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trash-axolotl · 5 months ago

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Repost of my fanfic on Ao3 (account name Trash_axolotl)

Fandom: Arcane

Title: I Believed you, William Blake

Summary: The song "I Believed you, William Blake" by Frank Turner but how every lyric pertains to JayVik (a few are just arcane in general)

Notes: This isn't the first time I've done something like this, I did one with "piano man" and Brook from one piece, I do them because I don't know how to edit, and I need this to be known, I got the idea from someone on tumbler.

(All the lines in "-" are lyrics from the song, the rest is my writing)

"Have you seen my husband?"

A man with golden eyes, sparked with ideas of a better world, and a way to create it

"You'd know him, if you had"

A handsome face and unforgettable wit, an accent belonging to a far away place most wouldn't dream of visiting

"He's known around old London Town

Most people think he's mad"

A professor of science, chastising a young inventor, his ideas are dangerous, and his delusions grand

"My husband he talks with angels

And with spirits that he can see"

A beautiful "young" woman, made of a shimmering light, like the very stars came together to form her, calling out for the brilliant man

"He passes time with the divine"

He changed, adapted like his start light companion, his skin made of the cosmos

"But not so much with me"

A memory, a hand shrugged off a shoulder, a look of hurt masked by furry, an ignorant man damaging a relationship with two wrong words:

They're dangerous!

"But I held him when he faltered"

A hug between two promising students, their arms linger for a second too long, grasping onto something barely within reach, like they'll be torn apart from one another. Then they retreat, muttering embarrassedly and walking away

Maybe if they had held on a little longer they wouldn't have been torn apart

"When earth and faith did shake"

An explosion in a lab, energy pulsing through the in closed space, a blinding blue light, a body thrown haphazardly over another, a useless attempt at protection

"And on my grave the words will say:

I believed you, William Blake"

A smooth grave stone, over run by vines and leaves, reclaimed by the earth. No body is buried at it's feet, no name or quote engraved on its face

"We scraped by in the shadows

Sown with pity and with scorn"

People, many people, all hunched and hungry, hungry for the purple liquid that runs through their decrepit veins, they'll be saved soon. The Rapture is coming

"The great and good they never could"

A counsel of rich and powerful, the old and wealthy dictating what is best for their citizens, while ignoring the bottom half

"Recognize a prophet born"

A small child with large, soft eyes, like a doe, and a disposition of kindness

"With poetry and engravings

He presented Paradise"

Dozens of books and charts, diagrams scribbled in margins

"He revealed to them a Jerusalem

They would not recognize"

A commune: gilding white buildings, and gleaming blank people, a forlorn and misguided ruler; a prophet given the sword of a soldier will always become the king

"But I held him when he faltered"

A small, broken man clutched in the shaking arms of a desperate love, he's bruised and bloody, and dead

"When earth and faith did shake"

A bomb, no, a missile, it tore through the building like butter, the golden-white walls reduced to dust

"And on my grave the words will say:

I believed you, William Blake"

A piece of burning paper, one name written, a book of blue prints and plans with one signed author, a mother, with two dead boys to mourn

"Mr. William Blake

There's one promise you must make"

A man talking to a crowd, his suit white and gold, his face clean shaven, and his words full of promises he will never keep

"Dear William, if you're right

About life on the other side, about Paradise"

Another world, where the crazy girl is sane, where the dead lovers are living, where savoir boy will be saved

"Then you must promise me

That you won't leave me when you leave"

A new body, purple apendiges, metal fused with flesh. A new heart, made cold against the one he loved, a back turned

"This world that didn't believe"

A world not yet suited for magic, that maybe never will be

"Be a comfort to your wife"

Hands on shoulders and soft words exchanged, before everything changed

"She gave you up her one and only certain life"

A hand on the back of a neck, a soft apology whispered under the sound of adoms being returned to star dust, the two men reunited one last time

"Don't you leave me in my grave"

A white and gold suit now ripped and dirtyed, a tired man with a broken leg laying on the side of a deep gash in the earth, he's crying, and he doesn't realise it, the rain hiding his hopelessness from him

"I believed you William Blake"

The same man, but young now, on the edge of a different ledge, being told he's worth something, that his ideas are worth something, and he just might believe it

"I'll be with you, damned or saved"

A statue, hunched over, hands grasping at a life line, a leaver that will never be pushed, a statue not made of marble or alabaster stone. A hand rests on its shoulder, the hand of an old and graying mage

"Don't you leave me in my grave"

A small gear, the last tangible memory of a time long gone, rolling from between a dead man's finger tips

I believed you William Blake.

