#The Mandalorian Fan Fiction

[hyperactively-me]

tension

You've seen his face countless times, but every time the helmet comes off, it's as though you're seeing him for the first time over and over again. His expression is more than it's normal stoicism; it's vulnerable, raw. His big brown eyes come into contact with yours as you reach up, your fingers gently brushing through his messy curls. Din closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the contact. "Hi there, handsome," you murmur softly, allowing your fingers to linger on his strands of hair. "You clean up well, don't you?"

massaging din’s sore, aching muscles ... leads to ... yeah. I'M SORRY (not sorry at all) PUT ME IN HORNY JAIL FOR THIS IDC. it started off so innocent but then the horny monster came out and took over.

tags: smut, OILED UP DIN DJARIN, I REPEAT, OILED UP DIN DJARIN. established relationship

Din has no issue praising and worshipping you with nothing but love and adoration. In fact, it feels like second nature to him.

When he's the object of your praises, though, he doesn't know how to act. He's caught off guard by your doting attention, your quiet praises, your gentle touches.

The gruff exterior that comes so naturally to him becomes a bit more pronounced when faced with compliments and affection.

His usual response was to deflect and downplay, wanting to be the one in control, the one doing the praising rather than receiving it. It's not that he didn't appreciate your words; it's just that the vulnerability of accepting them was difficult for him.

In those moments, you read his body language like the back of your hand. You could see the conflict in his eyes, a mixture of gratitude and discomfort. He had been alone for most of his time in this cruel galaxy, had spent so long being self-reliant, not needing validation from others, that being on the receiving end of such genuine affection challenged his identity of being the stoic, impenetrable Mandalorian.

So, when he finally comes back to the Razor Crest after catching an elusive bounty, you know exactly what to do to put him at ease, to show him how much you love him, your riduur.

You catch his hand before he can take any of his armor off.

"Don't. Let me do it," you say gently, tugging his hand away.

He stares at you with that ever stoic expression you know he has on his face right now beneath the helmet. A few beats pass, and he relents, letting his wrist fall limp in your grip.

"Thank you," you whisper quietly, now running your hands up his shoulders.

You start with his baldric and belt, catching it in your grip as you unfasten the clasps. It's surprisingly heavy in your hands, and you're already a bit weary to take off the beskar.

Next, you slip his worn brown cape off his shoulders, the rough material scraping across your fingers. You can still feel traces of warmth around the part that was settled around his neck and shoulders.

Din stands before you, now with his baldric, belt, and cape out of the way, the beskar armor still encases his form. You take a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship of the beskar, tracing the shiny metal with your fingertips. The material is cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body you can barely feel radiating off his form. Din still stands rigid, hands flexing at his side.

His gaze remains steady, a silent acknowledgment of your request. You take charge again, delicately unfastening the clasps of his shoulder pads and removing the plates, and you can feel just how tense even just his shoulders are.

You set them gently to the side and start to work on his chest plate, easing it away from his torso with careful precision. The beskar plates release with a loud clinking sound, revealing the fabric of his flight suit beneath. You can clearly see Din's chest rise and fall with a steadiness that betrays the controlled exterior he presents to the world. With a small grunt, you ease the heavy beskar chestplate to the side, shooting Din a look when he tries to take it from your grasp.

"You said you would let me do it," you whisper, a playful yet stern glint in your eyes.

He sighs through the voice transmitter, yet allows you to continue your process of taking his armor off.

His shoulders sag forward ever so slightly as the weight of the chest plate is removed from his body, grunting with relief as he rolls his shoulders back a few times.

Next, you move on to his vambraces, unlocking the beskar from his arms. As you work on removing the vambraces, the sleeves of his flight suit ride up and you notice the subtle scars and markings on Din's forearms. You're careful to not drop the one loaded with bullets and other small weaponry.

Your hands move with a practiced gentleness, and you can sense Din's quiet appreciation for the care you're taking.

As the small pieces of armor joins the growing collection of beskar beside you, the room is filled with a sense of intimacy, a shared vulnerability palpable between you two.

Din stands before you now, the upper half of his body free from the encasement of armor. The warmth of his skin is more perceptible, and you can see a slight relaxation in his demeanor.

You move lower now, unfastening the straps securing the beskar that adorns his thighs. Your hands brush against his skin, and that's when he starts to shift side to side. You smile to yourself as you set the pieces to the side, letting your hands drag from the back his knees down to his shins to remove the final pieces.

Beskar greaves protect his shins, and you get on your knees to remove them. You don't miss the way his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you on your knees before him, but he refuses to move a muscle.

Carefully, you unfasten the straps securing the beskar greaves, allowing them to slide down his shins. Your hands move with a deliberate gentleness as you catch them, setting them on top of the stack of armor. Now that all of his armor is removed, you can clearly tell Din is now more relaxed, not as rigid.

His head his angled directly at you, the black t-visor of his helmet piercing through you. You smile softly up at him, pushing yourself to standing but not without him grabbing your hand to help you up.

You know what he's thinking. You know what he wants. He'll just never say it.

You press up onto your toes, placing your hands on his shoulders. His hands finally move, coming to rest on your waist as you lean into where you think his ear would be.

"Later," you whisper seductively, and he firmly squeezes your waist in his grip.

You take a step back, now turning your focus back to his leather gloves. Taking his left hand in yours, you spread his fingers out so you're able to slip his glove off his easier. The leather glove comes off smoothly, revealing his calloused yet gentle hand beneath. You set the glove aside, repeating the action on his other hand.

Din watches you with that unyielding gaze, his helmeted face betraying no emotions, and the tension in the air does anything but subside.

As you remove the second glove, you can't help but admire his hands; how large they, how strong they are. They're the tools of a warrior: skilled and precise, calloused and graceful. With his hands now bare, you step closer to him, your fingers tracing the lineaments of his palm. The warmth of his skin contrasts with the coolness of the beskar that once covered him. His hands are strong, yet there's a gentleness in the way he allows you to explore them.

You finally look up to his helmet, clicking your tongue with disapproval. You couldn't really get his shirt off without stretching out the neck over his helmet, and we can't have that, can we? Poor shirt, all stretched out. Oh well! Looks like we have to see your beautiful riduur's face!

You run your hands on the underside of his helmet, tracing the hard edges with the pads of your fingers. Suddenly, you latch onto the edges and slowly start to pull it up and off his head. Din's breath catches as the helmet is lifted, his nose twitching ever so slightly.

The helmet comes clean off, revealing his face, his dark hair tousled from the snug fit. You're met with his intense gaze, and for a moment, your own breath catches in your throat.

You've seen his face countless times, but every time the helmet comes off, it's as though you're seeing him for the first time over and over again.

His expression is more than it's normal stoicism; it's vulnerable, raw. His big brown eyes come into contact with yours as you reach up, your fingers gently brushing through his messy curls. Din closes his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the contact.

"Hi there, handsome," you murmur softly, allowing your fingers to linger on his strands of hair. "You clean up well, don't you?"

His lips twitch in a hint of a smile, eyebrows quirking at your playful comment.

"Are you going to finish, cyar'ika? Or are you going to finish undressing me with just your eyes?"

You roll your eyes at his remark, fighting back a laugh at his nonchalant comment.

"I guess I do have some unfinished business," you reply, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt.

You guide his shirt up and over his head, pulling it off his form and letting it fall to the floor. You're met with his tanned, toned chest, marked with scars, the silent stories of the battles he's fought.

You run your fingers lightly over the contours of his chest, savoring the feeling of his tight muscles and soft stomach. He shivers under your touch at the way your nails drag across his skin, pressing into it ever so slightly. Din watches you closely, his gaze never leaving your hands. With a soft smile, you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his skin between his shoulder and upper chest.

Din's fingers find their way to your hair, but you pull back, now grabbing the waistband of his pants. You tug them down quickly, helping him step out of the pant legs, but leaving him in his loose boxers.

You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and guide him to the bed. There's no rush, no urgency. For both of you, it's a moment to savor, to appreciate each other in a quiet, peaceful moment. Before he lies down, you pull him down for a chaste kiss, savoring the way his lips taste, the way his patchy mustache tickles your face. As he finally moves to lay down, you wordlessly motion for him to lie on his stomach, and he complies. He settles onto the bed, propping himself up with his forearms.

You retrieve a bottle of oil from a nearby table, and the gentle scent of lavender fills the air as you warm the liquid between your palms. You straddle his lower back, and immediately Din is biting his tongue to withhold any premature sounds.

The moment your hands come into contact with his broad shoulders, he's a goner. Your touch is firm yet tender, your fingers finding all of his knots and tension, coaxing them to release.

The room is quiet, save for the occasional satisfied hum or grunt from Din. As your hands move down his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, you slowly feel the tension in his body dissipating.

Your fingers trace the faint lines of his scars, and you can't help but marvel at the beauty of the man beneath you. He finds solace in your touch, a promise that in this moment, he can let go and just relax.

Din's body responds to your touch, his tension gradually melting away. Your hands move with a soothing rhythm, exploring every inch of his back and shoulders. The oil makes his skin glisten in the soft light of the room, and you revel in the way his body looks as though it was carved by the Maker himself.

As your hands work their way down his spine, you occasionally lean down to press soft kisses on his back. The combination of your mouth and hands on him causes Din to shudder, the sensations pulling him into a deep state of tranquility. The rise and fall of his breath shifts into something more rapid, yet you don't catch on quite yet. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, and he responds with a soft hum of contentment

Shifting off his back, you move down to his thighs and calves, continuing to massage his muscles with the same deliberate care. His fingers twist into the thin sheets of his bed, groaning as you knead into his thighs. The tension in Din's muscles seems to subside even more as you move farther down his legs, the oil dripping from your hands creating a smooth glide as you knead his skin.

As your hands move down his legs towards his feet, you notice the subtle tremor in his muscles, a sign that your touch might be affecting him more than he's letting on. You can't see that he's biting the inside of his cheek, stifling every pathetic groan he wants to let out.

You reach the soles of his feet, and he reflexively curls his toes at the sensation. A small chuckle escapes your lips, and you gently press your thumbs into the arches of his feet, eliciting a low, appreciative groan from him.

With a soft smile, you decide to shift the massage to his upper back and shoulders again, allowing your hands to linger in the areas that are the most tense from his heavy beskar. As your fingers work their magic, you lean in close to whisper in his ear.

"Almost done," you murmur, your warm breath sending shivers down his spine. "Does it feel good?"

Din responds with a throaty, affirmative noise, and you can't help but smile at the effect you're having on your typically stoic Mandalorian.

Your hands trace patterns over his skin, kneading, massaging, and occasionally trailing higher than expected. His breathing becomes more uneven, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body.

The atmosphere in the room drastically changes from innocent and relaxed to something more sultry, the air thick with repressed tension. You can sense Din's arousal, the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his muscles tense beneath your every little touch. A playful smile crosses your lips, realizing the effect you're having on the usually composed man.

The occasional brush of your fingers against more sensitive areas elicits involuntary reactions from Din, his groans growing more audible.

"Enjoying this, aren't you?" you tease, your voice a sultry whisper as you lean down to place soft kisses along his shoulder blades.

"Teasing me, aren't you?" he growls back, looking back at you with a heated expression.

"Maybe a little." You smile innocently. "But the best things are worth the wait, aren't they?"

Din responds with a low, husky chuckle, a sound that reverberates through the room.

"Yes," he states simply, his voice catching in his throat when you slide off his back.

You beckon him to turn over onto his back, and he complies. Once again, you straddle him, now sitting directly on his hips, over his crotch. Taking more lavender scented oil, you lather it onto your hands and start to knead into his chest. His hands reach up to grip your ass, squeezing your flesh.

You feel Din's chest rise and fall faster as your hands start to work over his toned muscles. The oil slicks up his chest, and your fingers glide smoothly over his skin. You can practically feel his desire for you that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. Din's gaze is intense, and you meet it with a playful yet innocent smile.

"Fuck, cyare," he groans as his hands trail up your sides, the touch possessive yet gentle.

As your hands continue their ministrations on his chest, you lean down to capture his lips in a searing kiss. The taste of his mouth is intoxicating, and Din responds with a hunger that surpasses your own. His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you to grind you down over his crotch, and you can feel the pressure of his cock against your core.

"Easy there, Din," you murmur as you pull away from his lips. "We've got plenty of time."

The sound of his name rolling off your lips never gets old to him, and he shudders at the sound.

You sit back, your hands now trailing down his abdomen as you move to sit in between his thighs. Grabbing his hands, you knead into his palms with your thumbs, maintaining an eye contact that you know drives him absolutely crazy. Din's eyes are dark with arousal, and he watches you with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine.

Eventually, you finish the massage after you feel the tension fully dissipate from Din's body. He lies there, relaxed and content, basking in the afterglow of your touch.

Without waiting any longer, you finally give the man what he wants. You bring his hand up to your mouth, and without hesitation, you stick two of his fingers in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his thick digits as you maintain eye contact with him, eliciting a low growl to escape from the depths of Din's throat.

"You- you fuckin' tease, mesh'la," he growls as he starts to sit up. You take your free hand and push him back down, not letting him sit up.

You push his fingers deeper into your mouth, sucking them harder as your tongue runs over the pads of his fingers. Your other hand comes up to his thigh, resting dangerously close to his now fully erect yet still clothed cock.

After a moment, you release his fingers with a wet pop, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Din's breathing has become more ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly with anticipation and arousal.

"Feeling better?" you ask innocently, sliding your hands up and down his thighs.

Din nods, swallowing thickly as he locks his eyes onto yours. Without breaking eye contact, you start to slide off your shirt, slowly revealing your skin beneath. Din's gaze intensifies as you slowly lift it up and off your form. Once your shirt is fully off, you let Din rove over your form, and you revel in the way he looks at you with a thirst that mirrors your own.

He tries to reach out for you again, but you stop him.

"I'm still not done. Be patient," you say gently, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

"Mesh'la, how can I be? I have to reward you; you've been so good to me, too good for me—"

You press a finger up to his lips, silencing him.

"Please, let me make you feel good. Please. You always take care of me. Let me take care of you. 'M gonna make you feel so good."

He takes a beat, studying your face with his mouth slightly agape.

Finally, he nods in agreement, his eyes on fire. You remove your finger from his lips, giving him a sickeningly sweet smile.

Your hands trail over his shiny, slick chest, down to the waistband of his boxers. Din's fingers twist in his bedsheets, a silent reaction for what he wants: more.

With deliberate intent, you dip your fingers beneath the waistband, teasingly close to his cock. His arousal is quite evident, straining against the fabric, and your fingers brush over his length; a feather light, teasing touch. He watches you with a hunger that's impossible to ignore, and you can't help but feel giddy at the way you make him feel so good, so appreciated, so loved.

Din inhales sharply, his knuckles going white at the grip he has on his sheets. You move your hands back up and delicately hook your fingers into the waistband, pulling it down slowly. The boxers slide down his legs, revealing his cock, and you discard the fabric on the floor.

You take a moment to appreciate your Mandalorian naked in front of you, vulnerable, and yet as powerful as ever in his raw masculinity. What a sight for sore eyes. Every square inch of his skin is coated in the lavender oil, his skin shining under the dim lighting of the Razor Crest. His body is sculpted perfectly, strong and lean, the power of his muscles evident from one look. The scars that span his skin, small and large, have their own story. You reach out, tracing the lines of a particularly prominent scar on the side of his abdomen with gentle fingertips.

Din studies you with a soft intensity, his eyes holding a warmth that he reserves for you, and only for you.

Your eyes trail up to his face, studying every lineament and pore, every little hair and freckle. He's so extremely handsome you could pass out.

How he chose you, you're not sure. All you know is that this man who has promised to be your protector, stay by your side, and be your partner loves you, and you love him.

"You're beautiful," you murmur, pure admiration coursing through your veins as your fingers now trace the curve of his jaw and the contour of his lips. "Absolutely perfect, in every single way. My big, strong, handsome riduur."

Din's mind goes blank, face and ears heating up as his mouth falls agape. He just studies your eyes, your lips, your nose, every little unique feature you have. Swallowing thickly, Din nods his head just a fraction of an inch, but you catch it; he's acknowledging your words, accepting them in his own way.

Your fingers finally find their way down the shaft of his cock, shifting your attention to his member. His breath hitches as your hand wraps around the base, and you begin to move in a slow, teasing rhythm. His eyes flicker to the sight of your hand wrapped around his cock, staring at the way you pump your fist up and down. Your thumb brushes over the sensitive tip, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Din.

You lean in, pressing a tender kiss to the base of his neck, then to his chest. You start to kiss down further, from the top of his chest to his happy trail.

"Kriff..." he mutters, his hands loosely grabbing at your face.

You keep moving, now pressing kisses on the length of his member. His grip becomes sloppier as your lips trail down his cock towards the tip, pressing a feather light kiss on his leaking slit. He grunts as the sensation, sensitive and aching for your pretty lips to be wrapped around his cock. You give a swirl of your tongue around the tip, earning a sharp, deep moan from Din.

"Kriffing- perfect," he groans, his hips bucking a few times at your touch, begging you for more. His fingers weave through your hair, a silent encouragement.

With that, you finally lower your mouth over his cock, eliciting a long, drawn out moan from the man. You rest your hands on the base of his cock, pumping the bottom half of his length while your mouth takes the top half. Din absolutely revels in the way your mouth feels against his cock; hot, wet, and velvety soft. His head rolls back against his pillow as your hands squeeze tight around the base, stimulating every inch of his length. You take him in your mouth inch by inch, sucking his cock gently at first, but providing more pressure the farther down you go.

