#Mando verse

[capriclone]

So if dave filoni does his mando verse movie it’ll have din, bo katan, and boba fett. and since it’s the mando VERSE and the clones are copies of jango fett whose a mandolorian then we will see all of our boys. also if they bring boba fett into it and fennec then they have to bring boba’s sister omega and her brothers the bad batch.

anyways i’m delusional

[mage-of-markarth]

[ FIRE PLACE ]  for  sender  and  receiver  to  get  cosy  by  a  wood  burning  fire  place. (from Din)

@resurrectedfiles

It had been years since she’d seen a fireplace like this and it an opportunity she wasn’t going to waste as she curled up in front of it, unpinning her hair to fall in a curtain of red curls down her back for a change, surprised as a moment later a familiar presence settled next her on the soft rug, uncurling a little to take the chance of leaning against Din to make it even cosier.

Tucking herself beneath his arm she can’t resist giving him a lazy smile as the heat of the fire washes over her, grateful they’d been able to find such a place to stay on the snowy planet they were on, and private, a rarity she’d treasure for as long as they had it.

“You got him to sleep? Good. Privacy at last.”

[absurdthirst]

Unexpectedly Mated {Alpha!Mando x F!Omega!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Alpha/Omega dynamics, heats, denying biological needs, religious creeds, removing your helmet, jealousy, territorial aggression, fingering, first kisses, vaginal sex, rough sex, knotting, mates, marking

Comments: Forbidden to remove your helmet by Creed, Mandalorians deny their basic biological needs as Alphas and Omegas. The helmet blocks the scant of their true mate. Until an open air vent leads Mando to discover that you are his omega.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

*** When reblogging or talking about Omegaverse, please remember that ‘a/b/o’ without the slash punctuation marks (/) is considered a slur for the Aboriginal people in Australia.

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|| MasterList || The Mandalorian MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“You must never remove your helmet.” The creed and these words drilled into you at a young age and you have never forgotten, would never be allowed to forget. The creed comes before all else. The covert comes before the individual. In a galaxy full of alphas, omegas, and betas…Mandalorians stood alone. Defying their biological status to better the covert, to keep the numbers up. You wear the helmet to not only protect your face but to keep you from recognizing your mate. The scent recognition of a mate is instant so the Mandalorian solution is to wear helmets with filters so that one can breed with anyone they prefer. Their minds are clouded with scent so the desire is the driving factor. The younglings are raised by the covert as a unit so the aim is to repopulate Mandalore. You suppress your omega urges with supplements and you’ve yet to breed. Too busy with bounty hunting alongside a certain Din Djarin. You’re drawn to him, that’s for sure, but you’ve never bred with him. He’s not interested in a family, in an ad. He wants credits. He wants to protect the foundling under his care and you’ve gone along for the ride.

“Din.” Your modulated voice calls out to him as he strides ahead of you after you reunited the frog woman with her husband. “The kid needs to eat.” You tell him, knowing you need to find the nearest cantina.

The sigh Din gives you is one of frustration and resignation. He likes the kid, he’s risked a lot to protect him, even his covert. The sins he has committed weigh heavily on his shoulders and he nods. “Come on.” He grumbles to the little one. “I know you’re hungry, we’ll get you something to eat.” Hopefully the Crest will be fixed soon. Unable to take off his helmet unless he is in his bunk is starting to frustrate him, the hermetically sealed space is starting to feel stale with the cycled air and he longs for a single breath of fresh air. He had also hoped to slip away for a moment, needing to find a medical facility to replace his implant. It had been damaged from his fight with Moff Gideon and he’s not had time to have it seen to. While he doesn’t visit a brothel or find a sexual partner often, he can feel the need to rut building up in his system. The alpha side he tries to suppress starts to bleed through his normally calm demeanor. 

You sit with the kid in the cantina, snorting when Din saves him from his own lunch and you glance around at the sailors. They mention Mandalorians and you are surprised to hear of your kind here, especially since Din wants to find them so he can help the kid return to his own planet. “Before we head off, maybe we can freshen up. I need to use the fresher and I’m sure you also want some time out of beskar.”

He groans at the idea of time outside the suit. Letting his skin breath and maybe he can work in a quick tug on his cock while he’s in the ‘fresher. “We’ll have to get rooms.” He reminds you, his head tilting towards yours. “Do you want to do that?”

You nod, “that sounds like a plan. I’m sure this one needs a nap after everything.” You say, reaching out to caress the kid’s ear. He coos at you and finishes his broth with a loud slurp. “Let’s find somewhere.” You say and throw some credits down for the broth. Din nods and you’re soon following him into the inn nearby. You are eager for a shower and some time out of the heavy beskar. Despite wearing it since you were a kid, you have always been weighed down by it. Din gets two rooms and you nod at him when he carries the now sleeping child into the room.

The child’s eyes never open, making Din chuckle quietly as he closes the pod and sets it in the corner of the room. Looking around to make sure the windows are covered before he reaches up and unlatches the edge of his helmet and groans quietly when he pulls it off his head. His hair is sweaty, but immediately the scent of the outside world is much more vivid. Making him inhale deeply and growl quietly at how good it all smells. Being an alpha as a Mandalorian was tricky, his own scent blocked by the helmet, but others could smell him. Making things difficult for him at times, especially when he cannot even walk around his own ship with his helmet unsealed because you are with him. Now, he sits on the edge of the bed, with his eyes closed and breathes deep, unaware that the vent between your two rooms has not been closed. 

You hum as you tilt your head under the water. An actual shower instead of the ‘fresher on the ship is a welcome surprise. You don’t realize the vent in your room is open so Din can smell you as your omega scent wafts through the room, warmed up from the shower and the water flowing onto your face blocks you from smelling Din.