#arcane #jayvik #fan fiction #fanfic #cross posted on ao3 #song lyrics

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trash-axolotl · 5 months ago

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Repost of my fanfic on Ao3 (account name Trash_axolotl)

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Title: How does it feel?

Summary: A very inexperienced din djarin gets his first hand job, with a good bit of exposition for no real reason. It's a porn one off/creative writing project.

This is written in second person (you/your) and the reader is male, amab, and slightly aloof in the beginning, reader is also a slightly unreliable narrator (freaking out on the inside while appearing completely calm to everyone else).

Notes: CW: slight mentions of religion/cults (jokes mostly), and sexual acts under the influence of alcohol (all consensual), Minors DNI

It has been a few months since the job that had changed everything, since you were assigned the same bounty as the lone mandalorian

It took weeks for him to trust, longer for him to leave you and the kid alone together

Even though you had as much a hand in finding/rescuing him as mando did

But it's been long enough, and even the thickest ice melts with time, you would even say he likes you now

Although that doesn't matter much

You have a mutual trust in each other, that matters far more when you live such dangerous lives

You both know that if you or the kid are ever in danger, the other will come to your aid. It's easy to say you work alone (as mando did when you first met), and really, so did you

The resistance to change is only natural, but looking over your shoulder every second gets tiring

And if nothing else, the colder nights in the vortex of hyper space feel a little less unforgiving with someone as dependable by your side

You still banter, he sighs and rolls his eyes so hard you can **hear** it from under his helmet, and you make sarcastic remarks

But you never even joke about leaving him, him or the kid, maybe you've gone domestic

Maybe he has

Either way, you look at him a little to fondly as you walk up behind him, his back is to you, looking over the sky line

It's been a long few days, and now that you finally caught a break, with the kid asleep in a room at the inn you're currently on the roof of (you practically had to drag mando away from him)

You finally have a second to breath with him

He knows you're there, but he doesn't turn, you don't take offence, it's a silent acknowledgement that you're used to

You wordlessly set a bowl of stew and bottle of some local liquor -both from the inn,s cafe- next to his leg, far enough from the ledge his feet rest over that it won't fall

You take a seat a few yards away from him, facing the now setting sun, your back to him.

You've never seen his face, and maybe never will, it's something that doesn't bother you much, everyone you meet is so dramatic

("you've been traveling with someone for months and you don't even know what he looks like?!?")

But you don't need to, you know his voice, his mind, even -on late nights alone in the cockpit, where he finally seems to let his guard down and speak freely- his past

Sure you've never seen more skin than his hand, but why would you need to?

The silent understanding between you is enough, more than, so when you hear the sound of his helmet slipping off, the urge to look doesn't even cross your mind.

Busy with your own food, your own thoughts, and the pretty purple of the last sunset of the night, you know he'll come to you when he's ready

And he does.

About ten minutes later, as you've finished the last of your food and have cracked your own bottle of cheap booze, you hear the soft clanking sound his steps make

He sits next to you, helmeted eyes trained on the last bits of colorful light disappearing into the darkening sky.

"It's my favorite bit"

Your voice is low, sort of gravely from disuse, you speak less than mando at times, most thoughts internalized

But for some reason, tonight you feel like sharing

"At the end, when the orange and yellow disparate into dark blues and purples"

He doesn't acknowledge your words verbally, but he turns to look at you

"On some planets, purple was seen as the color of royalty, back when the only way to produce it was naturally occurring pigment. It was rare, and expensive, so only the rich or powerful adorned themselves with it"

The silence hangs for a few seconds

"Some planets would never know the color existed if not for their Suns"

You take another drink from the bottle, slightly embarrassed by your rambling, for the first time, you wish alcohol had a bigger effect on you

You could use the liquid courage

Of course, this doesn't show on your face, you would rather die than let mando know much of anything about what happens in your head

The air is still warm as the light fades, it's mid summer and the night is the only time it's actually bearable on this planet, for you at least, you can't imagine how mando feels in all that metal.