"Fuck— fuck- ing perfect, pretty girl," he groans breathlessly, making you hum in satisfaction. His hips involuntarily buck up as he feels the vibrations from your hum, causing the tip of his cock to poke the back of your throat. You choke on it, but you steady your breath enough to keep going down.

Din fights the urge to fuck your mouth, gripping onto his sheets tightly with one hand as his other hand tugs at your hair. You release a quiet moan of your own when he pulls your hair, encouraging you to take him deeper.

Din's eyes are half-lidded now, a primal need burning within them. He watches you with an intensity that makes your own desire flare. His sounds of pleasure, the way his hands feel on you has yourself throbbing with need, your core painfully clenching around nothing. Your panties are surely soaked through by now, your arousal having built up just by making him feel good. You press your thighs together, alleviating the throbbing pressure in your pussy.

You continue to move with purpose, lowering your hands to knead his oily thighs as you take his entire length in your mouth, the tip of cock hitting the back of your throat with each bob of your head. You suck your cheeks in, running your tongue along a prominent vein with each stroke.

His ragged breaths and the soft squelch of your saliva and mouth on his cock fill the room, and suddenly, Din is pawing at you. The need for more becomes undeniable, and Din, unable to restrain himself any longer, pulls you up with a sense of urgency.

"Wanna- come in you—" he gasps, pulling at your neck.

You press your thighs tighter together at his admission, moaning on his cock.

"Kriff, cyar'ika, j- just, please," he grunts, and you lift your head off his cock, saliva dripping down your chin.

When you finally look up at him, his eyes are blown wide with need, and he's fully sitting up now. You feel the sudden shift as he drags you onto his lap, his still erect cock pressing into your stomach. You push up onto your knees as Din's hand desperately claws at the hem of your pants, yanking both your pants and panties off at the same time as he mouths the tops of your still covered breasts. Once your bottoms are off, he unclasps your bra expertly, letting it fall to the side.

Once you're bare in front of him, he laps his tongue over your breast, sucking at your nipple as his other hand squeezes and massages your other. The sensation send an electric jolt through your body, and a soft moan escapes your lips. Din's touch is both possessive and tender, his free hand coming to knead the flesh of your ass.

In one solid motion, Din is lifting you up high by your hips, positioning you over his cock. Utterly desperate and aching for your cunt around his cock, he slams your hips down, splitting you open on his cock inside your dripping cunt. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, a warbled scream and moan slipping from the both of you as he plunges deep inside of you, filling you up perfectly. You give yourself a moment to breath, steadying your breath. When he rolls his hips once, you whimper.

"Maker, y- you feel so good," you moan, biting your bottom lip in pleasure.

You squeeze his cock tightly, back arching as you feel every ridge of his cock inside you. His hands squeeze your hips tightly as your hands run down to his chest, and you start placing open mouthed, messy kisses on his jawline and neck. He lets you adjust around him, giving you some time to feel his cock molded perfectly inside you.

"Take me so good...s- so kriffing p- perfect, my beautiful riduur," he growls, fondling your breasts as you sit on his cock. Your thighs press against his as you try to clench your thighs at his words, darting your tongue out to give his skin kitten licks.

Ever so slowly, you start to roll your hips against his, moaning at the sensation. Din hisses, forehead falling on your sternum, his hot breath fanning against your breasts.

"Riduur," he groans again, darting his tongue out over the tops of your breasts again. "Ride me."

Your hands find their way into his dark curls, tugging at them lightly as you start to lift yourself up his cock. The drag of your pussy against Din's cock makes him shudder in pure ecstasy, moving his head to rest in the crook of your neck.

"You- you're the best thing that's e- ever happened to me," you whisper in his ear, then you sink all the way back down on his cock.

He moans, sucking bruises onto the junction between your shoulder and neck. Din's face is flushed from your words and the way you feel on top of him. You lift yourself up a few inches and drop back down, relishing in the way he feels underneath you.

"Never thought I'd find s- someone like you, cyare," he admits in his gravelly voice, tightening his grip on you. "Someone I- I could c- come back to."

"You're m- my home, Din," you reply, your voice a breathy whisper.

You start to set a steady pace, rocking and grinding on his cock. Din grunts at the sudden change in pace, helping you up and off his cock as his broad hands help lift you up and down by your hips. With each bounce, his cock stretches you out deliciously, dragging along your slick walls with ease.

You move your hand down to your catch your clit, circling the bud slowly, building up the pressure bubbling in your core. Your back arches as you start to tease yourself, pussy clenching harder around his cock. Din's head is thrown back in pleasure, hands firmly on your hips as you keep bouncing, reveling in the way you squeeze slightly tighter around him.

Your walls start to flutter around him at the stimulation of your clit, picking up the pace as you chase your orgasm. You lock eyes with his, the rhythm of your hips against his causing him to paw at every square inch of your body.

With your free hand, you guide his strong jaw towards your face, capturing his lips in a searing, passionate kiss. You don't stop moving on top of his cock as you slip your tongue into his mouth, sucking and nibbling on his bottom lip with each kiss. His lips are warm and demanding against yours, responding with a fervor that has you leaning back.

The taste of Din is intoxicating, yet something you can never quite put your finger on. His low growls mix with your soft moans, your hands threading in his curls.

Din breaks the kiss, but rests his forehead on yours. His pants mingle with yours, warm breath tickling your nose.

"Can't believe I'm so lucky," Din grits, and without hesitation, he deftly maneuvers you until you're lying on your back.

You admire the way his chest heaves with a controlled intensity as he hovers over you, his cock still fully sheathed inside you to the hilt. Moving his hands, he presses your legs up against your chest, angling them in such a way to allow for a deeper penetration. The newfound angle sends waves of pleasure coursing through each of you, each movement building up the pressure in your lower muscles.

"Maker, Din," is all you can say as his cock reaches deeper inside you. You're utterly engrossed in everything about him; how perfectly he fucks you, how he protects you, how he always puts others before himself, how he never backs down from a challenge.

You watch as his mouth drops open when he starts to move again, pounding into you with a slow, measured pace. Every motion has your hot, soaking walls sucking him in greedily.

"Fuck me so perfectly, you're perfect," you murmur as Din pulls your legs up onto his hips, effectively spreading you wide open. His whole chest presses flush against yours, kissing your words away when he leans in.

Your hands fly down to grip his forearms that cage you under his body, nails pressing into his skin as he fucks you slowly. Each thrust is met with a soft whimper into Din's mouth as he takes his time, relishing the way your chest feels against his own. The measured pace of his movements builds a heavy tension in your core, drawing out the pleasure and anticipation with each deliberate stroke.

Din's hand finds your clit again, pressing his thick digits against your swollen bud. The added pressure sends electric pulses through your body, and your back arches involuntarily as the pleasure intensifies. Your pussy clenches around his cock, drawing a throaty groan from Din, who revels in the tight embrace of your walls.

"So strong, s- so good," you gasp, your words punctuated by your unrestrained sounds of pleasure.

"S' perfect, cyare," he murmurs against your lips breathlessly, pressing a kiss on your lips once again. He nips and bites at your bottom lip relentlessly. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face closer to you as you mewl into his mouth. Your fingers find their way back into his soft hair, scratching your fingernails on the base of his scalp.

With each enthusiastic response from you, he quickens his pace, the unforgiving rhythm pushing you both closer to the edge.

The feeling of his cock moving inside you faster and harder elicits a cascade of moans and whimpers from your lips, your clit being stimulated nearly to the point of your impending release. He's fucking you hard into the mattress, unrelenting in the way he wants to feel every part of you.

Din, ever the attentive man, knows you're about to cum just from the way your face contorts, from the way your body reacts to the slightest touch.

You can also feel him nearing the edge, the tension in his body reaching its peak with each stroke. His skin is warm and still slick with the lavender-scented oil, intoxicating your senses and making your mind go blank.

"Please, come in me," you beg, wrapping your legs around Din's waist to pull him closer to you. "Please, please, Din."

His skin glides against yours, your hands travel across the expanse of his back, feeling the flex of his muscles as he moves with unrestrained strength.

Din's eyebrows are pinched in pleasure, mouth parted open as he pants. His fingers find the sweet spot of your clit, causing you to nearly scream in pleasure.

"That's it," Din encourages, coaxing your orgasm out of you as he maintains the pressure around your sweet spot.

Before you know it, you're cumming around Din's cock. The first contraction of your cunt around his cock has Din shuddering from his own orgasm, the feelings of your muscles spasming around him pushing him over the edge. His breathing is erratic, hot against your skin.

You writhe underneath Din, whimpering his name as you ride out your orgasm. Din pulls you in for a messy kiss as he cums inside of you, cupping your jaw with one hand as he guides your lips to his in a searing kiss.

Settling down from his orgasm, Din falls on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

Your hands run up and down his back, soothing him with the light scratching of your nails against his skin.

The gentle scratching of your nails against Din's back seems to lull him into a state of relaxation, his body going lax on top of yours. His breath and mustache tickles the sensitive flesh of your neck.

Both of you are still panting, trying to catch your breaths from your shared climax. Din's weight atop of you feels grounding, a comforting, welcoming presence that reminds you once again that he is yours.

"Feel better?" you inquire softly, your hands coming to rest around his neck.

Din lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness he reserves only for you.

Din mumbles in agreement, his body completely pliant in your hands. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the remnants of his panting gradually subsiding.

"Thank you," he murmurs, eyes studying your face intently. "Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum."

Your fingers move from his neck to gently trace lines over Din's flushed cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"I love you."

Din's eyes soften even more. His hands, calloused and strong, come up to gently cradle your face. Thumbs brush over your cheeks in a tender caress, as if he's committing the feeling to memory.

He pulls you in for another kiss, a sweet, tender meeting of your lips in the aftermath of your care for him.

A thank you, if you will.

As Din's lips part from yours, he rests his forehead against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

You snuggle close to him, the scent of lavender surrounding you both. In the quiet aftermath, the only sound that remains is the beating of your hearts.

. . .

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) Masterlist

[auntie-venom]

Fan Fiction Recommendations

I figured I’d take the time to put down some of my favorite fan fictions for anyone who wants them. I am only putting up completed series, with a few exceptions. And I’ll add more as I think about it. Make sure to give the authors lots of love! They deserve it!

Also, let me know if any links do not work.

Star Wars

✶ Alpha-17 ✶

➤ Alpha-17/Female Reader

Yours

By @wanderinginksplot

Rating: Teen and Mature Reader was assigned to Kamino to do some administrative work for the senate, and when her presence draws some of the clones to try their inexperienced flirting with her Alpha volunteers to scare them away. This story single-handedly turned my attention towards Alpha works. It is a slow burn filled with great banter and I really enjoy Alpha’s characterization here.

➤ Alpha-17/Female Reader

Alpha & “Doc”

By @wings-and-beskar

Rating: Explicit Reader attempts to have a peaceful shower but has to deal with Alpha-17’s presence and persistence to be around her. Absolutely sexy series that I hope gets more fics added to it! Just Alpha’s begging alone in the second story had me faint.

✶ Rex ✶

➤ Rex/Female Reader

Hierarchy of Needs

By @zinzinina

Rating: Explicit Reader is a Jedi on a mission with Rex when a toxin affects them both causing them both to seek relief. Fuck-or-die? YES, PLEASE! I love this trope, ESPECIALLY when it is written as well as this. It is sexy, passionate, filled with yearning, and we end on a sweet note, which I love. 

➤ Rex/Original Female Character

Stories

By @aggy72

Rating: Explicit Cori is a documentarian and follows the adventures of the 501st where the Captain unexpectedly falls for her. Filled with great relationships, banter, and found family, this is a truly beautiful saga of love and perseverance

✶ Wolffe ✶

➤ Wolffe/Female Reader

A New Tomorrow

By @enigmaticexplorer

Rating: Mature and Explicit Reader does a favor for Plo Koon where she ends up as Commander Wolffe’s assistant and they do not like each other. This is a slow-burn, tension-filled, antagonists-to-lovers series that had me in a chokehold for a week while I read it. I laughed, I cried, I stared out a window and thought for hours about it. Alli writes Wolffe so well and I can’t recommend her enough.

➤ Wolffe/Female Reader (Original Female Character)

No Strings Attached

By @cyarbika

Rating: Explicit Reader/Cherise is the owner of 79’s and Wolffe is a cocky asshole that just pisses her off. This series has made me cry and text my IRL friends to rant and rave. Phenomenal Wolffe characterization and beautiful writing. Has antagonists-to-lovers where he falls first she falls harder. Please read it so we can talk about it.

➤ Wolffe/Original Female Character

I Need You

By @ulchabhangorm

Rating: Explicit Sadhbh struggles to keep her growing feelings with Wolffe hidden after they originally agreed to be just friends with benefits. This fic is filled with yearning and passion and completely hooked me! The whole series of one shots have me eagerly waiting for the full Sadhbh/Wolffe story that Maia is writing and I cannot get enough!

✶ Wolffe and Fox ✶ (No Clonecest)

➤ Fox/Female Reader, Wolffe/Female Reader (No Clonecest)

I trust him, and he trusts me

By @enigmaticexplorer

Rating: Explicit Reader is in a relationship with Fox when Wolffe interrupts an intimate moment and it sets in motion a new dynamic. This sexy oneshot explores the way trust translates into intimacy and I related to it on a molecular level. Hot and sweet, just how I like it.

✶ Fox ✶

➤ Fox/Female Reader

Shadow Play

By @wizardofrozz

Rating: Explicit Reader is a senator and is in a secret relationship with Fox, and they have a pretty public fuck. This is just such a hot oneshot.

➤ Fox/Original Female Character

After a Fashion

By @aggy72

Rating: Explicit Sylvi is the designer who makes all of Senator Amidala’s wonderful gowns, and she keeps running into the very stern Commander Fox. This story, as with most of Aggy’s fics, has a chokehold on me. The fic is beautiful story of love filled with banter and phenomenal characterizations.

✶ Gregor ✶

➤ Gregor/Original Female Character

The Deal

By @aggy72

Rating: Explicit Ashla is the chosen medical carer for Skirata’s commandos and is lovingly set up with Gregor by her new chosen family. this story is filled with love, angst, and family that warm my soul! Aggy really has a way to my heart with her stories.

�� Kix ✶

➤ Kix/Original Female Character

Martyrs and Kings 

By @dystopicjumpsuit

Rating: Explicit Dr. Maree Finnall helps Kix find answers to what happened to his long-lost brothers after he wakes fifty years into the future. While it is a love story, Kix is rightfully filled with angst. Seeing him work through his grief of losing his brothers while being the last clone standing is heart wrenching. 

✶ Fives ✶

➤ Fives/Female Reader

Heartbeat

by @ariadnes-red-thread

Rating: Explicit Reader and Fives are trapped with death coming for them and they take to opportunity to die without regrets. The passion and tension of this oneshot is delicious!

✶ Tech ✶

➤ Tech/Female Reader

Scientific Purposes

By @doublesunsets

Rating: Explicit Reader discovers Tech accidentally recorded a private moment of hers and when confronted she challenges his claim that it was for scientific purposes. Author plays into Tech’s curious nature and uses reader’s body for discoveries. It is hot and has great back and forth between Tech and Reader.

➤ Tech/Female Reader

the beast against the wall

By buryustogether

Rating: Explicit Tech is exposed to a toxin when he protects Reader that makes him lose his inhibitions. Phenomenal sex pollen story that leads to a feral Tech, and I am OBSESSED.

➤ Tech/Female Reader

The Quarry

By Littlelady1121

Rating: Mature Reader is a target to bring in to Cid, but there is more to her than it seems. Minor slowburn with a wonderful found family story with great characterizations. 

➤ Tech/Female Reader

Nighttime Variations

By @bring-backup-99

Rating: Explicit Reader meets Tech when he stays at her inn, and they hit it off. This is a great balance of sexy and sweet! She does a great characterization of Tech and if you like her work and want to get kinkier I’d recommend her Bad Choices series as well. 

➤ Tech/Female Reader

Quick And Dirty

By @eyecandyeoz

Rating: Explicit Reader helps Tech do repairs, and clean up afterward. Sexy one shot with some fun back and forth between our favorite info dumper! Candy has a bunch of hot one shots and gorgeous artwork as well!

✶ Howzer ✶

➤ Howzer/Female Reader

Doctor’s Orders

By @grampsoninspace

Rating: Explicit Captain Howzer is a cocky flirt to the Reader Medic, and it goes his way. This was fun to see a lee burdened more flirtatious Howzer and had some great tension building with some hot smut!

✶ Cassian Andor ✶

➤ Cassian Andor/Original Female Character

Starlight

By @joeybelle

Rating: Explicit While on a mission Cassian gets strong-armed into helping a medic escape the Empire, and it doesn't go to her plans at all. Slow burn and tension galore, along with angst. The sequel is unfinished but I hope upon hope one day she will continue it!

✶ Din Djarin ✶

➤ Din Djarin/Female Reader

Rough Day

By @no-droids

Rating: Explicit Reader signed up to be Grogu’s babysitter and got involved in a fuckfest with the kid’s father. The tiktok famous porn with plot, Mando fic everyone talks about. It truly is a well-written story amongst the smut!

➤ Din Djarin/Female Reader

Be-all and Endor

By: @djarins-cyare

Rating: Explicit Reader is a technician on Endor when the Mandalorian crosses her path and she decides to help him Insanely well-written saga that explores culture and the universe of Star Wars.

