter." He mutters.

"Then maybe you should pick up, honey. Isn't he coming to the gala?" Miguel huffs all while nodding, then picks up. After a few 'yeah' and another few 'Uh-huh', He hangs up, then you sit up, still hot and bothered, and obviously so is he.

"We have to go. They need me to prep for the speech." He huffs, like it inconveniences him, and truly it does. You giggle, and get up then place a kiss on his cheek. "I'll finish up quickly then." He pulls you back by the waist, then presses his lips to yours again.

"We're picking up later right where we left off, okay?" He promises, giving your sides one last squeeze. A smirk is ever so present on his lips, and just as you turn away from him, he whispers. "So you better not wear another pair, amor."

[rosepascal]

pedro characters getting their dick sucked

ft: Joel Miller, Din Djarin, Frankie Morales, Jack Daniels, Marcus Pike, Marcus Moreno, Max Phillips

a/n: sorry for being horny on main but i mean...is anyone complaining

MINORS DNI - 18+ ONLY

Joel Miller

I want to suck this mans dick so bad. The Manspreading?? The probably rough hands?? Please. Anyways I feel like Joel loves getting a blow job. He won't ask you for it so you need to make it clear that you want to get on your knees for him. He seems like a natural dominant guy so he probably thrusts his hips a little to make you gag and holds your hair to keep you in place. Praises the fuck out of you but mixes in a little degradation. "You can take it, such a good slut.", "so good, feels like heaven" and idk why but I feel like his accent gets thicker. I don't know if that's possible but its what I think. He doesn't whimper though, but he does groan sexily.

Din Djarin

Mando is touch starved and you cannot convince me otherwise. He really only jerks off so getting his dick sucked feels super overwhelming. He's a mess but he tries to hide it. He'll hold in his moans and he'll grip the arms of the chair or sheets depending on where he is until he's about to break them. It's unlike anything he's felt and he's addicted to the feeling but he won't ask for it either. One of your goals is to get him to break until he finally lets out his moans and whimpers. When that happens I feel like he won't stop talking. Normally he's not one for words but he just looses it and fucks your mouth sloppily. He also comes hard and for a long time.

Frankie Morales

Frankie is shyyy. He gets all flustered when you get on your knees and he doesn't know where to put his hands but once he gets into it he turns into a different man. He whispers under his breath constantly and def also praises you too. He's really sweet about it though because Frankie is a very loving guy imo. He tells you how pretty you look, how good you're making him feel. In his mind he's wondering how he got so lucky.

Jack Daniels

He loves and I mean loves. Getting his dick sucked. He makes a lot of jokes about it and flirty comments but he is still a gentleman so he's not whiny about it or anything. He talks you through it. You cannot convince me otherwise he will guide you through it all. He'll tell you exactly what to do and praise you when you do it. He'll be gentle if you ask and he'll be rough if you ask. He also likes to come on your face over down your throat. He also wipes some of it off your face with his thumb and sticks it in your mouth.

Marcus Pike

Sweet Marcus goes feral for a good blowjob. He is whimpers. 100% that man is putty in your hands when you get your lips on his dick. You love to tease him too. Kitten licks and making him keep his hands off you. It drives him crazy but it makes him come so much harder. You make him beg sometimes but if he's had a bad day or is stressed from his job, a blow job is the perfect way to help me destress. He can give up control and melt under your touch.

Marcus Moreno

Blow jobs for Marcus is also a perfect way to destress. He has a lot going on in his life and with balancing work and Missy and you. It can all add up. He doesn't leave time for himself because his main focus is Missy but when he gets a night off then you're down on your knees ready to help him destress. I think he would fuck your face if you told him he could. He may not be super active in the field anymore but he still goes to the gym in the headquarters. He strong. He'd make sure you're okay, remind you of the safeword/safe signal, then slide his cock into your mouth and shove it down your throat. He won't admit this but he loves hearing you gag.

Max Phillips

Max is a cocky, cocky man and he wants his dick sucked any time any place. And he means any place. Sometimes when you stop by his work he makes a flirty comment about you being under his desk. Or he'll be checking you out and ngl this man gets boners really easily so he would totally grind on you and tell you how you could help him by sucking him off. Of course you tend to roll your eyes at his bold behavior and tell him to behave. He gets pouty but in a playful way not in an "hes actually mad way". He may be undead but its not that much of a dick. He would never get mad if you weren't up to it and said no. But when you get home he doesn't have to behave anymore. Your clothes are gone and he's kissing down your jaw and your neck and you happily give him what he wants. If he was being annoying you make him ask for it. Stopping sometimes during it to tease him like he teased you early. He says he hates it but its part of the game.

[kiwisbell]

The Light of the Stars: Chapter 2 [din djarin]

Your celebration for Din’s name day goes horribly wrong. And a group of pirates sees the worst of your Mandalorian.

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

read part one here (not necessary, but encouraged!): told before and told again

series masterlist | my masterlist!

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: established relationship, unprotected piv (no following the leader), the helmet stays on, but the gloves come off, in more ways than one, hand kink???, animal handler!reader, grogu being a good kid, extremely protective din, kidnapping, BAMF din, din gets mad, dirty talk, fingering, blood and violence, creampie, rough sex, multiple orgasms, top din, soft din, din fucking the babysitter, extreme amounts of fluff, din is in love, mando'a pet names, porn with feelings, porn with plot (there actually is a plot this time), feral din, din is touch-starved, it's din's birthday!! (sort of), din djarin being so in love that it's disgusting

word count: ~ 5k

chapter 2: where the lonely wind abides

Happening upon an impromptu festival on Nevarro, you try to find your Mandalorian a name day gift. But someone is watching from the crowd.

Nobody knows when or how it happens. Time is an ever-reaching rope to the stars and it disappears into the unfathomable blackness between them. At some point in that blackness, the word gets out that the most infamous Mandalorian in the Outer Rim is travelling with not one, but two companions. 

“You’re kidding.” The pirate lifts his brows at the holopad, managing a sideways glance at his partner. Her image is perfectly clear, as is the chain code beneath it. 

“That look like a joke?” His companion tosses back his pint of spotchka and swipes the sleeve of his ratty jacket over his mouth. “This could be how we get our money back from that hunk of junk. She's a pretty picture, ain't she?”

“Sure, she's pretty. That mean she's worth a trip across the galaxy?”

His partner just grins. A couple golden teeth glimmer in the light of the bar. “Isn't a pretty face always worth it?” 

He thinks about it. It isn’t like there’s a bounty to collect on the girl. In fact, it seems she has never pissed off a single being in the ‘verse—there’s so little information besides the chain code that the pirate wonders if this Mandalorian has intimidated some people into keeping her existence as discreet as possible. Certainly, she’s a captivating sight to behold. From his pocket, the pirate produces a credit. The small rectangle is all that remains of the botched deal, of his crew. That, and the man next to him. 

In the cycle and some months since the incident, the pirate has turned the idea of revenge over and over in his head. It had seemed pointless at the time—the Mandalorian was able to overwhelm his forces for a reason. He is capable. He is a skilled warrior. The pirate’s forces are depleted; how could he have hoped to track down the Mandalorian and claim revenge for the massacre of his crew?

Now, he is presented with a new angle. Perhaps it will be worth it. 

She is a lovely thing. 

“Well.” The pirate slams down his own spotchka and beckons for another from the droid behind the counter. “I’d like a taste of the girl who’s won the favour of such a deadly warrior.”

~

High Magistrate Greef Karga is the first to greet you when the Razor Crest touches down. Your cloak weighs you down more than your typical clothes, the hood protecting you from the sun and from prying eyes, but Karga is beaming at you. Wrapped comfortably in a sling at your hip, Grogu makes grabbing motions at his human friend. 

“It’s been a long time, my friends,” booms Karga, all widespread arms and dramatic displays. “What brings you to Nevarro?”

Behind you, Din is occupied with scolding a droid who seems to want to fiddle with the once-again-faulty control panel at the ramp. So, you smile apologetically at Greef Karga. “It’s his name day,” you inform him in a hushed voice. “Don’t mention it, though. It’ll make him grumpy. I want to find him a gift.”

“Well,” says Karga in a thoroughly amused tone, “there’s plenty here to find since we started rebuilding this town. Anything particular you have in mind?”

You ponder the question for a moment, bounding Grogu on your hip. “Something he can fight with,” you decide. “He’ll appreciate weapons the most.”

Greef Karga shakes his head good-naturedly. “Nevarro can only handle one Mandalorian. They would clean our blacksmiths out of house and home.”

“I still may.” You smile up at him, squinting a bit in the sunlight. “Could you point me in the right direction?”

“Well, your typical route might find some delays,” he tells you. Frowning, you try to peer behind him into town, but you’re too far away. “I decided to hold a festival to celebrate Nevarro’s newfound liberation from the Empire.”

Oh, no. 

“Oh, Maker,” you mumble. “He… doesn’t like crowds.”

You don’t fancy the idea of spending Din’s name day surrounded by bodies, pressed in together like cattle. He will hate this. He will want to head back the way you came immediately. He will—

Greef Karga waves his hand dismissively. “Plenty of places to go outside the main strip. I’ll direct you to the blacksmith’s if you’d like.”

You shake your head. “I want it to be a surprise.”

“What surprise?”

You press your lips together as Din steps up beside you, apparently satisfied that the droid will no longer attempt to ruin his ship. “It’s good to see you again, Mando,” says Greef Karga, thankfully drawing attention away from your scheme.

Din clasps his friend’s arm. “You, too. Looks like you and Marshal Dune have done well with the place.”

He shrugs. You don’t remember Karga acting so humble. Perhaps life as a magistrate has changed him. The three of you, along with Grogu still attached to your hip, begin walking toward town. “I had plenty of help, as you have.” His eyes slide pointedly toward you, and you feel your cheeks flush. “She’s as lovely as ever. I could name a few flowers in the courtyard after her.”

You open your mouth to reply, thrilled at the prospect, but Din clears his throat and inquires after the state of the cantina. He wants to warm his hand on your lower back. He wants to lock you inside the ship and shuck your pretty, flowy dress up around your hips, getting a glimpse of the cum still dripping from your tight hole. He wants to be the one who warrants the wondrous smile now overtaking your face as you see the colourful streamers adorning the storefronts and homes just within the town border. 

He will settle for the instinctive way you grasp his arm to get his attention when you see a beautiful dress inside a store or a vendor selling baked goods that make your mouth water. He will settle for knowing that he is the one you want to touch when you’re happy. 

Greef Karga leads you both to the new-and-improved cantina, tended by a Sullustan and already bustling with patrons despite it being early in the day. A little too early, perhaps, for the amount of spotchka he sees. “Is there a party going on?” he asks dryly.

Karga claps his hands together. He looks positively gleeful. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I know you aren’t one for festivities, but the cantina’s got specials, if you’re interested.”

He is not. He can’t say the same for you and Grogu. Still, he’s hungry. “Thank you,” he says, a bit tightly, holding himself reserved as he ushers you toward a booth in the corner. Greef Karga winks at you, and again, Din’s hand flexes toward your back. 

“Enjoy the new Nevarro,” announces the High Magistrate, “and happy name day, Mando.” Once again proudly sweeping his arms out wide, Karga stops on his way out to greet a couple locals. When he’s ostensibly out of earshot, Din’s helmet tips toward you. 

“You told him.”

You smile sheepishly. “He’s your friend. He would want to know.”

“You seem to forget…” A hand finds your upper thigh beneath the table and squeezes. Your mouth is dry, but he’s acting as nonchalantly as ever, drumming his fingers on the table. “I don’t have a name day.”

“Of course you do. Everyone does.” Grogu coos his agreement next to you. “See? Even he has one.”

“We don’t know his, either.”

“Well, I’m very talented at making them up.” Grogu climbs onto the table as a Twi’lek server approaches. Din orders broth for all three of you, along with a cup of jogan fruit juice, because he knows it’s your favourite. 

“Soon,” he says once the server disappears, “you’ll be responsible for giving name days to everyone in the galaxy.”

You shrug your shoulders. “I’m all right with that. I did it for a lot of animals.”

“Do you ever miss it?” he asks. 

You watch him thoughtfully. He is assessing his surrounding without moving a single muscle, his eyes flitting back and forth behind that helmet of his, keeping his hand firm on your leg. It will be difficult to convince him to part ways. “I miss the animals,” you tell him, toying with his fingers. “I miss taking care of them. But I don’t miss the way some of them would come to us: battered and beaten. I don’t miss wrestling plasma rods out of owners’ hands as they proclaimed themselves caretakers.” You look down at your hand atop his. “I don’t miss my boss.”

His body stiffens. There’s a steely look in your eye, even if you won’t meet his. He remembers your first day together, when he arrived at the handler’s place and asked for a babysitter. He remembers you setting down your embroidery in the corner and greeting Grogu before you even lay eyes on Din. He liked that about you. He liked your eagerness to bond with the creature, even if he himself hadn’t figured out how at that point. 

He remembers your boss grabbing you harshly by the ear and demanding that you show the Mandalorian at his door some respect. Din does not know what he would do now if he saw that happen to you. Then, he only gripped his blaster pistol a little tighter and asked to speak in private, away from your boss’s oppressive hold. Now, he thinks he would take out his pistol. He would train it between the coward’s eyes and demand, evenly, that he release you. He would wait until you stepped just behind him, and then he would fire anyway. 

Perhaps it’s for the best that he didn’t know you then the way he does now.

“So,” he says, watching the server place your food down in front of you. Grogu chirps, happily sliding his broth toward him and spilling a little over the lip of the bowl in his zealousness. “How are we celebrating?”

You bite your lip, and for a moment, his focus breaks. He never thought himself to be a simple man, confined to somewhat primal instincts, until he watched you bite your lip for the first time. Until he saw you bend over, laugh, tease him for the first time. He’s embraced that side of him in private. But here, in a crowded cantina in a crowded city, he needs to stay vigilant. 