It’s subtle at first. A teasing waft that caresses his nose and makes his cock twitch. The beautiful, heady scent of an omega. Making him groan quietly until the next wave hits him. His omega. The scent overwhelms him and he’s immediately hard, aching and desperate to claim the omega who is meant to be his mate. His mate. His eyes widen when he sees the vent opened, called to it as he follows the scent. It’s the vent that connects your room to his. You’re his mate.

You can feel a tugging in your stomach when you step out of the shower and you frown, wondering if you’re going to go into heat soon. You’ll need to get some more suppressants since you don’t have the time to spend days nesting while you are with Din. He doesn’t want you to be a needy omega holding him back from his quest. You dry off, shutting the door to the bathroom behind you and you lay down on the bed, unable to stop your hand from snaking down to rub your clit, a whimper escaping your lips.

Din snaps the vent closed. Hand curling into a fist as he pants against the shared wall. You’re his mate, his omega. His mind whirls as he tries to reconcile that new information with the stalwart and steady Mandalorian he has been bounty hunting with. He won’t deny that he wondered about fucking you before, it’s only natural that he would given how close you had been. His cock throbs as he imagines you in your armor, slowly stripping it off and walking around your room nude. Building a nest and begging him to join you. “Fuck.” He hisses.

You fall asleep naked on the bed after making yourself cum, relieving the ache in your stomach, enjoying being out of your beskar. You sleep until there’s a knock on the door and you groan, waking up and immediately grabbing your helmet to slide it onto your head. “It’s time to go.” Din says and you call out, “no problem. I’ll get ready and be right out.”

You redress in your beskar, your stomach still aching but you decide you’ll seek out some suppressants later. Opening the door, you find Din standing there with the kid. “Morning buddy.” You coo to the child and look up at Din who looks tense. “Everything okay?” You ask him, tilting your helmet. 

You know that Din can be all business but there’s something off about him. You ignore it and follow Din down the hall to find the sailors who are granting you passage on their boat to find the Mandalorians that are apparently on the planet. Later on, you admire the water as the raft moves along, glancing at Din who is stiff, well, stiffer than normal. “Are you sure you’re okay?” You ask softly, the sailors moving around behind you.

“Let me go!” You growl in anger, swinging your arm to fling a sailor into the water. Using your strength to try and untangle yourself from the ropes when Din and the child are in danger and that’s when they appear: the Mandalorians.

The redhead who introduced herself as Bo Katan shakes her head. “I’ve heard of your sect of the religion but Maker…I didn’t know how far it went in controlling its followers. On Mandalore, we wish for alphas and omegas to find their mate, it makes for stronger bonds, stronger families. We don’t - that is not something we dictate.” You swallow harshly as her words, feeling a tugging in your stomach that makes you want to lean towards Din but you push that aside. “You can remove your helmet and you would not be dar'manda.” Bo Katan explains and you’re so tempted.

Din stands up, angry at them for tempting him, tempting you. He shakes his head. “You are not mandalorian.” He growls, reaching down and takes your arm to pull you to your feet. “We are leaving.” He tells you, turning and striding away from the group angrily. 

You let Din guide you out of the cantina and you sigh, “Din. Slow down. Maybe…maybe they are telling the truth. As Mandalorians, we are denying our biological need. We are denying nature itself. Why? What- what good is it?” You ask him, the child in the pouch nestled against his hip.

“What good is it?” Din stops and spins around, crowding you slightly and even though you cannot smell it, pheromones pour off of him in heavy waves. All this talk of mates and finding out you are his has him desperate to claim you. To take what is his. “The Creed. That is what good it is. Our secrecy is our survival. We. Do. Not. Remove. Our. Helmets.” 

You shake your helmet, stumbling back away from him. “I do not want to breed with whomever the armorer tells me to. I want to find my mate. I want to feel complete.” You yell, quickly flicking the lock to your helmet and you waste no time lifting it off of your head in public for the first time since you were twelve. It hits you immediately. His scent. He’s an alpha. Your alpha. “You- oh Maker. Alpha.” You address him, your stomach twisting with sudden need for him.

Din hisses, his body jerking at the tone of your voice, the submissive nature of it. Calling to him. His hands curl into fists and he moves, shielding you from any eyes that could possibly see your face. “Put your helmet on.” He demands roughly, knowing that he cannot do this right now. He cannot have this conversation with you in the middle of a spaceport. 

Your lower lip trembles, feeling the rejection, and you shove your helmet back on your head, flicking the lock and his scent is replaced with fresh air through the filter. “Clearly you do not wish to have me as your omega so I am going to go back to the cantina. Perhaps another alpha can help with my heat.” You didn’t get a chance to pick up suppressants and the scent of your alpha has your stomach twisting with the sudden heat, the urge to mate and be claimed by him has you sweating already. You need to be touched and as much as you wish for it to be him, it’s obvious that he doesn’t want that. You spin on your heel before he can answer to make your way back into the cantina.

Growling, Din watches you walk off. Sighing when he knows he cannot follow you. The child is still beside him, looking up and cooing at him as if to tell him that he had fucked up. “Come on kid.” He grunts, turning and walking away from you even though his entire body is screaming to follow you. “I need to find someone to watch you.” He knows he cannot have a conversation with you around the kid, around anyone. He needs to find another room, then he will bring you back for a talk. 

