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guess-my-next-obsession · 2 years ago

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The Mandalorian and The Corellian

chapter three: the silence

pairing: din djarin x corellian!reader

warnings: NSFW 18+, getting caught in the act, arguments, angst, helmet comes off, me not knowing enough about the SW Galaxy lay out and guessing, soft!din ending

words: 5.6k

series masterlist

a/n: this wasn’t supposed to be posted until the eight but i have no self control, am impatient, and crave more validation. but this will be the last update until the 8th so that i can focus on my other series 🫶🏼 also, literally shout out to @awholelottayeehaw for managing to fuckin guess the whole plot twist in the last chapter’s comment section 🫡 i actually choked on my spit—well done brother in christ

You’d forgotten how good of a distraction and stress reliever sex could be, your dating pool in Mos Espa being bleak and driving you into celibacy. But here, with this strong man three times your size driving into you like his life depended on it, it reminded you of all the splendors of pleasure you’d been missing out on.

“Vero,” you panted his name as your nails clawed up his back, so close to the edge and yet so impatient. “Harder. Rougher. More.”

“Don’t want to break you,” he panted out through slamming thrusts, surprised that you not only could take more than what he was already giving you, but that you wanted it.

“I’m not a piece of glass—oh! Right there!” Your high was beginning to wash over you, just a few more thrusts and you’d get there. Just a few more…

“Y/N!” The two of you jumped at the sound of a third party entering your ship, Vero leaning over and covering your body with his. “Oh—I didn’t—I thought you were hurt—I—“

“Get out!” You shouted at the Mandalorian, your face turning red with anger and frustration. You were so close to forgetting about him. So close to feeling good after tonight’s drama. And of course, he had to come and ruin it all.

Mando rushed out of the ship, his head spinning with the sight of you naked and underneath another man. He wasn’t sure if it was concern, anger, or jealousy that weighed him down and made his blood feel hotter than all the suns combined, but something was affecting him. He stood outside the ship, pacing around the outside without much of a clue as to why he was lingering around.

He knew he found you attractive, but he found plenty of people attractive over the years. He didn’t think much of it, not until a few hours back when you publicly—and loudly—declared you didn’t like him. It hurt more than he thought it would. Tons of people didn’t like him, and it never once bothered him until the words were coming out of your pretty mouth.

Your smart mouth.

God, he hated the way you spoke so carelessly. Hated it because he longed to be like that. You were everything he was not—hot headed, careless, snide, fun-loving…beautiful. He was all carefully planned steps, seriousness, quiet, and level-minded (aside from a few run ins with the Jawas and droids a while back). You were nothing like him, and yet, there seemed to be an invisible connection between the two of you. Perhaps it was your lack of faith in the general population, or perhaps it was your shared feeling of not belonging anywhere—whatever it was, it tied his heart to yours even when his head ached with disdain.

“What the fuck, Mando?” You came out in just Vero’s tunic and boots, shouting and waking every sleeping creature in the woods.

“I heard a blaster-shot and came to check on you.” He tried to remain calm as he turned his eyes from your bare legs, his stomach feeling queasy as his mind flashed with images of them wrapped around Vero’s waist.

“A little late, don’t you think?” You snapped, scoffing at his excuse. “I don’t think you gave two shits about checking on me. I think you knew I was out here with Vero, and for whatever reason, you decided it would be fun to cockblock me!”

“You think I’d walk miles into a dark forest to come and ruin your night with the lumberjack?” He asked as he turned to you, his eyes narrowing inside his helmet. You nodded and folded your arms over your chest, remaining firm in your accusation. “What would I get out of that besides the vile image of you beneath him?”

“The satisfaction in knowing that I’m having a terrible night. Probably the worst I’ve had in a long time. And I lived in Mos Espa when the Hutts ruled. You can imagine the terrible nights I’ve had.”

“You didn’t sound like you were having a terrible time with him.” He countered, watching as you turned pink in the cheeks.

“I wasn’t. Until you came along and ruined it.”