"I prefer the beginning"

His voice pulls you from your thoughts, you hadn't expected a response, especially not one in kind

Although it's likely due to the alcohol he's ingested, as you had the fore thought to bring a straw, he's been drinking about as much as you

"The orange"

He says vaguely as he gestures with the hand not holding a bottle

Even with as well as you feel you know him, he still always says something to surprise you, to think he's given any thought to the sun sets at all

Let alone designate a favorite color, it's not something you would have expected from him, although you try to never expect much

He's sitting differently now, and it only just occurs to you just how close he is, maybe the alcohol really is affecting you

Or maybe it's the heat of the summer breeze, but your heart won't shut up about it. Sure he's hot, you've never pretended he wasn't, he's all tall dark and scary, and maybe all that damned armour did make you wanna know just what's underneath

But this soft fluttering in your chest is something new...

Well not entirely new, once a few months back, there was a moment you walked into the cockpit

He was there with the kid, he was teasing him with the metal piece he always steals, and when Grogo finally just took it -with that freaky mind shit-

Mando laughed and told him he did a good job, it was a small moment

Gone in a second

But it was soft, and gentle, and in the tide of all this running and fighting and adrenaline, it was like finally breathing, for just a moment.

"Bein' with you and the kid...it's always sorta bitter sweet"

The words are out before you can stop them, you want him to know, to understand, and maybe he does

You cling to that maybe, because even if you were just as against the idea of working together as he was at first, he showed you just how alone you were

And just how much you really did care

"In some other world, where none'a this happened, where I stayed on my planet...i would'a liked to have kids"

The words sound foreign to you, "liked to have kids" you don't like kids, they're loud and annoying and in a perpetual state of sticky...

And yet, you would die for that little green freak...you tried once or twice

Even if you don't admit it to yourself, you would'a liked a family, of some kind

"But I guess you and Grogo'll be the closest thing I'll ever have to a family"

You shouldn't have said it, it sounded insulting, like he wasn't enough, like the kid wasn't enough, like they were second choices

He should've left, gotten offended and left you with a stark reminder of why you talk so little

But he doesn't, he understands, on some level, he always does

He takes a long drink

"Mandalorians give up their right to a family, a life, individually, when they swear into the creed"

"Like the Pope"

You can't help yourself, and the disapproving glare you're sure he's giving you doesn't make you feel as bad as it should

If anything it makes you smile a little, for the first time all night

"So what you're saying is: the kid and I are the closest thing to family you're ever getting either"

Your tone drops a little, of course he understands. You're an outcast: banished and on the run from your planet, he's a mandolin: sworn to a life of solitary wandering

If anyone should understand, it's him. He nods a little, looking back where the inky blue-blackness of the sky have swallowed the Suns.

"There isn't much time for...mingling, when you have a burden like that of the mandalor on your shoulders"

His voice gets that sort of preachy tone it always does when he talks about his cult religion creed

"'Mingling'? "

You ask while making quotation marks with your fingers

You can't lie and say you haven't thought about his probable virginity

He was sworn in at twelve, and you can't imagine the lady's lining up for a guy who either clams up at or completely misses every flirtation sent his way

Not even considering the helmet thing

And the way he always kinda sounds like he's asking you to join his weird cult

But hearing him say it is different, the way he looks down slightly, with something you can only call embarrassment

"Well when you're on the run from the government...all of the governments, it doesn't leave much time for women either"

You try to sound casual, like bro talk, but that's really never been your strong suit

He gives you a funny look, tilting his helmet to the side just enough you can notice

"Yeah? I'd think you'd be pretty popular, aren't girls supposed to like guys who break the law?"

Oh he really is tipsy

"Maybe"

You say with a barely audible chuckle

"I guess...they weren't the uninterested party"

Your voice is low, quiet, it's not that you don't like women, they're beautiful and wonderful and in another life you would have loved to settle down with one

But as your life is now, no one really caught your eye, man or woman...

Well...not no one

"What's it feel like?"

His question is so low, so quiet that you barely heard it under the muffled helmet, but you did.

Your heart races slightly, and you're entirely ashamed to say you felt a little hopeful toward the answer as you asked

"How does what feel?"