You wince. You don’t want to tell him that you’re here to buy him a gift, but it may be your only option if you hope to give him some semblance of a good day. 

Din’s vambrace chirps. Greef Karga appears between the two of you, looking significantly more distressed than a half-hour ago. “Mando,” he says urgently. 

Just like that, his focus returns in one dizzying rush. “What?”

“Seems our festivities have drawn unwanted excitement,” says Karga, rubbing the back of his neck as if he hesitates to continue. “Some pirates are in the meatpacking district, harassing my locals.”

Since when has Nevarro had a meatpacking district? Din’s frown matches yours, but you cannot see that. “How many?”

“A good plenty. Fifteen?” Karga shakes his head. “I know you don’t fancy mercenary work, but I can’t stop them alone.”

You don’t fancy when people use him as a mercenary, either. “Where is Marshal Dune?”

“Off-world.” Greef Karga sounds more desperate now. His eyes flick away from Din briefly as if he's monitoring a screen just to the side. “Please, Mando. You’ll be paid for your services. And thanked, endlessly.”

You squeeze Din’s arm, the crook of his elbow where there is no armour to protect him. His helmet tilts your way for a second before he looks back to Karga. “Okay,” he says roughly. “Send me the coordinates.”

Karga visibly deflates. “Try not to take a long time. You know pirates.”

Din cuts the communication and sighs, his fingers curling into a fist on the table. “Dank farrik.” He’s standing up just as fast as he lets the frustration go. “Stay here.”

“Hey!” You grab his arm, forcing him to turn back around without making a scene. You keep your voice low. “Din, I don’t like this. Fifteen is a lot more than two.”

“I can handle pirates. It may not escalate.” Din watches the terror that briefly flashes in your wide eyes and feels pangs of guilt strike him. He may not care about his name day or his life nearly as much as you, but you care. It wasn’t fair of him to just bolt. He was used to making hairline decisions when he was alone. He’s learned—he’s trying—to be less reckless. 

A gloved hand curls around your hand. Prying open your fingers, he places something small in your palm. “Use this,” he says. “If you can’t find me, use it.”

He’s given you a communicator. It’s a tiny, round, black thing, just big enough to fit comfortably inside your ear. He turns it on to demonstrate, and it blinks with a microscopic green light. “Din,” you whisper, your stomach roiling with slow-release anxiety.

“Just…” He takes the communicator and fixes it in your left ear. “Just in case.”

“Don't you dare get hurt.” You poke him in the chest. “This armour takes ages to get off, and I can’t help you when you do.”

He briefly brings his hand to the back of your neck, a sure weight. “Be safe for me, dangerous girl. Understand?”

You nod, and he goes. Like that, you're left alone in the dark corner of the cantina, watching Grogu grip his small bowl and drink down the soup with little ceremony. “Careful, cyare,” you tell him. “You’re going to get more of it on yourself than in your mouth.”

His ears flick, indicating he heard you, but he continues to guzzle the bone broth like it's a final meal. You wince when he finishes, slurping the pulp at the bottom and belching. “Well,” you say. “You and I have similar listening skills.”

He gurgles. You keep your chin in your palm as you eat, warmed from the inside with your own broth, even though you hardly need it in this cantina. It's hot as the blue part of a flame, and your hood does nothing to let any of that heat escape. Luckily, Grogu seems as starved for relief as you are: he’s reaching for your glass of jogan fruit juice. “Hey,” you chide gently. “Let’s take it easy. You know that gives you a bellyache.”

He coos, a bit grumpily, but you smooth over the wrinkle in his brow with your thumb. Your glass still half-full, you slide out of the booth and let the baby hobble over to you. “Hop in.”

His giant ears flick off some broth—how did he get it there?—and he waddles inside the sling. “Comfortable?” He blinks up at you. “Good. Let’s go find a present for your dad.”

~

He may murder Greef Karga. 

These aren’t pirates. They’re speed bikers, and they aren’t causing a ruckus so much as packing themselves inside the cantina and drinking a bit too much. They certainly aren’t harassing the locals.

Slowly, very slowly, Din turns to face Greef Karga. He tries to look casually surprised, leaning against the doorway. “Looks like they’ve calmed down.”

“There was never a disturbance,” says Din roughly, “was there?”

“Well… I mean, that depends on how you define—”

“Was there?”

He does not have the time nor patience for this. He should be with you and the kid. Instead, he’s spent an hour navigating through the swell of the crowds enjoying the festival just to find that the meatpacking district is possibly the most peaceful area in Nevarro right now. 

“Not in the traditional sense,” says Greef Karga, evasive as ever. “Listen, Mando, I’m sorry. Your girl wanted to get away for awhile, find a name day present for you. She wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s not my—” Din stops himself, curling and flexing his fingers, trying for a few deep breaths. He recognises that he has been fooled. He knows Karga was only trying to help you. He doesn't deserve the brunt of Din’s simmering anger. “It’s not my name day.”

“Try telling her to drop an idea once she gets it in her head,” huffs Karga. “I really am sorry.”

Din suspects he’s more sorry about spoiling the surprise, but he shakes it out. He lets it go. You wanted to do a good thing for him. “It’s all right. Just… Just tell me the quickest way back.”

Outside the cantina, he tries the communication link. “Can you hear me?” he asks. 

A crackling response momentarily settles the tension in his bones. “Loud and clear. Are you all right?”

“There were no pirates.” He sends a pointed look Karga’s way. The High Magistrate just shrugs. “You and I are going to have a very long talk later.”

“He lied to you?” 

“You didn’t know?”

You make an indignant noise. “Of course not!”

“Are you buying me a present?”

He can't help it. “I think,” you say, “I’m going to need to have a very long talk with Greef Karga.”

And while he does think that would be vastly entertaining, having seen glimpses of your fiery anger, your next words dim his senses to a dull roar. “Come back to me, Din.” 

You're using the voice that makes it impossible to stay angry, or even frustrated. You sound like that whenever you've just detangled your bodies and you're trying to catch your breath. “I will,” he tells you. “I will.”

“Good.”

“See?” Greef Karga grins, like nothing’s happened. “All worked out well. She’s safe. There aren’t any pirates.”

Din just walks away. But not before turning his head and pointing in Karga’s direction. “I still want my payment.”

~

You’ve never known a blacksmith to be so friendly. 

Not that you've met many. In fact, you may have met none. But the ageing man has told you about his five grandchildren and shown you pictures of them within five minutes of greeting him. Within ten minutes, he showed you his vast collection of custom-made knives. From curved blades to gemstones wedged in the hilts, you were overwhelmed with choice. But, like he could see the indecision in your face, the smith beckoned you to follow him around his desk. From a drawer, he produced the gift you now hide under your cloak: a simple, elegant blade the colour of asphalt. 

He placed it on the pad of your index finger and both of you watched as it refused to list one way or the other. “Aside from impeccable balance,” he told you, an excited glimmer in his steel-grey eyes, “the hilt is reinforced with beskar, for deflecting attacks. If necessary.”

Your brows lifted. “Beskar is rare.”

“Not on Nevarro,” said the old man with a little melancholy in his tone. “At least, not for a while. Once all the Mandalorians were purged from the planet, old men like me found some use in the ingots they left behind.”

A part of you felt guilty for wielding such a powerful weapon, even if it was the mere length of your fingertips to the midpoint of your forearm. This could have belonged to a Mandalorian, once, in a different form. Now, you told yourself, it will belong to one. 

The smith did not give you a discount, on account of tough times, but he did give you a leather sheath to holster the blade around a person’s waist. You paid him handsomely and left the smith feeling somewhat proud of yourself, silently thanking a group of pirates for deciding to occupy your warrior’s time—no matter how deeply you worried for him. 

Then his voice crackled in your ear, revealing that the pirates were a ruse and that he knew about your present, and your shoulders deflated altogether. Tucked inside the sling at your hip, Grogu grabs hold of your finger and pulls gently. 

“I know,” you say miserably, picking him up and holding him close to your side. “I didn't want him to find out, either. You think he’ll like it, right?” He coos. “I think so, too.”

A concerned gurgle makes you frown down at him. “He’s coming,” you tell him, trying to soothe his worries. He gets nervous when he’s away from Din for too long. “We just spoke. He’s all right, cyare.”

Grogu bats gently at the hood of your cloak, and a dreadful prickle of goosebumps erupts from your head to toes. His eyes are wide and afraid. “What is it? What do you feel?”

You dutifully back into an alley between the smith’s and the bakery next door, not stupid enough to ignore the telltale scrunch of your charge’s little nose. Soon enough, you begin to feel the twinge, too. 

The crowd has turned onto this street, a parade of young and old, colourful and plain, some holding instruments and others clapping rhythmically to a song you do not recognise. They are all blissful, grateful, dancing down the main strip. 

Minutes tick by. Din does not materialise from a magical part in the crowd. And there's something prickling at the back of your neck: insistence, danger. When you step out slightly to look for an easy exit, you catch a pair of eyes hidden beneath a weathered leather tricorn hat. They are unmistakable in their destination: you. You cannot stay here. 

You follow the surge of the crowd down the main strip, keeping Grogu tucked in your arms instead of the sling. The knife at your waist is an unfamiliar weight, and you do not know how to use it. But the crowd is padding. You tap the link in your ear. “Din.”

Engulfed in the noise of the parade, you can barely hear yourself, let alone his voice. Looking up toward the sky, you squint against the sun. They are headed to the south, and the Crest is north. You quickly turn on your heel, shoving unceremoniously and unapologetically through the crowd, keeping one hand secure on Grogu’s head, shielding him from an accidental prod or blow as the wave of people surges. 

You make a choice. Tearing at the brooch clasping your cloak together, you toss it onto the stones. 

Din’s ear roars with the sound of cheers and music, but he’s too far away from the parade. It’s you. You, trying to reach him, caught up in the swell of celebrations. He won’t be able to heard you like this. He just hopes you’re enjoying the festivities more than he is. 

Idly, hurrying through the residential district, Din wonders what you got him as a gift. 

Once you reach the Razor Crest, you slide open Grogu’s compartment and slot him safely inside. You’re panting from the run and the heat, your cloak lost somewhere on the way. Your hair is loose and a little wild. You imagine your eyes must look as much, too. 

“Cyare.” You kneel before him and he coos worriedly. “I'm going to close this door. Only Din and I know the code, which means you'll be safe. Even breaking the panel won't force it open.” He blinks, and you nod. “Now I need you to do something brave for me. Can you keep this door closed and stay quiet, no matter what you hear?”

He babbles, and you take it as a yes. 

"Good," you say, reaching out your hand. He holds onto your index finger. "You'll be all right, little one."

The door slides closed at the press of a button, and you rise with Din’s new knife taut in your hand. You forget all the training. You forget everything but your primal, clawing desire to keep your ward safe. 

A man, wearing a tricorn hat, boards the Crest with a henchman in tow. The lower half of his face is covered with a scarf, but his eyes are incisive. They take in every corner of the ship before they find you, and you get a distinct feeling that belittling action is intentional. “You are quite pretty.”

“More than pretty.” His partner lifts his brows. He isn't wearing a hat, and he is bald, his complexion darker. “I’ll gladly pay for your services, unless the Mandalorian has worn you out.”

You bristle at the presumption. "You'd do well to learn some manners," you return. "Get off this ship. Please."

"You've never killed a man," says the pirate, "have you?"

You sneer, hoping he cannot see how correct he is. "You know very little about your bounty."

"You aren't my bounty. You aren’t a bounty at all." He takes another step forward. "You handle that knife like you're afraid of it."

"And you have all those weapons on you because you're so confident in your natural abilities." 

The man next to him closes more distance until you're mere feet away from the accosters. “Does he fuck you?”

“If you’re here to threaten him, you won’t get close enough to try. You won't find him unless he wants to find you. You're going to keep me alive no matter what." Your smile is vindictive. "You need me."

"You're very brave," the pirate says, "for someone who cannot fight."

"Just because I can't handle a knife doesn't mean I can't fight," you say evenly. 

"What kind of life does a pretty thing like you have to live to get so cozy with a Mandalorian?"

You shrug. "Wrong place, wrong time. A couple bad decisions. Some good ones."

"For what it's worth"—the bandit gestures to his partner, who advances toward you—"he would have gotten you killed eventually, either way."

"Maybe." You grip the beskar hilt tighter and level it at your opponent. "But he has honour. Can't say the same thing about any of you."

The bandit clicks his tongue and the other man draws a knife. But before you can move, a hand snakes around your head from behind and presses a damp cloth to your face. Dimly, you realise you never checked to see exactly how many pirates had surrounded the ship. You jam the knife backward too late, and the squelch of blood is the last thing you hear before you slump into the bandit's arms. 

"Aru-e," you manage: a spit, a curse. 

Enemy. 

~

Something is wrong. 

Din does not feel it until he enters the city centre. If not for Grogu’s ineffable senses, he would not believe in mystical forces. But there is an invisible thread that connects you to him, and he can feel when you hurt. He can feel your joy and your pride and, inexplicably, your affection. He knows there is little to be worried about. Truly, there shouldn't be trouble on this planet. It has long since been wiped of Imps and bandits. 

But now, he feels the familiar tug. His instincts lift the hairs at the nape of his neck. His visor whirs with its typical pitch, and detects no peculiar signatures. But he feels it. It's a barrage of ice-hot needles prickling each knob of his spine from top to bottom. 

He says your name. When you do not reply, he picks up his pace, weaving through bodies and knocking some aside.

Now, he’s panting your name into the communicator, running as fast as he can and spinning frantically as his helmet scans every single face in the crowd for yours. “Answer me,” he bites out, pleading. 

Silence. A throbbing, deafening silence. He can no longer hear the crescendo of happy cries from the crowd. 

He tries again. “Do you hear me?”