✶ Poe Dameron ✶

➤ Poe Dameron/Female Reader

Nine

By @foxilayde

Rating: Explicit Sexy oneshot of a boiling point moment between friends Poe and Reader and then it's just smut central. Love the banter and the idiots-in-love so much.

➤ Poe Dameron/Female Reader

The Bet

By @no-droids 

Rating: Explicit Poe and Reader make a bet on who can stay abstinent the longest, when they try to get the other to fold the tension begins to snap. One of the hottest smut fics I’ve ever read. I use this as a way to convince my IRL friends to start reading fanfiction.

➤ Poe Dameron/Female Reader

Directions

By @zinzinina

Rating: Explicit Reader admits shes never climaxed with a partner before and Poe is determined to change that. This is a beautifully written friends to lovers smut oneshot that I just love to bits.

Moon Knight

✶ Steven Grant and Marc Spector ✶

➤ Steven Grant/Female Reader, Marc Spector/Female Reader

Red Flags

By @astroboots and @thirstworldproblemss

Rating: Explicit Fantastically written story about dating Steven while not knowing about Marc (and Jake) and all the red flags with dating someone hiding a part of themselves. Full stop my favorite Moon Knight fic to date, and I even make my non-fanfiction reader friends read it.

➤ Steven Grant/Female Reader, Marc Spector/Female Reader

fallen from heaven, grown on earth

By davosmymaster

Rating: Mature Marc asks his long-time friend to watch over Steven as he lets him be the primary front. Reader falls in love with Steven after pining over Marc their entire relationship and it causes some ANGST. Lots of yearning and a happy ending.

➤ Steven Grant/Female Reader, Marc Spector/Female Reader

Stuck

By @zinzinina

Rating: Explicit Reader stops by Steven’s place to bring him his lost badge when Marc answers the door and seduces her. Just a sexy little two-shot that I like to reread a lot.

✶ Steven Grant, Marc Spector, and Jake Lockley ✶

➤ Steven Grant/Female Reader, Marc Spector/Female Reader, Jake Lockley/Female Reader

Gift of Min

By @astroboots and @thirstworldproblemss

Rating: Explicit An ancient aphrodisiac spirit is released and reader has to help Steven through it. Another fantastic piece of work form these two, and it is in one of my top five tropes! Absolutely so hot and passionate.

Triple Frontier

✶ Francisco "Catfish" Morales ✶

➤ Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Female Reader 

Something New

By @prolix-yuy

Rating: Explicit Reader hires a sex worker after a period of loneliness brought on by divorce. This whole series is absolutely soft and wholesome while being so sexy.

Kingsman

✶ Jack “Whiskey” Daniels ✶

➤ Jack “Whiskey” Daniels/Female Reader

Whiskey & Westworld

By @prolix-yuy

Rating: Explicit A universe where the Kingsman characters are robots in the Westworld Theme Park when Reader comes to visit. This story is so well written and the tension build-up is delicious.

➤ Jack “Whiskey” Daniels/Female Reader

Harder to Hold

By @brandyllyn

Rating: Explicit Reader becomes the seduction target of Jack Daniels and she doesn’t understand why. The sexiness and espionage in this fic is so fun!

Ghostbusters

✶ Egon Spengler ✶

➤ Egon Spengler/Female Reader

Masters of Sex (The Mood Slime Experiments)

By @psychokinetic-ectoplasm

Rating: Explicit Reader helps out Egon with the mood slime experiments. Just gloriously filthy smut that develops into feelings.  

Dragon Age

✶ The Iron Bull ✶

➤ Iron Bull/Original Female Character

Gina and the Iron Bull

By Lexi Banner (jinbaittai)

Rating: Explicit After an accident in another universe, a woman ends up in Thedas during the time of the Inquisition. I am a SUCKER for someone falling into another universe, and this is a long hot romance.

✶ Cullen Rutherford ✶

➤ Cullen Rutherford/Female Commander Shepard 

The Two Commanders

By Katieee

Rating: Explicit When Commander Shepard destroys the reapers, she wakes up to find herself in Thedas where her biotics are mistaken for magic. Again, I love fish-out-of-water stories where someone from a different universe ends up in another, and I also love to see Shepard be a badass. Takes place over a series of years and is just a fun read.

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter X : Geryon

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Angst; Lemme say it again for those in the back, ANGST; Hurt/Comfort; Din's kinda being an asshole but he's hot and his dick is 10 inches long and he's also sorry; Dark themes from previous chapters continue

A/N: Hello and surprise and I'm sorry. I promise one day *ONE DAY* they will be happy again!!!

Geryon is my favorite figure in Greek mythology :) He is a very special monster to me :)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER X : GERYON

Who can a monster blame for being red?

Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red

“We have got to stop meeting like this.”

He’s been pacing back and forth across the hull of the Razor Crest, the metallic jilting song of his heavy gait, the clank, clank, clank, threatening to lull you back into unconsciousness. There should be no comfort to be found in this moment, and yet, just the sound of him is enough for a measure of peace. You can’t believe you’re here right now, lying in your pile of blankets as if no time had passed at all. His anxious pacing stirring you back into wakefulness, your head all muddied and muffled, your ears seeming to pop into a pressurized silence and then ebb back into clarity. 

You feel, suddenly, that you’re more tired than you’ve ever been in your entire life. A bone deep tiredness after a life that’s been too long and too heavy for someone who is, for all intents and purposes, so young. 

He whips around at the sound of your voice, snapping forward to loom over you, voice deep with the intent to intimidate, maybe even hurt. “How did you know about him?” He demands without preamble, picking up right where the two of you had left off before you’d stupidly fainted from pain and exhaustion. You shiver and shrink back into the blankets, pressing the tips of your fingers against your mouth to stifle the too loud hiccup of your breathing. You’re not going to be afraid of him, he doesn’t deserve that. 

You try to gather yourself, swallowing the bitter nausea that sits heavy on your tongue and push yourself up into a sitting position on shaky, weak arms as he falls with a heavy thud to kneel before you, spits your name, sharp and angry, quickly losing patience. “Who told you about him? What have you heard?” You hold out a warning palm as he leans forward, trying to bully you into compliance with the urgency of his tone. 

“Don’t touch–” you warn, and then all soft, helpless hurt and accusation, “You have a son?” And you wish your voice didn’t sound as it does, like a child begging for the truth to not be what it already is, and you won’t cry, you’ve already promised yourself you wouldn’t, but your mind is so weary, your heart so vacant, it’s hard to remember the things you have and have not promised, the things you should and should not do.

“Who told you? You promised you wouldn’t ever rifle through my head, and I swear to the Maker–”

“I can sense him in you,” you snap. “I haven’t been rifling through anything! You’re so annoying. And get back–” you bare your teeth at him in a tiny snarl, nose scrunched with the exertion it takes to push a weak tendril of the Force against his chest and shove him back just barely. If there were a well within you, measured by the will of your strength and power, the Force, it would be bone barren dry right now. 

He’d gone and had a child, a son, without you. He’d left you, or let you leave him, what did the details matter anymore – and he’d had a child with someone. 

He snatches you up by the elbow, dragging you towards him, weak and shapeless as you are, barely any strength to hold yourself up, much less defend yourself, and his grip is tight enough, punishing enough, that you know it’s meant to cause pain. Harsher than he’d ever handled you before, on the verge of hurting you in a very real way. And after everything that’d been done to you… you’re like a raw, scalded nerve, nowhere left to touch that isn’t covered in hurt. Every inch of your skin screams in pain, and you swallow your moan of agony, trying to suppress your animal sounds. His other hand comes up to grip your jaw, stopping you from twisting away and squeezing the frame of your face so tight in his strong fingers, you feel your bones creak. “Explain. Now.”

“Please, Din,” Please, don’t touch me. “I can– I can sense him– inside you,” you gasp. “He’s strong. He – he has the Force?” You shake your head in his grip, brow folding in on itself, trying to make sense of what it is you’re feeling, the confusing amalgamation of Din and the Force and memories of something, someone young and innocent and pure beyond imagination. Like a well of the Force, of greater depth and strength than you’ve ever encountered before, but viewed, or felt through the veil of his memory, from afar. “You– you still carry him with you.” A child, his child. A little boy, the picture gains clarity in your mind, and then more confusion, as if there were a block in his mind, some protective encasement that keeps the truth of his precious secret safely guarded. 

His hands tighten around the curve of your jaw, jerking your face up to force your eyes to look right at him, and he holds you trapped there for one breathless moment, his gaze like this is worse than any torture you’ve endured thus far, burning but hidden, and then the miniscule shift of the helmet, and you feel the light brush of a single finger against the gem of your earring, and you think: It’s so scary out there. Do you recognize me? We used to know each other. 

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“Look how strong you’ve become,” you say by way of an answer through your smooshed cheeks and clenched teeth Like an insult more than anything else. “Whatever it was that was done to me… something far worse has happened to you. The great Mandalorian, come to save the poor little Sith, huh?”

His fingers dig into the tender skin of your cheeks, your upper throat, harder, hard enough to squeeze a moan out of you before he’s shoving you back with a revolted scoff, pressing up to his feet to pace away from you again. You’d told him once you didn’t like it when he treated you like this, roughly, all that time ago, and he’d always remembered before now, had always measured himself, but it seemed that two years was long enough for him to forget this. 

“You are not a Sith,” he reminds you without turning back, that reminder that he knows what you truly are, perhaps, even better than you yourself know, and you panic for one second that you’ll vomit. But then he gentles: “There’s blood on your earring,” and you sag forward, trying to breathe slowly through your mouth, stretching your eyes as wide open as they’ll go, forcing yourself not to blink so that the tears brimming there won’t fall. I hate you, you mouth the words silently down into the blankets, unsure who it is you’re directing them at. 

“You’re going to tell me where the fuck you’ve been,” he says, turning back to pace towards you, hands on his hips, the snap of his cloak as he whips away again, as if he can only stand to look at you for so long. “And what in the Maker’s wrong with you?” He continues. “Did you get into a fight or something?”

You shake your head slowly down at the weave of the blankets. They’re the same ones from before, he’d kept them, and you are so sad and scared and terrible, and when you lift your head back up to look at him, standing just there looking so defeated and suddenly so singularly powerless… You can’t remember what the point of all this was supposed to have been. 

“I’ve been here,” you say, for the truth is the only thing left to you now.

“On Corellia?”

“Yes.”

“And you… you can sense him on me?” And his voice has gone suddenly soft, suddenly quiet. A father speaking of his child with care, even in the tone used to address him. All the fight’s gone now, and that tiredness sets in deep where the spirit meets the bone. 

You nod, full of so much grief, unbelief that the two of you are here again together, swallowing the gasp that wants to force its way out of you, but you surely can’t help the seeping of it, for there is so much held within your heart when you say up at him with those infernal tears so close to falling: “You had a son with someone?”

He whips back around, pacing finally come to a pause. “With someone? What? N– no. No.” He shakes his head furiously, rushing back towards you, falling back to his knees so that you’re pressing yourself back and away from him. “No, cyar’ika. No. He was a foundling. I– He was a bounty, but along the way he– he became…” He shakes his head again, and you watch the tightening of his fingers around the cap of his knee, the creak of the leather of his gloves as he wrangles his restraint into control, trying not to reach for you. Please, don’t touch. Please, don’t touch. If he takes you in hand, if he puts his hands on you in gentleness or care, you’ll lose. You don’t know how, but you know you’ll be lost. But perhaps the battle is already lost, for when he says, “I would never do that to you. Never with anyone else but you,” it doesn’t matter if he’s touched you or not, the hole in the ground, the two years, the endless, endless darkness and the pleas for something worse, for end or a quiet that doesn’t stop, none of that matters anymore because the battle is lost here and now in this moment. 

Your breath comes in painful, sharp pants. The icy air gusting out of the ship's vents turns your breath to hurt in your lungs. You shake your head at him, trying to swallow the barren dryness in your throat away. “You should have.” And you don’t mean to hurt him worse than you already have when you say it. You don’t mean to hurt either one of you. These are words only of sincerity. “That’s what I left you for, so that you could have that.” But you miss the way they’d pulled your bones from your skin as you say it anyways. A terrible lie wrapped in the hopeful intention of truth. 

“I would never.” You can imagine he’d used this same tone of voice when he’d sworn his Creed as a child. All staunch honor and unwavering conviction. 

You whip your head away at that, unable to bear the sight of him, the sound of him. Even if you want to smell him more than anything. To bury your nose in the crevice between helmet and cowl and inhale deeply right there where the scent of his warmth and sweat and skin is the most concentrated. “Well that’s what I wanted. What couldn’t you understand about me leaving you? You should’ve made your own life. Forgotten me.” Snakelike and spitting and full of venom.

“Is that what you did? Forget? How? Tell me. Tell me so that I might remember for next time.” He stands to pace away again, slow measured steps now. Chewing on a thought, thinking, thinking, and then a death dealing sort of blow when he says, “I could have. I could’ve had all that, you know… There was a woman,” and his voice wavers.

So many terrible things in a terrible, terrible life. You close your eyes to it, accept, even now already, that this is how it should be. You think of your time in your beloved hole, all of your choices that lead you there to such a terrible fate, your time with him, so lovely and so full of light. To have been granted the opportunity to love and be loved, even if you’d never said it, it was the greatest gift the Maker had ever granted you. Such a recompense after everything you’d suffered. The death of your parents, a childhood alone and enslaved and abused, that moment when you’d finally put blade against the only terrible father you’d ever known, the creature who’d put you in chains and ensnared you to this dark fate, master and father and monster all in one, even that had been painful, the taking of your so fiercely desired freedom. And so this now… worse than all the rest, but you’ll accept it too. This is what he deserves. This is why you had let yourself be put away. 

“There was a woman,” he says again, voice unsure, uncomfortable. Almost like he doesn't want to, but feels he must. “A time back– we were on Sorgan, and she wanted me… she wanted me.” And he says your name again, softly this time like an apology. “To be with her, to stay with her and her daughter. She wanted us to be a family and I– I considered it… for a moment. What that would be like, to have someone want me to stay with them. To want to make an end with me.” He shakes his head down at you again, from his great height and you break. Fuck acceptance. A condescending sigh and, “You ruined that for me too. You wouldn’t let me, your memory, you wouldn’t let me be with her.”

“I hate you,” you spit through clenched teeth. You wish you had the strength right now to get up and fight him. 

“That’s fine. That’s your right. It doesn’t change the fact that she wanted me to be with her, and that I thought about it for one brief, delusional moment,” He sounds like he’s laughing through the modulator, “And then just… couldn’t. I couldn’t, cannot even fathom staying for anyone else that isn’t you.” And the laugh fizzles out into a crack. “How does that make you feel? Powerful?... Over me. Does it make you feel like you have power over me? Like you own me? Like I belong to you?” Now tears, perhaps, like he’d cry if you gave him the chance. Like you’ve hurt him enough to drive him to that. The nausea is back. The need for violence is back. The fucking fire in your back and your skin and all over… why, why did you let them do so much to you? You’d been so stupid. It’d all been such a terrible mistake. You should have never let him go. 

“No.” You won’t cry. You won’t cry. “It doesn’t make me feel powerful.”

He suddenly seems to lose all strength. Falling back into a crouch, his knees folding in under him, the clash of the armor against the durasteel floor sharp as a cracking bone. 

“Because you do– own me, that is. You do.” And he says it so simply. Like it’s the basest thing in the galaxy, as simple a thing as the birth of new life, the birth of a star, a black hole sucking an entire planet and all life into nothingness, death. Things that are really not simple or base at all. 

So you shake your head, refute his truth. “I don’t. I don’t want to – I let you go.”

“But you didn’t. Don’t you fucking see that?” And his voice is gentle, but he slams his fist against the steel floor all incongruous rage, and it echoes and rings between the two of you, his violence. “You didn’t let me go, you only took yourself away from me– left me chained.”

“What was she like?” You cut him off, an envious, ravenous thing all tinged the hue of bile – something poisoned, churning within you. “Was she beautiful? Was she kind? Was she good? All the things you could ever want a woman to be? Would she have promised to stay forever?”

“She wasn’t you.” And oh, how you hate him in this moment. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. This is guilt, this is punishment, this is retribution of the cosmic sort. Something from the Maker sent to remind you that she who sins shall be made to atone. But haven’t I atoned enough? Haven’t I paid my pound of flesh? This man and that soft heart is your punishment for all you’ve done. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him because there is nothing else to tell. Because it’s the truth, and you are, you’re so sorry that he couldn’t find someone else, someone better, kinder, more alive. And then, because if a thing’s going to hurt, it should hurt all the way, a glutton for punishment but a coward for consequences you ask: “Did you fuck her?”

“I didn’t kiss her.” Consequences. You bare your teeth at him, an approximation of a hiss and a snarl and a howl of grief so ragged it rips through your throat. Folding in on yourself like a dying star you turn your face away, trying to gather yourself and get away from the sight of him.

“I hate you,” you spit the lie again, again and again as many times as necessary until it becomes truth. “I fucking hate you. You should’ve stayed lost, you should’ve gotten sucked into a blackhole for all I care, you fucking asshole. You stupid metal beast! You should have died out there, left me to rot anything, anything but this,” you heave. 

“I could’ve had a family.” And you want to ask him why he’s doing this to you. To tell him you don’t deserve such cruelty. But you know that isn’t true. 

“Then you should’ve fucking stayed with her.”

“I wish I could have. Instead, I waited for you… I looked for you.”