You want to take off your helmet and down a spotchka or five, but Din’s command to not remove your helmet is ringing in your ears. You sit at the bar when you feel a presence next to you. “What’s a Mandalorian omega doing all alone?” He asks and you snort, “I haven’t got an alpha.” You state despite your chest aching, knowing you have an alpha but he doesn’t want you. On your walk to the cantina, you realized that Din didn’t question being your alpha. Which means he must’ve taken his helmet off at some point and found out. You wonder how long he’s known. Why he had kept it from you. “That’s good news for me, sweetheart. I’ve never been with a Mandalorian before and it smells like you might be needing an alpha at any moment.” He says, leaning closer and your stomach pangs with the beginning of a heat. 

“I- I ran out of suppressants.” You confess, turning towards him despite everything in you wanting to run to find Din.

The Frog Lady had agreed to watch the baby, leaving Din to go back to the little inn where you had stayed last night and get another room. He knows that he owes you a conversation, a real conversation and he cannot do that in public. Once he has the key, Din tucks it into his belt and sets off for the cantina. He knows you are angry at him, hurt. He wants to give you time to cool down for a moment, to think rationally again. To remember your creed so both of you can agree that nothing will happen until you can find the armorer again and speak with her. Striding confidently towards the seedy little bar, he is sure that it would work. 

You giggle when the alpha leans in, telling you a joke about Jawas and you are distracted for a moment from talking about your heat. He offers to buy you a drink but you decline, not wanting to take your helmet off, but it’s nice to talk to someone without them just giving you a grunt as an answer. You unconsciously lean closer to the alpha, your body heated as your biological need threatens to overwhelm you.

Walking into the bar, Din unlocks his helmet, unsealing it so he can smell you. Attraction and arousal, pouring from you and he follows the scent. Finding you sitting at the bar, another alpha leaning in, obviously interested in touching you, fucking you. The need to protect you roars to life in his chest and his alpha nature  rips through his self control. Moving quickly to you, barely resisting the urge to pull his blaster on the cocksure alpha who is grinning at his mate. “Get the fuck away from her.” He growls, shoving between the two of you and puffing up his chest, towering over the other man and trying to be as intimidating as possible.

You gasp at Din’s sudden appearance and you stand up from your stool. “Alpha.” You place your hand on Din’s chest plate to keep him back from the other alpha. 

“Hey buddy. Me and this omega were talking.” The alpha says and you wince under your helmet, knowing that he needs to shut up before he gets a blaster in the face. 

“Din, just leave him.” You huff, pissed that he is dictating what you can and can’t do.

“My omega.” Din growls, his hand inches away from his blaster and he stares hard at the man from behind his visor. “Move away.” He warns but the man scoffs and doesn’t look impressed. 

“She doesn’t seem taken. She seems like she’s real interested in getting to know me. ‘Bout to go into heat, needs an alpha buried in her cunt, knotting her.”

His words make you wince as you know Din, any alpha, wouldn’t allow them to speak about their omega that way. “It’s obvious you haven’t claimed her. What’s wrong, Mando? Not got the balls to do what needs to be done. She doesn’t smell like you. She smells wet. She smells ready for a cock. Clearly you aren’t enough for her. She wants to get fucked.” The alpha smirks, pushing Din’s buttons even more.

Din’s hand shoots out, wrapping it around the other alpha’s throat and squeezing harshly. Enjoying the way his pheromones immediately turned to ones of distress and his eyes bulge while his blue skin turns purple as the airways are cut off by the pressure of Din’s hand. “My omega.” Din rasps out, voice dangerously low and threatening. “Mine. Not yours. Mine.” The urge to kill him is clouding his thoughts, to demonstrate that you are his. That he would protect you.

“Alpha. Alpha. Don’t. He’s not worth it. I’m yours. I’m yours.” You promise Din, knowing that fact deep within your bones but you’re still furious with him. You place your hands on his chest plate, your helmet tilted towards his, “please. Just take me back to the inn. Don’t do this.”

Slowly, Din relaxes his fingers and lets go. Getting immense satisfaction when the other alpha gasps for air and immediately grabs his throat. He grabs your hands and ducks his shoulder down, hauling you over his shoulder like he would a bounty. Ignoring your shrieks as he storms out of the cantina with you.

You are shocked that Din is carrying you back to the inn and, you can admit to yourself, turned on by the primal display. "Din. Put me down!" You demand but he ignores you until he's in front of the room he had gotten for you. Finally putting you down. "I can't believe you did that." You shake your helmet and he opens the door.

 "Inside." He demands and you obey him immediately, stepping into the room. Din steps into the room, letting the door close and locking it behind him. “You were going to let him touch you?” He demands, pissed off that you were searching for someone, despite the fact that he had not immediately claimed you.

You feel defiant now despite being alone with your alpha. "I was. I am going into heat. If you didn’t touch me, I needed to find another alpha to satisfy my needs." You declare despite knowing that no one would give you what you need from Din. 

“You’ve worked through heats before.” Din growls, remembering how he had heard your whimpering cries from your bunk as you used your toys. It had been hard to deal with, when he hadn’t known he was your alpha. Wanting to offer you his cock the entire time, but he had respected your need for privacy. “Why not this time?”

“Because - because I wanted to feel wanted. I wanted someone to touch me who wanted to touch me, to make me feel something. I know you already knew I was your omega. You weren’t shocked when I found out you were my alpha. You didn’t - you didn’t sound surprised at all. How long have you known?” You ask, crossing your arms.

He leans back from you, surprised that you are attacking him and not liking it. “I-“ he huffs, rolling his eyes under his helmet and sighs. “Yesterday.” He admits quietly. “The vents between our rooms weren't closed. I-I smelled you when I took my helmet off.”

You are placated when you find out it was only yesterday but you’re still hurt that he didn’t tell you. “I didn’t smell you yesterday. I - I was showering and I -” You frown under the helmet. “You weren’t going to tell me, were you?”