Nothing.

This is wrong. This twists his stomach and makes him dizzy. You were with him. You were so close to him. 

Din pitches forward, finally breaking free of the crowd, grasping blindly for the wall of a nearby building. It’s a blacksmith’s.

A glint catches his eye. He bends to one knee and his heart tumbles out of his chest, rolling to a stop on the filthy stone ground and beating slower and slower until it stops, dead. At his feet lies the brooch you wore on your cloak: the small, metal mudhorn he had made for you long ago. So long ago he can no longer count the days definitively.

I will know you forever.

His own voice, creeping up the back of his neck and latching two clawed hands into his skin. It’s not gonna happen. Not with me.

He does not remember his hand flying to his chest, but now he is clutching his heart, trying to hold on. He cannot breathe. 

Your name rattles like an empty chamber in his head. Your smile is pasted to the ceiling of his brain.

Din slumps onto his haunches and stares at the small metal brooch. It’s beautiful, you gasped, tracing the hard edges with your fingertip.

It’s yours.

Din… Your eyes, wide and watering, met his. Time stretched between eons. He never wanted you to stop looking at him.

His hand closed over yours and he could feel the cold metal through his gloves. 

~

"Kid?" Din calls, stumbling up the ramp to the Crest. A faint, muffled gurgling is his reply. Din unlocks his chamber and kneels down. "Hey, you okay? Where is she? Where'd she go?"

The Child blinks twice, rapidly, distressed. Something smacks into the back of Din’s head. "Ow," he hisses. "I told you not to throw things." 

There's a knife he's never seen before, next to his foot. He picks it up and examines it: the hilt is beskar steel, the blade perfectly balanced, the point lethally sharp. New. This was your gift to him. His heart wants to warm at the knowledge, but there is no time.

There's blood on the blade. His helmet indicates it’s not yours, but that does nothing to assuage his terror.

"You threw a knife at me," he says. 

Grogu babbles urgently.

Din’s head is dizzy with rage. “Someone came aboard,” he says darkly. "Someone took her.”

Grogu shuffles closer to him. His hand clenches the knife so tightly it would cut his hand if he weren't wearing gloves. “She hid you,” he mutters. “She kept you safe, huh, kid?”

Grogu watches him with watery eyes. Din nods vaguely. “Yeah, ‘course she did. You know where they took her?”

The kid looks down and mumbles sadly. "That's okay," says Din, rising to his feet. "You and I are gonna find her."

[rhoorl]

Week in Review | Dec. 10

Hi! How are you? I can't believe we're nearing the midway point of December! I am happy to get back to my typical Week in Review style after an abbreviated version last week!

Same shit different week for me when it comes to my TBR, I add more than I can read. But alas, here's what I got to:

Fics I read this week:

Frankie Morales

I Like the Way You (Frankie) by @undercoverpena - I've kept this series in my Current Compulsory Series section for weeks, but I'm pulling it up to the top this week because we got the final part this week! It's always a bit bittersweet to me when I get to the end of a series, especially one I'm following in real-time. I loved following along each week and immersing myself in this story and I’m sad it's done (but hey, great news, I can now reread it from the beginning and binge!). Great job Jo! 💕

While I'm talking about Jo, here's this saucy one-shot Coming Under the Christmas Tree

Joel Miller

Footprints by @sin-djarin - This brought back some Christmas morning nostalgia for me! Joel as a dad and the love he has for Sarah makes me melt. And we have an Uncle Tommy appearance too!

Mr. Ben

SOS by brnn on AO3 - I’m not sure if this creator is on Tumblr, but if they are let me know! I had several chapters of this story built up that I hadn’t caught up on and when the final chapter dropped I binged what I had left! Mr. Ben and OFC Clare are adorable. 

Din Djarin

Safe to The Touch by @linzels-blog A touch-starved Din gets some lovin’. 💕

A Baker’s Dozen by @avastrasposts Part 2 in Mel's series saw Din come into the bakery. This was so sweet (no pun intended!).

Other Characters

Good Things Take Time by @oonajaeadira -  This series is so good! I've had it recommended to me several times and I've been slowly working my way through it, savoring it because I don't want it to end! I read Parts 2 and 3 this week along with the various drabbles in between. The chemistry these two have is *chef's kiss*

Current Compulsory Series:

These are the series I am keeping up with at the moment.

Holiday Prompts (Various) by @trulybetty - A healthy serving of delicious stories this week. I officially want to move to Maplewood, well, maybe visit. I'll be honest, I'm not made for the cold anymore. 😆 Also, Tim and Cagney continue to be a favorite as are Frankie and Mav! And Dieter made me google Christmas hippo socks which somehow I already did not own! 🦛

Delta Palms Tropical Resort (Frankie) by @linzels-blog The rollercoaster I felt with this latest chapter … I have to know what happens next!!

Destiny & Deliverance (Dieter) by @mysterious-moonstruck-musings This latest chapter had me all up in my feels. These two are 🥹💕

Paranoid Heat (Javi P) by @goodwithcheese I think I've finally managed to pick my jaw up off the floor from the spicy scene in the latest chapter.

Undercover (Tim Rockford) by @secretelephanttattoo Another great chapter update this week, El!! Grumpy Tim and his pet fish are living rent free in my head.

It’s Never Too Late (Javi P) by @javierpena-inatacvest - There is some dad Javi content I need to catch up on!!

Posts from the week:

The moodboards @wildemaven puts out are always gold, but this Frankie holiday-themed board just made me swoon 

@laurfilijames made me think about which holiday movies the TF boys would be into. I also hastily made a graphic lol. Speaking of asks @maggiemayhemnj gave me an almost impossible this or that choice. My friend @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain offered up these choices.

If you need a badge for any Pedro boy, @morallyinept has you covered

We got our first look at Pedro in Freaky Tales and oh goodness … the scar. Seriously help us all whenever the Gladiator photos leak. 

In case you missed it, the fun writing challenge that’s going around here's another plug. I finally have an idea … now I just need to write it. I think I’m going to end up throwing it back to my college days and cramming this in at the last minute….

Feral corner:

There was simply too much to keep track of this week. I was overwhelmed by thots. I think this post sums things up well.

This photo altered my brain chemistry. This photo of Pedro as Dieter and THEN this video… oh hey Working Title Dieter. 😏 Frankie tummy always gets me. Javi P in this jacket. Talk about gifs you can hear. This outfit - he knew what he was doing when we wore this right?

@foralonglongtime - no pressure but I’m very excited about the prospect of this…

This scene from TLOU forever changed me. 

Garrett Hedlund: This man was utterly too much this week. Exhibit A, Exhibit B, Exhibit C, and finally, the post that started my spiral.

Things I watched:

I didn't make it to the movies this week, Mr. Rhoorl went and saw Godzilla Minus One and loved it. He's a huge Godzilla fan so he was pretty excited to see it. I’m off fo work tomorrow so I’m planning on seeing Wish.

Something that is releasing soon that I'm excited to see is Rebel Moon with Charlie Hunnam on Netflix. It looks like it will be available for my UK fans this week, but we in the US have to wait until the 21st.

Personal Stuff

Busy week. Both Mr Rhoorl and I had PTO on different days this week and we both had our plans thwarted by a sick baby. She's ok now, all good! Otherwise, we've been mostly laying low. I have managed to get most of my holiday shopping done and our Christmas cards arrived so that's exciting! We've also been checking out the various theme parks - I love the way they decorate this time of year! We did a holiday cookie stroll at Epcot last night and it was yummy

Fic updates:

I had Benny Miller brain rot again (when don't I at this point?). Anyway, the result was a third part of what I guess is now the unofficial "Are You on Mute" series. I do have plans for wrapping those one-shots up into something bigger. I just frankly keep having thots I have to get out and it's distracting me😆

I did manage to get a good amount of writing done for the next chapter of Delta Landscaping. Hoping to get the new episode out early this week. Whenever I get down on myself that I'm not updating that series fast enough I remind myself it's essentially like 6 different series in one so therein lies the delays 🫣

This can be such a stressful part of the year, so I hope you are able to take some time for yourself! Have a great week and thanks for reading if you made it this far!

Masterlist

Working Title (Dieter, series, ongoing) | AO3 

Delta Landscaping (Triple Frontier, series, ongoing) | AO3

Turbulence (Frankie, one-shot) | AO3

Are You on Mute? (Benny Miller, one-shot) | AO3

Are You on Mute? Part Two

Are You Alone 

[netherfeildren]

PLEASE LET IT BE MANDO 🪐

You writing a touch and affection starved Din will make me feral

DING DING DING WE HAVE A WINNER BABY !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[the-scandalorian]

would you ever write part 2 or an extended version of your touch-starved!din drabble? it's short but honestly one of the hottest things I've ever read. the thought of din who's normally so competent and composed going feral over neck kisses like a horny teenager is so fucking hot!! after din says "do it again" I can imagine reader slowly licking and teasing his neck, and while he's groaning and growing hard again she starts jerking him off slowly and poor thing can barely handle it

hii

thank you so much, anon! so glad you liked that drabble, it's one of my own faves tbh

if you are interested in touch-starved din losing his shit, I would highly recommend checking out stepwise, which is basically me being self indulgent for 5k words via writing din doing just that

i hope you enjoy xx

[bokettochild]

Violet

So y'all remember this animatic? Yeah?

I wrote a thing based off of it.

I'm not entirely sure how I fee about it, but y'all have shown how much you like my crack in the past, even if I wasn't sure about that either, so...

Here's Legend getting mistaken for a mom and pulling his brothers into a terrible impromptu acting adventure.

There are many things you do not do in Castletown.

One of those things, apparently, was taking Twilight with you, and next time he had a chance Legend was seriously considering muzzling their wolfish friend, in his shadow form or not.

He wasn’t the only one with that thought either apparently, although likely the only one who was thinking it out annoyance rather than utter and complete terror. Honestly, Twi needed to cut that protective streak of his in half, or he was going to be regretting it even more than he was going to regret this!

They’d all met thieves before, on the road, in villages, even here in Castle Town, and unfortunately Warriors’ central city was particularly full of them. The captain had explained it ages ago, something about the war displacing people and stirring up unrest with the refugees. It wasn't uncommon that someone got tired of relying on the crown for help, which, the captain had admitted sorrowfully, was rather slow in coming, despite all of Artemis’s efforts, to provide any sort of relief to the starving and displaced victims of the war. Legend had winced at that. Poor blokes, it had been similar in his own Hyrule when those trapped in the dark world emerged again, and even back in their Hylian forms, many of them had struggled to readjust to a world that had moved on in their absence.

It was little wonder than that those in the captain’s time faced the same struggle, especially after a bloody time war, but even so, it bothered him to no end that their group specifically had been the one that the idiot of a man chose to target. Honestly! They were all carrying swords for pities sakes! How did the sod even think he was going to catch a bunch of warriors unawares to steal from them?

Maybe it was because they were split.

It only made sense, after being dropped in the captain’s time, that they restock supplies. Both for practicality and to avoid suspicion, they’d divided the group into two to better run their errands, Time taking those less accustomed to bustling cities with him to gather food and potions, and Warriors leading the rest of them, those who could stand crowds at least a little bit better, to visit the blacksmith, fletcher, and tailor shops.

True to form, the captain strutted ahead with his scarf waving behind him, Wind tagging along beside him and chattering excitedly about something or other at the soldier. He and Four, however, had chosen to trail after, not for any particular reason other than both being extremely tired and maybe just a bit emotional.

In his own case, he hadn’t slept in a good sixty-three hours or so, and combining that with the stress of wandering around in an unknown place, he was a little more sensitive than usual and a bit put out as a result. Similarly, Four was fighting off his usual headache from their sudden switch, and ever since they’d pulled themselves out of the alleyway Hylia dumped them in, the shortest hero had worn his hood pulled over his eyes, mumbling softly under his breath in a way that was, unfortunately, unnerving Legend further and making him want, very much, to beg the other to stop.

That wasn’t an option of course, so he did something he hated almost as much as the saunter Warriors was using to get down the road.

He made small talk.

It helped, surprisingly, and while the four of them had run their errands, he chattered amiably with the smithy, who’d been willing to talk as long as he didn’t have to think too much on things. Legend could agree with that, and the two had spent the last half hour discussing if Four’s tunic really was red, green, blue and violet, as the smithy claimed, or red, green, blue and purple as Legend thought it was.

“It’s violet.” Four huffed, pushing the last bundle of arrows into his pack as they departed from the smithy’s shop and made their way back to the fountain at the center of town, where they'd agreed to meet with Time and the others.

“But it’s not!” He insisted, shifting the bundle of fabric in his arms and meeting the smithy’s gaze. “Violet is softer, duskier, a bit closer to grey or blue. That’s purple, plain as day!”

Warriors and Wind, for once, didn’t say anything, only exchanging grins every so often that the other two ignored.

Talking with Four was surprisingly pleasant, and ridiculously easy in comparison to talking with the others. For one thing, neither had to look too very far up or down to see the other, and as they’d found since their first dinner at the ranch, it was easy to say a lot with just a look. Subtle communication also went a long way further with the smithy than with anyone else, and it was a relief not to have to explain everything for once. Additionally, Four also liked reading, and unlike with most of their other brothers, they could actually have intelligent conversations with each other.

Not that that’s what they were doing when they’d trailed after the other two towards the fountain, but when they heard the snarl and resulting scream, the look the two heroes shared had carried as many words as a full two-hour lecture, while all at once conveying a single thought.

Oh boy, what did Twilight do this time?

What Twilight had done, he found out later, was spring a thief who had attempted to snatch the Sheikah Slate from Wild, who’d been a bit busy trying to calm his anxiety to really notice that one of the humans pressing close all around him was actually trying to steal it. That, naturally, was all well and good. The problem was the way Twilight had chosen to handle it and Legend swore there were days that Twilight forgot what form he was in; rather than pushing the thief away or grabbing ahold of them and confronting them, the gracious rancher had chosen to fling his entire body weight at the man and bite his arm.