“The two of you have been out here for a while now. Like you said…I was a little late. What? He couldn’t get you off in that time?” You furrowed your brows, every comeback and insult flying out of your head as you took in his tone. Was it darker? Deeper? Full of an emotion you couldn’t yet define?

“He was doing just fine.”

“And yet you’re out here screaming at me instead of screaming for him.” He stepped towards you, your feet stumbling as you stepped back. This surely wasn’t how you wanted him to make a move.

“Why don’t you go back to Omera?” You seethed, full of resentment with the knowledge that you’d always be second best.

“Maybe I will.”

“Good.” You shrugged.

“Good.”

“I can’t wait for you to leave.” You stepped closer to him, your body acting against your will.

“I can’t wait to be gone.” He filled the gap completely, your chests touching as you eyed each other, silently challenging the other to make the first move.

“Everything alright?” Vero poked his head out, his pants draped low on his hips, a cup of water in his big hand. Mando tilted his head at you without looking at the other man, and though you couldn’t see it, you could feel him smirking at you.

Stepping back from the Mandalorian, you nodded, hate-filled eyes remaining on his as you walked backwards to the ramp. “Yeah, I was just sending him home.”

“Have a good night, Mando.” Vero smiled at him and nodded his head, Mando’s eyes rolling inside his helmet at the man’s confidence. Though, he figured he’d probably feel just as cocky if it was him that had just been in between your thighs. “I’ll make sure she’s safe until the morning.”

“Oh, thank the Maker.” Mando walked off, tone thick with sarcasm as he listened to your giggles sound out in the silent woods. Time to find Omera.

•••

Morning sounds from the critters in the trees stirred you awake, your arms stretching out and a smile splayed across your face. Vero had more than made up from the orgasm you missed out on during Mando’s interruption, his warm body laid close to yours as you shuffled in the sheets. A smile cracked on his face when you looked over at him, his arm slung over your torso pulling you tighter to his body.

“Good morning,” he mumbled as he kissed your shoulder. You smiled at the sweetness that you were so unaccustomed to before climbing out of the bed and stretching your entire body. He sat up and watched you, a slight frown on his face as you went about your morning routine. “How, uh, are you feeling?”

“Good. I needed that.” You glanced over at him with a smirk, watching as he looked just the slightest bit relieved. “I forgot how fun one-night stands could be.”

“Right. One night.” He pursed his lips together and nodded, accepting the sting in his heart. You just now began to pick up on it—his disappointment in your casualness.

“I’m sorry, Vero. I thought I made it clear last night that I wasn’t in the position to rush into anything serious right now—“

“No, yeah. You did. You did. I just,” he sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Just hoped you’d change your mind, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” you bit your lip as you watched him climb out of bed and tug on his clothes from the night before, his eyes avoiding yours. “I had a really good time with you. Really good.”

“Yeah.” He nodded and remained cold as he slipped on his shoes, your breath hitching before releasing in a sigh.

“Do, uh, do you think I’m allowed to join you back at the village?” You asked, watching as he furrowed his brows at you in confusion. “You know, given the fact that the elders told me to fuck off.”

“The elders never said you had to leave. It was my sister and her friends. Said you posed a threat to the kids.” He watched as you scoffed in disbelief, your brows furrowing. “Did Omera tell you it was the elders idea?”

“Yeah.” You chuckled and shook your head. “Yeah, she did.”

“Well, she lied.” He sighed and walked towards you, holding your face in the palm of his hand, his green eyes tender as they beamed down at you. “Stay here. With me. We can build a cabin in the middle of nowhere. It’s peaceful here. I killed the last threat around, remember?”

“Vero, I have loose ends I have to tie up. Need to go see my family. I can’t…I can’t just abandon my entire plan to stay here with you. Besides, your sister clearly has it out for me.” You shook your head as you reached up to cradle his face, eyes bouncing across his features. “In another life, I would’ve loved you. But…this isn’t another life.”

“I understand.” He nodded and begrudgingly accepted your rejection, moving away from you. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat before you head out.”