“I- we-“ Din shakes his head. “You know what Mandalorians do.” He reasons with you. “The Armorer aligns breeding partners. I-“ He bites his lip under his helmet and sighs. “I was going to ask the Armorer for you, to be paired with you when we find them again.”

You understand where he is coming from but you feel frustrated by him. "Din. We - we are mates. What we have is...it's more than the creed. It's more than just breeding. It's how it is supposed to be. It's primal and raw. We are mates. Destined for each other and you've been by my side for so long yet neither of us knew what the other was meant to be. I want - I want you. I need you. Fuck the creed. Fuck the Armorer. You're my alpha and I - I want you. No matter what the consequences are." You say, "but if you don't want that - want me - I will leave. I'll go back to the covert and you can finish your quest alone."

He wants to argue against your comments, his heart twisting when he hears you say you would walk away. “Always wanted you.” He confesses quietly, breathing deeply and soaking in your scent. “Since the second week together. Watching you wipe the floor with that Twi.” He snorts, smirking slightly under his helmet. “Wanted you all the time.”

You chuckle, remembering that fight when you were both so much younger. You step towards him, "I have always wanted you. Always imagined you when I was in my nest." You confess softly, "I think I knew, unconsciously, that I was yours."

“I thought about you a lot.” Din confesses, taking a deep breath as he remembers what Bo Katan had said about mates being able to reveal their faces to each other. He takes a deep breath and reaches up to slowly start sliding his helmet off.

Your eyes widen under your helmet as Din exposes his face to you and you get your first look at his handsome face. "Maker. You are -" You can see him tense with anxiety and you reach up with your gloved hand to cup his cheek. "Mesh'la." You tell him, unable to tear your eyes away from those beautiful brown eyes. "Do you - you can remove my helmet...if you want."

He’s proud that you find him appealing. His one glimpse of you too fleeting for his own liking, finding you mesh’la as well. “I want to see you, omega.” He hums as he slowly reaches for your helmet. “My omega. My mate.”

You’re nervous for him to fully look at you without your helmets on, and your heart pounds beneath your chest plate. You bite your lip when your eyes meet his without the pixelated visor screen and his brown eyes soften. “Din. Alpha.” You murmur, watching him as he stares at you.

“Mesh’la.” He murmurs softly, staring into your eyes and feeling his cock harden beneath his flight suit as he smells and sees you clearly for the first time. He groans your name. “Omega.”

You ache for him, your heat curling in your stomach, and you wonder what he wants, if he still wants to wait until you return to the covert. “I don’t know what you want from me right now. Do you want us to put our helmets back on and continue on like this never happened until we return to the Armorer?” You ask, a little breathless.

“I cannot pretend I haven’t seen your face, smelled you.” Din groans, his eyes nearly closing in pain when a wave of arousal drifts over him. “I- you’re mine.” He growls again. “You are going into heat, I will take care of you.”

You whimper at his words, your body starting to get overheated with need. “Alpha.” You gasp, starting to work on removing your beskar, needing to feel the air on your hot skin. “I need you.” You pant, efficiently stripping down until you’re in your bra band and panties, boots kicked aside and you slide your hand into your panties, needing to rub your clit for some relief.

“Omega.” He growls, body tense and he steps forward, his need to touch you and take care of you nearly overwhelming his rational sense. He is about to touch you, still completely dressed in his armor except for his helmet. When he sees his gloves, he stops. “Get on the bed.” He orders, starting to strip down himself. Needing to press his skin to yours. “I will make sure you don’t need your fingers. You can have mine.”

You obey his order, shifting to lay down on the bed after reluctantly pulling your fingers out of your panties, and you watch him strip off. “Alpha. You are - you’re mesh’la.” You say, sitting up on your elbows to watch him, seeing the scars from blasters that grazed the vulnerable spots in his beskar and you want to kiss every one of them.

His own groan is one of pride and need, seeing you squirming on the bed, waiting for him. His omega, needy and wet. His hand wraps around his cock and he slowly starts to jerk himself. “You are mesh’la, cyar’ika.” He hums, eyes dark and full of lust. The waves of need and want roll off of you and mix with his own desire to fill the room. “My sweet little, omega. Wanting my cock, needing my knot.”

His voice, unmodulated, makes you shiver, and you watch him with wide eyes. “Yours, alpha.” You promise, reaching behind you to unclip your bra band, tossing it onto the floor to expose your tits to his gaze as he pumps his cock. You are aching for him. “Please. Alpha. I need your touch.”

He’s heard it before. The needy begging and calling to his alpha, but never from his mate. Growling, he scrambles onto the bed, one hand grabbing your breast while the other rips your panties off effortlessly.

You cry out in satisfaction as he quickly pushes two thick digits inside of you. “Yesss.” You hiss, feeling the ache assuage slightly with his digits curling deep inside of you. “Fuck, Din. Alpha. Yes.” You whine, tilting your head towards his.

It will be the first time he’s kissed anyone and it’s fitting that it’s his mate. His lips come crashing down against yours roughly as he curls his fingers inside you. Unskilled, he relies on what he had imagined doing, watching holo vids and jerking off when he was alone in his bunk. His tongue pushing into your mouth when you moan and he makes a feral sound of pleasure of his own.

You moan into his mouth, tangling your tongue with his and it’s unskilled but passionate. Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging slightly and you feel his cock twitch against your thigh. You’ve both had sex before, neither of you have kissed and it’s clumsy but you soon get the hang of it.

He feels like he doesn’t want to ever stop kissing you. Pumping his fingers deep inside your quivering cunt, he groans and rocks his hips against your belly. Loving how eagerly you respond to me.