Of course, that was only what Legend found out later, what he saw when the four of them managed to peek through the crowd, was Twilight standing there in full sight of the entire market with blood on his teeth and a man screaming in pain and terror at his feet.

Bravo, Rancher, bravo.

“Oof.” Wind winced. “That’s not good.”

“Shit.” Warriors swore, glancing around nervously and ripping his scarf off to hide in his pack.

Realization sprung on the vet like Twilight had the poor thief; Warriors was the hero here. If anyone noticed him, or any of the knightlier looking ones, they’d probably try and have them arrest Twilight. That was all well and good of course, as it would make a reasonable excuse to haul the rancher out of the way, but they’d be expected to call for help from some soldiers, and while they’d been planning on meeting with the queen while they were here, having Twilight presented to her as a feral, potentially insane, and definitely dangerous criminal was not the approach they were aiming for.

They needed a distraction, fast.

So, like the reasonable and totally mentally secure Hylian that he was, Legend shouted the first thing that came to his mind. “Violet!”

His three companions stared at him, and had he been capable, he would have stared at himself, but a desperate glance Fours way had the other drawing back, nodding slowly as Legend shouted again. “Violet? Honey?”

Warriors looked at him like he’d lost his head, gripping Wind’s shoulder firmly as if worried he’d have to pull the kid back from the apparently mad veteran.

Thank Din for teaching him acting years ago, even if it was all stage performing, but he was counting on it to get him, and Twilight, out of their respective messes, even if that meant building his higher before he could escape. At any rate, he’d caught the attention of a few people with his panicked shout. Turning to the nearest Hylian that wasn’t one of his group, he gently tapped the woman’s shoulder, letting his panic and everything in general spill over into his face and voice as the woman met his gaze with a startled look.

“Ma’am, I’m looking for-” Oh Four was going to hate this. “-My child, Violet. Have you seen a blonde Hylian child, so tall?” He lowered his hand to approximately where Four’s head would reach. “I’ve been looking everywhere!” He forced a fake sob into his voice, glancing from the woman to the surrounding crowd, and Warriors and Wind in its midst.

Wind was stifling a laugh behind his hand while Warriors stared in utter shock.

“Oh my,” The woman touched her cheek, clucking lightly and patting Legend’s hand in a consoling manner. “You poor dear! I haven’t seen a thing but just give me one moment.” The burly housewife turned, still patting Legend’s hand gently as she murmured something to the women behind her, before turning back to Legend with a sorry expression. “None of my friends have seen your little one, dear. But-” The woman turned and, with all the force and volume of a cow, hollered at the top of her lungs to the crowd as a whole. “Hello? Yes, this woman is looking for her daughter!”

Woman?!?!?!

“Her name is Violet! She’s-” The woman blinked, looking to Legend with a worried look as several other market goers turned to stare, many of them women with looks of pity and understanding that was making him wish he’d stayed silent. Fortunately, his ruse had startled them out of staring at the sight of a mauled thief as worry for a poor young mother and her lost daughter took its place. “She’s how old?”

Legend fought the protest of female pronouns, both on Four’s part and his own, but only in his head. Outwardly however, he covered his face with the hand not being smashed by the farm-wife's own. “She’s four.” Shoot him, he was saying whatever came to mind because he was panicked, alright?

A snort could be heard behind him, earning disapproving looks from the crowd that soon shifted to pity as Wind too joined the act, turning his snort into pitiful sniffling as he clung to Warriors’ hand, looking for all the world like a child who’d been to the market too long and wanted to go home, but was also panicking at the loss of their sibling. “Have you all seen my sister?” The sailor blubbered softly, actual tears spilling down his face as he pouted, expression making his act so believable that no one even questioned his height. As if to make the act more convincing, Warriors wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulder, his own face stiffening into something that could either be gas or worry, Legend was a bit on the fence.

“What’s going on here?” Legend wished that was Time stalking towards them in full armor, but it wasn’t, it was a Hylian Soldier, staring at the crowd with a grim frown on his face as he turned to Legend, standing in its center.

Oh well, those who crack under a tough audience get tomatoes to the face; he just hoped Wars would keep playing along. “My daughter,” He sobbed into his hand, pulling the other free from the housewife to properly cover his face. “She- My baby- I can’t find her anywhere, Sir!” Later, Warriors would begrudgingly admit that the look Legend shot the soldier was enough to break any heart as the vet stepped forwards, grabbing hold of the man’s arm with all the desperation of a worried mother. “Please tell me, have you seen a little girl? She’s in her favorite dress, the colors of the goddesses, red, green and blue?” He motioned down at his own tunic, skirt, whatever one would call it. “There’s a violet corner too, I made it for her myself- oh my poor baby! I can’t seem to find her anywhere!”

The grizzled soldier quickly melted under the power of tearful violet eyes, and he too gently patted Legend’s hands as if he thought it would do any good. “I’ll have my men look for her right away, ma’am. How old would you say she is?

“She’s four.” He reaffirmed. Might as well stick to his original story.

“So tall?” The farm-wife motioned, hands lowering a bit more than Legend’s had, but the woman was trying to help, so he couldn’t really be upset with her for getting it wrong. At this point though, he was a bit worried about where Four actually was, because he’d expected the shorter hero to make an appearance sooner rather than later so the act could end.

“Right.” The man nodded, pulling himself loose as Legend brought his hands to clasp in front of his chest in an imitation of the maids he’d seen worrying about the halls when Fable went missing. “We’ll do everything in our power to find your little one, madame, you have my word.” The soldier bowed, kissing the back of the vet’s hand graciously before moving back into the crowd and snapping orders at the soldiers stationed around the market.

People buzzed by, spreading the word of ‘little Violet’s’ disappearance as Warriors and Wind pushed forwards to where Legend stood.

“Really, vet?” Warriors murmured lowly.

“I panicked.” He admitted softly, as to avoid anyone noticing as he wrung his hands. “But seriously, where is ‘’Violet’? I thought he’d have appeared before it became a big thing.”

The captain frowned, settling a hand on his shoulder carefully and standing on his toes to look over the crowd as Wind giggled at the scowling veteran. The minute he shot a look down at the sailor though, the kid had picked up his role as smoothly as if he’d never dropped it. “I’m worried, mom.” Wind blinked past fake tears, and had he not needed to remain in character, Legend would have scowled and flicked the kid’s nose for the tease.

“I am too, honey.” He sighed instead, ruffling the sailor’s curls and looking over to where the others had been. Time and the others had disappeared into the crowd again, likely trying to keep a low profile and laughing their asses off at Legend’s expense while Time and Sky scolded Twilight.

“Mama?” A small voice called out, and the crowd, and he meant the whole crowd, the whole freaking crowd of several hundred people, froze as a small face peeked out from an alleyway, the smithy’s hand coming up to rub at his shimmering purple eyes with a sniff. “Mama?”

“Violet!” All three heroes surged forwards, Legend sinking to his knees and wrapping Four in a hug, taking the opportunity when his face was hidden from the crowd to scowl. “About time you showed up.” Aloud for the crowd however, he let sobs pitch his voice hysterically. “Oh honey, you can’t run off on mama like that! I was worried sick!”

And as if to put the icing on the cake of shame, one of the men in the crowd smiled softly, patting Warriors’ back with a friendly smile. “Your wife is quite the caring mother, isn’t she? Ah, you’re a lucky man, Mr.”

Legend forced himself to not blow their cover, no matter how little they now needed it with the others safely out of sight. Breaking character meant causing drama that they didn’t need. ‘Violet’ had been found, the cute little family would depart, people would calm. But if the worried mother turned out to be a screaming teenage boy and the lost daughter to be a smithy apprentice with a height problem, people would likely riot. So instead of turning around and giving the man a piece of his mind, he pushed forwards, hefting Four in his arms (the smithy sank into him with a sigh that couldn’t have been faked) letting the smaller hero nestle against him, hood hiding the smithy’s face from view as he pulled them both up, adjusting his arms so as to not drop the other.

Man, he was glad he’d put on power bracelets today.

“She is indeed.” Warriors forced out, a strained smile on his face as he settled his hand on Legend’s waist, stiff, cold and incredibly awkward. “We’d probably better head off, dear.” If the captain smiled any harder, he’d break his teeth. “Or the inns will all be full.”

It should have ended there, it should have. Legend was so ready for it to end (although Four was warm and a calming presence as the smithy began to doze against his chest), but because fate loved to mess with him, it didn’t.

“You’re looking for a place to stay the night?” The Man-Who-Needed-To-Be-Kicked cocked a brow. “I run an inn here, just across the square. I’m sure we can find a lovely little family like yourselves a place to rest, you and our wife must be exhausted after such worry!”

Warriors, sages curse and bless him, nodded along stiffly, gently pulling him along by is waist after the Blasted-Innkeeper-Who-Would-Be-Kicked as the man chattered about family discounts and free dinner. Legend’s shoulders only lowered when a free trip to the bath house was also thrown in ‘complimentarily’.

He regretted it when someone pointed him to the ladies’ side of the bath-house (think heavens it was empty that early), and he was about ready to strangle something or someone when the others joined them inside, stuck with a regularly priced room, and the smithy and vet both were bombarded with teases as Warriors sat looking utterly and completely disgusted.

“They thought we were married....”

Legend groaned, flopping over on the other side of the bed with a grimace. “Gross, right?”

“Yeah.”

"We’re forgetting this ever happened, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Regardless, no one ever let them forget it happened.

Legend was buying Twilight a muzzle, and he was pretty sure Wars would be willing to help.

[samrubio]

Master List “SAM RUBIO”

This blog is not minors friendly, please stay away from this content if you’re under 18. 

This is an art blog and shitposting, not sorry and I’m back on my bullshit.

ART NSFW                   MERCHANDISE

BULGE MEME 

BLY_AAYLA

HOWZER X REX COMIC You belong to us now, cyar'ika

HOWZER I'm starving for you, cyar'ika

WRECKER  I'm so close mesh'la please cum with me

COMMANDER CODY lying to me wasnt a good idea mesh’la

GREGOR I thought you could handle commando style sweetheart

GREGOR  Oh yes mesh'la I'm so close

OLD GREGOR It's pretty hot in here mesh'la wanna join me

OLD GREGOR cyar’ika you make me so hungry

FIVES Oh yes, cyare this is going to look great.

FIVES Shhh this is just for your eyes cyare

WOLFFE Hmmm you need to get hurry mesh'la, the refresher is not private

OLD WOLFFE Daddy is going to take good care of you princess

OLD WOLFFE Oh princess daddy missed you too

OLD WOLFFE are you gonna take it for daddy?

WOLFFE  Better than expected, princess but this needs to go

WOLFFE are you gonna behave now

REX/WOLFFE/GREGOR happy birthday

REX/RD/WOLFFE you’re taking it so good mesh’la

REX you are everything I want, sweetheart.

CAPTAIN REX you’re such a good girl mesh’la

REX COMIC  Gonna - mmph- fill you u-up- cyare

POST 66 REX  you’re enjoying this so much

POST 66 REX Come here mesh'la, I'm waiting.

SILVER FOX REX It's not polite to spy on the groom cyar'ika

SILVER FOX REX come here mesh la Im waiting

OLD REX Something special you wanna eat?

OLD REX You always make me feel better mesh'la

OLD REX Look at you cyare, look how beautiful you are

OLD REX You're so good for me, my good girl

OLD REX  Don’t stare so much cyare useless you want more

OLD REX It's training time mesh'la, don't put that face you know your reward

OLD REX Oh mesh'la I wasn't expecting you so soon

OLD REX “REC”

OLD REX  somenthing you like mesh’la

OLD REX yes scream my name like that cyar’ika

OLD REX  ah cyar’ika you’re so good at this

OLD REX such a good girl mesh’la

OLD REX put those beautiful eyes on me

OLD REX mesh’la there is so much to talk 

OLD REX tonight you’re mine again @latenightsthoughtsnstuff contribution

JANGO FETT Good girl, just like that but deeper this time

JANGO FETT “you’re not allowed to touch yet”

JANGO FETT look into my eyes cyar’ika 

DIN DJARRIN mesh’la  make me a dad, make me proud

HUNTER  I'll be your good boy mesh'la tell me what you want

HUNTER “look at you my special boy”

HUNTER “are you my special boy?

HUNTER  “cant think any more cyar’ika”

HUNTER COMIC 1

HUNTER COMIC 2

HUNTER COMIC 3

BOBA FETT BONDAGE

BOBA FETT  Don’t mind me princess keep doing your job.

BOBA FETT Oh princess, you didn't believe me don't you

BOBA FETT I knew you will like this mesh'la

BOBA FETT  Here is your reward princess

BOBA FETT here princess its time for you to take the throne

BOBA “be quiet smart girl”

BOBA “you’re perfect mesh’la”

BOBA  “hope you know what are you getting into.”

BOBA FETT “Do you like it when I claim you like this?”

BOBA FETT “isnt this what you wanted?”

BOBA FETT oh oh

COMMISSIONS

FIVES X R X ECHO NSFW

REX X R X ECHO NSFW

OBI WAN NSFW

BOBA FETT NSFW

DOGMA  NSFW

REX NSFW

OLD REX NSFW

FIVES NSFW

WOLFFE  NSFW

WOLFFE NSFW

TECH NSFW

DIN DJARIN NSFW

DIN DJARIN NSFW

DIN DJARRIN NSFW

BOBA FETT SFW

DIN DJARIN SFW

DIN DJARIN SFW

HUNTER SFW

CODY SFW

REX SFW

BOBA SFW

WOLFFE SFW

COMIC MANDO SFW

@stargazingthenightaway  CONTRIBUTIONS they are so good 

REX  DIN  JANGO  DIN 

ART SFW

SAM OC KEN    BOBA FETT  OLD REX   OLD WOLFFE

BOBA “sweeter than I thought princess”    OLD REX     REX

REX IN TOWEL    REX BLUSHED mildly nsfw maybe-ish? 