The walk back to the village was more pleasant than you thought it would be. It seemed after some effective communication, Vero had come around to understanding your lack of desire to stay here with him. Conversation flowed easily between you, and although you came from totally different backgrounds, there was a mutual understanding of one another. Unlike…

“Mando! Do you really have to go?” Omera’s daughter hugged Mando’s leg as you walked into the village along side Vero. When the Mandalorian spotted you, he felt like the wind was knocked out of him, your smile radiant as you avoided him completely.

“You really could stay. You both fit in so well here. You could be happy.” Omera stepped into his eye line and blocked you completely, a smile similar to yours splayed across her face. It was then that he realized they weren’t ordinary smiles of joy—they were of satisfaction. Din had brought Omera to the same peaks of pleasure last night that Vero no doubt brought you to. The thought of the two of you doing the same things he did with Omera making his fists ball up and squeeze. “We could be happy.”

“Omera, I—“

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Grogu tumbling over into a krill pond, no doubt having been trying to catch one in the process. He ran over to his kid and scooped him out of the water, Grogu crying as his father held him close.

“Is he okay?” She asked, rushing over and taking off her apron to wrap around the kid. Din sighed at her kindness, wishing it was enough to make him stay with her, but it just wasn’t.

“Yeah, he’s just scared.” He cradled the child against his beskar covered chest and avoided Omera’s eyes. “We’re not going to be staying, Omera. I’m sorry, it’s just…not the right time.”

“Will it ever be?” She asked, eyes tender and nearing tears. Din waited a beat before slowly shaking his head, her eyes falling to the grass.

“Omera!” Vero stomped over with you in tow, causing Din’s eyes to look up from the disappointed beauty in front of him. He took in the sight of you smirking behind your beast of a man, eyes narrowing at you through his visor. “Wanna tell your boyfriend the truth? Or should I?”

“Shut up.” She hissed back at her brother, shocking Din as he’d never heard anything but softness escape her lips.

“Alright, then I will.” Vero smiled widely as he turned from his sister to the Mandalorian. You avoided Mando’s eyes as you grinned at the grass, happy that Vero was about to air out his sisters lies right in front of the bounty hunter. “You remember how Omera told Y/N it was the elders idea for her to leave?”

“It was not!” One of the oldest women in the village chimed in, Vero sighing and closing his eyes in annoyance, rubbing his temples.

“Yes, nana. Thanks for ruining the suspense.”

“What are you talking about?” Mando asked, eyes flickering to Omera’s guilt-ridden face.

“My sister was the one who made the call. Convinced the other parents that Y/N was a danger to the kids. Then, she went and lied to both of you about it. Just so she could have you all to herself for the night.” He glanced over at his sister, now seething with rage. “Bet it worked too.”

“Omera,” Din stepped towards the woman he took his helmet off for, heart racing and stomach churning. “Is that true?”

“Yes, but—“

“Did you know about the raider?” Vero interjected, his arms crossing over his chest. “The one that nearly killed her?”

“What? No! Of course not!” Omera whipped her head over to Mando, reaching to touch his chest, but he shooed her hands away. “Please believe me when I say I didn’t know—“

“Doesn’t matter. Y/N nearly died because of your lie.” Din clenched his jaw, looking around at the entire village listening in on the drama before landing his eyes on you.

He felt like such a fool for letting his guard down completely to a woman who turned out to be just another liar. His lapse in judgement almost resulted in your murder, the thought making his head throb. Stepping towards Vero, you looked up out of fear that Mando would swing at him, but he didn’t. You watched as the Mandalorian shook his hand, thanking him for his honesty before moving him to the side.

Your eyes fell back to the ground, still not quite over the events of last night. Just because he was now realizing that his dream girl was a liar didn’t mean that you were just going to forgive him and jump into his arms.

“Y/N,” Mando sighed and reached to touch your shoulder. You shrugged it off and lifted your eyes to his, still seething with anger towards him. He sighed at your rejection. “Are you ready to go?”