Blow after blow, and perhaps, you think, this is not cruelty after all, but necessity. There had always been so much left unsaid between the two of you before. Perhaps, it’s finally time only for honesty. “I didn’t ask you to wait for me,” eyes cast down at your hand twisted in the blanket, voice small and pitiful. You have new scars there now, faint and glimmering like cobwebs beneath your skin. They’d wanted to see how much it’d take to leave a mark for good. They’d found their answer. 

“You didn’t–” He scoffs, hands braced against his knees he shoves up again and turns in a directionless circle, all coiled tension and so much rage with nowhere to go but the pitiful sac of girl shaped tragedy littering the floor of his ship. He brings both hands up to clutch the curve of his helmet. “You didn’t ask me to? I didn’t fucking ask for this either.” He turns back to shout at you, a real shout this time. One so full of anger it makes you flinch. “You think this is what I wanted? To wait for someone who abandoned me out of pure selfish fear? No. No, it’s not what I wanted either. But how was I supposed to forget?” He asks. “Hm? Tell me. How was I supposed to let it all go? Tell me how you did it, and I’ll go and do the same since you’ve been so successful. Tell me how you did it and I’ll–”

You surge forward on your palms, teeth bared. “I trapped myself in a hole in the ground until I forgot my own name and still I wasn’t able to forget you.”

“What?”

“Oh?” You coo at him, eyes going all wide, you bat your lashes at him mockingly. Your shoulder suddenly feels like it’s about to pop out of its own socket with the way you’re bracing yourself on your arms. “What? You weren’t expecting that?” You sit back slowly, bones creaking. “To know while you were off fucking someone else, wishing for a family, I was trapped in a grave having my skin pulled from my body over and over and–”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m leaving.” You try and push yourself up, clawing at the walls to pull yourself to rights by your fingernails. “I hate you,” you say again, and again you don’t know which of the two of you it is you’re talking to. 

He sneaks up behind you, taking you in hand by the elbow again, Maker, your shoulder, and whipping you around to face him, clutching your other bicep to pull you up onto your tip toes and to his level. “What are you talking about?”

You let your weight go heavy and sagging in his grip, head falling back on your neck to look up at him, and he plants his feet firmly apart, locking his arms so that he’s bearing your weight entirely. He gives you a tiny jostle. “You’re exactly as I am, you know? We’ve always been the same. A creature in a mask.”

He’s quiet for a second, confused. His chin tipping to one side and then the other. You know he’s reading you for what you’re worth in this moment, which you must admit is very little. “Is that what this was all about? The whole time? My face?” Your heart goes colder than ice, and you’re glad he’s bearing your weight for you. You think, suddenly, that you’d not have been able to remain upright on your own. 

“N– no. No. I don’t care about that. I let it go years ago.”

“Let it go?”

“No. I mean–” Stupid. “Nothing.” Tongue muddled, caught. Terrible. 

“But it was something? Then? Answer me.” He jerks you again, harder this time so that your teeth click together. 

You shake your head no, but say, “Would you have been okay with it? If it had been you, the one kept in the dark.” Always the dark, again and again. “Would you have been okay never really knowing who I was?”

“You know me, cyar’ika.”

“Don't call me that.”

“You’re the only person in the entire galaxy who ever has.” And his touch is gentle and cradling now, supportive in a different way. 

“Would you have been okay with it?” You ask again stubbornly. 

“Do you think–”

“You say I’m the one that can’t ever give a straight answer, but you’re just as bad!”

“Do you think,” he repeats more forcefully, talking over you, “That your very first night on the Crest, when I gave you my name, when you told me you could see inside my mind, that I would have stayed had I not understood the reality of what it was we were getting into? What I was getting into? That there was that possibility. You told me, don’t you remember? That you could’ve looked any time. You’ve always had me in the palm of your hand, and I’ve always wanted to be just there.” His thumb starts to move gently up and down the inner slope of your bicep, it’s the first soft touch you’ve felt in two years. 

And it was something you’d always known. Of course. The most obvious thing between the two of you, besides the love. You bring your hand up slowly, pinching the lip of the helmet between your thumb and forefinger, tremulous and terrified, you pull him down slowly so that the hard curve meets your forehead in a soft press. The two of you are so still for a moment, shivering, but still. Soaking up the proximity of something so necessary for survival after going so long without. “I should have never left, but a thing isn’t beautiful because it lasts. And I am more sorry than you will ever be able to know. For all of it.”

“Tell me what happened,” he whispers, voice smooth and deep, fathomless through the modulator. You close your eyes and think of the warm cave, the pool of water, the feel of this man that you love moving inside of you, using his body to translate all he’d felt for you with his touch. You think of the amazing ability people have to hurt those they love in ways no one else possesses. It is a cruel realization the business of loving someone brings about, the reality that to truly hurt someone, you must truly know them, and that to know is to love. 

“I was taken. Put in a very dark place. Hurt. They tried to make me forget, and I could not help but remember. It was all such a terrible mistake, Din. I made a terrible mistake.”

“Taken? Taken where? By who?” Voice full of panic and urgency. Everything you never wanted him to know. He brings one hand to his mouth, pulling the glove away by the edge of his teeth, and you follow it with your eyes as he lets it fall away, slowly, the dull thud of leather hitting steel, and then his skin, his skin on your face.  He cups your cheek in the palm of his hand, and it’s two years of heartache and a terrible noise coming from either one of you, an animal dying or coming to life, something painful and raw. He holds you so gently, and you let so many terrible things happen and now what will the two of you do? How will he ever look at you after he knows everything you’ve done? 

Everything you’ve ever done. Your eyes shift upwards again, the black transparisteel T-visor. That last, eternal barrier. That haunting flash of beskar in your mind, buried deep, come to the surface.

“A grave. Zealots. Servants of the Dark side.” You bring your hand up, run a slow, gentle finger along the edge of dark protecting his eyes from you. 

“Tell me,” he says gently.

But you shake your head, mouth pursed. Not that. Something else though… “I never looked, you know?” 

He knows you mean his face. “Why not?”

“It wasn’t mine to take. Not mine to have. It wasn’t the right time.”

“If there was ever going to be anyone, it would’ve been you.”

“There is one more thing.” Your voice sounds very far away. One of those terrible moments when your life suddenly branches out before you again, and you always know how a thing will end and there was never any other recourse but for the two of you to end up exactly here in this moment from the very first time. 

“I killed a Mandalorian once,” you finally, finally tell him. “Many, but there was one worse than all the rest.” 

I’ve never met a Mandalorian before, a lie and a truth. You’d never met one you hadn’t killed in the end. 

He goes shocked into stiffness, hands rigoring into cold shackles around your arms. They drop from where he grips you. He steps back, and in a way, it is such a relief. The truth you’ve held on the tip of your tongue, the thorn beneath your nail bed for so long, finally come into the light. 

“What?”

“Have you– have you ever done something so– so terrible that you regretted instantly? Something you felt in the moment you had no other choice but, and then– and then suddenly clarity sets in, and you realize you could have done everything else but what you’d just done? Wished you could turn back time in that very instant, and go back and change everything?” You press forward to clutch at his cloak, fingers twisting in the coarse fabric to force him to stay with you, but he pulls you away with fingers wrapped around your wrists, steps back again and again. 

“I’ve done terrible things–” you whisper, your eyes so wide, terrified of the thing you’re about to confess, of yourself, always, more than anything. “Things that you’d hate me for, if you knew the truth of them. To myself, to others.” You bring your hands up to your throat, wrapping your fingers around yourself there, feeling the patter of your thundering pulse against your palm. 

“Tell me,” he says again, and this is the last moment, the last stretch. The end is so near. You will look for relief in this feeling of horror, you decide. Like all other times when you’d been so entrenched in the pain of it all, in fear or loneliness or violence, you’ll look for the relief this confession will grant. Perhaps, absolution will finally be possible by way of confession. Exile, too, surely, afterwards, for you know there’s no way he’ll ever stay with you, look at you, after you tell him of your killing of his people. And you think again, that you have always been a monster, red, but if you’d been given a chance, a choice, then perhaps, you could have served as mantle and protector for a family that had never been afforded to you. You know that he could have been that, that you’ve lost the chance now for good. 

“After the fall of the Empire, the Dark and Vader, my master was weak, his acolytes dispersed and felled, their power waning. And for the first time in my life, I saw hope.” Your voice fluttering up with an airy note of that childlike wonder you’d felt in that moment of realization, when you’d recognized what it was you could become in that moment of freedom. “I took it, seized it. I killed him.” You walk backwards, blindly, needing the support of the wall to tell of this. “You know, my first memory is of my master. I can’t even remember my parents anymore. And he was never kind, surely. Never gentle, and caring only in a way that served him. But I belonged to him as any tool, weapon, belongs to a man, and there was something about that, that was meaningful. A child, alone, belonging to someone who would keep them no matter what. Sometimes, I try and remind myself of this, when I think too much on the things he had me do, the things I did for him, sometimes even gladly… I remind myself of this as a way of consolation. What else did I know? What other choice did I have? Death? Perhaps… But strangely, before… or,” You shake your head, your eyes falling closed as you search for the words or answers within yourself, “Strangely, I– I can’t remember when that changed, but it did because I didn’t always want to die. I– I wanted to live, even if it was for him. To please him or serve him or be useful in any way. They hoped to fill me with fear. But fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. And hate… leads to power. I was only ever the thing he wanted me to be in the moment I was powerful enough to defeat him. And you can’t know what that means, to live such a fruitless existence, to have no purpose… it’s terrible. But he finally gave me that in the most terrible and glorious of ways.” You open your eyes again to take him in, Din with the heart of a sun. 

“I don’t mean it as an excuse, but– but I think it’s important to remember. That he was ever the only one… it feels that, before I met you, he was the only other person I ever really knew. Only ever him, but then I met you, and then I knew you. And can a girl ever be more animal than girl? I don’t know… but surely if it was possible, then that’s what I was. So when I escaped, when I killed the only father I’d ever known, who was also a monster, yes, but also all I’d ever known, I was more animal than girl in that moment. You understand, Din?” You ask, but he gives no hint that he does, more droid than man now, and so you continue on anyways. “I killed the remainder of his following. I was stronger than them, stronger than him sometimes, and I know he feared that. I escaped to Corellia. The chaos of the planet was easy to hide within, but you must remember, again, I was more animal than anything else at that moment.” You give a short laugh, “I don’t know why all of my tragedy always seems to start and end on that planet. Perhaps, it’s why I keep going back there. And he–” You want to turn away, but force yourself to remain facing him. “He ended up joining me in that tragedy. He tried to help me, the Mandalorian, found me broken and discarded, waiting to die in the gutter like a street rat, entirely unaware of what it was to survive without the guiding hand of someone else.” You’d been so terrified, delirious and confused and reborn again – like an infant, come straight from a hostile and poisoned womb, newly birthed unto the galaxy and left to fend for yourself. Mind and body, savaged, yes, but with a soul that sang and howled with victorious growing pains at your newfound freedom. It had been so long, trapped, so long you’d forgotten the sound of your mother’s voice, the feel of your father’s strong hand on your child softened cheek, but you’d been free then, and you’d thought that even if you were to die like that, in the slums of Corellia, on the street like a pauper, at least you’d die clutching freedom in your hand. And then he’d found you. 

“But I had never known help, Din. Never. I couldn’t recognize such a thing. He led me to safety within the city, saw me for what I was, a broken, haggardly thing, perhaps, and he helped me. And once he was done showing me his kindness, I killed him. For no other reason except mistrust and habit. I– I didn’t know there was another recourse, that that wasn't what I had to do. I didn’t know I had other choices besides violence. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I killed him, Din. I’m sorry I never told you. I’m sorry I am the thing they made me. I’ve tried to be better, I’ve failed bitterly, and I’m sorry.”

You hope he understands that you hadn’t thought before you’d acted, more animal than girl, you’d performed on base instinct. And worse than anything else, he’d had a son, that Mandalorian, like Din does now, and you can still bring forth the memory of the child’s face in your mind even after all this time. You’d seen him as you’d ripped through his father’s mind, pilfered and savaged his memories and left him for dead in a filth strewn, back alleyway. An entire life torn apart in a single moment, and in the very millisecond before his soul had left him, the last thought you’d laid eyes on within his mind had been the image of his own face reflected back at him as he’d seen it earlier that day just before he’d hidden behind the protective helm of his Creed. You’d stolen his future, stolen a child’s father, and desecrated a life’s worth of dedication all in one single foul, unthinking instant. You’d not even given him the dignity of dying with his Creed intact. 

After all this time, you still felt that was what made the sin all the worse. That unintentional theft, to openly spit in the face of his benevolence and generosity, an unforgivable thing. 

And it would be easy to say that you hadn’t recognized that which he’d been offering – the sight of a merciful and helping hand extended to you without malintent or pretense. That you hadn’t recognized it, and perhaps, it was the truth, but you were sure it didn’t really matter at the end of it.  A thing worse than all the death and destruction and pain you’d dolled out in the name of the dark side, that one act was singular in its unencumbered horror for you’d not had the farce of your master's orders to hide behind, the helm of the dark whispering in your ear, stealing you of your choice. This had been wholly your own action, entirely your doing. 

The first thing that had ever belonged only to you in your entire life. And strange because during your time as a Sith, you’d undoubtedly killed any number of the beskar covered warriors, but this last one, it had been a kill without thought, without necessity, without influence. Only as yourself. Perhaps it had set the stage for all the rest. Perhaps it had set the stage for your own fall. 

You aren’t aware you’re crying until you feel his mouth on your face, his throat vibrating with low growls as he licks at your tears, the hollow thud of the helmet hitting the floor finally registering in your ears. Stop, it’s okay. Please, don’t cry, little one. You squeeze your eyes shut tight as you can, trying to pull away, escape him again, but he pulls you close. The long, uncompromising line of him pressing all the way along your softness, inciting the chill of death inside of you back to life. 

“Do you really think,” he starts low, the sound of his unmodulated voice for the first time in so long, “that there’s anything you could ever do, that I’ve not forgiven you for already a thousand times over?”

You begin to thrash in his grip, feral and wild and not wanting to be tamed this time, but he does not let you run, not again. His arms like bands of iron around your waist, stitching you to the cold steel of his chest and crushing your protests from your lungs. The two of you fold slowly to the ground. Huddling you between his crouched thighs, you try and push back, but he cages you between his knees and arms, and you turn your face away from him, trying to escape his wet mouth, the damp of his lips catching against your tear soaked lashes. “I never wanted to be this– this thing,” you gasp by way of another apology. “I never wanted to live like this – strange and violent and obscured in the shadow of something I was too young to ever understand until it was too late. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I lied or deceived you or made you feel something for someone that never really existed. Most of all, I’m sorry that it could not be true,” you gasp. “I’m sorry that I could not be true. That I couldn’t be something else.”

“You have nothing to apologize to me for. You think…” he says very slowly. Measured. “You think that I haven't done terrible things, as well? That I haven’t killed when I, perhaps, could have been merciful? That I’ve never been afraid or lost or weak? That I’ve never let violence overtake me? Worst of all, that sometimes I even liked it. We’ve all done things to be ashamed of. We will all, at one point, do things to be ashamed of. That is what it is to be human.” Human. You don’t know if you’ve ever truly been that. “What means more to me is honor and loyalty and character – these are things you’ve shown me.”

“I haven’t,” you cry.

“You have,” he growls, and he takes you between his hands violently so that you’re crying out in pain from your wounds or shock or fear of what he’ll do to you now. Crushing you to him so fiercely you feel as though he’s trying to squeeze your very heart from your chest so that he might look upon it with his own two eyes. “You exist. You exist, and you are here and you are mine. You were never given a choice. You were a child, stolen and abused and turned into something you were never supposed to be. The Force within you is a gift, and they tried to corrupt it into something it should have never been, but they did not succeed.” You try and shake your head at him, push him away, scream and cry and tell him that he’s wrong, that you are bad and poisoned and that even he, the great warrior, cannot save you. But he grips your jaw in his long fingers, grinding your bones between his strength, and halts your disagreement. He snarls at you, so furious at what had been done to you. You realize, suddenly, that he is vibrating with barely restrained rage. For you. Not at you. 

“They did not succeed. Your presence here, your regret, your wish for more, for better, your very escape, proves to me that they did not. You were too strong, too good.” I am not, you moan, starting to thrash and claw in his arms again. You don’t know, you’re wrong. “I know your true heart, I see you. As much as you hate it, as much as you wish it were otherwise, I know the true desires of your mind. As much as it pains you to be seen, to be known, I do. I always have, from that very first moment in the darkness, I saw you.” And his voice holds so much conviction, so much surety, you’re left with no other choice but to believe him, for Din is good and honest and true, and if he says it’s so, then it must be so. 

You go loose and weak suddenly, eyes pressed together tightly, squeezing tears out through crinkled lashes. Din is good and honest and true, and if he says it’s so, then it must be so. Your entire body is trembling, fraught with nerves and a surging of truth inside of you so overwhelming your heart beats in your ears, behind the fragile membrane of your eyelids. 

They’d done such terrible things to you, over and over again, and you were nothing but a single blip in the galaxy of stars, a singular pinpoint of terrible pain. That’s what they’d turned you into, but here, in his arms, you’re beginning to realize they’d failed at their goal.

He pulls your face into the space between his jaw and shoulder then, so tenderly, and you finally open your eyes to take in the skin of his throat, the growing stubble there. “Come here, sweetheart. It’s okay. We’re together now.”

“I’m not sweet, don’t call me that.” But there is no conviction behind your words, and you clutch at him more tightly. Your fingers twisting into the folds of his cape, clawing at the skin of his cheeks. 