STUPID JOKE      STUPID JOKE II

BOBA JOKE      HUS-MANDO

DIN JOKE      DIN AND GROGU

KOSKA JOKE        KOSKA JOKE II

ASK AND ANSWER

ANI N BOBA THOTS   ANI N BOBA THOTS II

BABY PLO I   BABY PLO II

PERIOD SEX I  PERIOD SEX II

FERAL WOLFFE/GREGOR  BREEDING WOLFFE/GREGOR

DRUNK SEX I  DRUNK SEX II 

WOLFFE JEALOUS   BABY ASHOKA  GREGOR AS DAD 

SWEET WOLFFE  REX WITH MANY KIDS  REX HAS AN ARMY   REX AS DAD

REX AND MIRROR  REX/MIRROR/BONDS

WOLFFE/GREGOR/REX BEGINNING

WOLFFE/GREGOR/REX GET YOU P

WOLFFE/GREGOR/REX BREEDING K  PTII

WOLFFE/GREGOR/REX WHILE PREGNANT PTI PTII

REX KNOWS UR PREG  DOM REX W BREEDING  DOM REX AFTERCARE

REX WORSHIP U PREG  REX BREEDING PLUG  VOCAL REX BREEDING

VOD TALKING ABOUT SEX  OLD REX THOTS

DOM REX I DOM REX II DOM REX III DOM REX IV

DOM REX DADDY  OLD REX KNOWS

OLD REX WANTS BBS  SOFT OLD REX   REX NAME BB I  REX NAME BB II

SOFT REX  SOFT REX DAD

MY SHITTY FIC

OTHER ART

FENRIS MEME  FENRIS ART FENRIS FERIS BUST FENRIS JOKE

FENRIS N HAWKE REGIS the witcher JULIAN DEVORAK TURIAN

GARRUS GARRUS N7 GARRUS N SHEPARD KANDROS

KANDROS JOKE KANDROS COMIC NICK VALENTINE

[wyn-n-tonic]

It’s me, the 30 day sex challenge anon, back with another thought...on the complete opposite end of the spectrum...how would the lads handle an abstinence challenge (a la 40 Days and Nights—a Josh Hartnett masterpiece)? Like, who’s cool as a cucumber and who is a horny hot mess by day three?

Oh. Oh. Oh no. 

We'll go with my same five babies from before, just to make this easy.

Francisco Morales: You approach him carefully about it, not wanting to hurt his feelings. Sex has always been great but, lately, you're just feeling exhausted with life and work and house and kids. When you fall into bed and your passionate, amazing wife guy of a husband wants to eat you out or help you relax, you let him and you love it because you love him... But you've been thinking lately that you don't necessarily enjoy it anymore because you always get it. You tell him it's not him, genuinely, that it's you. That it's life, that it's everything and you're afraid you're numb to the passion and sensations you felt and you want to detox and reset. He's sad, because he thinks that it is something he did but he understands. 

You make it almost a whole month when you come home one day and find him there, cooking dinner while your babies sit at the kitchen table having an animated conversation with him. Arousal pools within you immediately, you are absolutely feral for this man--your husband, the father of your babies. "Baby," he greets you, "come taste this and tell me if it needs anything." He holds his finger out with a bit of sauce on it like he normally does but instead of just licking it clean, you swirl your tongue around the tip a few times, doe eyes up at him never breaking eye contact. You rush through dinner and bed time routines so you can get to the bedroom faster. You both swear it's the best sex you've ever had and resolve to put distance between your escapades in order to achieve this high again.

Din Djarin: You brought it up because your relationship has been constant sex since you crossed that bridge and you don't want him to become desensitized to touch the way he was touch starved for so long. You fall back to the quiet intimacies you shared in the beginning of your relationship. He loves your soft hands so much and he gets hard every time you touch him, no matter where you touch him, but he's a good boy. You make it the forty days but only barely as a particularly heavy make out session on the 39th day turns into foreplay turns into sex. You only notice the day the next morning when you wake up, him completely bare, chest pressed to your back on the tiny cot of the living quarters. 

Javier Peña: He hates this. What the fuck are you guys doing? This is is something you picked up from one of those fucking magazines and he's livid. He's gone to type out a strongly worded to the editor of Cosmo or Vogue or some shit every goddamn day. He threw the nicorette out, he's mainlining packs of Marlboro Lights like they're the only things tethering him to this life and they are. Because he can't even touch himself according to the rules of this stupid fucking challenge. Challenge? Against who? If he finds out Steve had anything to do with this, he's putting a bullet in that man's dick. He counts the days down on the calendar. When he gets home on the fortieth day, he's takes you on the kitchen floor, eating you like a man starved and he has been. He's determined to pull at least three orgasms out of you with his mouth because he knows the moment you touch him, he's going to blow and he can't leave you unsatisfied too.

Marcus Pike: It was his idea! He thinks that your relationship can benefit from pursuing other hobbies with one another and not just sex. You take cooking classes, dancing lessons, fucking wood working tutorials. You're stuck at home with canceled plans one night because the beer garden got rained out so you decide to cook one of those fancy dishes you learned together. It's been a month and you're losing it, breaking down with wine soaked sobs asking if you did something wrong that made him want to do this. The smoke alarm goes off as he's reassuring you. Once dinner is sufficiently ruined, he pulls you into his chest and tells you that you did nothing wrong, it was just something stupid he read online and thought it would be an interesting experiment. He takes you to bed and makes love to you while holding your hand so that you know he has nothing but love for you. Your stomach growls against his hand in the shared shower half an hour later and he pops out to order a pizza for you both.

Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels: "Oh, Sugar, I don't think I'm going to be able to keep my hands off of you for more than forty seconds." You tell him to figure it out so he takes every out of town mission that Champ will give him.

[stars-trash-18]

Adventures of Mando and his emotional GF

I’m so sorry for everything being posted as late as it is but depression is a bitch and I managed to kick her out long enough to write this. I’m surprised I got as many notes as I have been on this story but I forget we go feral for men in masks who are absolute units.

I everything spaced the way it is because my eyes can’t read large paragraphs close together, it bleeds together, so sorry if it’s annoying and maybe a little wrong in writing terms, also I hid a reference in this chapter-

Mando hired you for the sole purpose of keeping his antique flying, yet here you are sitting in the co-pilot’s seat rewiring the nav system while the child is in a crawl space doing your job of trying to get the control panel working. , “Mando tell me again why you put a literal toddler into the wall to do a job you pay me to do, correction did pay me to do,” you stated, using the space tape to keep a lever from going in the wrong direction. 

 Mando gumbled something before trying the panel again, “because he’s the only one small enough to fit, he has less of a chance of getting stuck and causing more problems,” he seethed. You knew he was more angry at the beeping panel than you, but you still glared at him for the tone he took with you. Before you could say anything he left the seat and went to check the child. “Now, you’re going to plug that red wire where the blue wire goes on the board, don’t let them touch their opposite charges and will electrocute you,”. Was this man seriously explaining electrical engineering to a toddler, a toddler you didn’t know if he was color-blind or not? 

“Mando my dear I don’t think the child knows his colors yet much less basic electrical engineering, now stop acting like my dad trying to teach me and let the person with an actual degree do it,” as soon as the words left your mouth you heard the tell tale sound of somebody being slightly electrocuted and smoke puffing out. Without even thinking you jumped out of your seat and shoved the tin can away to pull the child towards you in a motherly embrace, cradling him into your chest as you rocked him slightly. More for your sake than his since he was giggling. Mando just stared at you, you thought because you were crazy, but really because he had never loved you more than in that moment. 

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Mando set course for Nevarro while you prepared what was left of the broth, when Mando finally came down you turned your back to him so he could eat, he started to take his helmet off just enough to let his mouth stick out so long as you sat back to back during meals. You loved that you finally trusted each other enough to eat your meals together instead of in separate rooms like you used to. Even though you tried to get him to use a straw but he was a stubborn mudhorn, much like the signet on his shoulder and around your neck. 

  Your thoughts were interrupted by Mando, “Cyar’ika why do you never call me Din, you know it’s my birth name but you still call me mando?” he asked quietly, you almost missed it. The question startled you at first but it made you soften realising he sounded a little insecure, you entwined your fingers in his before answering.

  “Your true name was revealed against your wish, the man who destroyed your people revealed it without your consent, so I don’t say it since you never gave me consent to say it, because where i’m from we have a public name and a true name, the true name is only revealed to partners and family and that requires consent,” you paused to take a breath, his hand squeezed your tightly as encouragement, “so until you give me consent to use your true name i’ll call you by your nickname,” you finished. 

 The silence between you two was thick and heavy but a chuckle sliced through it like a hot blade, “Cyar’ika I had no idea but you had permission to use it the moment the I gave you that signet necklace, in Mandalorian culture the signet is a sort of family crest, so we’re technically family.” He explained, nervousness tingling near the end at the mention of family. It took a minute for it to dawn on you that in a sense you were married.

“Din Djarin did we get married without my knowledge!” you shrieked, shocking both of you with the use of his full name rolling off your tongue. To Din it was music to his ears, but to you it was so much more. On your home planet, from what you remembered from your short 14 years there, saying somebody's true name for the first time was often in a loving manner, not to scold like you just did, and was a moment of great emotion for both parties. But Mando, Din you had to mentally correct yourself, just turned around and hugged you with his melodic laugh ringing in your ears.

“No cyar’ika we did not, I would have made sure you knew and proposed, Aliit ori’shya tal’din, family is more than blood so we aren’t married but you are my clan,” he explained resting his chin on your shoulder. “You mentioned earlier your father, would you mind telling me about him?” he asked patiently, giving you the option to close him out. Din had told you about his parents once and it moved you to tears, you had wanted to talk about your parents but you never thought of a good time.

You took a deep breathe before starting, “ my father was a flight engineer and my mother was a diplomat, they met on one of her diplomatic trips to Naboo and had me before the clone wars,” you gripped onto Din’s hand before continuing, “I only knew my parents for a few short years before my mother died during the Siege of Mandalore when her ship was mistaken for a Republican transporter, and my father died shortly after I turned twelve and a ship’s engine blew,” you muttered, as you had spoken Din pulled you into a tighter embrace, placing the child into your lap so you could stroke his ears. 

      “From what I remember my mother taught me various things of diplomacy like how to blend in or stand out, to notice weaknesses or strengths, and how to negotiate deals,” you laughed remembering one of her anecdotes she’d say in her haughty voice, “everything is negotiable nova, if they say it isn’t then they want something you have, she’d always tell me during these lessons,” you remarked before continuing, “my father was who I spent more time with, we’d always run off into my mother’s ship and take everything apart so I could put it back together, our hands n faces covered in grease and our hair always frizzy from the many times I electrocuted myself or going to the junk yard so I could learn how to repurpose parts from one ship to another.” you began to tear up remembering your parents and how they taught you how to survive in their own ways,how your mother always fretted over your clothing whenever a festival happened in town, your father cooking enough to feed an army so your mother would have a taste of home on her work trips, and how they always called you their little supernova. 

Before Din could say anything the alert that you had arrived at Nevarro went off, making you both jump up to prepare for landing, already knowing you’d have to strap yourselves down for the rough landing. 

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When you both touched down and were greeted by Cara and Greef, who promptly took the child from your arms like a grandfather would, You reluctantly let other engineers go near the ship, a weird feeling settling in your stomach but dissipating when Din took your hand. The man never showed PDA until recently, and you weren’t complaining the least bit being as touch-starved as you were, and promptly made your way into town.

“Mando what the hell happened to your ship,” Cara asked once they were out of the child’s earshot, said child’s eyes caught something in the market and Greef excitedly showed him the stall, you giggled at the question hearing Mando give his signature sigh.

“Had a run in with the Republic,” he answered briskly, causing you to hit his arm before turning to Cara.

“More like Mando wouldn’t stop getting holes blown in the ship, then when we thought it couldn’t get worse he sunk us in a harbor where I threatened to let haunt him if I died,” you stated matter of factly, before continuing on with your tour of the town. You prayed it was going to be a relaxing trip, but you would find out in 10 minutes that it was anything but and that you were about to regret your choice of going to college for engineering.

[littleferal]

I’m so touch starved right now that I think a lot about a Pedro character playing with my hair, or putting socks on my feet or interlacing their fingers with mine on walks or random skin stroking if we’re hanging out, moving my legs so he can plop them on his own lap 🥺😤 nothing sexual at all, just lots of gentle skin contact. Maybe eventually it’ll lead to something feral, but it’s just as good without.

and im feeling touch starved in this quarantine tonight (ok so we’re no longer in quarantine but you get me). So all the fluff for you my dear~ No warnings but I’m putting this under a cut cos this is a full 2.5k o.o

It takes Din a while to settle into casual physical intimacies because touch has never been casual to him, not when you make a living out of hunting people.

So they start off really tiny. Or at least, the gesture would be small coming from anyone else but Din, because for a man who is physically separated from you almost always it’s anything but.The first ones are when he’ll settle a hand on you, usually on your hip as you tend to his wounds. He starts rubbing absentmindedly, completely unaware he’s doing it even as he stares at the point of contact. It calms him and helps him maintain steady breathing when your hands find a pain point

Then he starts to get a little braver, first hovering but then touching you softly whenever he passes you in the narrow confines of the Crest, guiding you both. The first time he settled his (gloved) hands on both your hips had you giddy, which should honestly be ridiculous but here you are

Din started getting very protective over you somewhere along the way and it led to him dropping his hand onto your knee under the table when a scuffle broke out at the other end of the cantina. After that it became habit, another time he’ll just rub his thumb over the point of contact and grounding you both.