“Sure.” You nodded and spoke coldly, the ice of your tone hitting Din right in the heart. He knew he deserved it, this entire visit a complete fuck up on his part, but he also wondered what it was he had to do to show you that he truly was sorry for everything.

He unwrapped Grogu, dropping the apron at Omera’s feet, his eyes avoiding her completely as he picked up his bag and began to walk off without another word.

You leaned up on your tiptoes, kissing Vero’s cheek and thanking him for everything before following Mando into the woods, a few yards behind him the entire time.

After arriving to your parked ships, Mando shrugged his bag off his shoulders and turned around to you, gesturing at the ramp. “Is it okay if I put my bag inside?”

“Yeah, cleaned up all the cum already.” You snarked, raising your eyebrows at him as he froze in place. “Jokes.”

“Have you always spoken so…crassly?” He stepped up into the hold, resting his bag down beside your bed, not failing to notice the tangled sheets—evidence of a good night.

“Have you always been so uptight?” You countered, joining him in the ship. A smirk grew on your face as he became increasingly uncomfortable with the fact that you and him were all alone with a bed right beside you. “So…Omera—”

“Don’t.”

“I was just wondering if you made good on your threat.” You shrugged and sat down on the bed, looking up at him as you laid back against the mattress, your hair spread out on the sheets and a devilish smirk on your face. He could no longer deny that he was aroused by you, but that certainly didn’t mean he was going to do anything about it.

“My threat?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, rolling over onto your stomach and propping your chin up on your elbow, arching your back extra just to study his reaction. “To fuck her.”

“That’s none of your business.” He grumbled and stepped down the ramp, walking over to his N-1 and setting Grogu in the passenger pod.

“It wasn’t your business what I was doing last night, and yet you happily walked right in. Bet you saw everything. Only fair that I get to know if—“

“Yes. We slept together. Happy? Can we go now?” He was as tense as ever as you kept your eyes on his, your smirk fading a bit. You hadn’t expected that he actually would’ve done it—if you had, you wouldn’t have brought it up.

“Yeah. We can go.”

Din was shocked by the sudden shift in your smug mood, your face turning pained as you walked away, into the ramp of the ship and closing it behind you. Swallowing his feelings, he climbed into his seat and closed his pod, starting the N-1 up and allowing it’s loud engine to drown out his constant stream of thought.

He wasn’t used to this much…feeling. Not since meeting the kid had he been consumed by so much feeling for another living thing. He wondered if it was Grogu who was to thank for his sudden soft hearted nature. Even with Omera—his stomach feeling sick at the thought of her having seen his face while you still had not—he only felt hints of feelings. But with you, he felt an entire world of them.

He thought you were painfully beautiful, your eyes sparkling even when you were shooting daggers his way. You were sexy, and managed to stir feelings of deep arousal within him without doing a single sexual thing. In fact, it was you who drove him to the point of needing a release last night. He felt happy when he saw you smile genuinely—possibly the only thing he didn’t mind about you entire fling with Vero.

You also managed to fill him to the brim with anger and frustration. He’d never met a woman like you who talked so much like a man, or at least a woman that looked like you who did—Peli had a similar charm, but she was 30+ years older than you and looked hardened by those years. You were as soft and beautiful in appearance as fine silk, and yet when you spoke, it was all worn leather. The juxtaposition drove him mad.

“Checking comms.” He heard your voice over his comms system, his stomach fluttering a bit before he cleared his throat and spoke back.

“Clear.”

“Taking off.” You sighed, lifting off and ascending out of the atmosphere.

As soon as you were off planet, you felt lighter. The entire thing, aside from Vero, was a disaster. You never wanted to think about Sorgan again—and that included talking things over with your escort.

Once your ships were flying through the dark expanse of space, you decided to never mention any of it again. What he did with his penis was his business, even if his business deeply affected you and stirred feelings of insecurity and jealousy within you. You’d drop it all—including and especially your feelings for him. It was an unnecessary stressor on your business relationship, and it was above all else just plain unrealistic.