You pant into his mouth, getting closer to orgasm with the way his fingers pump into you. "Alpha. I'm gonna- you're gonna make me - fuck!" You cry into his mouth as you clamp down on his digits, the ache in your belly satiated for a moment.

The first orgasm from his omega nearly makes him cum untouched. Din moans your name as he works you through the way your walls clench and your juices soak his hand. Pleasured pheromones pour off of you and he ducks his head down to press his tongue to your scent gland.

Feeling his tongue on your scent gland has you whining his name and your nails dig into his back, wanting him to bite you but he won’t until he’s ready. “I need you inside of me. Please, alpha.” You beg, gently pushing him off of you so you can shift onto your hands and knees for him.

Din growls, loving the submissive display, looking at your dripping cunt as you move to your hands and knees. Showing him how badly you need him. “My omega is eager.” He groans, slapping your ass and squeezing your hips as he throbs. He knows this first time will be rough. You know it too. Taking his cock on his hand, he shuffles forward and notches it at your entrance. Hissing when he snaps his hips forward ruthlessly and buries himself deep in your cunt.

Your breath is immediately pushed from your lungs and you gasp as he stretches you out. You fall forward onto your elbows and squeeze your eyes shut as he doesn’t hesitate to start moving inside of you. It’s rough and your body feels like it’s on fire. “Yes! Oh fuck, yes! Alpha. I- shit.” You curse, cunt fluttering around his cock.

You’re perfect around him. Gloriously tight and taking every harsh thrust with a choked moan as he starts to hammer into you. Need and the instinct to give you every piece of himself has him gripping your hips like you might get away from him and rocking deep to push up against your womb.

You grip the sheets beneath you, your cheek pressed against them as he pushes into you over and over again. “Fuck. Oh fuck Din.” You pant, thighs starting to shake as he pushes you closer and closer to orgasm with every harsh rock of his hips.

Suddenly, Din stops. Circling his hips as he lifts your and grinds into you. He was going to cum and he wants to make sure that you are satisfied before he gives into any of his own needs. “Fuck, omega, you are so perfect.” He grunts out, panting as he feels you squeeze him. “Are you going to be a good girl and take my knot? Let me breed you one day?”

You whine, deep from your throat. “Yesss. I’ll let you- have as many as you want, alpha. I want to be good for you. Want you to be happy.” You pant, thighs shaking still as he grinds deep and his hand spreads wide until his thumb is pressing against your clit.

“Good girl.” He growls out, twitching inside you. He’s imagined breeding you before, many times, even before knowing you were his omega. Hoping that working with you would cause the armorer to place you together to breed. It was why he let you on his ship. “Fuck, I- you feel so good ‘mega. So fucking tight around my cock.”

Your nails dig into the sheets and you are desperate for him to make you cum. The fire in your belly is burning and sweat beads on your forehead. “Alpha. Please.” You whine, grinding yourself back onto him. “I need - need to cum. It burns.” You almost sob with need.

“It’s okay,” he coos, rubbing your clit as he starts rocking into you again. “Your alpha is going to take care of you. Make sure your little cunt is happy by the time you leave this bed.”

You grind back onto him, his hips still not moving as he rubs your clit, and you practically sob with relief when you cum. Clamping down on his cock, you moan his name, his designation, and soak him. “Yessss.” You hiss, thighs violating shaking as you ride your high.

“Fuck.” He groans, his hands tightening on you as he feels you cum around him. “It’s so good, cyar’ika. My omega.”

You slump into the sheets, the burning dissipating for a moment so you can catch your breath and Din’s fingers dig into your hips. “Alpha. Maker, I need - I want you to knot me. Please. Fuck me hard.” You beg breathlessly.

“Yes, yes, my ‘mega can take it.” He growls proudly. “Take my cock and beg for more.” As he starts to thrust harder, it feels like he’s going to beat the bed through the wall, knocking the headboard against the panel with a loud clang every time he pushes deep.

“I can take it. I want more. Always want more. Please baby. Fuck me. Fuck me harder, Alpha.” You demand, your hands coming out to stop yourself from being squashed against the headboard.

He wants to bite you, to mark you as his even though no one would ever see your marks except him. His secret claim on you under your armor. His hisses out your name and manages to increase his frantic pace. “Fuck, fuck, Dank ferik.”

You whine his name, “Alpha. Oh Maker. You - it’s - oh shit. Shit. Shit.” You wail as you cum again, clamping down on his cock and gushing around him, feeling his knot starting to catch and you know he’s close. “Cum. Cum for me.” You beg breathlessly, reaching back to touch his hand on your hip.

Din collapses on top of you, Pushing you down to the bed, hips never stopping as he drives into you again and again. Fucking you into the bed as if that was his singular focus in life. “Gonna, gonna cum.” He grunts out, warning you. “K-knot you.”

“Do it. Fuck, I need it. Need it, Alpha.” You beg and he pushes deep just as his knot catches, his seed painting your walls with spurt after spurt. You whine in pleasure, feeling satisfied and you tilt your neck. “Make me yours, Din.”

The audible pop of his knot slipping into you releases a feral growl from deep in his chest. Unable to stop himself, his face turns towards your neck and his teeth sink into your scent gland. Marking you as his irrevocably.

You cum again from the pleasure of being tamed and from him knotting you. You sigh into the sheets when Din licks the mark he left on your skin. “I love you.” You confess, “even before I found out you’re my alpha. I’ve always loved you.” You confess with your eyes closed.

Din sighs softly and even though he could not pull away from you because of his knot, he wraps his arms around you to keep you close. “I had hoped the armorer would pair us together.” He confesses quietly. “That's why I let you join my crew.”