He gets bolder before your relationship takes any real steps because he needs to desperately know that that’s what this is going to be, and not just a one off thing.

That’s when he really starts coming to you for comfort. The first time he did it shocked you - he came up behind you, settled his hands on your hips and dropped his head between your shoulder blades. The sudden contact and chill at your back had you jerking away a little but he stubbornly held on, at least to see if you’d really fight him over it. You didn’t, leaning back into him with a sigh. He’d later learn to do this whenever he was really stressed, even getting brave enough take his helmet off on occasions to do it because there’s no way you’d be able to see but even more importantly he trusts you not to. Feeling heat against your back is so much better than the chill of the beskar, even more so when he dares to lean up and press a kiss against the back of your neck

But the one that really make your heart flip flop? Because it’s both so small and yet so intimate? It’s when Din takes your hand in his as your both sitting quietly in the evening time. The child is about, waddling around the hold but you get distracted by Din gently taking your hand. He presses his palm against yours, measuring the size of your hand against his. You can’t tell what’s he’s thinking, no expression to read but whatever his train of though is it leads him to pulling the glove off and repeating the action. He slowly lets your fingers interlock and doesn’t take his eyes off your joined hands until the child draws his attention back. It becomes a habit.

—

Ezra’s favourite form of casual intimacy is just pressing himself right up into you, but it’s even better when you do it. To start with he’d always ask, and he’d always explicitly offer. But as your relationship deepened it became something you both did without thinking. Either one of you casually invading the space of the other though more often than not it was Ezra who initiates.

So it’s his favourite thing to do is to pull you down into the cot he’s settled in for the evening, getting you with your back against his chest and between his legs. He loves to hold you like this as he reads aloud to you both, book held in front of you so his arm can be around you, chin on your shoulder. He’s read you to sleep more times than you can count

Ezra always has his hand on you when you sleep. Since the loss of his arm it’s easy to sleep on the side missing it and he prefers to, doesn’t want to be parted from you even in sleep. His hand is always on your stomach, sometimes travelling up to wrap around your waist to hold you close, sometimes slipping down lower and into your underwear. But he always has the hand on you throughout the night.

One of the ones that had thrown you though came during a rare bath time on a spacestation before your next contract started.

You’d helped him shave earlier, both laughing your way through it as you soaped up his face, scratching at the scruff with humour. It was nothing more than a little clean up because you loved it too much to ever allow him to shave it off fully and he loved how much you loved it. He’d smiled soft and enamoured at you in the end, giving a gentle press of a kiss before you’d both carried on. And he’d gotten it in his head to return the favour.

You don’t always bother to shave your legs, honestly there are far more important things to worry about. But it’s nice to take full advantage of these baths and do something extra. You’d felt the intensity with which Erza watched you shave the first leg, you sitting between his, his single hand pressing against your stomach to hold you into him. It was just as you’d been about to start on the second leg that he reached out with it, his fingers slipping around your wrist. May I dearest? It took him ages, his concentration on his shaking hand intense but that wasn’t why you were holding your breath. Honestly you didn’t know why, except maybe that you didn’t know how else to respond to this. He only nicked you with the blade once but he was sure to kiss over the spot again and again later on that night

—

If you and Frankie are within 5ft of each other you know he’s going to - or desperately wants to - close that distance.

He just needs a hand on you as much as possible, your contact is completely grounding to him.

He always presses a hand into you whenever he passes, on your lower back, shoulder, or on both hips as he sidesteps youHe’ll interlock your hands whenever, wherever you’re walking together - shopping runs, casual walks,  hikes

In fact Frankie basically doesn’t let you go on a hike. He’s the guy who holds your hand as your scramble over rocks together, the one who holds you by the waist as he helps you down and the one who pulls you to sit in his lap when you finally make it to somewhere with the best view. At times like that he doesn’t give a shit who sees, has no shame at all about that pda

Whenever you guys sit down for the evening, whether conversation is heavy or not Frankie’s holding your hand. He’ll play with your fingers, watching as he separates them out and rubs over the pads, letting your own interlock with his whenever possible, even if it’s only a couple at a time.

Frankie totally loves playing with your hair. You’ll be sitting in the evening, maybe a terrible movie on but he’s gotten distracted by you. This is where he learns to braid your hair. He’d actually asked first though. Of course he did, it’s Frankie.

You’d talked him through how best to do it, laughing as you’d tried to guide him blind and even more when he took a picture to show you his first few attempts. The movie was completely forgotten, fading into a background hum as you spent the rest of the evening just basking in the sensations as he played with your hair

Any chance to hold you Frankie will take. His favourite thing to do is to put on some easy music and pull you in for a slow dance. In the summer Frankie will pull you outside, either under the stars if they’re visible or under the fairy lights on the patio if they’re not. In the winter it’ll be in the living room, the tiny stove in the corner dancing with light from the amber flames and radiating warmth into you both

One of his favourite memories is of you both slow dancing lakeside when you took a summer get away to a cabin in the woods. There hadn’t been any music, just the gentle breeze whistling over the lake and the sound of insect buzzing in the fading evening light

At night time Frankie sleeps with both arms wrapped tight around you. Its taken a bit of getting used to and there’s been more than one occasion when you’ve woken up and found yourself on top of him, your back into his chest where he’s rolled you both over

—

Javier’s love language is touch, make no doubt of that. This man has a deep deep well of emotions and love and when he’s in a relationship of any kind he fully invests himself.

Some affections are bold, like the way he’ll kiss you, pulling you into him with no shame and no preamble. Others are quieter as he realises himself the depths of his feelings for you.

It’s the absentminded nature that he carries out casual intimacies that make him catch himself and it’s always those moments when he softens, though those raw emotions can make him intense. He lives for the small intimacies truly

If Javier isn’t falling into your bed after a long and stressful day he’s falling into your arms. You don’t always get evenings together and it’s something that makes him upset. But finding you asleep on his couch because you’ve been staying up for him makes him feel loved. You’ve woken up more than once to find the man actually snuggling into you on the couch because he didn’t want to wake you but he couldn’t resist.

The times when you are awake when he gets back he’s learnt he can fall into a hug, though he has a habit of dropping almost all his body weight into them, exhaustion catching him up. You end up pressed against the counter as he drops, you’re safer if you were already sitting on it. And sometimes he ends up pulling you both down to the floor, finding the cool tiles grounding as he lets you run your fingers through his hair. Times like this all he can do is cling to you

Javier is also another one for playing with your hands. You’ll be sitting at the tiny kitchen table talking and he’s already subtly hooking one of his feet around the back of an ankle, pulling you a little closer. But then he’s leaning forwards, still listening to you talk but maybe a little bit more focused on watching himself as he runs his fingers over the palm of your hand and tracing up your fingers. He ends up getting so focused on the simple act he doesn’t notice when you’ve stopped talking until the silence has become engulfing.

I’m also gonna revisit the fact that Javier loves to hold you post-sex, pulling you into his side as he smokes. He’s always more vulnerable at times like this that he truly doesn’t notice himself, still allowing himself to be in the moment. He’ll draw patterns across any bare skin he can reach, even mindlessly kiss your shoulder without thinking, humming along to your one-sided conversation

Also this man does forehead touches, particularly almost exclusively during/after sex. Just practically rubs against you before littering kisses across your face. It’s times like this that there is no denying his affections for you, even if he fails at times with verbal communication

—

Whiskey may be known for his ability to run his mouth but he is definitely a very physical man. He craves intimacy deeply and while he only indulged in that on a physical side before and while this relationship is about fulfilling the emotional side as well his physical desires have not gone away. In fact, casual intimacies are a constant in a relationship with one Jack Daniels.

The man adores hugs, adores the feeling of your wrapped up in his arms, he takes every chance cos this is just proof that your in a relationship now

It’s common for you to start the morning already surround by him and that’s no exaggeration - the man is like a damn koala when he sleeps, hooking his legs over yours if you aren’t already doing that to him

Otherwise it’s ones like him coming and wrapping himself around you from behind, nuzzling into your neck and breathing in your scent. When he’s being playful he’ll drop his weight on you, pressing you into the kitchen counter or bathroom sink cos he’s a bit of an ass. It can lead to more but it doesn’t always

Evenings find Jack calmer, hugs more of the kind where he’ll tuck you under his chin, cupping the back of your head as he holds you close. It’s lead to quiet slow dancing on more than one occasion, proof that Jack Daniels truly is a romantic at heart

Also Jack is the one that’s going to help you pull up those over the knee winter socks. He’d started it all heated and dancing eyebrows but it’d rapidly faded into just soft attention when he’d seen your own raised eyebrows and was instantly reminded he that he didn’t need to put anything on.

His bold attitude is also how he ends up lying on top of you on the sofa in the evenings. Sometimes he’ll come over, give a gentle knock to ask you to move your feet out the way for him and then he’ll pull your legs right back over his lap as he sits. But he’s equally as likely to just come over and get on top of you, settling himself down so his head is over your heart. He doesn’t always get to stay there long - he’s a heavy guy and it’s easier to do this with him pressing his back into your chest with you sitting up - but he’ll take as long as he can get.

Though he’d prefer to lie on you he does love it when you hold him, pulling him into your chest as you both settle on the sofa, your legs wrapping around his waist from behind. He’ll trace patterns over the kneecap as he rubs at the pulse point on your wrist, his head dropped to his chest as he slowly drifts off

talk to me 🌙 cos its sinful sunday

— — —

my masterlist

[kiwisbell]

The Light of the Stars: Chapter 3 (Conclusion) [din djarin]

Your celebration for Din’s name day goes horribly wrong. And a group of pirates sees the worst of your Mandalorian.

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

read part one here (not necessary, but encouraged!): told before and told again

series masterlist | my masterlist!

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

series tags and warnings: established relationship, unprotected piv (no following the leader), the helmet stays on, but the gloves come off, in more ways than one, hand kink???, animal handler!reader, grogu being a good kid, extremely protective din, kidnapping, BAMF din, din gets mad, dirty talk, fingering, blood and violence, creampie, rough sex, multiple orgasms, top din, soft din, din fucking the babysitter, extreme amounts of fluff, din is in love, mando'a pet names, porn with feelings, porn with plot (there actually is a plot this time), feral din, din is touch-starved, it's din's birthday!! (sort of), din djarin being so in love that it's disgusting

word count: ~ 5.7k

sometimes, din is actually good at his job and that's when he gets angy -- please enjoy the conclusion to the light of the stars!! xoxo

chapter 3: backs bound in twine

Someone has made a grave mistake, and the Mandalorian sees little choice but to pay in blood. In fact, he enjoys the idea very much.

“Can you please take my blindfold off?”

“Sorry, love.” The voice next to you does not sound particularly sorry, but he doesn’t sound cruel, either. “No can do.”

“Is there a reason I’m not allowed to see?”

“Can’t have you fiddling with my ship,” says the pirate. “What if you try to escape?”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that.” You slump backward in your seat, flexing your fingers. Your wrists are bound to a rickety chair, as are your ankles. You’re evidently inside a spaceship, but you’ve been blindfolded since you woke up, blinking hard against the swath of fabric and smacking your chapped lips. Panic set in quick, assuming you had gone blind or worse, your nostrils stinging with the aftereffects of the sweet-smelling cloth. Then a glass of water was at your lips, and your mouth is not quite as dry now, but you’re still angry. 

To their credit, your captors don’t seem interested in harming you. Apart from the ropes that chafe against your appendages, you’ve been hydrated and scarcely spoken to. Except for the pirate who took you in the first place, who seems to enjoy his spot at your left side. You can no longer feel the earpiece; you can only hope Din found your brooch.

The pirate’s voice is smooth and somewhat aloof. “You’re bait, my darling.” A hand caresses your cheek, gentle, but you still jerk away. “Nothing more.”

“He’ll kill you.” You bare your teeth as if you’re about to bite off his fingers. “It doesn’t matter if I’m bait.”

“No, likely not. But he will come nonetheless.” His breath smells of spotchka and his fingers are ridged, covered in scars. You remember his hat and his cropped hair. You cannot remember the colour of his eyes. Somehow, it seems important. You wish you had memorised them while you could see. Now, here, helplessly blind, your heart is compensating for the loss. It is like free falling through air and grasping at a rope you cannot see. Your stomach tumbles with every motion nearby, every out-of-place voice. 

“You look scared, love.” Now, he's on your right side, and for some reason, it infuriates you. 

“You only kidnapped me. Why should that frighten me?”

“I told you, it isn't personal.”

“Well, that’s refreshing,” you snap. 

The pirate clicks his tongue. “You seem tense.”

There are many things you could say to that. You settle for, “I can’t see.” 

“We’re still on Nevarro, if that comforts you.” It doesn't. “You’re inside my ship. It’s a Porax-38 starfighter. Decommissioned after the Clone Wars. It’s decent. Much nicer than that shithole we found you in. I even put a carpet down in the hull for—”

“What did he do to you?” you interrupt. “If I’m your bait, I should know why. So I don’t try to run.” Pointedly, you struggle at the bonds around your ankles.

The pirate is quiet for a moment. “He hurt my friends.”

If you could roll your eyes, you would. Din has hurt many people. “And stole your favourite toy on the playground?”

“Killed my friends, darling girl. He massacred my friends. Left them with holes where flesh should be.” A breeze rustles your hair and his fingers trace your jawline. You scowl.

“Did your friends deserve it?”

“Now, that's a matter of perspective,” he says. “I placed a bounty on a business rival of mine. Your Mandalorian delivered him. Completely dead.”

“Not just a little dead, then?”

You can hear the sneer in his voice now. “I asked for the bounty alive. Mando failed.”

“He was your rival. Why do you care?”

“Because he was my friend, too,” growls the pirate. His hand tugs the ropes around your wrist tighter to punctuate his words. You bite your tongue. “I was going to offer him amnesty from his debts to me if he moved his operations off-planet.”