Your voice is a little too innocent, a little too light, an overcorrection that you hope he won't notice

However he isn't drunk enough to answer, so he just shakes his head and stares intently into the neck of the bottle

...or at least that's where you think he's looking

You've started to give up hope that he'd ever answer, until he roughly swallows what's left in his bottle and sets it down in between his thighs

"Mandolins are sworn to a life dedicated to the creed-"

Join my weird cult

"-personal relationships of any kind are...prohibited"

You know where this is going, you did from the first question, what's really surprising you is that he's actually saying all this

"The more you care about mandalor, the more you abstain...the most dedicated..."

He stops talking then, very obviously avoiding your eyes

For possibly the first time since meeting him, he's finally stunned you, you're left speechless for a few seconds, and the next thing you ask requires the last few drops of your liquid courage (still not as potent as you'd have liked)

"Are you seriously saying you've never came??Because of your loyalty to your creed??"

There are possibly a million other better ways to have said it, you certainly could have shown more tact

And as he makes an oddly strangled sound and stands to leave, you release you really might have fucked it

"Mando-"

You grab his wrist, his armoured hand twitches slightly as the very tip of your middle finger slides under the lip of his glove

It's not the first time you've touched his skin, but it's close, and given the context, you can't blame him

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Your voice is strained now, maybe because of embarrassment, or maybe because you really don't want him to leave right now

This is an opportunity that is sure to never rise again, an opportunity to know him better, to show him you aren't as rude or crass as you might seem

And maybe the slight warm feeling that has settled at the base of your cock had something to do with that, but it's by no means his business

"I'll tell you, just stay"

Your voice comes out in a low whine, much different then the usual monotone or sarcasm

It catches mando off guard just long enough to convince him to stay, he sits back down but further from you now

Your knees were almost touching before, and now there's at least four inches of space in between

"I didn't mean to sound insulting, I apologize"

You try to keep your voice as steady and neutral as possible, as to not frighten him, like a skittish cat

"But have you really never..."

You make a vague and suggestive gesture and he seems to understand

"I wouldn't have asked if I had"

His voice is sharp and short, but there's a tender bit of shame deep inside

This reminds you of his original question

The idea of explaining how orgasming feels to mando while slightly drunk and very turned on doesn't do anything to help the sweat on your palms or the slight waver to your voice

"I'll tell you, just don't leave"

You thankfully don't sound too unbalanced but you certainly don't feel calm. He doesn't respond in any way, just stares at you

Times like these are the only times you wish you could see his face, just to read that expression, but as of now...

The best guess is that he's challenging you, seeing if you'll keep your word;

If you'll tell him what it feels like, in exchange for his company

"It's different, depending on the day, what you were doing before, or just how you feel, sometimes it's just the feeling of a release, a sort of calm wave. But other times it's so much more, something that wracks your whole body, leaving you hot and sweaty, and exhausted, it's a good kind of exhausted though, like a fight, all that adrenaline finally disappearing and leaving you with the slight ache of tired muscles. But the end isn't the best part, not by a long shot, it's getting there that's the real fun, feeling it go from a small itch in the pit of your stomach, to that needy pull, the overwhelming feeling of finally indulging in the desperate desire clawing at you from the inside, fucking your fist till all the muscles in your abdomen feel taught and tired, but my favorite part: right before the end, where you get a few long seconds in between the hot need and the shaking all over, those few seconds like a calm before a storm, where it all melts away and this sweet, warm feeling spreads out from your cock to all over, before a crashing sort of feeling, like a boat knocking the shore, and then that screaming feeling, like every nerve in your body is on fire. There's a sort of mist that settles in after that, the post haze, where you just lay, slick with sweat and cum, every muscle everywhere relaxing for those sweet few calm moments, before your head finally catches up, and you gotta come back to reality"

You finally look up from your lap, you're surprisingly not embarrassed

Sure your skin is no doubt a light smattering of pink and red, but that's likely due to the aching feeling in your dick

Your own words causing the slow rise, until the needy feeling you were describing seconds ago is squirming in your stomach

Finally tearing your eyes away from your lap, where the front of your pants strain slightly

You look over to mando, for a moment, almost forgetting he was ever there in the first place

He's staring at his own feet, and the hand closest to you is gripping the edge of the roof so hard you're sure his knuckles are white under that beskar

Another (incredibly difficult thing to not notice) is the way the fabric he wears under his beskar plating seems to arch just as badly, if not worse than yours

His shoulders shake so softly you barely notice it, but you do

Drunk and horny is a dangerous combination for any two people, but for you two?