He was never going to be anything to you. In just a few days, you’d be landing on your home planet for the first time in a decade, and he’d be leaving you. Perhaps if there was more time, the two of you could feel things out—

No. No more feelings for the Mandalorian.

“No music this time?” His voice startled you, a sharp inhale of breath filling your lungs as you thought about a response.

Nothing felt right to say quite yet, so you said nothing.

“Ah, the silence.” He sounded slighted, though he attempted to hide it.

“Where will we land for camp?” You finally spoke back, sounding exhausted—and in truth, you were.

“We can land on the Glavis Ringworld.”

“Never heard of it.” You put in the coordinates and watched as your screen illuminated with the sight of a ring-like space station. “Is it safe?”

“Does it matter? Sorgan was safe and look at what happened.” You chuckled against your own will, surprising Din as he listened to the sound. He hadn’t meant to make you laugh, but he wasn’t complaining. Anything was better than the painful silence washing over the two of you since leaving Sorgan. “I am…sorry…about what happened. I shouldn’t have been so…distracted.”

“It’s fine, Mando. We really don’t have to talk about it.” You sighed, your heart racing at the confrontation. You hated “sit down” talks like this. It was easier and more efficient to handle your feelings internally, going quiet until they were processed and then coming back out of your shell.

“No, it wasn’t. I was wrong for letting you leave alone—“

“Mando, seriously. I don’t want to talk about this. It’s fine. Water under the bridge.” You hoped he’d get the hint this time and drop it, and judging by the silence that fell over the two of you for the next few hours, he had.

By the time the two of you had landed in a hangar on the space station, the tension had dwindled back down into nothing. For a moment, a part of you became scared that this was a telling observation—you two could only be civil when you weren’t speaking. You hoped that wasn’t the case.

Your mind flipped back to the morning you both left Tatooine. You didn’t feel so annoyed at him then when you were cooking him breakfast in the dark, so why now?

Perhaps it was because you had no feelings for him then, and now…

“We should get something to eat. Grogu is starving.” Mando spoke up as he walked into your hangar, watching as you locked up the ship for the night. You nodded, afraid to speak and turn the conversation sour again. “Are you hungry?”

You shrugged, nodding at him as you walked over. He seemed stressed and exhausted, but from what, you weren’t sure.

“Are you hungry for anything in particular?” He sighed, frustrated with the silent treatment.

You shook your head and gave him an indifferent frown of your lips, shrugging.

“Are you just not going to speak anymore?” He shifted his weight onto one hip, Grogu cradled in his arm.

“When it’s important.” You spoke up, half-surprising him. He expected more silence.

“It’s like looking in a mirror.” He scoffed under his breath and shook his head, turning on his heels and leading you out of the hangar. You couldn’t see it, and he himself wasn’t quite sure why it happened, but a smile found its way onto his face underneath his helmet. He let it sit there for a bit as the two of you walked through the unique city, the constant shifting between day and night extra obvious against his beskar armor.

“H-have you been here before?” You finally spoke, hopeful that enough time had passed since he last tried to talk about Sorgan that he’d forget about trying again.

“Once. To deliver a bounty.” He turned towards you as you approached a trendy restaurant advertising raw fish. “Is this place okay?”

“Sure.” You shrugged, deciding it was long overdue for you to try new things.

As Mando approached the building, the doors slid open, his broad frame taking up the entire width. You sucked in a harsh breath at the sight and followed in behind him.

“Dine in or takeout?” The droid at the counter spoke up, Mando turning to look over his shoulder at you. You shrugged your shoulders and mumbled an “I don’t care”.

“Takeout.” He instructed, the droid handing him a tablet for him to create his order on. He turned around and tilted his helm down to look at you, the two of you much closer than he anticipated. “Do you, uh, know what you want, or would you like me to order for you?”

“You can order for me.” You offered a weak smile, watching him nod before pressing away at the screen. The light illuminated his helmet, and you hoped to catch a glimpse of what lord behind the darkened visor covering his face, but you could see nothing. Perhaps there was nothing.