“You are for me,” he says. And it’s true. There’d always been something about him that’d made you fragile in the face of his strength, in a way you’d needed, in a way you’d never had before.

“No. No.” You try and push and pull at him weakly, fruitlessly. “I’m leaving soon. I just need to catch my breath, and then I’m going.”

And he clutches you tighter at that, fingers twisting through your hair to jerk your head back painfully. You snap your eyes shut, mouth falling open on a gasp. “You’re not going fucking anywhere, do you hear me?” 

He’s being so careless with his face, dangling it before your closed-eyed face. “I won’t open my eyes. I don’t care what you do.”

He gives a rough sound of frustration, pressing his panting mouth to your cheek, growling against your skin, “Try to leave me again and see what fucking happens,” and there’s no doubt or wavering in his voice, only a great sort of conviction laced in terrible fury. “Go anywhere in the galaxy and see how long it takes me to find you again.”

“Please, Din– it hurts.” You can’t help it, he’s being too rough for the state you’re in now, barely holding yourself together at the seams. His hands leave you immediately, pulling back so that you’re sagging between his crouched thighs. You listen to the sound of him picking up the helmet, the hydraulics engaging once again as he fits it over his face. 

The two of you are quiet for a moment, catching your breaths. Your lungs feel set to burst, your vision jumping from bright light to murky dark and your stomach twists a sharp, brutal pain. Everything hurts everywhere. 

“How long?” And you know he’s asking about your time captured. 

“I don’t know,” you say, bracing your hand against the hard strength of his thigh, barely able to keep yourself upright. “I lost track of time, but it was winter when they took me away.”

“It’s winter again now.”

“Yes.” And the truth sits like a heavy smog between the two of you, a very long time. “I don’t want you to forgive me,” you say then. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Which is why you won’t look at my face.” He pets your head so gently, and you lay your cheek against the beskar over his thigh, letting the coolness of the metal settle the flames running beneath your skin, and think it is terrible, sometimes, to be understood so deeply. Tears drip over the bridge of your nose and lose themselves in the weave of his pants. 

He shifts, settling on a folded foot beneath himself, bringing you in closer to his chest, careful, careful, as if you’d been made of nothing but breakable hurt. Silence swells, fraught and unbearable, between the two of you, and your heart beats in rebounding thumps. You feel you know what he’s going to say before he even says it. “I told you that there’s nothing you could ever do I’d not forgive you for. I think… I think that love allows for forgiveness.”

You choke on your breath. “Don’t say it. Please, don’t say it,” you beg. He continues to pet your hair slowly. 

“I love you. And you’re going to listen to me say it. If I have to live with it, then so do you.”

“This doesn’t feel like love, this feels like punishment,” you whisper, tears falling faster, soaking the duraweave beneath. 

“How would you know? You’ve not had it before.”

Your eyes snap up to the face of his helmet, and you try and jerk away, but he holds you in place with a hand fisted in your hair. His voice is still gentle, not meant to hurt. “Fuck you,” you spit, hurt anyways.

“But neither have I, and yet, I know that’s what this is.” You shake your head in his grip, so full of confusion, listening to the wheezing whittling of your breaths pass in and out of you. You can’t understand. You don’t. Or you don’t want to. 

There is something humiliating about the easiness of his forgiveness. He forgives you now, and so what was all that for? Where does the point of all your suffering go now that he’s so swiftly given you that which you’d craved for so long? 

“I don’t give a damn what you’ve done. I’d let you stab a knife through my heart if it pleased you and die still loving you.” He cups the side of your tear soaked face, drags the warm, dry pads of his thumb gently beneath one swollen, aching eye. The callus of his trigger finger catches on the paper fragile skin, and there is a writhing, howling pain working inside of you, inside your heart. 

I love you too, you mouth up at him, words made only of air, but no less true. “But I can’t look yet,” you tell him, “I’m not ready yet.” Not strong enough to grant myself that. 

“I know.” And you’re grateful. Grateful for this, for his understanding, even if it is terrible. Grateful he’d not kissed you yet; you’re not ready for that yet either. 

“How can you not be angry with me? How can you not hate me?”

“The only thing I’ve ever been angry at you about, is that you forced me to betray you.”

“I didn’t–”

“I should have never let you go.”

“I didn’t want you to,” your voice breaks. “I wanted you to fight.”

“I know, cyar’ika. I should have seen that.”

There is, with startling clarity, the realization that there was no point at all. That there is never any point, justification to suffering. It just is, and then it is not. 

“Why did I do all of it?” You plead, cry.

“Why did you do all of it?” He asks you instead, for at the end, you’re the only one who can say. 

And there is no justification, and no point, and it all just is. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“You did what you had to. Or what you thought was right. I know. I see who you really are. I understand.” And absolution is a very specific sort of thing, and it lives here between the two of you. It always had

Chapter XI

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[calumance]

The Interview

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: cussing, it got angsty for a millisecond, talking about throwing up, doesn’t actually happen, slight mention of panic attacks

Summary: She is an actor who is embarrassingly and openly obsessed with Pedro Pascal, but when she gets invited to be a guest on the same talk show as him, it doesn’t go the way she planned.

A/N: holy moly, I haven’t written in FOREVER so I apologize now if this is absolutely horrible. And this is also the first time I have ever written anything for Pedro Pascal so go easy on me!

This was not the first time she was asked to be on a late night talk show; she had been on a couple for her smaller roles. But this was the first time that she knew absolutely nothing about what was going on. No one was telling her who the other guests were, when she was to go onto the stage, where she was supposed to sit, what they were going to talk to her about, nothing. It was all kept a secret from her. So when she showed up to the studio, she felt like she was running blind.

“They’re just going to ask me about my movie that is coming out soon, right?” She asked her brother, Jeremy, who was standing behind her through the mirror.

He was the one who set this whole thing up, and he was being the most secretive. “Yeah, sure, something like that.” His phone started to ring and he left the room while putting it to his ear.

“What the hell does that even mean?” She mumbled to herself while she finished the final touches on her makeup.

Jeremy didn’t come back any time soon, in fact, no one had come and talked to her since the moment she arrived. Out of boredom, she pulled her phone out and started to scroll through her twitter. She read her latest tweet to herself: “Watched the most recent episode of #TheLastOfUs; is anyone else obsessed with Pedro Pascal? Just me? Okay.” The tweet had thousands of likes and retweets, and so did the other handful of tweets where she gushed about how obsessed with Pedro Pascal she was.

It was true, he was, IS, a brilliant actor, funny, the most respectful and charismatic man in Hollywood, and absolutely drop dead gorgeous. She was wrapped around his finger, embarrassingly so, and, as far as she could tell, he had absolutely no idea who she was. And she was absolutely fine with that, especially with her tweets about him. “I need to stop tweeting my innermost thoughts.” She said to herself before tossing her phone to the side.

It was a couple minutes later when there was a knock at the door and one of the stage crew members stuck their head through the door, “They’re about ready for you on stage, are you ready?” She nodded as she stood up, running her hands down the skirt of her dress to flatten it out.

No one talked to her as she followed behind the crew member to the stage. This was getting weird, and it made her stomach sink into her ass. What the hell was she about to walk into?

Her hands shook slightly as she waited for the host to finish introducing her, talking about her new movie and the release date. She relaxed a bit, maybe they were just talking about the movie, and this show just happens to not communicate with anyone. The door opened up for her to walk through and she waved at the cheering crowd and made her way to the couches next to the host. The second she caught sight of the other guests, her heart stopped.

Holy shit, he’s right there.

She continued to smile and make her way to the couch, Pedro Pascal and Helen Mirren standing and clapping for her.

You’re a fucking actor, ACT like you’re not having a panic attack.

Helen gave her a tender hug, and a soft kiss to the cheek. Pedro pulled her in for a hug as well, could he tell how badly she was trembling? She moved to sit on the other side of Helen, away from Pedro, when the host stopped her, “Oh no, no, there’s a spot and a drink for you right in between Pedro and Helen there.”

Dear god, this is why it was all a secret. I’ve been set up.

She smiled and switched to sit in between them, but she leaned towards Helen.

Can they tell I’m about to vomit? Holy shit, DO NOT vomit.

They started off by asking her about her new movie. It was her first big role and she was more than happy to talk about it and answer the few questions they did ask her. When they switched the focus to Pedro and his absolutely bombshell success of his shows, she tried her hardest to keep a happy face, but oh god did she want to run screaming.

The host began talking about the attention Pedro has been getting from the success of his shows and if he liked it or not. He bashfully answered that he did. “The internet sure loves you.” The host said, and she felt her heart fall into the empty pit of her stomach. “This tweet here says ‘I need to stop referring to Pedro Pascal as daddy, it’s becoming a problem.’” Everyone laughed, including her, trying to act like she wasn’t about to pass out.

But then she saw it on the screen, the username was blurred out, but it was absolutely her tweet. She knew it was based on the emoji’s she put at the end; and even though the username was blurred, it wasn’t blurred that well. She took a staggered breath that hopefully no one noticed. “This one here says ‘Just caught up on The Last of Us…should I be concerned that watching Pedro Pascal kill that many people turned me on?’”

Please don’t reveal who tweeted that. Maybe I’ll make it off this stage alive.

Pedro laughed, and before he got a chance to comment on it, the host directed his attention back to her, “Are you alright there? You look a little flustered?” The smirk on his face told her everything. They were absolutely going to reveal who tweeted that.

“I’m great.” She said with a smile, but as sarcastically as she possibly could. She was sweating profusely.

“Good! Because, I felt like I recognized the username on this tweet,” The screen with the screenshot of the tweet suddenly unblurred the username and revealed her twitter handle, “Oh my god, that was your tweet!” That was it, she was going in hiding after this interview.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end. They showed three more of her thirst tweets for the man sitting right next to her. After the second she leaned forward and placed her hands on her face just so that her fingers were covering her mouth as she told herself over and over to not cry.

Perhaps Pedro could tell how uncomfortable she was starting to feel because he quickly spoke up with a chuckle, “I mean, you should see some of the things I’ve tweeted. I barely even know how to work twitter.”

She felt a wave of relief when the attention was finally not on her and her absolutely embarrassing obsession with Pedro. However, the feeling of wanting to simultaneously vomit and cry still lingered. But, she put on a brave face and acted as if the entire interview didn’t even faze her.

Once the show ended and she politely said goodbye to everyone around her, she made her way to her dressing room. It wasn’t until she heard the click of the door shutting that she finally broke into tears. She ended up in a squatting position while trying to pull herself together, but the tears just kept coming. Jeremy walked through the door with a huge shit eating grin on his face until he saw his sister nearly in the fetal position on the ground. Before he got a chance to say a single word, she stood up and poked a finger in his direction, “You did this, didn’t you? You were the one who set up this interview, you were the one who told me over and over again how good it would be for my career for me to come on the show. You set this whole thing up, didn’t you?”

“Why are you upset with me? If you didn’t want something like this to happen, maybe keep your thirst in a diary, not on the internet where everyone can see it.” Jeremy pointed a finger back at her.

The worst part was that he was right. She couldn’t even argue his point, because he was fucking right. Maybe it was time to delete her twitter and go into hiding after her movie came out. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around herself and let out a sigh, “Can you just go out there and tell me when everyone is gone? I want to be the last one to leave.”

Jeremy huffed as he walked out the door. She turned to look at herself in the mirror and started to clean the makeup that had run down her face. It was as she threw the final makeup wipe into the trash when she heard the knock on her door. It couldn’t be Jeremy, the dude never knocked once in his life. The feeling of wanting to throw up suddenly came rushing back.

When she opened the door, she had to swallow her heart. Pedro was standing there, a soft smile on his lips. “May I come in?” He asked softly.

As badly as she wanted to tell him no and slam the door in his face, she didn’t. Instead, she nodded and silently opened the door further to allow him to walk past her. She shut the door behind him and before he got a chance to say anything, she started spewing her thoughts, “Pedro, I’m so sorry if I embarrassed you. I promise I am going to delete all of the tweets, probably even my entire twitter account. I didn’t know any of this was going to happen, I didn’t even know you were a guest. Literally the entire thing had been kept a secret to me and I am so, so sorry if this damages or, or puts a hiccup, or whatever in your career. You are entirely an amazing actor and you deserve to be treated better than that, and-”

“No, no, no,” he softly cut her off and stepped closer to her, putting his hands on her arms. “I came here to ask if you were okay; to tell you that you deserve to be treated better.” She didn’t even know how to respond to that, so she just stared at him. “Interviewers can be brutal and I, even though I promise I had nothing to do with this, wanted to apologize to you.” He looked deep into her eyes and slightly shook his head, “I’m sorry they upset you enough to make you cry.” Dear god, was it that obvious? She looked away from him and he dropped his arms back to his sides. “I’d like to make it up to you by taking you to dinner tomorrow night”

Excuse me, what?

“What?” She whispered the question.

A small smile graced his lips as he looked down at the ground, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. ”I should’ve said something a while ago,” He started before looking back up at her, “I’ve been following your career for a few years now. All the tweets they showed today? I’ve already seen them. I’ve followed you on twitter for at least a year now.”

EXCUSE ME, WHAT?

How had she never noticed he followed her? She was too stunned to speak, so Pedro continued, “I feel like if I had had the guts to talk to you sooner, then none of this would’ve happened. Which is why I would like to take you out to dinner tomorrow, I’m just sorry that I’m asking you after what just happened.”

Her heart was beating so hard she was sure it was about to jump out of her chest. The blood was rushing through her ears so fiercely, she wasn’t even sure she heard him correctly. Her mind was reeling and it took him letting out a soft chuckle for her to realize she was staring at him like a deer in the headlights. She shook her head to stop her mind from spinning and let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, “Yes, yes, I’d like that.”

[againstacecilia]

No Words Needed

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, blood, near-death experience leading to emotional confession, mention of alcohol but in a simile so no drinking.

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to @sweetercalypso! I had so much fun writing this and I hope you like it. It isn't really holiday themed, but you said "partners to lovers" and my brain ran with it because it's such a good trope. 🙈

“Din, look out!” Your voice bounces through the cockpit, hands flying over the controls of the borrowed U-wing as the Mandalorian next to you struggles to control the ship. Unyielding winds buffet every side and puffs of labored breath escape Din’s helmet.

“I’m-” he coughs, wet and sticky- “I’m trying.” Arms shaking, he finally pulls the yoke up to level the U-wing over the barren landscape of your unlikely sanctuary.

It wasn’t your first choice to land on Nentan; nothing but rocky spires and unchecked winds greet you through the viewport. It was becoming more and more clear, however, that making it all the way to Station 88 wasn’t going to be possible if whatever injury Din had sustained fleeing Baltizaar wasn’t taken care of. Usually the best pilot you knew, Din’s flying had diminished significantly since leaving your pursuers behind on the small planet.

Taking charge of the flight controls, you keep one eye on Din as you lower the ship to the planet’s dense surface. His hands never loosen their grip on the yoke, but the tension radiating off him shakes his entire body. Sweat darkens the cowl covering the skin of his neck.

The moment the ship is settled and engines are cut, you yank him from his chair and support him down the few steps from the cockpit to the crew hold. No other people came on this run, they would’ve just slowed you down, but the reinforced bench in the middle of the room was kept in place. The full weight of man and beskar collapse on the padded surface with a groan.

You aren’t sure what happened. The blur of running full out to the ship, blaster bolts whizzing past your head, heart pumping adrenaline through your limbs, it all drowned out everything not happening immediately within your line of sight. Grabbing the first aid kit, you fall to your knees next to Din’s prone form.

“Tell me what happened,” you demand, rolling the Mandalorian onto his back. “Where are you hurt?”

Silence is the only answer you receive.

“Din?” Your hands still on the latch to the first aid kit. With the lights on in the hold, you have a better look at what you were observing in the cockpit. His body still shakes, and more blotches of dark fabric show just how much he’s sweating under all the armor. Your eyes light on his cowl, now noticing just how dark the fabric is there compared to the rest of his body…

Reaching your hand up to move the garment away, you notice the shock of red painted along the pads of your fingers. What you mistook for sweat is actually blood, and a flare of panic courses through you.

“No,” you whisper, pulling the cowl away fully and exposing a frightening slice stretching around Din’s throat. Without pausing, you fumble with the bindings of his armor, needing access to more than the sliver of skin you can see. You know about his Creed, you know you can’t remove his helmet, but he never said anything about the rest of his armor.

While your fingers desperately try to work the clips and buckles securing his chest plate, tears burn the corners of your eyes. “Come on, Din, not like this. I need you to say something. I need you to wake up and tell me what to do…”

Finally slipping the layer of armor off his chest, you tear the fabric of the cowl to get it away from his neck. A base layer long-sleeve sticks to Din’s body, sweat and blood indistinguishable as they mingle and drench the fabric. You rip the collar down the middle, not caring about what you were ruining as the full wound is exposed. The tears finally fall free as you survey the damage.

A nasty gash haunts his bronze neck. Someone must have gotten a lucky swing with a vibro-blade as the two of you ran from the group protecting your bounty. How Din had even managed to get to the ship, let alone gotten you into sub-light without you even knowing he was wounded, completely mystifies you. The blood loss alone…

Setting your hands moving again, you rifle through the first aid kit to find the tools you need. Soaking a sterile pad in the disinfectant, you steady your hands to get cleaning when orange-tipped fingers wrap around your wrist.

“Din!” You exclaim, eyes searching the dirty visor for any sign of lucidity.

His words barely register through the modulator in his helmet. You watch his throat work through a painful swallow before he says, “Where are we?”