He shifts onto his side and you curl back into his chest, “whatever happens…it’s you and me and the kid. Even if we have to leave the covert. I would like to keep you, to keep you safe.” You promise him and he leans in to nuzzle your neck.

“Kar’ta.” He murmurs, feeling like he is complete for the first time since his nature was revealed. His other half is in his arms and he wants nothing more than to keep you there. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome.” He whispers softly, wondering if you will repeat the wedding vows back to him. “Mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

You smile and squeeze his forearm. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome. Mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” You repeat back, turning your head to look at him, “riduur.” You whisper, kissing his jaw, “my riduur.”

“Riduur.” His spouse. You are married to him now, his - both by your nature and by your religion. “I will keep you and the child safe.” He vows, his hand sliding down to your stomach. “And any who follow.”

You kiss his lips softly, smiling against him as you place your hand over his on your stomach. “We will face whatever we need to face together. My riduur. My alpha. And when we are ready, I’ll happily have your children. Maybe we can settle on Navarro. Get a little cottage and live a peaceful life together.” You vocalize the dream you’ve had for years.

“That would be good.” He knows that it might never happen, but he wishes for it. “First we must finish our quest.” He hopes to find the armorer again and have you declared a clan of three. It will take some time, but you have time. Both of you have implants to prevent a child and his knotted cock twitches inside you as he thinks about filling you with his baby.

“Finish the quest.” You agree, “then we have the rest of our lives together. I love you, Din Djarin. My alpha.” You murmur, kissing his jaw again. “Whatever happens, we will face it together as mates. As partners.” You promise, unsure of the road ahead but you will be together, connected as one, and you will ensure the child’s safety. This is the way.

[malkaleh]

Little nightingale. My little nightingale. It is a whisper that has been stronger these past days, as Elrond heals Frodo. The nightmare is one of the worst.

Shadows and shadows. A tower wreathed in them, a tower that only Sauron can enter - a tower that inside, is made beautiful. That might be the worst, the way it is so beautiful - too beautiful, too orderly perfection.

And Elrond is hidden away but he is not Luthien, not here. He is only a nightingale in a cage

Celebrimbor knows what kind of nightmares have driven Elrond to sit outdoors upon this night, both of them clutching mugs of tea - Elrond prefers a delicate blend of roses, mint and jasmine for nights like this while Celebrimbor drinks a mix of spices and honey and black tea mixed with milk.

My precious one, says the whisper. My precious one, I will find you Tyelpe, I will find you and I will never let you go.

There are soft sheets - soft green silk against gold chains and Celebrimbor tries to think of that, of the way the holly had grown in Eregion, of Narvi’s smile as they vowed their friendship and had made the doors - he had learned so much and there had been such joy in it.

Open your eyes, my precious. You belong to me, all of you.

The worst thing, perhaps the worst thing of all is it is almost as it was when he had loved Annatar, but almost more gentle. But it is not and it is love, Celebrimbor thinks but it is not - for he would never give me leave to choose, never let me be as I am. He would take it, he would chain me. He would break me.

-

Sauron looks upon his Tyelpe, one of his precious ones and cannot help but kiss him - that any would take him from him was entirely unacceptable.

And there is Galadriel - his fair Queen. Not easily controlled either, but he has found a way at least to contain her and Sauron knows she, like Tyelpe will understand one day. He has all the time in Arda but he must keep them and his little nightingale safe. He must keep them his.

(In her dreams he makes sure he is watching - sees her beautiful and dancing in Aman, sees her beautiful brother - oh how he wishes he had known - Finrod had been as perfect as his sister but far far kinder and it was tantalising indeed, to see so much kindness. So much like his little nightingale).

And his little nightingale. He is not Melian for all he looks like her but Sauron knows he must be careful.

You will not leave this place he says. My sweet nightingale, my star you are not meant to be displayed as though you are not the treasure of the Ainur. It is all for you, that I hold you here.

-

The northerners all leer at them but at Elrond most of all and Galadriel has never wished for her weapons more.

It is horrible that there is almost a relief when Sauron arrives.

-

“Call him that again and you will no longer have a head - or do you suppose yourself in any way his superior - Elrond has the blood of heroes, of the Ainur themselves in his veins. He is the best of all of us.”

No one in that moment had ever heard the High King so angry, had heard Cirdan angry but it seemed the very sea itself raged and the elf who had named Elrond ‘half breed freak and trophy of Sauron’ might even have looked ashamed of himself. But then, then he had admitted that he had blurted out that that wasn’t an elf, it was a collection of mongrel scraps. That he had been saying it for some time.

@nocompromise-noregrets @self-destructinganimal

[lovegrowsart]

if they manage to stick the landing in the finale, then the acolyte might genuinely be my favourite star wars show.... andor i love you but LH has really spoken to my star wars soul with this one �� i haven't been quite this invested and excited about sw in a while tbh

[eggdrawsthings]

im not sure what we're really expecting from the show at this point with all the human only mandos, the talk of mandalorian "bloodlines," no mention of the resol'nare, and no mando'a. it's just neat armor and neat scenarios. i guess that's all it has to be, but i gotta confess i for one feel cheated

the things we could've had

i thank @/hellikait on Twitter for this. Idk what canon is, this was what happened in s3 to me :')

[sersi]

as a connoisseur of scrappy fictional men suffering, it is such a tragedy that, after being denied the experience of witnessing teenage ezra struggle through being alone in an unfamiliar galaxy surrounded by his enemies, we have now also been denied the experience of witnessing adult ezra struggle through making his journey home alone and surrounded by his enemies 🤡

[spideynonsense]

this might be my first non-spiderverse related post, but may the 4th be with you guys!!! happy star wars day (before i forget)!