“Seems like a poor business move. Where do you get your money if not from begging your own friends for theirs?”

The hand on your face stiffens slightly, tightening a bit around your chin. Holding you in place. “It’s funny,” he grits out. “I thought you were a whore. I thought you were just good enough for him to keep around.” 

You lift your brows, doing your best not to act on the impulse to chomp down on his filthy fingers. “And now?”

“Oh, I still think he fucks you. I just think you love him, too.”

“And your friend?” you ask. “Do you force him to pay you, too? Or is it a purely… intimate relationship?”

The pirate laughs, patting your cheek gently before another shift in the air indicates he has moved away from you. For now, you breathe easy. 

“Gag her.”

~

Several things must happen in order for Din Djarin’s plan to work.

First: Greef Karga sends out a planet-wide holomessage announcing that travel to and from Nevarro is temporarily prohibited. The docking bays are closed and the parade ebbs as the afternoon lulls. Second: Din reluctantly agrees to Greef Karga’s suggestion that he use a scouting droid to find your captors’ ship. 

“It will be a lot faster than trudging over the plains yourself. You know it’s true, Mando.”

Of course he knows. It doesn’t mean he’s pleased to sit on his ass and wait for a droid to find you instead of just going out and doing it.  

He doesn’t like knowing that your captors have the upper hand because they have you. He will do anything and everything to take you back, no matter what it will cost. They may have hurt you already. They may have taken one look at your beautiful face and decided—

“Mando.” Karga’s voice slices through his black thoughts. “If you squeeze that holopad any tighter, you’ll break it.”

He drops it abruptly, the droid’s feed still transmitting its search to the holopad. All Din can see are rocks and crags and steep drops. “If they… if they hurt her…”

He doesn’t finish. Greef Karga watches him, but does not reply. Between them, silence becomes a yawning maw, gnashing its teeth and snapping. At his right side, Grogu coos sadly from his pram. He misses you. He’s afraid for you. 

Din understands. 

The holopad chirps rapidly. Din, Grogu, and Karga watch as the droid comes upon an older starfighter, parked just underneath a shady outcrop, the signal fuzzy but transmitting the coordinates nonetheless. From the bird’s eye view, Din can see a few pirates milling around the ship, carrying blasters at the ready or loading cargo. That’s it. You’re inside that ship.

He stands up and curls his hands into fists at his sides. The third thing that must happen for Din’s plan to work: he needs to be angry. 

“Can I use one of your speed bikes?” he asks. 

Greef Karga nods, his face a bit taut, a bit grim. “It’s already parked outside.”

“Take care of the kid.”

He leaves without another word and does not turn to acknowledge Karga’s parting words: “Don’t die doing this, Mando.”

~

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been here. The gag around your mouth pulls so tight that your cheeks ache and the knot at the back of your blindfold rubs incessantly against your scalp. You cannot see, cannot speak, and you begin to wonder if the sun has dropped or if it has already risen. Have you spent a full night in this chair, bound and gagged so your captor can enjoy the sick pleasure of murdering your Mandalorian?

They have given up trying to give you water. They seem to understand that if they remove the gag for even a moment, you will snarl and snap and most likely try to annoy them to death. The pirate has left your side, but there is another close by. You can smell plasma, and you wonder if these pirates are so bored of waiting for the Mandalorian to come that they’ve taken to shooting at the wildlife outside. Not that there’s much of anything to shoot at in the lava flats. 

“So,” says a new voice next to you, making you jump, “are you really… with him?”

You want to roll your eyes. Maybe step on his toes. You can do neither. You just nod. “Wow.” The voice belongs to another man, but it’s softer, slightly higher. He sounds like a teenager. “Never thought they were allowed to do… that.”

“Mmptmmphydno,” you tell him. 

Hands at the back of your head. A sudden release, like a cabin pressurising, and your mouth is free of the gag. “Don’t tell them,” says the kid. “They told me you would try to piss me off.”

You work your jaw until you feel confident enough to use your voice again. “There’s a lot you don’t know,” you repeat. “About Mandalorians. About the one you’re luring into a trap.”

“I only know what they tell me. They say he’ll make us a lot of money,” says the kid. 

“Sure. If he doesn’t decide to kill you.”

“He…” The kid clears his throat, but his voice has pitched up in uncertainty. “He saved that green thing’s life. The creature he travels with. Saved it from the Empire.”

You hum in affirmation. “He saved someone he deeply cares about from people who captured him and used them for personal gain.”

You swear you can hear the kid’s face blanch, and you almost feel sorry for him.

Outside, a scuffle draws your attention. Blaster fire. It is not the sound of casual target practise nor shooting at the wildlife. It is accompanied by screams. You scoot up a little in your chair and try not to lurch forward with pure relief. He’s here. He’s come for you. 

Din descends on the party with little care for the element of surprise. The speeder bike has not yet come to a full stop when he jumps off and aims for the first pirate he can see. The body drops with a hole in its head. Lift. Aim. Fire. 

Lift. Aim. Fire. His hands do not tremble. He is in control. He has no desire left for control. Control has never saved a life. It will not save yours. He will.

It does not matter how many are here, how many weapons they have, how angry they are. His rage is different. It eclipses the setting sun and turns the world black as tar. 

Skin. Blood. Cloth. Bone. His vision sharpens, every particle in the air and every speck of ash a topography of the way to you. He shoots one pirate in the throat and cuts through another with the knife. Your knife. You will be glad to know it is being put to good use. Plasma bolts sear through flesh and gobble it alive. Holes where there was once life. Blood smears into maps of traceable carnage on the lava flats. Some go down with a single shot. Some, he pulls close and stabs, watching for the exact moment when life flees their eyes. He’s surprised by the thrill it gives him. 

Killing is clinical. It’s necessary. For a Mandalorian, war is religion. For Din Djarin, whose every murder brings him closer to you, killing becomes tangible evidence that he is not going to lose. The starfighter awaits him, and he is pulling the wires in the control panel. 

Inside, the sound of Din’s massacre carries closer to you, a song on the wind. You suspect it will be heard across the galaxy.

“Please…” The kid’s voice crescendos to a panic. “I’ll let you free... if you promise he’ll spare my life.”

You just laugh. “You are eons too late for that.”

The hull opens. It’s too easy. And there you are. 

The kid opens his mouth and begins to plead. But his body thuds at your feet, and a set of hands is working the knots around your ankles. When all of your limbs are free, he helps you to your feet and indulges one fleeting, aching, gentle kiss of his forehead to yours. The feel and the smell of the cold steel and iron-rich blood make you sway on your feet. He pulls away, presumably to look at you. “Hey,” he says. His voice is the hum of night. 

“Hey,” you whisper. Your cheeks still hurt, but you smile anyway. “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry. Got held up,” he replies. “Didn't leave me much to go on.”

“Little busy getting drugged to leave a good trail.”

The shot does not come from Din’s blaster. It strikes his pauldron and narrowly misses your own head. He whirls, putting you behind him, to find a pirate crawling from the cockpit. He is wearing an ugly hat and a set of shabby clothes. Din feels a jolt of recognition, but he cannot place where he has seen this man before. 

“If you’re worried we harmed one hair on her head,” says the pirate, “we didn’t. I just wanted you.”

“I’m here.” Din cocks his head, lifting his own blaster. Your hand is a grounding pressure on his lower back, a warning of what will happen should he fail. “Who the hell are you?”

“I know you don’t remember. But I’ve been wanting the opportunity to get back at you for a long time, Mandalorian—under more even circumstances.”

“You’re right. I don’t remember you.”

“I lie awake at night for months trying to figure out the best way to get back at the man who killed my whole crew.” When the pirate’s eyes flick toward you, Din stiffens. And the man notices, his mouth splitting into a grin. “And there it was. My opportunity. Who knew the infamous hunter had a heart?”

Din fires. The pirate is just fast enough to dodge a mutilating blow, lunging forward to grab hold of Din’s arm while his free hand slides sharply to the side, forcefully knocking the blaster to the floor with a clatter. It’s a smart move. But Din is larger and even faster. He’s also much, much angrier. 

He lands a bone-crunching punch to the pirate’s nose, his brain swimming with the sick sense of pleasure at the sight of blood. The pirate’s blaster joins Din’s somewhere on the metal floor. But he isn’t finished. He aims for another blow to the jaw—

The pirate evades, catching Din’s wrist and kneeing him hard in the side. Pain briefly sparks white behind his eyes, but he recovers fast enough to twist out of the pirate’s grasp and kick him square in the gut. He reels backward, slamming against the wall of the ship. The entire cabin jolts sharply with the impact. 

“I’ve changed my mind. I won’t be needing your life anymore, Mando,” the pirate growls, wiping a welling drop of blood from his lip. “I’ll just take her.”

The pirate takes a step toward you. It is the wrong decision to make. 

“Don’t” —it’s little more than a snarl when it leaves Din’s mouth—“come any closer.”

The pirate’s nose is crooked, the bone broken. His breaths wheeze out of him. His eyes are slightly unfocused, and his stance wary. Still, he lifts his fists to go another round—

Din drops and picks up his fallen blaster. The bolt sears through the cotton of the pirate’s pants and the flesh in his thigh. Din lurches forward to grab the pirate, his hand curling around his throat, and breaks his neck. The body becomes a body. Cold. A dead thing.

The ringing in his ears will not abate at the sudden silence. He looks down at his gloved hands and finds them covered in blood. 

“Din,” you say weakly, “I can’t see.”

An insistent tug at the back of your head and the blindfold slips off. You blink harshly at the light pouring in from the sky and the plains, and he's there, a black silhouette that cuts through the bright white. You are blind all over again as your eyes burn and tear up at the drastic shift.

Hands. Two warm, human hands, skin and flesh and blood. They do not know their own strength. They're cupping your face, rough and calloused, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw, his hands feeling your hair. It’s so soft. It’s smooth and gentle and he does not deserve to hold onto it. He doesn't deserve the way he grips fistfuls of your hair, nor the way your hands, trembling, cover his own. 

He has never truly felt your skin before. It feels like kneeling at a temple, bowing his head, praying to the deity. It feels like water and sunlight. It is the rush of hyperspace. It is the euphoric climb of a ship to the upper atmosphere and the way his ears pop. It is cupping his heart in his hands and trying to lodge it, slowly and meticulously, back into place. 

Your eyes adjust. “Din—”

You haven't even constructed the direction of your sentence when he sinks to his knees in front of you and tips his head forward so the forehead of his helmet rests against your belly. His hands squeeze your hips in steady pulses. He’s reminding himself of your heartbeat, acquainting himself with the fact that you're alive. 

You choke on the little cry that leaves your mouth and bring your hand to the frigid steel at the crown of his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely loud enough to pass through the modulator. It is a harsh, jagged rasp that rumbles from his helmet to your vertebrae. “I’m sorry.”

Your hand slides to the chin of his helmet. You only nudge his head upward so you can look in his visor. “They didn’t hurt me,” you whisper. “I’m okay.”

But it is not good enough. It will never be good enough. Not until he can see. Until he can feel, for himself, that you are safe. Your warrior is a restless coil of energy, his hands—his bare hands—squeezing spasmodically around your hips, his breathing dark and heavy through his modulator. You want to memorise the paths of the veins on his hands, the winding walkways they take, the flex of his fingers, the strength of the muscles there. There, in the hands that have killed hundreds. You have never been afraid of them until now. Now, they are laid bare before you, and you are petrified that he will come to regret this decision. 

“Din.” His name is a broken music box in your mouth. The melody feels slanted somehow. “We need to go.”

He blinks hard and rises to his feet, his hand outstretched for you to place your own inside. You hesitate, looking at the life lines on his palm. “Your hands,” you say dumbly, as if it isn't obvious. As if he doesn't know, and you must alert him before he makes a rash choice. You have hardly used your voice today. Why do you sound as if there's sand stuck to the inside of your throat? 

So he moves first, trapping your hand in his. The touch electrifies your whole body. It is no longer leather and skin. It is like to like: it is the stars and the space between them. “I don’t want to touch you,” he says roughly, “when my gloves are covered in blood.”

Your eyes meet his visor, and slowly, you dip your head in a nod. He leads you out of the ship, careful to steady you when you stumble along the crags and cracks in the rock. Boarding the speeder bike with you tucked safely behind him, you see nothing but the vast plains, the setting golden-orange sun, the cry of gulls overhead. Until you crest over a hill and find the Crest awaiting you. You feel a whimper slip from your lips at the sight of your home. 

You leave the bodies behind. You leave the massacre at your heels. You abandon the rightful vengeance and set your eyes ahead, where you know you will be safe. He lets you climb into the hull first, following closely behind with a hand on your lower back. It dizzies you to know that if you were not wearing a shirt, his hand would be pressing against your spine. Unfiltered. Unfettered. 

A single input on the control panel closes the ramp and locks you inside. His wide shoulders are stiff, his head not quite angled your way. “Din…”

“‘Fresher,” he interrupts. His voice is the scrape of sharp claws through rock. 

He’s angry. He’s angry with you. You try not to let your body show your exhaustion, your misery, rubbing gently at your wrists as you make your way to the ‘fresher. Peeling off your blood- and sweat-stained clothes, somehow damp and dry all at once, you step inside and let the water scald you. 

A hand—bare, tanned—stops the door from closing. Din has shed his cape and his jet pack and is joining you in the ‘fresher. 

Maybe he isn't so mad. 

“You…” Scrambling for words, you push gently on his chest to keep him away from the stream. “You’ll get wet.”

His hands close over your sore, raw wrists, a balm to the idle ache. You are rarely bashful to be wholly naked in front of him, but this feels different. For some reason, seeing his hands and a sliver of his wrists makes him feel just as naked as you are. 

“I need to see.” His voice has not become gentler. His chest still heaves. “I need… need to know.”