No. Couldn’t be a droid. He’d had sex with a human. Although surely that wasn’t an unheard of act. But he didn’t move like a droid. He didn’t emote like a droid. No, he was a living, breathing, body of flesh. Flesh you’d fantasized about touching and studying, even when you tried to convince yourself not to.

“All set.” He turned around with two bags of food in his free hand, Grogu still held soundly in the other.

“Will we be staying at the hangars?” You asked as he led you back the same path you just walked.

“It’s safer, trust me. Most of these Inn’s are pleasure houses, and a lot happens at pleasure houses.”

“You sound like you’re familiar with them.” You chuckled, bringing his attention to you again. After hearing you scream at him, every laugh and giggle was like a soothing balm. He wanted to hear it over and over again until the harsher memories were erased.

“I was a young man once, believe it or not.”

Did he ever laugh? Then you remembered you’d heard it once—with Omera. Your eyes rolled on their own volition at the memory.

“What?” He asked, having seen the action. You quickly turned to him, not even realizing what you’d done.

“What?” You asked sincerely.

“You rolled your eyes.”

A blush came over your face as you realized your jealousy seemed to have a mind of its own, and that was the mind controlling your body most of the time.

“I just…I remembered something…unpleasant.” You dismissed him as the hangar door opened, Mando gesturing for you to walk in first.

His heart raced in his chest as he thought about what he was going to do next—what he’d been planning on doing since he set the coordinates for this pit stop in his system. For some reason, he couldn’t shake the need to show himself to you—his face, at least.

It didn’t feel right that Omera had seen him and you hadn’t, and perhaps once you saw that he was just another human, maybe you’d see that he was capable of fucking up just like everyone else. You didn’t want to talk about what happened, and he understood that, but perhaps this would be a way to ease the tension for good without any of the talking it over.

He only hoped it wasn’t going to be a mistake like the last time.

“I’d invite you inside to eat with me, but I know—“

“Okay.” He nodded, gesturing at the ship. You chuckled in disbelief before quickly assuming that he had a way of eating that didn’t break his sacred code of honor.

You opened up the hatch rather than the ramp, the three of you stepping inside the ship. Mando set Grogu down on the lone crate in your cargo hold, still amused that you’d turned your space into a full-size bedroom. He sat down beside the child while you sat across from the two of them on the edge of your bed.

“I can go up to the pit if you want—“

You were cut off by the sight of Mando pressing a button on his helmet, a hiss of pressure releasing before he began to lift it off his head. Was this really happening? He was showing you his face?

Soon, you were met with a stubble covered jaw, pouted lips that dimpled a bit in the center, a strong nose that had your mind reeling with lustful fantasies, and finally, the most beautiful pair of brown eyes you’d ever looked into. He didn’t look directly at you at first, shuffling around and acting as though it was no big deal, but the child sitting beside him cooing in delight proved that it indeed had been.

“I got you what I always get. I hope you like it.” He handed you a couple boxes of different sushi, his eyes finally flickering to yours. Your lips parted at the sight, quickly turning your eyes down at the delicious looking assortment of food. You knew you were blushing, but so was he.

“Y-you’re very handsome, Mando.” You finally confessed after a bit, Din’s jaw slowing to a halt as he chewed his food. His eyes slowly rose from his plate to you, taking in the sight of you so flustered by him. He swallowed the food and wiped his mouth, nodding at you in silent thanks.

“Uh, thank you. But…you can just call me Din.” He looked back to his plate, hoping to hide his own blush.

“Din?” He nodded, still avoiding your eyes. Sighing, you felt your chest constrict with guilt over the fact that he’d gone out of his way to open himself up to you after everything that went down while you remained closed off. Scratching your neck, you accepted the onslaught of anxiety that came with speaking about your feelings out loud. “I’m sorry for pointing my blaster at you. And for…everything, really. I haven’t been the easiest person to get along with, I know. It’s just how things are in my family.”