“Nentan,” you answer. “Don’t speak, I need to take care of this cut. You’ve bled too much, you need to just focus on staying awake.”

“Cyare,” he says, the word unfamiliar to your ears, “it’s dangerous that we stopped. They’ll be looking for us.”

You shake your head. “They didn’t follow us off-world. We’ve been alone since we broke atmosphere. Now hush.”

As you try to remove your hand from his grip, he squeezes tighter. “I can’t let them hurt you, we need to-” that sickly cough wracks his body again, blood again oozing from the wound- “we need to go. Now.”

While he talks, his chest begins to heave. His breathing becomes shallow and fast and panic seems to grip at him as surely as he holds onto you. He even goes as far as to try to sit up with a cry of pain. Placing your free hand on his chest, you gently push him down and look into where you assume his eyes to be, saying as confidently as you can, “We are safe. We were not followed, and I need to take care of this wound so please let me do that. Let me take care of you.”

His fingers cling to you for another heartbeat before letting go and dropping to the bench. You work in silence, counting every one of his too-shallow breaths as you clean the cut along his throat. Once you’re satisfied with your handiwork, you open a bacta patch and apply it to his fevered skin.

Hating to leave his side, you begin to clean up the mess of the hold. Garbage gets bagged and the first aid kit gets put away, security measures are triple checked, and all seems to settle for a moment.

After the longest half hour of your life, Din begins to stir.

“Hey, be careful,” you whisper, dropping again to his side. “You shouldn’t move too much yet.”

He nods, his chest rising and falling with a cautious full breath. Relief floods your veins at the sight. At least the bacta was working. You lean your back against the bench and let your muscles relax, breathing deeply to ground yourself. He’s safe, you think to yourself. We’re going to be fine.

In the stillness of the hold, your mind starts to wander and his words creep back into your memory. “Din, can I ask you something?”

His helmet turns to look in your direction.

“What does cyare mean?”

The silence continues for another handful of heartbeats. You begin to wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then he’s slowly sitting up, brushing off your attempts to help him. Gently, so gently, he takes your hands and pulls you onto the bench beside him.

Angling his body to face you, your hands still wrapped in his, Din begins to speak. “Cyare is a term of endearment in Mando’a, the language of my people. It means…” He pauses, shoulders rising and falling with a slow, intentional breath. “It means beloved.”

Confusion and something akin to hope flares in your chest. “Din…”

“As we were running for the ship, one of the guys chasing us was catching up to you. He slipped by me while I was distracted fighting off one of the others. I managed to get the guy off me after he got my neck, but I didn’t care about the wounds. All I cared about was keeping this guy away from you. So I ran. I ran as hard as I could so I could catch up to that bastard. I didn’t even think to use my blaster because my instinct was to use my own two hands to protect you.

“In the end, I slid my knife between his ribs and left him lying on the ground, following you as you leapt into the ship.” The cold fury in his voice as he describes what he did settles into your bones. You had no idea all this had happened right behind you not more than a couple of hours ago.

“What does this have to do with-”

“I’m telling you this,” he says, voice instantly warmer and softer, “because you have to know that I care for you. When he threatened you, I realized that everything I’ve been lying to myself about not feeling… It was all real. And you needed to know.

“I should have told you sooner,” Din’s voice catches and he clears his throat, “but I was scared. Scared that telling you how I feel about you would change whatever it is we have. But after today…” His head drops with a sigh.

“Din,” you angle your head to try and meet his gaze through the inky blackness of his helmet, coaxing him to lift his head again, “we’ve been working together for months. Been stranded on planets and ripped away from people we love… Did you think I would run away from this? From you?”

He goes still as night as your words sink in, visor finally lifted to you again. You pause to consider all of the emotions barreling through you, to figure out how to explain that the thundering of your heart isn’t from fear or that the tears lining your eyes aren’t from pain; it’s all from joy. Joy filling you like honeyed wine and warming you down through your very soul.

While scanning his helmet, you remember a story he told you once. About a way Mandalorians show affection when other displays weren’t possible due to their Creed. As the memory sparks, you realize words aren’t needed to tell him how you feel.

Closing your eyes, you gently rest your forehead against the cold beskar of his helmet. Din’s fingers tighten around yours, the warmth of his hands seeping through the worn leather and settling into your skin. A shudder runs through his body.

“We’re in this together,” you whisper, opening your eyes and pulling away with a smile. The sun starts to peek through the windows of the ship, warm light bathing the hold and sparkling off the armored man in front of you.

He nods, pulling you into his arms. “Together.”

[peterparkersnose]

Merry (Din)mas

pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

word count: 1k

warnings: none, din is grumpy but whats new, small sexual reference ? 

a/n happy holidays!

summary Din learns and celebrates about Christmas. 

masterlist

join the tag list

read time: 3 mins 41 seconds

“And the issue is…?”

“There is no issue. I just don’t think we should spend our time focusing on the old holidays.”

Din sat at the lousy refresher table feeding Grogu. You stood on top of one of the chairs, balancing your best and attempting to stick a branch with some leaves from the ceiling.

“That’s not gonna stick,” he sighed, taking a bite of his food. “Yes it wi-”

The branch fell on the floor in front of the chair.

A tiny smirk arose on his face.

Annoyance rose on yours. “I’m just trying to give him the natural experience of a holiday as a child,” you argued, hand reached out towards Grogu.

“He doesn’t understand, do you?” Din asked the baby. He was half asleep in his makeshift high chair after finishing his meal. “My point,” he said, finishing the argument.

The next morning Din woke up early to the sounds of brush and grunts from the kitchen.

He opened the door from his chamber and found you wrestling a tree you seemed to have chopped down and dragged into the Crest.

“Maker Y/N, what is this?” he sighed, his hand rubbing his temples. “Christmas…tree,” you struggled, pushing branches down to reach the stem of the tree.

“It needs to go back outside.”

“But Din!”

“Back. Outside.”

“It’s Christmas!”

“I don’t give a womp rats ass what it is. The outdoor belongs outdoor and it will stay outdoors.” he demanded, pointing towards the open hatch.

You sighed, defeated. Maybe Christmas was an old holiday for a reason.

“It’s too early for this shit,” Din mumbled, slumping back into his chambers.

When he awoke, he was met with the scent of what seemed like bread- only sweeter.

When he rose from his chambers once again, he was met with the blasphemous sounds of what seemed like sirens.

“Turn it off!” he yelled, planting his hands over his ears.

He saw your confused face sitting at the table with Grogu once the music stopped. “What in the worlds was that?” he asked. “Christmas music. From a long time ago, the traditional stuff.” you shrugged, stirring a spoon in one of the pots.

Din looked at the colorful paste you had in your hands. It seemed like red goo.

“Oh, come on Din. Just sit with us,” you begged, kicking out the chair opposite from you.

Reluctantly, he agreed.

“Why is he red?” Din sighed, looking at Grogu thoroughly for the first time that day.

He had the red goo all over his hands, various places on his face, and somehow the tip of one of his ears.

“What even is that?” he asked, carefully swiping a bit off of Grogu’s forehead.

“Taste it,” you smirked, amused at his disgust. “Taste it?” Din replied, his nose was crinkled at the meer suggestion.

You swiped your finger in the bowl and sucked a hefty amount of it off your finger. That totally unintentionally turned Din on.

His eyes seemed to pop out of his head. “It’s only frosting,” you teased. The makeshift cooker beeped. You turned around, excitedly taking the sweet smelling things out.

“Christmas cookies.” you said, carefully placing them on a plate.

Grogu extended his tiny hand and began to levitate a cookie off the plate.

“No, not for Grogu. Too hot.” you said, catching the cookie mid air. You dropped it back on the plate quickly.

“Did you see the rest of the ship?” you asked eagerly. “Please tell me there isn’t some magic rabbit sitting in my living room ready to spread Christmas joy.” Din said, crossing his arms.

“That’s easter, wrong holiday. Come on,” you sighed, scooping Grogu up. The apron you had on wiped him clean on your way to the living space.

Grogu cooed as the two of you entered the room. A much smaller tree sat in the corner, decorative lights covered it. “And Grogu helped, didn’t you?” you asked, tickling the child ever so slightly.

Tiny decorative balls hung off the tree. “He’s gonna have a field day with those,” Din muttered. “Already did,”

The cardboard box near the trash was filled with broken bulbs. “And we’re not going to do that again, are we?” you asked the baby. He just whined and looked up at you with his sweet eyes.

“What’s that?” Din asked, referring to the tiny box on the ground. “That is your gift,” you smiled, sitting next to the tree with Grogu in your lap.

“A gift?” he asked, joining you. “I was going to save it for the solstice, but…”

You handed him the wrapped gift. “Open it,”

He carefully tore away the paper and revealed a small box. He opened the lid.

A tiny brooch sat upon white fluff paper. It was a skull, similar to the Mandalorian crest he often wore. This one had three sparkly stones engraved in it, one for each of you.

His lip began to quiver as he stared silently at the beautiful gift. “Do you like it?” you asked, patiently waiting for his response. The silence made you suddenly doubt your gift choice.

“It’s… beautiful,” he said, completely touched by the gift.

“One for me, you, and Grogu. Isn’t that right, buddy? I let him pick the color out.” you smiled down, looking at the baby now grabbing for stray pieces of your hair.

“This is just…”

Din was at a loss for words. He didn’t know how to tell you that this is the first gift he’s ever gotten. Or at least remembered getting. And it was perfect.

“Are you okay?” you asked, reaching over touching his shoulder. He lifted his head from looking at the box in his lap. A smile was on his face as his glossy eyes met yours.

“Don’t cry,” you said, embracing him in front of the tree.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” he whimpered, wiping a stray tear away.

Grogu quickly jumped in his lap next to the gift.

“Besides you two.” Din smiled, patting Grogu’s little head as he admired you on his side. 

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry

[janghoefett]

A little snapshot into giving Din Djarin head. 18+ only below the cut, f!reader.

———————

He’s slumped against the pilot’s chair like a limp rag doll, hips sitting forward with spread legs at the very edge of the seat. Gloved hands grip the armrests in an iron grip as his head falls slack against his shoulder until, with a strangled groan, he lets it fall to the other side with a relieved sigh.

The Mandalorian would have appeared to be in distress if it weren’t for the woman kneeling between his legs. She is half-naked, covered only by pretty, lacy bits of lingerie, while the Mandalorian sits armored from head to toe apart from his swollen cock, which sits heavy in her hand.

Din Djarin doesn’t speak in a moment like this — he knows his mind is too far gone from his body, that his pleasure will make him say something regrettable or foolish. He wants to praise her, to tell her how beautiful she looks right now, to tell her he would die for her, to tell her he would leave everything behind if she asked it of him… and just as his lips part to speak, her swollen lips sink down to the base of his cock in triumph.

“Fuck!” he grunts instead, through gritted teeth.

She pulls off of him with a tear beading at the corner of her eye, breathing deeply with parted lips, and still, he’s silent. His gloved hand reaches for her soft, heated face, and his thumb runs reassuringly across her cheek before wicking the tear away. She smiles up at the masked man, just softly, just for a moment, before nestling her lips around the head of his cock once more.

This time his hand finds its way to the back of her head. Her jaw aches and the back of her mouth had already bruised, but still, she feels his gentle fingertips moving in soft circles against her scalp and she continues. She peers up at him through her lashes, into the expressionless t-shaped visor where she is met only with her own reflection. This was wrong, of course — everything about being with this bounty hunter who never showed his face was simply wrong — but with every touch she had felt his kind nature and his affection for her, and she leans into her desire without hesitation.

“Din,” she whispers.

That’s all she had said as she came up off him; just his name. His name.

The Mandalorian sits up, leaning forward to lessen the gap between them. Her breath hitches in anticipation and she closes her eyes when his fingers reach under the rim of his helmet, and as she keeps them shut, the Mandalorian reveals his face to press a kiss firmly to her lips. He lingers there, never using his tongue or deepening the kiss, but through it she feels his sweetness and his sincerity, and together their hearts thump loudly within their chests.

She opens her eyes when she feels him lean back in the seat, and she falls back into her rhythm of bobbing her head on his length. Outside of this metal ship, the Mandalorian would be guarded, guarding her, guarding himself, and his freedom, but within these cold walls he’s exposed to her like a nerve. He gives himself to her gladly, and she gives herself in return, each of them so blindly unaware and insecure of it all. They’d continue like this, content to make love in the evening and hide that love when the suns rose, but maybe it was all enough for now. Maybe they already knew it was love without needing to say a word.

[icecreambeach]

home again, for the first time

Mandalorian gen-fic (spoilers for s3 finale!)

Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu

Word Count: 2,065

Rating: G

Tags: Post-Finale, Fluff, Comfort, Rest & Relaxation, Home, Returning Home, new home, Domestic Fluff, Domesticity, Din gently shaking a support beam in his new house like the dad he is, "oh yeah this is well built.", new dad, Fatherhood, Grogu's Bottomless Stomach, Din's Undying Patience, Good Parent Din Djarin, The Helmet Stays On, Star Wars CRIBS, My Sims interior decorating skills are finally coming in handy, This cabin fucking rules, Familial Love, Safety, Father and Son

Summary: It's time for Din and Grogu to rest, but not before Din does his Dad diligence.

**SPOILERS FOR S3 FINALE**

Excerpt below:

Even more surprising are the plants. Two leafy species dangle above the nook while three smaller pots sit in one of the windowsills. Din picks up one that looks like its thorns would pierce through his kute if given half a chance, turning it in the light. Its stem is pale green, but grows darker at each bulbous appendage. He’s seen similar plants growing in the deadlands far out from the city, where water rarely reaches. This one is comparatively smaller, but he knows they can grow taller than the house itself.  He puts that plant in the middle of the nook’s table. Maybe, when it’s bigger, he’ll plant it outside.  More surprises: the small conservator is full of food. Fruits, vegetables, meats. Some of it is even cooked, wrapped in matte paper just as intentionally as the pillows arranged on his bed. They put all of this here for me, Din realizes. Me and Grogu.  He’s still for a long moment. Then he turns to look out the window, but Grogu is not by the pond where he left him. Din looks down, scanning, and spots Grogu right next to him, climbing up a ministation housing tools. Something falls off and clatters to the ground.  “Hey,” Din leans over to scoop him up, “Let’s get a look around first.”

[mandalorianfantasy]

Ch 1: Paths Crossed

Summary: This is the start of a slow burn story between our favorite mandalorian and a girl who crosses his path when they both show up looking for the same bounty. It’s written alongside the series and will eventually become your favorite sexually frustrating fic. But first, we build the story: 

“Where are you trying to go?” The raspy voice of an older orange alien. 

She was standing in a shipping yard watching the alien yell at droids about which crates go where in the cargo port. 

“Planet Arvala-7,” she said blatantly. 

She sees the alien raise an eyebrow. “And what kind of business could a young lady like you have on Arvala-7? I don’t know if you’ve heard but that planet is crawling with mercenaries now.”

“Look, I have a hefty bag of credits here.” She reached down to a bag that was attached to the speeder bike resting beside her. “I know it’s a bit out of your route, but I’ll make up the difference and then some. So long as you have room to store my speeder.” 

She threw the bag to the man. He proceeded to feel the weight of it and after a few moments turned to the cargo ship and waved her along over his shoulder. 

- - - -

It’s been so long since I’ve seen Quill, I wonder if he’s still on that dirty sand planet. 

- - - - 

She got dropped off a few hundred miles west of where she was headed. A Nikto encampment she heard had a very special bounty in their possession. A bounty she had been tracking for a few weeks, desperate to find before the empire. After riding her speeder for a few hours, she ditches the bike behind a sand dune and continues on foot. Coming up on the outskirts of the compound and nestling down to watch the hustle of activity around the camp. After watching for sometime and tracking every guards post, a loud uproar sparks.

- - - - 

What the fuck is going on down there… *squinting* oh no is that?

 …A damn IG unit.

- - - - 

Shooting, yelling, explosions erupt from the center of the compound. She uses this time to run the perimeter to the back buildings where she can sense the faintest influx of the force in that area of the building. Most the guards are being dispersed among the front, giving her the perfect opportunity to make her way around back and find a way in. 

Then quiet. Things have settled some. She follows her senses down hallways, sure that she’s about to find the being she’s been seeking. Light on her feet as not to make noise. She rounds a corner, blaster drawn. Just in time to see a mandalorian shoot the IG unit from earlier. Some of the best people she’s known have been mandalorian, but among some of the most ego driven as well.

“HANDS UP,” she gives a stern warning. 

The mandalorian doesn’t know this voice but he can tell it’s someone of confidence that won’t hesitate to get what they want. His hands slowly raise. “I have no intention of harming the child,” he responds to the threat of the blaster, which he sees out of the corner of his visor is aimed at a break in between his armor. She’s not playing games. If she pulled the trigger he’d be badly wounded.

“You should be happy I believe you,” she can sense no malicious intent coming from the man hidden behind the helm. She lowers her gun and approaches the little green alien sitting in his port. “I’ve traveled a long way to find you,” smiling at the infant. She turns back to the mandalorian, “If you truly don’t want the child harmed, then you should know what the empire plans to do with this bounty once they obtain him. First, I think we should get out of this compound while it’s still quiet.”

- Mando -

….There’s something about this woman I can’t exactly pin. I’ve heard Carga talk about a female bounty hunter who picks up all the hardest pucks. He’s said that she’s the only other hunter who keeps up with my return rate in the guild. Trust should never be given over so soon into meeting someone, especially not if she’s the mercenary that Carga is talking about. But she has this aura about her…

- - - - - 

 When they get some distance from the camp, she retrieves her bike. Once she sees the mandalorian in the distance pulling a blurrg, she knows exactly whose help he had finding this compound.