[ryehouses]

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

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

in which paz attempts to be normal.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paz’s irritation deepened. 

He was late, with his own gift. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For your children, Din had said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The woman paused. 

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

Paz glared at her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mandalore the Stupidly Karking Honest is right. 

“Most of us,” Paz admitted. 

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

“A what?” 

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

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

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

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

Paz sighed. 

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

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

Then Paz paused. 

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

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

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

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

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

For your children, Din had said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[emilianadarling]

Just did another re read of “warrior” (I swear I re read it every month and a half) and just wanted to pop in to say how much I love it! Genuinely it is the most fascinating character dive and AU in the fandom. I am utterly obsessed with it. I think one of my favorite aspects you incorporated was the social media side, and I was wondering if that’s something you plan on continuing in further installments? Id love to see dinluke get caught doing a keldabe kiss and then have every media outlet in the galaxy analyzing mandalorian customs hahaha!

Ahhhh, thank you so very much for sending this, and for your reads and re-reads!! It genuinely brings me so much joy to know 'warrior' continues to provide enjoyment and things to think about to its readers, even months after the last chapter was posted. <3

And I must say, it's especially pleasing to know that the in-world media/epistolary documents were well-received, as they were some of the most self-indulgent fun I've ever had writing anything! And among those, the media headlines and HoloNet articles were definitely some of my favourites.

I'd say that yes, we (myself and Caro) do intend to continue including elements of in-world media in future installments, though it definitely depends on the viewpoint character as to how much they get showcased! In this AU, Imperial High Prince Skywalker drank in those updates and memos and missives and headlines like water; in a sense, they communicated something of how much time and energy and effort he put into pan-galactic optics and how others perceived him. My guess is that Din and other future POV characters may not be quite as steeped in that kind of content, but ABSOLUTELY YES I'm hype to continue featuring them in future installments whenever it makes sense to!

[beatles4ever65]

His fëa thrums with Song until he knows no more, their melody put to rest at last. As the lava burns his fëa away, Maedhros is reforged and returns to Valinor before the Darkening. But the Valar have something more in store for him, and Maedhros isn't sure he wants to know what...

Chapter 4: Doom Realized

Part of a time travel eldritch alternate universe about family, hope, healing, and redemption.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

this endless friction

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

[Okay, okay, this was written as a bonus one-shot for the "well it's love, make it hurt" series but it can be read as a standalone! there's zero plot! I just had those two in mind.]

Words: 1.4k

Summary: you and din find a way (or two) to pass time in space. 

Warnings: bdsm, d/s dynamics, enthusiastic consent, preestablished safeword etc, established relationship, reader is collared, dom!din djarin x sub!reader, soft din djarin, anal, anal creampie, double penetration (using a toy), spanking, din takes the helmet off on a loophole, overstimulation, no y/n, afab reader with no description (but in the full series, she is described as having long hair)

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Cockdumb. That’s what he likes to call you when you get like this. Cockdumb. 

He’s not wrong. 

Especially right now. It’s… well, you can’t string a thought together. Not with the way he’s got you pinned under his heft, pressed into the bedroll with nowhere to go. 

Not that you’d want to, but it’s all the more delicious as you writhe under him without being able to move an inch. 

Mando’s chest is pressed to your shoulders and when you tip your head back, he cages it in with his own. His own head, chin resting on top of you. No helmet. 

Because, of course, he has you so completely trapped and helpless here that you couldn’t look if you wanted to. No, but now you feel his lips against your hair and his grunts in your ear as he fucks mercilessly into your asshole. 

He’d crawled into the bunk and stripped you of your trousers without a word, pulling you up so your ass was in the air and your face buried in your pillow. You wrapped your arms around it and settled in, knowing him enough to know you better get comfortable. He slid one arm under you to immediately assault your clit while the other came down in a series of slow spanks, a lazy assault as he luxuriated in the sensations, gripping the fat of your ass between hits to revel in the way you gasped and moaned.

It was your favorite kind of spanking, honestly. You both savor it, savor the way he brings his hand down at random, at ease, at a whim. The intensity and rhythm are entirely improvised, and his nails scrape across the skin as it grows raw, just to watch you shudder. There are no words, no pleas, no punishment. Just the heat of your bodies and soft cries as you enjoy each other. The soft smacks have you burrowing your face in the pillow and arching your back. You know, and you know he knows, that you’ll be dripping from it. 

When he grew tired of that, or more likely, grew too eager to take you apart, that other hand slid around from behind to join its brother in pawing at your clit. It was more effective than any Bor in tearing your mind to pieces. Both of his precise, determined hands honed in, overwhelming and overriding any part of your brain that hadn’t already given in to him.

So cockdumb wasn’t entirely accurate, you thought, given that he’d made you go stupid with his hands and then just never let you come back up from it. 

“Such a sensitive girl,” he crooned while he broke you down into tears from overstimulation. “I haven’t even gotten started.”

He hadn’t been fucking joking, either. Oh, no. He granted mercy to your clit after three orgasms left you collapsed on the bedroll, but that was the only mercy he granted. Urging you back up on your knees, torso still slumped against the silky pillow; he left you exposed and waiting while he rustled around in the hull.

It wasn’t long before he returned, and you heard the snick of a lubricant bottle cap and smiled, nestling into the bunk to get fucked. 

But that wasn’t what he had planned. You should have known. It’s not that you never had simple sex, a quick in-and-out as duties dictated, but now? With 36 more hours in hyperspace? Yeah, you’re not going anywhere for a while. 

Not that you’re complaining. It is your favorite way to pass the time, after all, being meticulously taken apart and wrung dry by this man. 