It's damned near destructive

Before you can comprehend the implications of what you're doing, you lean in to him, his closest shoulder now resting against your chest

The cool metal is a welcome feeling against your heated skin

"You should know, after all the life you've lived, you deserve to feel it"

Your voice is a husky mutter

If you had any more wits about you, you would've cringed at the crassness of it

But you couldn't bring yourself to care now

He finally looks up, turning to meet your eyes, all that stands between you being a helmet made of the strongest metal in the universe

Good thing you're a delusional drunk

You take his hand in yours, slowly massaging his fingers till they let go of their death grip on the stone roof

You hold his hand in both of yours, slowly sliding his armoured glove off, giving him more then enough time to tell you to stop, to leave

But he doesn't, he just watches as you intertwine your fingers with his newly bare ones, his hands are surprising soft

With a lack of scarring or calluses, never being exposed directly to danger has made his hands gentle

And without his shell, he's down right shy

"It won't hurt"

Yes you want him to, and if you're being honest, it's because you want to watch

But more than anything, it should be his choice, so you don't force anything, you just hold his hand, his knuckles to your palm, waiting for him to give the order

"I would...but I don't...i don't know how"

His voice is so fucking hot in that moment, it makes you realize just how long it's been since you've came to anything other than your own imagination

He sounds so soft, slightly unsure, but with a gruffness that only a raging hard on can provide

And the idea of this man, the man you've seen destroy armies, the man you've seen kill mercilessly, the man who's killed and nearly died for you

Hearing him hesitantly admit his inexperience, how truly lost he is, how foreign the idea of this pleasure is to him

It makes your cock pulse with renewed lust

"I can show you"

This time you mean it, you thoroughly consider these words before they pass your lips, this is not a rash decision, it shouldn't be. You want this, you know it

You bring his hand up to your lips, pressing slow, heavy kisses into the pads of his fingers, he's breathing hard enough by now that you can see it when his breath hitches

He nods, a silent confirmation, but you need more than that

"Tell me, baby, I want to hear you say it"

He just stares, for a long moment, then he slowly whispers, his voice straining

"I want you to...i want you"

That really could kill you, and the urge to fuck him, really, truly fuck him, is so overpowering

But this isn't about you, it's about him, he's already unsure, nervous, you have to show him there's nothing to be afraid of

And pouncing on him and railing him into the nearest flat surface isn't likely to do that.

So instead you gesture for him to turn so he's facing you, and pull down the swath of fabric that covers his increasingly enticing erection, when he complies, leaving all that's between you and his cock a thin under garment you say

"Good"

You mutter it under your breath, not really on purpose, just a general acknowledgement of his complying

But the effect is immediate, you can see the outline of his dick press somehow harder

And you have a realisation that maybe the reason he's always so weird when you congratulate him after a sparing match isn't that he's a sore loser

This time, you don't ask him to remove the lair, instead (after a moment of mentally noting the wet patch of precum that stains where the tip of his dick surely is)

You pull the hem of clothing down with your free hand

He makes a soft strangled sort of sound at the friction, and you have to stop yourself from drooling,

Oh how you wished that dick was in your mouth

It's not a particularly astonishing size, but it's on the more favorable size of average, about seven or so inches, and a comfortable girth

It would be heavy and hot on your tongue, a significant weight, but the effort of keeping your teeth away from soft skin wouldn't hurt your jaw

You regain your head enough to not gauk like a fool

Well not in a way he'd see in his current state; he's panting hard enough you can hear it through the beskar

You're sure that if you could see his face, or even his neck or shoulders, that he'd be flushed such a pretty pink

"Breath, darlin', I can't have you passing out on me now"

You mutter into the space in between his shoulder piece and helmet, you can't quite touch his skin, but you're sure he can feel your breath on his neck

He nods, angling his head down and slowing his breathing to long, hard breaths, you can still hear his exhaling but it's significantly less alarming

"You listen so well"

And just like that a fresh bit of precum beads out of his tip as he groans softly, just barely audible in his muffling helmet

But with how close you are, you can't not hear it, it's a breathy sort of sound, the rushed little noise of someone who can't stop themselves

You hope to God that you'll be blessed with more of those heavenly sounds as time goes on

And with that completely selfless motive, you finally guide his hand, you're still holding his now very warm and slightly shaking hand in yours;

The back of his hand to your palm, now, you use it, wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock, and in doing so, wrapping his own hand around his hard length

At this solid contact he makes a low sound, ripped from his throat, half surprise and half pleasure, he swears under his breath and shakes his head slightly

No doubt trying to rid himself of that foggy feeling, but you know there's only one way that feeling is leaving.