“Are you planning on returning that to Kuiil?”

“You know Kuiil?” The mandalorian is caught off guard.

“Kuiil is an old friend of mine. When I heard the bounty was bringing me here, I wondered if his farm was still in the same place.” She found herself giving more information to the mandalorian than she usually would to a stranger.

“Our arrangement didn’t include the return of the animal, but I am going to use it to return to my ship. It is in the direction of his farm,” the mandalorian tied up her speeder bike to the blurrg. Motioning for her to sit on her bike, to be pulled alongside the animal.

After she takes a seat, he hikes himself up onto the blurrg, “brief me on the bounty?” 

“Well the empire has been hunting this kind of… being, for some time now. They want to experiment and extract any… information they can.” 

“How would they get information out of a child?” The Mandalorian asks.   

“By draining his blood,” she responded dryly and glanced over at the kids pramm following suit. The mandalorian fell silent so she spoke again.  “I can see you were excited for that beskar reward.” She raises an eyebrow at the one shiny plate covering his shoulder.  

“Mmmmm yeah,” he says lowly, clearly still pondering.   

“What if I had a proposition where you get the beskar and you help transport me and the child somewhere safe?” She says.

The mandalorian looks down in her direction, “you want to explain?”

“I’ll allow you to turn in the child for the beskar, if you help me almost immediately retrieve him,” she says it as if it wasn’t going to be an incredibly hard task. 

“That’s going to put a giant bounty over our heads.” The mandalorian doesn’t sound very enthused.

She shrugs her shoulders, “how badly do you want the beskar? It belongs back in the hands of the mandalorians doesn’t it? If you choose to accept, the child cannot be there for long. And I must have your word that you will transport us off the planet afterwards... including my speeder.”

The mandalorian is at first in disbelief of this absurd plan.

Silence again. They can see a razor crest ship in the distance. The mandalorian mutters a very agitated “no.” The sight of the ship is mangled. As they get closer and closer they can see just how much has been stripped. Hoping off the blurrg the mandalorian runs up to the ship, clearly distraught and heated.  

“It didn’t always look like this did it!?” She yells sarcastically as he’s inspecting the damage. 

 It happens fast but in a moment he’s running after the Jawas ship. Fighting to climb up. She unties her speeder from the blurrg and starts following behind. Watching the mandalorian disintegrate the Jawas is making her clench her jaw.                      She never liked seeing creatures of any kind harmed. Of course she wasn’t a saint. But the brutality she’s faced in her life left her having a low tolerance for violence. And when the mandalorian got jolted off that ship falling a good distance to the ground, she couldn’t help but smirk.     

“Got the wind knocked out of ya huh?” She said smugly looking down at the mandalorian from the speeder bike.

He grunts, laying stiffly in the sand.

“Let’s find Kuiil, if I can recall he has a knack for bargaining with Jawas,” she insisted. “Then we’ll get your ship fixed. I’m a rather capable mechanic.”

Kuiil is happy to reunite with the girl he once mentored. She was happy to see he was in good health. Kuiil explained to the Mandalorian that after he was released from the empire, he found mechanic work on a small planet. His temporary time there, building up enough money for the farm at hand, is when he met this very young girl. Ambitious to learn how to handle as much equipment as possible. This is where he mentored her on all things he knew. The girl glances at the mandalorians helmet while Kuiil is story telling, once again finding the details of her personal life being explained more to this mandalorian than anyone else in recent years of her life. 

After Kuiil speaks with the Jawas and conveys the message back to the mandalorian, he’s furious but left not much of a choice in getting back his ships parts. He must go face this creature they’re trying to describe and bring them back it’s egg. While the mandalorian is eager to get the job done to return his ship in working condition, she is rather neutral and observant with the affairs at hand. The mandalorian, the woman, and the child set off and come to the place mapped out by the Jawas.

“I will not harm this creature for its egg. I understand we need your ships parts but if the plan includes -“ she stops talking mid sentence. She watches the mandalorian march straight into the den. 

- - - - 

Oh. I guess there is… no plan at all.

*Roaring and shuffling. Then the mandalorian comes flying out of the den.*

Great. Reeeeaaalllll stealthy. Is there a fucking brain under that beskar? He’s about to get handled by this desert mama. There’s a faction of joy knowing he’s about to get a lesson beat into him. 

 ————  

A very agitated creature emerges from the den. A fight is inevitable. She must sit solid in her values, after all this creature did not deserve this threat they were bringing to its home. However, as the creature becomes more hostile with the mandalorian - sitting aside is getting harder and harder to do. Fear is welling up in her belly. Fear that the mandalorian may seriously be injured, or worse if she lets this go on any longer. That’s odd… this is really a complete stranger in front of her, why is she having these feelings well up? She knows she has to put a stop to it. The mandalorian is on his knees, ready for a last defense.

She lifts her hand as a mean to stop the situation… but she notices the animals mass lifting off the ground before she could do anything.

The woman and the mandalorian simultaneously look over to the child’s pramm. The small being was using the force to stop the creature and save the mandalorian. Falling asleep after his success. Shock and silence ensure. The mandalorian gathers himself, collects the egg, and returns to where she’s standing with the child. She’s stroking his head. 

“Is he okay?” The mandalorian asks.

“He’s okay. He’s just drained.” She responds.

“What… was that?”

“That was him saving your life,” she said gently.

[hyperactively-me]

sharing a bed

He turns his head at your suggestion, clearly thinking of it.  “Or I could leave” you mumble, leaning on the side of the wall. He’s still on the ground next to his bag diverting his gaze from your form.  “Mando, I can just find a different place to stay–” “No.”

just wanted to ask you guys to please read this

(asks are open)

happy reading

warnings: none

“So…” you draw out, unsure of what to make of the situation.

Mando lets out an awkward cough, readjusting the heavy bag hanging over his shoulder. 

The single bed stands out in the room like a bantha on Hoth, imposing on the comfortable, distant relationship between you and him. 

He steps further into the room and drops the bag on the floor of the room. He looks back at you with his ever-stoic expression, unmoving. 

Suddenly, he bends down to the floor, fumbling with the zipper on the bag. You watch as he slides it open with ease, large hands digging through the bag, rummaging around for something. You’re sure that he was only going through his bag because of the awkwardness of the situation, to divert from the topic. 

“I’ll take the floor” he grunts out, voice strained. You gulp quietly, still standing at the threshold of the door. 

“Uh, no. Mando…I don’t think that's going to be comfortable at all” you watch as he turns his head to you, an unreadable expression dons his demeanor. He continues to stare at you, silence permeating the air. 

“Why don’t we share it, it's obviously big enough for the both of us” you suggest casually, not wanting to instigate tension in the already tense atmosphere. He stiffens at the thought, hands abruptly halting from their movement. 

Well this is just great! You’ve made him uncomfortable, way to go! you think to yourself, internally beating yourself up over your words. 

“Unless it's the helmet…” you stumble out, timidly stepping through the threshold and into the small bedroom. “I can cover my eyes somehow” you twist your hands together, unsure of what to say.

He turns his head at your suggestion, clearly thinking of it. 

“Or I could leave” you mumble, leaning on the side of the wall. He’s still on the ground next to his bag diverting his gaze from your form. 

“Mando, I can just find a different place to stay–”

“No.”

You stand there, gawking at him. His sudden, forceful tone shakes you to your core, his authoritative nature coming out in full force. Your face reddens a bit from this singular word, your brain racking through all of his meanings and insinuations. 

“No, I mean…” 

He clenches his hands together, his leather gloves creaking from his actions. He stands up abruptly, a small sigh crackling through the modulator of his helmet. You push the door behind you closed and lean on it gently, waiting for his response. He watches you carefully, studying your movement. He slowly walks up to you, bringing his hands up to his belt. The broadness of his shoulders eclipses your vision. You gulp nervously, awkwardly standing in front of him. 

“I- ‘m fine with it” he draws out, fidgeting with the belt loops around his fingers. 

“All right then” you say matter of factly, brushing past him quickly, averting your face from his view. 

You kick off your shoes and shed your jacket, tossing it carelessly on top of Mando’s bag. You pull back the covers of the bed and plop down onto the mattress with a sigh. Mando slowly moves his way towards the bed, shedding his own armor and boots, methodically and thoughtfully. He concentrates on the way he handles his chestplate, gently placing it down near his bag. He does the same for his shoulder plates and leg armor, again placing it quietly next to his chestplate. You lay back slightly, watching him as he strips down to only his underclothes, a soft black shirt and dark pants. 

“About the helmet…I have a cloth for your eyes–” he articulates, jumbled by the premise of the situation. 

“Oh, of course, I’m sorry–”

“No, it's not your fault–”

“Really, I could just, if you’re uncomfortable with removing the helmet I could–”

“No” he presses out once more, his voice assertive and strained. “Just, put this on. Please” he nearly begs, internally crumbling from the awkwardness of the situation. 

He holds out the dark cloth in his now bare hand. His hand is calloused, skin a tanned, golden honey. Your hand brushes his as you take it, skin brushing against skin. You meticulously tie the dark fabric around your eyes, blocking the world out from vision, plunging into darkness. You lean back fully in the bed, your legs straight as a pin under the covers. 

You hear the hiss of his helmet disengaging, a sound you’ve only heard once or twice before. Your breathing speeds up, afraid of breaching his trust by somehow messing up, even with the blindfold on. The helmet sounds heavy and hollow as he sets it down. The mattress dips underneath you as he climbs into the bed, his breathing shallow. You hear him gulp, his muscles tensing under the sheets. Keeping your eyes open becomes a battle of its own, and you succumb to slumber as you hear the steady breathing of Mando beside you.

When you open your eyes, you feel something heavy draped over your back. As you stumble into consciousness, you remember the night before, Mando reluctantly climbing into bed with you. Your breathing picks up, shaking any ounce of sleepiness from your mind. As you begin to sit up, his arm shifts around your torso, pulling you towards him and into his side. 

“Mando” you hiss out, face reddening at his unconscious actions. 

“Mando, wake up” you say louder this time, feeling extremely uncomfortable in this position. His grip on you tightens slightly, your face smushed into his side. 

You hear him groan out in acknowledgement, stuck between the state of dreamland and consciousness. His hands flex, a sharp inhale escapes his unmodulated lips. You begin to struggle under his arms, thinking of all the accusations he could make up, thinking of the awkwardness to follow from this night, thinking he might just leave you behind at some outpost after this whale incident. All of a sudden, he shoots straight up, shoving you away from him with a strong force. 

You’re nearly thrown off the side of the bed, a small shriek escaping your lips at the unanticipated action. You grip onto the sheets, holding yourself steady near what you presume is the edge of the bed. The blindfold only heightens your anxiety, the darkness providing no insight on what he was doing in the moment. You hear his breathing begin to even out, your own breath slowing down from the past few moments. 

“Are you okay?” he huffs out, his voice so very clearly unmodulated, and it sounds wonderful. 

You stutter out “Uh, yeah,” gulping at his words. 

You hear the sound of his helmet engaging, a hiss emitting from the machinery. Your heart sinks a little, yearning for the sound of his voice to grace your ears for just a little longer. 

“I’m sorry– You can take off the blindfold now” he stutters out, floundering around his words.

“Oh” you say stupidly, lifting your hands up to remove the cloth. Your eyes adjust to the bright light of the room, and you see Mando lifting himself out of the bed. You watch him as he hurriedly puts his armor on, rushing to fasten the clasps around his shoulders. He yanks his gloves on then picks up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. You’re still sitting in the bed, a vacant expression hanging over your face as you watch him. 

He looks over his shoulder and mutters out a quick “I’ll be ready outside when you’re ready” before throwing open the door and walking straight out of the room. 

“...Okay then” you say, pushing yourself off the bed, a shade of red painting your face. 

- - - - - 

You lay in bed, eyes drooping, drowsy from sleepiness. You turn onto your back, stretching your legs and arms, a soft groan eliciting from your lips. Your eyes open a bit wider as a figure enters your vision. 

Din. 

A smile erupts from your face and you stretch your arms out towards him as he stalks over to the edge of the bed. You look up to him, your eyes raking over his form quickly. He’s wearing a soft black shirt with matching pants, and a small smile paints his face. The mattress dips under his weight as he gently climbs into the bed.. He crawls into your open arms, laying partially on top of you. You clasp your arms around his torso, drawing a contented sigh out from Din. 

You bring one hand up to his hair, raking your fingers through his dark, curly locks, slowly and methodically. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath spanning your skin. 

“You’re so soft” Din groans out from your neck, his hands tightening around your torso. 

A warm feeling washes over you, your cheeks slightly blushing from the low timbre of his voice. His stubble scratches the skin between your neck and shoulder, tickling your skin. You bring your hands down to his face and lift his head up gently, forcing him to stare straight at you. His eyes are lidded, chin now resting on the soft skin of your stomach. 

“Hi” you whisper.

“Hi” he whispers back, a lop-sided smile on his face. 

A soft look washes over his face, and he drags himself up to lean in closer to your face.

“Can I kiss you?” he mutters, eyes darting back and forth between your lips and your eyes. You blush, a smile creeping up on you. He’s only a few inches away from your face, you can see every lineament and wrinkle of his skin, the gruff stubble on his face, his wiry mustache, his deep, dark, beautiful, brown eyes. He smells like sandalwood and greenery, the scent peppery and strong. 

You lean in, closing the small gap between you two. You press your lips to his, inhaling at the contact. Your hands come up around his shoulders, tugging on him, trying to pull him up your body. His stubble scratches your chin in the finest way, his lips are so soft. Din draws his body farther up yours, pushing you deeper into the bed, the mattress pressing down on both sides of your form. He bites your lip, slowly pulling away as he breaks contact. 

It’s like he’s floating above you, the dim light haloing his hair. You’re both breathing hard, flustered from the intimacy of the kiss. Suddenly, he grabs onto you and flips you over, a small gasp erupting from your lips. You’re on top of him, well partly on top of him, and he’s looking at you like you’re everything to him. His eyes widen and your heart flutters, a full blown grin displayed on his face. You put your hands on his shoulders, steadying your position on top of him. You smile back at him, snuggling into his chest. A deep inhale slips away your lips, taking in his scent. 

“Hard to believe you’re a big, scary, bounty hunter when you’re so cuddly like this” you beam, staring at nothing in particular. 

He lets out a raspy chuckle, hands coming up to rest on your back. 

“Yeah, hard to believe” he huffs out, rubbing your back slowly. 

You sigh, content, allowing the atmosphere of peace and tranquility, softness and love, to consume you. 

[freakrenaissance]

All this talk about monster din 😍 I just had to revisit this fave! I adore him! This is so perfect

Pairing: Monster!Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 2k Warnings: monsterfucking, gruesome transformation, oral (f-receiving), squirting, unprotected p-in-v Summary: Din finally agrees to fuck you while transformed. Notes: This is based on @tuskens-mando's monster!Din and this post about him purring. Thank you to @absurdthirst and @torictailor for betaing!

Thank you to the endlessly talented @thepoisonofgod for the incredible art!! Full piece at the end of the fic.

His chest is warm and sturdy, his thick hair tickling your palms. It feels like the constant hum of a ship hurtling through hyperspace—a subtle reverberation, equal parts feeling and sound—under your splayed hands.

He’s purring.

Din rocks his hips up into you, his thrusts lazy and slow, a gentle grind of his massive cock inside you.

At some point, what began as lust ran and bled and faded into love.

***

It starts with an agreement: after months of pressing—of begging and reassuring, of convincing him that you love the part of himself he tries to hide from you—he finally acquiesces. Reluctantly, he agrees to give you what you want. Really, it’s what you both want, but he’s been too scared to give.

He takes you somewhere remote, a small cabin on a sparsely-populated planet. It’s miles from the closest town, the only structure visible in the middle of the dry, scrubby landscape. The enormous rock formations that jut upward are the burnt sienna of iron oxide. The sky is a cloudless cornflower blue until the sun sets, and it gives way to violet, then indigo, then star-spattered black.

He lays you out on the huge bed and eases you open gradually. First, in human form, with his fingers, he massages you until three slip inside with little resistance. He kisses you deeply—open-mouthed and sloppy, tongues tangling—because he doesn’t have to worry about nicking you with the cut glass of his incisors. He loves you recklessly while he still can, while it’s safe.

He works his hand between your legs like that, pressing up against that spot that makes you see gold behind your eyelids, until you flood his fingers.

And in that unwound state, you beg him with wide, pleading eyes to let himself go.

“I’m ready, and I want you,” you say. “All of you. Please.”

With traces of you dripping down his wrist, it takes very little coaxing to convince him. You can tell: it isn’t so much a choice to change as it is Din finally granting his body permission to do what it’s desperate to do.

He rips off the last pieces of his armor. His pauldrons, chestplate, and cuisses clatter to the floor then he strips off his clothes until he stands before you, bare.

Relief washes over him, and he shudders as he gives into it—an overwhelming, full-body tremor wracking his body.

You prop yourself up on your elbows on the bed and watch.

You’ve seen him change before. The transformation is grisly; it hurts to witness. He wails and roars as he grows, throwing his head back and metamorphosing right before your eyes. He convulses, and his spine lengthens with a revolting series of fractured sounds. His shoulders and chest widen and fill out, his skin stretching to accommodate his girth. The splintering tattoo of bones cracking and reforming makes you grit your teeth, but you don’t look away. Your gaze follows the bead of sweat that trails down his fevered temple.