“Your cousin is Han Solo,” he meant it as a question, but spoke it like a fact. You nodded, eyes dropping to your food again. You missed Han. “That puts things into perspective.”

“You know Han?” You lifted your eyes, watching as he chuckled��relishing in the fact that you not only could hear it but could see it. It still was unbelievable to you that he was actually helmetless.

“I’ve had a few run ins with him. He’s…well, he’s a lot like you. So. You can imagine how well we get along.” Din looked to your eyes again, this time letting them stay there. You chuckled and nodded in understanding. Han wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t model yourself after him. “I showed Omera my face last night.”

His admission came out of nowhere and it struck you in the chest, not entirely because of your jealousy but because you knew how much it meant for him to do such a thing.

“Yeah?” You didn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah.” He nodded, eyes dropping to his plate again.

“Will you forgive her?” You asked after a beat, unsure of how else to carry on the conversation. Din shook his head, chuckling under his breath.

“No. I don’t think I will.” He looked back to you. “Will you be visiting Vero again? After you visit your family?”

“No. I don’t think I will.” You repeated his words, earning a smile.

The air felt tense again, but not like before. This was a good kind of tension. Good, but dangerous. Sucking in some breath, you looked over at the clock beside your bed. It was late, and you hadn’t slept much last night, your body and mind exhausted from the events of the day.

“Think it’s time for bed.” You stood up and walked the remaining food over to your mini-fridge, putting it inside and closing it. When you turned back around, Din was taking his beskar off, setting it in a near pile near the crate before sitting down on the floor and easing his back against the wall. “You’re going to sleep right there?”

“I don’t mind. I can sleep anywhere.” Grogu, meanwhile, was not about to skip the opportunity to fall asleep in a warm bed. You both watched the child crawl up the clean sheets to the pillows, resting himself in the center of the queen sized bed. His eyes looked back and forth between the space on his sides before doing the same with the two of you.

“Come on, you can sleep in the bed, Din.” You tried out his name for the first time, causing a flurry of butterflies in his stomach at the sound. He looked hesitant, not wanting for the two of you to prematurely cross the line he hoped one day you would. “It’ll be fine. The kid’s in the middle, nothings going to happen. I’m not going to pounce on you in your sleep.”

You realized the way your words may have come across, for once deciding to apologize for your accidentally innuendo.

“As in an attack.”

“Right.” He stood up with a deep breath, shooing the images out of his mind of you the night before, naked and being drilled into. It didn’t bother him so much anymore, especially since he’d managed to envision himself in Vero’s place.

Walking over to the opposite side of the bed, Din watched as you stripped down to your underthings, his neck feeling increasingly hot at the sight before you disappeared beneath your plush comforter. He took another breath of courage before doing the same, stripping his clothes off until he was only in his most essential layer. Your eyes raked over his scarred body, golden and somehow even more beautiful with the battle wounds all over it. He was quick to get beneath the blanket, his cheeks red with insecurity as he watched your eyes turn away.

“Goodnight.” He mumbled before turning his back to you, a smile growing on your face now that he couldn’t see it.

“Night, Din.”

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#din djarin angst #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando angst #mando x y/n #mando fluff #mando smut #mando fanfiction #mando x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction

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littlemisspascal · 2 years ago

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New Writers added to The Pedro Library 🐼

@awholelottayeehaw @ahdraftingco

New Works Added ✨

@sirowsky Din Don’t Die

@guess-my-next-obsession Din Relax / Javi G Gorgeous

@toomanystoriessolittletime Dave Drabble No. 1 / Oberyn Drabble No. 2 / Javier Drabble No. 3

@wheresarizona Javi G That Was Good

@quica-quica-quica Whiskey 365

@prolix-yuy Whiskey Cognitive Dissonance

@write-and-buried Ezra The Appreciation of Fine Liquor

@brandyllyn Ezra Into the Shade

@lovesbiggerthanpride Frankie Soft Frankie Request

@foli-vora Marcus P Traitor

Many fics aren’t appearing in the tags when searching. If I miss yours, please let me know 💗 Or add me to your taglist cuz I love being tagged 😊

As always, if you would like me to remove your work from the rec list, please let me know and I’ll remove them asap 😊

#my library #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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awholelottayeehaw · 2 years ago

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Upcoming Fics (Updated 7/30/22)

To hold myself accountable and motivate me, here's a sneak peek list of upcoming fics!