"It's ok, I'll take care of you, just relax, you're safe in my hands"

You know you're rambling, but the tenseness in his shoulders seems to ebb slightly, however it returns with a vengeance when you pull his hand for one experimental pump

His hand twitches under yours, squeezing himself in a way that only serves to make him whine slightly, his hand now coated in a thin layer of the clear-ish white liquid

You tighten your grip on his hand just a little, and do it again, this time the sound he makes is more a kin to a whimper

His free hand grips your bicep, using you to steady himself as he rests his head on your shoulder, it's slightly uncomfortable with his helmet, but you couldn't care less

"You can do it yourself, mando, you can feel good"

He shakes his head you aren't sure why, until he speaks again

"You...you do it, please, let me feel you"

Who knew mandolins could be so needy?

You didn't, if you did, you wouldn't have waited so long to offer this

After a few seconds of deliberation you let your resolve crack, you slide your deft fingers onto the slick shaft of his cock

Your middle finger sliding along the slit in the tip, he Shivers and grinds his hips up into your hand, which is all the encouragement you need to properly hold him in your palm and stroke

Soft at first, slow, but when he starts to desperately buck upward into your hand and whine in your ear

Please and bargaining, (where's that mandolin pride now?) You let up, and give him what he so obviously yearns for

Your grip is tight, just short of uncomfortable, and your pace is as steady as you can make it with the way he's grinding his thigh against your painfully neglected cock with every twitch of his hips

Your movement is slightly erratic, but so is his, and so are the sounds he's so desperately producing;

Soft whines of encouragement, pet names in a language you don't understand, what sounds like swears in what's likely the same foreign language

And every time one of his sweet sounds coxes a piece of praise; a "you make such pretty sounds" or even "fuck, you listen like such a good boy"

It only makes him harder, till, after not much time at all, only a minute or so, his hand on your arm seizes and after a few seconds of eligible moaning

He's coming over your hand with a few choice words, a mix of general swears and sweetly muttered compliments

"Dank fairek, you feel so good"

You can only return in kind

"That's it baby, you cum so good for me"

"Thats it, just like that, love"

Once he finally stops trembling you clean as much of him as you can with his discarded underwear

The night air has finally turned slightly chilly, so you properly dress his bottom half before letting his strong arms pull you into a surprisingly soft embrace, considering it's mostly beskar

His arms immediately go around your neck, it's a surprisingly vulnerable position, but considering the other events of the night, it's not all that surprising

Although the way he subtly grinds down on your lap sends a painfully overdue reminder of your completely solid boxers

A severe patch of wet and sticky precum makes the front of it slick to your skin, the friction of mando's every move sending an almost uncomfortable wave of pleasure

And of course, he notices, he's just barely gotten out a

"I can-"

Before you cut him off

"No."

He tilts his head slightly, confused, but you can hear his exhaustion in his voice, he's had a long night

It should end here. You can tell you're right about how tired he is when he doesn't even object to you helping him up and letting him lean on you as you bring him to your room in the inn

He falls on the bed immediately, passed out, you get his shoes off, and check on the kid -passed out, just like his daddy- before retreated to the bathroom

To finally relieve the burning feeling in your cock, all it takes is a minute of strokes and remembering all those wonderful sounds muttered in your ear just five minutes before to have you cuming hard enough you have to bite your hand just to stop from groaning so loud it'll wake both the rooms sleeping occupants

Once you're clean and significantly more comfortable you join mando, he immediately settles into your shoulder

Apparently the fierce and deadly mandolin is one of the clingiest men alive

But the armour is weirdly comfortable and the sound of his breath is reassuring

In the morning you'll pretend like this never happened, like most things between you and him; an unspoken agreement

He'll avoid eye contact for a day or two, but once back on the ship, with the kid asleep in his compartment

Alone in the cockpit, who's to say you don't have more to show

And this time, he isn't giving up the chance to return the favor.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din dijarin x reader #din dijarin fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #cross posted on ao3 #x reader

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