He’s doing this for you.

His fingers elongate and sharpen and between his gnashing jaws, his teeth do too. His top lip pulls up in a snarl, and you catch a glimpse of jagged white. His eyes are shut tight, but you know behind his eyelids, they blacken. They go dark.

Coal-black. A fathomless night sky with no stars.

He howls, and enormous ebony wings burst from his shoulder blades with a sickening snap of overextended skin. They unfold, and flecks of black blood spatter the gray walls.

No matter how many times you’ve seen it, the process is always longer than you remember, always more painful.

Finally, with a growl and a pop of resetting bones, it’s over. His chest heaves from exertion, but he’s still Din like this—your Din. His handsome face looks the same, aside from the bottomless black of his eyes and the sheen of his pointed teeth. And his tongue, set behind the cage of his smile, is different too.

He’s huge...everywhere. Towering. The walls suddenly feel closer, the cabin tiny. He’s built, even wider and more muscular than his human form, his golden brown skin stretched over corded muscle and a soft middle. The two steep points of his wing joints loom over his shoulders. He’s dusted in the same dark hair; it covers his chest and thickens into a trail, leading down to where his cock hangs heavy—intimidating in both girth and length—between his powerful thighs. He stands over you, and the breadth of his shoulders fills your field of vision and eclipses the light of the lone lantern hanging from the ceiling—then he spreads his black wings and blots out the rest of the world.

All that’s left is him.

He leans over you, bracing on either side of your body, so you're both sheltered by the canopy of his wings, and the bed dips and creaks under his weight. You whimper when slides his hands inwards, his palms climbing the hills of your hips.

He’s careful. His hands are gigantic like this—he could shatter your fragile jaw with one of them if he wanted too—because they were built to inflict pain, not pleasure, each long finger ending in a cruel claw. They’re glossy black crescent moons, terminating in a keen point, so he handles your thighs like they’re overripe fruit that would bruise under the lightest pressure, as if your skin would tear like tissue paper. He opens your thighs wide, and his eyes—two dark voids—flick up to watch your face through the fan of his eyelashes… then back down at your displayed cunt.

The tip of his round tongue darts out to swipe across his bared teeth—long and razor sharp—as he regards his feast.

He’s salivating.

You feel like prey, your heart fluttering in the frantic rhythm of an insect’s wings, and you like it.

Because you know he’d never hurt you. You know you’re safe.

His tongue is long, like that of a wolf; it unfurls when he relaxes his jaw open. Spit drips down the edge of the flesh-pink ribbon, and he lunges.

He drops to his knees and devours you. It’s frenzied, the way he eats you out: he laves over the aching peak of your clit then dips down to spear his dexterous tongue inside the channel of your cunt. It slips in easily, past your finger-stretched walls. And he works it in and out, in and out as he hums deep and satisfied in his chest.

Slowly, he builds you back up to that same stormy peak.

You tense and arch, reaching down to tangle your hands in his hair. He growls and shoves his face into you more, the bridge of his curved nose grinding against your clit. You moan when the pleasure crests, and he pulls back just in time for every one of your lower muscles to flex out. You gush.

He drinks.

It’s obscene, the way he slurps up every drop you have to give him. He laps at you until you whimper and go still, limp against the bed. When you open your eyes again, he’s standing over you, his massive cock flushed and leaking, jutting stiffly upwards. He beckons you with two clawed fingers, gesturing down at the floor.

He’d warned you that a bed wouldn’t support his weight.

You scramble to your feet and lie down where he’d spread his cape out. He follows you and buckles, dropping to his knees, then crawling up the length of your body until he’s poised over you, his wingspan caging the two of you in place. For a moment, you just look at each other. The air is thick on the precipice.

Then you smile up at him, and the tension dissipates.

He smiles back, and the threatening gleam of his fangs doesn’t seem so scary when the corners of his eyes crinkle in that same familiar way. You smile wider, and he dips down to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, breathing deep to inhale your scent.

You reach between you and take him in hand—he’s heavy and throbbing, hefty and veined—and guide him to your entrance. He cants his hips forward and stretches you open with the blunt head of his cock. For a second, regret floods your mind.

This was a mistake. He’s too big.

But you’re so desperate for him that you let him ease forward a little further, and to your relief, the searing pain gives way to a pleasant stretch: an ache, an ache for more.

“Keep going,” you beg, tilting your pelvis up to meet him.

He sits back on his haunches, and his head lolls to the side, his jaw slack as he revels in the first taste of your cunt around him like this.

“So fucking tight,” he rasps. “Too-too good.”

His voice is different like this, deeper and huskier. It echoes. It sounds like thunder, like midnight, like heartache.

He’s panting. You’re holding your breath, exhaling involuntarily when you look down at where he’s splitting you open, his girth stretching your lips. You’ve swallowed almost all of him.

“More.”

He thrusts one last time and whines like he’s in pain when his hips hit yours. His head drops forward again, the black pools of his eyes searching your face.

“I’m okay,” you whimper. “Please.”

A pleased sound rumbles through his chest, and he adjusts, sitting back and pulling your lower half up onto his lap, so he can fuck you deeper. He drops his hands to the floor and lets the incessant push of his hips do all the work: a measured tempo of slap slap slap.

You get lost in it, eyes shut tight, focused only on the feeling of being so full.

A drawn out scraping sound makes you open your eyes.

When you look down, you see that he’s leaving gouges in the hard-packed floor. He knows he can’t hold you like this—you’re too delicate and soft and rippable—in his taloned hands, so he severs his pleasure into the surface of this planet, leaving deep gashes in the iron-red dirt, like tallies to count each piece of your fractured bliss.

Gradually, the snap of his hips turns brutal, his breathing gone ragged. When you look up at his anguished face, hunger flashes across his eyes, clouding the black pits, and you feel Din slipping away from you.

“Din,” you say, reaching up to cup his sharp jaw, “stay with me.”

Immediately, his eyes clear, and his pace slows at the sound of your voice. His features soften. He leans down to wrap you in his huge arms, careful not to scratch you, and flips you both over, so you're riding him—so you can control the pace.

You settle on top of him, hips splayed wide to accommodate him. He hits even deeper like this, spearing up into you, but you’re so pleasure-drunk and stretched out, that the intense pressure feels good. He’s barely moving beneath you, just tilting up to meet each lazy roll of your hips. There’s no more urgency. You bask in the languid ecstasy together. His ink-black eyes are hooded and unfocused: you can tell he’s fighting to keep them open to watch you.

Your hands look small when you brace them on his massive chest. His skin is feverish: he radiates heat, especially when he’s changed.

His leathery wings are fanned out beneath him, wrinkled in places like a wide expanse of tanned hide. When you slide one hand up his sternum, past his collarbone and wrap your fingers around his thick, muscular shoulder, you can feel the bony place where his wings ripped free during his transformation. It’s healed now, as if he’s always like this.

You run your hands over him, massaging your fingers into his giving flesh, scratching your nails lightly through his chest hair. Admiring him. Loving him.

You paint him with affection so maybe he'll finally believe you the next time you say you love all of him.

You meet his eyes, and his lips pull to the side in a slow smile. For a second you freeze, confused by a new unfamiliar sensation, then you realize he’s… vibrating.

He’s purring.

The constant rumble under your hands feels like a promise and a warning: like the first stirrings of something primordial and powerful, the muted quiver of the ground before an avalanche rends a picture-perfect landscape in two.

The tremor that precedes the quake.

***

monster!din taglist: @tuskens-mando @inkededucatednnerdy @mindidjarin @pitterpatkittycat @vaguely-here-wish-i-was-not @codleyjamgan @thatistheway @pumpkin-stars @keeper0fthestars @saradika @frodontyouletgo @hilarioustickles @mandocrasis @idealisticidiott @we-could-have-been @bearcina @letitrainathousandflames @prismaticpizza @holobandit @scram1326 @mysticclamgothalmond @the-timely-traveler @insomniamamma @wechaoticstudentcreator @sinmight @nips-out-for-mando @galaxy-romance @fatedeniedhope @shadesofnerdlygrace @adancedivasmom @sketchy-feeling @shirks-all-responsibilities @dincrypt @lexloon

[netherfeildren]

the cassandra complex chapter 8 : moodboard

the execution of lady jane grey, paul delaroche, (1833)

[calumance]

I’ve been writing a Din Djarin piece for like two weeks….and every time I read through it, I hate it. Send help. 🙃

[againstacecilia]

Together

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Warnings: Fluffy smut, tying everything up, face reveal, having to say goodbye to these two is it's own warning.

A/N: Y'all... This is it! Thank you so much for being around for this ride. I started writing this in July of this year and before I knew it, an entire story was in front of me. I'm so grateful for every one of you who read any part of this story, and especially grateful to @creatively-analytical for being with me every step of the way. 💖

The next day dawns bright and warm, peeking through the open cockpit door and sneaking down into the hold where you and Din had fallen asleep only a couple hours before. His scent surrounds you, bright and warm like the evergreens on the edge of town. You keep your eyes closed as consciousness takes you, breathing in the feeling of security and care that envelops every sense thanks to the man slumbering beside you. Every fiber of your being wants to look over to see his face; all it would take is a simple turn of your neck… But you know how much trust he has in you to be sleeping helmet-less by your side. You couldn’t ruin that just to satisfy your curiosity.

Instead, you roll to face away from him and scoot closer into his embrace. He stirs at the movement.

“Morning, cyar'ika,” he mumbles, face nuzzling into the back of your head. He kisses down your neck and over your shoulder. The kisses, slow and sleepy, stir something in your gut and your body leans into the contact, a sigh escaping your lips.

“Morning,” you breathe, hand coming up to tangle in Din’s hair. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I have in years.” His lips never leave your skin as he asks, “You?”

“Mmm…” is all you can muster as your attention follows the trail his kisses make up and down your neck and shoulder.

His chuckle vibrates through his chest into your body. “Something distracting you?”

You turn around to face him again, placing your own kisses reverently along his collarbone. You follow up his neck and along his jaw before ghosting your lips over his. “You’re distracting me.”

“My apologies,” he whispers into your lips.

“I don’t think you’re actually-”

Before you can finish, he presses his lips to yours with a quiet fire. Your body responds instinctively and your lips part, his tongue sweeping between them. His hands are suddenly flying over your body, resting for only a moment before landing somewhere new, kneading and massaging every inch of skin he can find.

“You’re right, I’m not sorry,” he says, voice low and dark.

What started as something gentle and sleepy turns desperate as you both cling to each other. Din’s hand drifts lower, his fingers circling your clit with abandon. He kisses your neck and marks your skin with his teeth as your breath turns ragged.

“You’re so beautiful, coming undone like this for me,” Din says between presses of lips to skin.

“Take off your pants,” you manage, much less romantic than Din’s showers of praise.

He laughs but does what you ask, disengaging for just long enough to remove the article of clothing before his lips crash into yours. Your hand reaches down to wrap around his length and he sighs, head dropping to rest on your collarbone.

He breathes your name into the dark, nearly praying to you as you continue working your hand up and down his cock. After a moment his hand finds yours, “I’m not going to last much longer if we don’t slow down, cyar'ika.”

A smile curls your lips as you whisper, “Then fuck me, Din.”

He growls and bites down on the soft skin of your neck, coming up to straddle you and shifting his hips up to yours. You angle the head of his shaft to your entrance and he slips deep into you, both of you sighing at the connection.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Din says, rocking up into you. His hands plant next to your head, arms trembling with the tension of not absolutely losing control.

Your hands ghost up his arms, seeking purchase on his shoulders and fingers digging into his flesh. His thrusts pick up their pace and he slams up into you over and over again. It doesn’t take long before your walls begin to clench around him. “Oh Maker, Din, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

He reaches one of his hands down between your bodies to circle your clit and that’s all it takes for your climax to crash over you. Your nails scrape along his skin as the waves of pleasure crest and break through your body. Din thrusts one final time before shuddering over you; sweat coating his naked body and breath coming in gasps as the hand between you twitches to grab the flesh of your hip.

You're both spent and Din finally collapses on top of you, skin to skin. As you try to catch your breath, a giggle bubbles through your lips.

“Something funny, Cuyan?” Din pants.

“No, nothing like that,” you giggle again and wrap your arms around him. “You just… You make me so happy.”

He nuzzles into you and laughs with you, the beautiful sound echoing in the dark. He rolls off of you and onto his side while pulling you with him. His fingers trail through your hair, “I’ve never felt like this for anyone before.” He pauses and you let the silence stretch, holding space for whatever he wants to say. “I know it’s soon, so soon after everything that’s happened for you, but… I’m willing to wait for you. I’m willing to wait however long you need but you are who I want.”

You turn your face towards his, the features inches from you but still veiled in the darkness of the hold. You picture what his face looks like as he bares his soul to you. How his eyes might be searching over your face. How his lips might curl around your name as he whispers it. How his forehead might crinkle waiting for your response. There’s no doubt in your heart as you whisper, “I love you, Din.”

A choked laugh escapes him before he pulls you in and kisses you all over your face. He skips around from your lips to your forehead, lovingly showering your cheeks and the tip of your nose as you giggle and squirm in his arms. Pure joy radiates off him.

“I love you too, Cuyan.” His forehead meets yours. “Akay haar kyr.”

“When do I get to find out what all these words mean?” You ask him with a poke to the side.

He nuzzles his nose against yours, “That phrase means ‘until the end’.”

Your heart glows while you kiss him. Pulling away, you ask, “What about shar… Shar-reek…”

“Cyar’ka means darling.” He kisses you back.

Between kisses and pecks, Din tells you more about Mando’a, the language of his people. It’s a beautiful language, filled with a rhythm that makes it feel like a dance. Mandalorians may be a warrior race but the beauty in their language gives you an appreciation for the depth of their culture.

After letting you ask a million versions of “What is this word in Mando’a”, Din quiets you with a long, slow kiss. His lips leave yours just enough to say, “I want to show you something.”

“Okay.” You lean in to kiss him again but he fully pulls away. The cot shifts as his weight is lifted off. You hear him step back a bit before the hold once again fills with silence.

“Close your eyes.”

You do immediately, the command becoming second nature. Through your lids, you can see the light turn on and bathe everything in a soft glow. Din’s footsteps come back and he sits on the end of the cot.

You hear him take a deep breath, “Cuyan.”

“Yes?” Your heart starts fluttering in your chest, the energy shifting between you.

“Look at me.”

You’re about to open your eyes before a thought stops you, “Did you put your helmet back on?”

“Cuyan,” he repeats, his hand gently taking yours. He brings it up to his face and, where you expect the cold resistance of beskar, instead you feel the warm skin of his cheek.

Tears well under your eyelids as you realize what he’s offering. More than his name or his body, your Mandalorian is offering his face. The final piece in his Creed. “Are you sure?”

“Look at me, cyar'ika.”

Your eyes fly open and take in the face sitting before you. Deep, dark eyes of velvet brown bore into yours from mere feet away. Your hand lays on tan skin speckled with scruff the same dark color of the curls framing his face. A smooth patch of skin hides along the stubble on his jaw, and a dimple forms as he watches you memorize his face. You take your fingers and trace along the bridge of his nose and over his cheekbones, stopping on the laugh lines that crinkle at his eyes.

“Din…” Your other hand comes up and both your hands cup his face. “You’re beautiful.”

Tears light his eyes at your words. He closes them and leans into your touch, chin trembling. You shift onto your knees and bring yourself toward him for a closer look, drinking in his plush lashes and full lips, memorizing every scar and line as you whisper, “Thank you.”

- - - - - - - -

All those months ago, when you were a trembling ball of fear and courage, you set out with a slightly terrifying Mandalorian to find someone you couldn’t imagine life without. In the months since, you learned about people and places in an ever-growing Galaxy but, mostly, you learned about yourself. You found pieces to a puzzle you thought had already been completed which helped you see how much more you were than a simple artist from Randon. You’d been crushed into so many jagged-edged pieces you didn’t think there would be any way to rebuild, but you did it anyway and found not just who you could be, but who you wanted to be.

The future will never be certain, you tell yourself that night as the Razor Crest whips through hyperspace, your partner piloting the way towards the next chapter of your story, but at least I can be certain that, whatever it looks like, Din will be by my side and I’ll be at his.

Together.

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[icecreambeach]

no man's space - CH3

Pairing: Din Djarin/Boba Fett Rating: Explicit Words: 20,274 Chapters: 3/3 Tags: Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Let Din Say Fuck, Din Djarin Needs a Huge, Trauma, Grief, Religious Trauma, Westerns, Space Opera, Unreliable Narrator, Pansexual Din Djarin, Pansexual Boba Fett, in space everyone's pan, Boba on that throne changed a whole generation huh, BDSM, it's light for now, Din Djarin Doesn't Remove the Helmet, for now, Protective Boba Fett, Dom Boba Fett, Sub Din Djarin, Brat Din, brat taming, a little bit, Cultural Differences, Isolation, Din Djarin is Bad at Flirting, or is he?, Violence, Blood, canon with a sepia filter, or maybe a high-contrast one

Summary: Shortly after reuniting Grogu with his own kind, Din Djarin seeks the same. But he needs information. Luckily, he has a friend who has recently come into some wealth and is all too happy to give Din what he needs.

[I can't include an excerpt from this chapter because it's all either spoilers or Nasty. Go with God comrade.]

[supertaliart]

I went a little off the rails for a power-point-party, so I thought I'd share. Don't come at me about canonicity. Also yes, I spent hours using illustrator to make pose-able vector mando'ade.

Review from my friend: "I feel like I actually learned something?"