Your brow furrows. Your hair is soaked, your whole body shivering like a leaf in the wind despite the hot water pouring over you. “You have me,” you whisper. “I’m here, Din.”

Not good enough. He backs you slowly against the wall, his leg wedged between both of yours. Water now deflects off his helmet and soaks his cowl, creeping into his skin. He welcomes the discomforting sensation. It is complete. It is sense. It is nothing like the nothingness of not knowing if you are dead or alive. 

“You’re cold.” He says it like a revelation, his hand pressing gently on your sternum. Your whole body convulses with shivers and your teeth chatter, but he can feel the frigid skin. He can feel you. This is something he never thought he would know. 

“Warm me up,” comes your reply. He would laugh at your brief little smirk if he wasn't vibrating with such voracious need. 

His fingers splay out, migrate downward, and his hand rests between your ribcage. “Told you to be safe,” he murmurs, transfixed by the way your heartbeat quickens, the sudden shallowness of your breathing at such a simple touch. “I thought…”

Your head tips back against the wall so you can look up at him. “I just wanted to give you a present.”

“You did.” Your life is what I need, he wants to say. Your breath under my hand… that is my gift. “I made good use of it.”

“I heard.” 

“You shouldn't have.” You see a vague twitch in the reflective light on his helmet, like he wants to shake his head. “You should never have to hear that.”

Your fingers are bold when they lace through his, resting soft and warm on your belly. “You’re a warrior, Din Djarin. I knew it when I met you and I know it now.” You scoot closer, your mouth so close to his own between the wall of steel. “They didn't hurt me. You did a warrior’s job.”

He will not accept your forgiveness so easily. “I let them take you.” 

You pin him with a stern look. “There is nothing to forgive.” 

Soft skin, ribs, heartbeat. Breath. Warmth. You are here. 

Din places his hand on the wall next to your head as he eases his weight against you, his other hand guiding your lower back into a gentle arch. It makes you feel the slippery cold of his chest plate and the thigh guards bracketing your leg. It makes you feel the stiffness of his erection through his pants. 

Your warrior is broad. He’s strong and imposing and rigid against you, and you understand why entire civilisations fear people of his kind. You are more than afraid. Your heart lunges out of you and transcends the pettiness of human feelings. It is sublime to look up at him, to be so close to a myth. 

But he is real, and he’s touching you. His hand slides around your waist and turns off the water in the ‘fresher. If you were cold before, you’re positively frigid now, as his hand finds your body again, squeezing your breasts, flicking his thumb across the sensitive pebbled nipples. You cry out softly at the tiny meteors of pleasure that hurtle toward your core. His name echoes in the small chamber. 

“Not hurt?” he grinds out, a knife stripping each syllable into strings. 

You shake your head, pushing your breasts out, seeking his touch. “Not hurt.”

His hand skates down your side, nerves sparking hot at the feeling of his skin on yours. It's a sensation you never expected to be so delicious, so overwhelming. What you and Din have is not relegated to skin. Feeling his now is like the lurch of a starship into hyperspeed. His fingers on your lower belly, your hip, your thigh—

His entire palm presses hard against your throbbing clit, and you gasp, your hands flying to his strong shoulders. “Does that feel good?” he croaks. 

“Din.” You watch two of his fingers slide through your folds, getting themselves wet with your slick. It’s a surreal experience to see his real hands work you, those fingers deft and dexterous as ever, but so close. So bare. 

“Tell me.” He’s closer, somehow, his forehead at your temple, nudging your head to the side as his fingers press into your tight hole, opening you up for him. 

“Oh, my—” A gush of wetness coats his fingers and you squeeze your eyes shut. “Din, it feels… you feel so good.”

“Cyar’ika,” he grunts, curling his fingers inside you as his palm continues to rub your clit. Your moan makes him clash his teeth together. “Open your eyes. You need to see. You’re so beautiful.”

“Like that. Just like that.” You’ve taken his fingers inside you before, but never like this. Never the warmth of skin. Never quite so obscenely loud, slick and filthy. Turning your head toward him again, you muster all your wherewithal to stare through his visor. 

Someday, he thinks, he will bare his face and his soul to you and bind himself forever to your life. Someday, he will taste you for himself, instead of letting his fingers and his cock do all the work. It will no longer be nights face-to-face, with a wall of beskar between you, describing to you what his face looks like. He will show you. He will make himself yours forever. 

His fingers work you to a high you do not quite see until it crests. You come, your body jerking hard in his grasp, your head jolting painfully against the wall as you moan long and loud, your cunt clenching hard around his fingers. You can barely see his hand lifting to his helmet, but you can feel the wet suck of resistance as his fingers leave your soaked cunt and slip beneath the steel. 

You do not see even a sliver of skin more than the hands he has already given you. But you watch while he sucks himself clean of you and groans. Your taste has a sweet tang that nearly doubles Din over, and he watches your cheeks burn from the sight of his indulgence. Your eyes blacken, your tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip. He doesn’t think you even realise you’ve done it. “Din,” you rasp, “I need you.”

“I know,” he says, equally as broken. “I know.”

Apparently, he does not know. He chokes on his own tongue when you lower to your knees and unbutton his pants, pulling out his throbbing, leaking cock and looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes. 

“Is this okay?”

He cannot help the way his hand shoots to the crown of your head. It’s just that he’s gone blind with arousal and he can no longer see the wall in front of him. You are all he can distinguish in the whiteout. 

“You have to tell me, Din.” Your hand slowly strokes him at the tip, squeezing gently around his shaft, and he wonders how you can expect him to form thoughts, let alone words, when you touch him like that— look at him like that. 

“I… fuck,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut only to snap them back open again. He does not want to blink at all, not when you touch him this way. “Yes. Yes.”

When your lips part to take his tip, his fingers curl in your damp hair and twitch with the impulse to push you right to the hilt. He doesn’t. He wants to watch you take him. You place open-mouthed kisses to his tip and the underside of his shaft, the vein visible along the length. Your tongue flicks along his slit and his head briefly tips back, forcing a weak groan from his mouth. 

Satisfied, you take him past the seal of your lips, tucking your teeth and swallowing. He’s only an inch deep in your mouth, but his hand curls blindly against the wall in an attempt to curb his building orgasm. It’s embarrassing. It’s humiliating. But if you keep this up, he will not last. 

Your hot, wet mouth envelops him, deeper and tighter still, greedily taking every inch you can until your eyes begin to water and his tip prods the back of your throat. His hand slips beneath your chin and feels the outline of his cock as you begin to bob your head back and forth. 

“Oh—” He’s slipping, every small gasp and crackling groan filtering through the modulator and filling your ears. Your pride swells with every twitch of his cock inside your mouth, and you want to drown up to your scalp in the masculine, heady taste of him. 

“Not—not your mouth,” he pants, his balls drawing up as he begins to lose all sense of where he is. “Want to—unhh, want to come inside you.”

You moan around his cock and pull off him, showing mercy, letting him pull you up and notch his leaking head at your entrance. He strokes himself a few times until his whole body jerks, a long groan seeping into your bones as he feeds himself inside your cunt and pumps his cum inside you. 

You expect him to slump over you, bracing his hand on the wall to make sure you don't get crushed under his weight, but—

He holds your hips, pulling out and turning you around so your tits are pressed against the slick wall. And he's nudging his cock back inside you, sliding through his own cum and pushing it out of your hole. He’s still hard, still throbbing, not done with you. You cry out, holding uselessly onto the wall, one of his hands reaching up to cover yours. “Din!” you gasp wetly. 

He seems beyond words, rutting into you like an animal, like he’s lost all comprehension besides the feel of your tight cunt around him. Pleasure crackles up and down your spine as he pounds you, finding your clit with his fingers and rubbing fast circles. The rough pummeling of his thigh guards against the back of your thighs is the perfect pinching pressure to rebuild your orgasm, brick-by-brick. He’s meticulous as ever in the way he manoeuvres your body. 

“One more,” he growls into your ear, his helmet buried in your throat, as close as he possibly can, in order to inhale the scent of you, feel the tremulous gasps you take as he fills you repeatedly.

“Gonna… Din, ah— ah!” You stiffen, crushing his fingers in your hand, your mouth dropping open and your brows scrunching as you come all over him. Your legs shake so violently that he has to steady you to keep you from listing as he works toward his own high. 

The slick, hot walls of your cunt suck him deeper, pulsate with the waves of your orgasm, and reel his in closer until he’s losing rhythm. His hips stutter against your ass, his cock driving inside you to the brim as he comes again, filling you with another load of hot cum. It spills around the tight seal of your cunt and dribbles down your thighs, his balls, undoing all the work you’d done to get yourself clean. 

His chest heaves against your back and your fingers still hold his against the wall. It’s silent. The ringing in his ears finally decrescendos. You’re safe. 

“Cyar’ika.”

“Mmm.” Your voice is an overwrought, broken whimper. 

“I used the knife you bought me,” he tells you. “I really like it.”

Despite the fact that your cheek is mostly smushed into the wall, he sees you break into a grin.

~

Later, in that too-small cot, the baby sleeping peacefully in his separate compartment, you and Din doze. Well, neither of you are asleep. But soon, you imagine both of you will be. 

“Din.”

The visor tilts down and you know he’s looking at you through that impenetrable steel. 

“Happy name day,” you whisper, your hand finding the cheek of his helmet. You imagine the skin beneath, warm and soft to the cold kiss of the metal in your palm. 

His bare hand covers yours. It is warm. The pads of his fingers are rough and his knuckles are scarred. Something cold slips into your palm. Your brooch: small, shaped like a mudhorn. 

“Next time,” he says, squeezing the pulse point on your wrist, feeling the existence of you in that steady heartbeat, “no parties.”

You drop your cheek to his chest and laugh. In his head, he turns the words over in his head a hundred times. On his tongue, the words are ichor. Thick and honeyed. A nectar that clings to the roof of his mouth. 

Marry me. 

[dottiechan]

Space tinder time baby! Spicy and non spicy are both welcome, and anything except SWTOR and TBB bc I don't know them enough. I'm a queer trans guy, I enjoy reading, writing, and baking, as well as being out in nature. I'm fairly easy going, and like making jokes that only make me laugh, but I like to think I'm generally a friendly, caring person capable of being a Bastard when I'm in a mood. My sleep schedule is a fucking nightmare, and I actively say hello/goodnight to the stars because I love them.

In a sw universe I think I'd either be a Jedi with a focus on healing/archival work, or a Bounty Hunter that is just. Appalling at his job. How is he still alive? It's a mystery.

Much love to you for these! 💚

(16/20) I ship you with Din Djarin!

Come and play Space Tinder with me!

18+ headcanons below cut (minors dni)

You know there are other hunters on the particular job you're on, but you really believe this time you can show Greef Karga your worth by bringing the bounty in yourself. Your hopes and dreams are crushed when the Mandalorian himself shows up. He has to save your ass multiple times before the job is over. You're grateful, but also mildly terrified because this man never speaks and can be super intimidating.

The next time he approaches you, he surprises the hell out of you - he wants to hire you, to help him look after a child. The Mandalorian knows two things about you. One, you're a terrible bounty hunter. Two, your heart is in the right place though, and you have honour. You take the job, even if it means you'll be the prey instead of the hunter.

And you're seriously good at this. The little green man is a big fan of you, and you often play with him, or tell him stories, or help feed him. The kid misses the Mandalorian when he's out on missions, of course, but he seems happy to be in your care. Mando never allowed himself to think differently about you, but that all changes when he sees how good you are with the baby. A need most feral awakens in him to have you, body and soul.

It starts slowly. First, he tells you his real name. Then he asks you about your homeworld, your family, your life. You leave meals out for him, knowing he doesn't eat with you around because of his creed. He takes it upon himself to teach you how to fight, and he quite literally snaps during a sparring session. It's not how he would have wanted it to happen for the first time, him fucking you on the cold metal floor of the Razor Crest, but the feelings were already there. It was only a matter of time before you acted on it.

The beskar doesn't come off for a long time though. Din often blindfolds you when you two are intimate so he could kiss you, but aside from the soft curls you tangle your fingers in, and the scruff of the stubble on his chin, you don't know what he looks like. It adds a layer of excitement to sex, but you start craving him more intimately too. You trace his face in the dark, whispering confessions, but you never see how he has to stop himself from crying when you do that. He's so touch starved, and would want nothing more than to let you in completely.

Din doesn't plan on showing his face to you, it just happens naturally after a long time of you being together. You're both still hazy after sex, and he just turns the lights on. Sucks in a deep breath and waits. He's quite literally terrified, but you just trace his face the same way you would in the dark, and you smile at him the same way you always do, and your confession of love never rang truer. From this point forward, you're his ride or die. There's nothing in this Galaxy he wouldn't do for you (even if your bounty hunting skills could seriously use some honing).

[spoopyredacted]

juliaaaaa. it’s the feral hours!!! i’m pretty tipsy rn so can you please tell me how my sweet mando would take care of me right now?? i’m in need of some intense physical affection when i’m tipsy.🥵

Helloooo anon!! I too am tipsy! <3

Din ‘touch-starved’ Djarin would be down for all the physical affection you both could handle

He’ll be sans gloves and just, fuck, your soft soft skin. He wouldn’t be able to make up his mind what part of you he want to touch first.

He eventually makes up his mind by starting from the top and working his way down.

He will gently trace the curves of your ears, softly sliding his fingertips along the slope of them rolling down along your jaw

His thumb will trace over your bottom lip, pulling slightly on it parting your lips.

He’ll caress over the apples of your cheeks and his fingers will dance across the tops of your eyelids

Working his way down he tips your head back to run his fingers along your open neck

Resting his hand there he feels you swallow and you could swear you hear him with a sharp inhale

He feels the soft skin of you neck and traces down and over your shoulders.

He twists his hands in to yours

“Cyar’ika, you are lovely”