One hand slides back to gently stroke at your clit while the other, freshly lubed hand, begins to work you open with two fingers in your cunt and his thick thumb wriggling into your ass. If you’d had the capacity to think, you might have gotten excited, but all you could do was feel. Feel everything he wanted you to feel, and maybe more, because between his neverending attentions and the snug, comfortable embrace of the Mandalorian’s leather collar around your neck, you’re gone. 

His hand leaves your clit alone, and the other shifts its goals to stretching out your asshole, two fingers working more lube into the tight clench of you. He doesn’t let you focus on it for long, though. Not when his other hand slips back beneath you, and you feel the silky head of a fake cock pressing into your pussy. He works it in slowly, teasingly, twisting and thrusting until you’re stuffed full of it, right to the fake balls at the base. 

Once it’s buried in you, he wastes no time now, pulling back and giving your already-warm cheeks another slap before lining himself up and plunging into your ass. He’d stretched you well, and slicked his cock with lube for good measure, so that the only sensation you’d be overwhelmed by was the sheer fullness.

And stars above, he’s going to kill you like this. “Kriff, Mando,” you whine in a hiss as he sinks into you.

He gives you a harsher slap before pulling out to push back in and hear you keen. 

“Mmm, what was that?” Mando says. You almost forget to answer; it’s the first thing he’s said since taking his helmet off, and somehow, you always forget just how delicious it is to hear him unfiltered.

“Sorry, sir,” you gasp as he shoves roughly back in. 

He doesn’t bother fucking you with the fake cock. He just leaves it deep inside—its only purpose to break your brain and make your ass even tighter for him. It’s about his size, and you’re drooling onto your pillow already.

He chuckles, low and dark the way he does when he’s got you like this, all dumb and sweet for him. “You like being filled up, don’t you, cyar’ika?” 

“Uh-huh,” you squeak on a particularly rough thrust. 

Another smack.

“Yes, sir,” you whimper. “I love it when you fill me up.”

“There’s my good girl,” he says, nuzzling your head with his own, and you have to beg to come just from that.

But he doesn’t let you. “Not yet,” he says. “You’ve had enough earlier. You’re just going to take it right now.”

Your eyes roll back, and he knows that if you weren’t his perfectly trained girl, you would have lost control. But you don’t. You grit your teeth and whine, but you don’t come.

He pins you down further with one hand on your shoulder blade and fucks into you with a feral grin. You can’t see it, sure, but you can feel it as his face is pressed against your head. He’s grunting with each thrust, and it only serves to bring you even closer, hearing the way he’s losing himself in you, how he’s simply seeking his own pleasure right now.

He doesn’t bother to rub your clit when he reaches his own climax. You don’t need it (and frankly, you’re a little sore already). He knows you don’t need it, he knows your body obeys him, and when he feels you choking his cock with your sweet, tight channel, he simply nudges his nose against your cheek and whispers the only word you need.

You know you come when he tells you to, but it’s a strange, floating thing; your attention is drawn elsewhere when he starts to twitch and pulse inside you. He floods you, each spurt of cum feeling like it’s going to overflow from you as he fucks it deeper into your ass. 

When he pulls out, he rolls off you onto his side, and gathers you in his arms. You don’t quite surface from subspace, to his delight, and he gently strokes your cheek and runs his hand up and down your arm. 

You whimper, and he laughs. 

“Sorry, almost forgot,” he pants and reaches between your legs to extract the toy. He can’t help but tease you a little, and you moan when he finally pulls it out. 

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “I’ll fill you there next, pretty girl. We still have a long ride, you know.” 

You try not to pout when the helmet goes back on. It’s not that you care if you see him, but you always miss the soft caress of his lips in between. Like he knows exactly why you’re sulking, he tugs it up just enough to press one last kiss to the back of your head, reveling in the soft, content sigh you grant as you snuggle up together. 

*title from "It Doesn't Feel a Thing Like Falling" by Taking Back Sunday

[erebius-a]

my whole dash is star wars pilled all of a sudden uhhhhhh ( lightsaber noises ) my contribution

[keldae]

So my roleplaying buddy Jonal and I went in on a commission from Danpur (on the Artists and Clients website, according to Jonal!), featuring our respective main characters in one of the sketchier areas of Coruscant during a story we wrote. We just got the finished art today, and I LOVE IT.

Xaja is mine, Jonal Bol'garra is the Mando who belongs to my buddy. And the amazing artwork is Danpur, who doesn't have a Tumblr, but his Twitter handle (for those still using the Other Hellsite) is @danpurnm.

(Ask nicely, and I'll share the story with you lovelies too. 😉)

[inquisitor-apologist]

Colin Trevorrow was wrong. WE lost the Star Wars.

[vaguely-concerned]

I couldn't help myself, I had to make Zero in beskar armour a reality. my desperation to see it realized overpowered my trepidation in the face of drawing armour, such was its power. (it was actually really fun to draw tho, turns out!) I imagine that it's beskar prosthetic arm + plate armour on the upper body and right arm, where the majority of Zero's remaining organic parts are still hanging out, and beneath that a cortosis weave undersuit for the whole body as an extra layer of insurance. altogether it probably costs more than the yearly national budget of a decently sized Mid-Rim planet and involved several acts of brazen, breathless corruption/treason on Blue's part, but damn if Zero isn't going to be all but invulnerable by the end of it (and ready to face down lightsaber users especially -- this could be real cool if they'd end up going against Louphan eventually).

needless to say blue has a picture of zero in full armour hanging over his bed like a pinup poster. yes in a horny way. he also definitely helped design the look of it

+ my first little design idea sketch! (or rather the first one that stuck/didn't make me want to crawl under a rock and never come out haha)