DIN DJARIN (THE MANDALORIAN) FICS

On a Hot, Hot Day (sequel to On a Cold, Cold Night) - Din x Reader, rated T. OUT NOW!

On a Dry, Dry Morning (Sequel to On a Hot, Hot Day) Din x Reader, rated T.

On a Wet, Wet Night (Sequel to On a Dry, Dry Morning) Din x Reader, rated M.

The Middle (a one-shot add-on to Before and After) - Din x Reader, rated E.

The Middle Pt. 2 (a one-shot add-on to Before and After) - Din x Reader, rated E.

The Alchemist's Arcana (pending title, multi-chapter series) - Din x Reader, rated E.

PROSPECT FICS

Where the Sky Met the Sea (multi-chapter series) - Ezra x Reader (Prospect), rated E.

#future fics #fanfiction line up #din djarin smut #din djarin x female reader #din djarin fanfiction #mando x reader #mando x you #reader insert #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #prospect #ezra from prospect #ezra x reader #the mandalorian smut #prospect smut #pedro pascal characters #upcoming fanfiction #awholelottayeehaw

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againstacecilia · 2 years ago

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Tag list 💖

If your name is crossed out, I can’t tag you! Make sure your blog is searchable or tag lists won’t work.

@princessxkenobi @obiknights @creatively-analytical @laserbrains @thesmutslut @m4nd0l0r @leithatnight @kurlyfrasier @aaaaaeklnnry @heavenseed76 @tortor-mcgee @thesilencehavefallen @kirsteng42 @tizylish @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis @pedros-mustache-main @littlemisspascal @wardenparker @taylorann2013 @ahookedheroespureheart @saradika @lastsubstance @michi-reads @writingsoftheloser @cutiewiththecards @attheriv @scentedthingtidalwave @noodlesavailable @heyitsaloy @hiphopdancer101universe @teriolan-blog @haylzcyon @mcfrenchiestfry @kalea-bane @rubyistired36 @rufflebutts94 @ameliaweasley-blog @iccedays @r4d10h34d5 @awholelottayeehaw @truly-madly-nerdy @untitledarea @alexxavicry @hey-assbutt35 @minigirl87

Target Practice

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Warnings: Canon weapon use, flirting, pretty chill chapter

A/N: This is honestly kind of a filler chapter but I had so much fun writing it and learning about the different blasters lolol. This entire story wouldn't be nearly as good without @creatively-analytical as beta-reader extraordinaire, so all my love and thanks to you, darling!!! 💖 Asks are always open!!

To your immense satisfaction, Din announces after dinner that your hand to hand combat is progressing nicely and you won’t spar nightly anymore. Whether that was due to you taking him down earlier in the evening or genuine trust in your abilities you didn’t really care, it meant that you might not wake up tomorrow sore. Although, that had also become a thing of the past; the more you and Din practiced and sparred, the less often you woke up with stinging muscles and surprise bruises.

A glance in the fresher mirror as you were getting ready for bed shows the physical progress you have made as well. Definition was beginning to show up along your arms, your eyes are bright and clear, and something in your stance radiates confidence. But becoming strong wasn’t something that was strictly on the outside of your body; the changes were internal as well. You couldn’t imagine recognizing yourself if you ran into your past self and the feeling blossomed something akin to pride in your chest.

The hold is glowing when you step out of the fresher, light panels illuminating the angles and edges of the metal around you. Everything is softened in the light, including the Mandalorian sitting on your cot, helmet trained on your every move. His armor remains in the corner of the room, neglected since your training began hours ago. Only his beskar helmet returned to its place after being removed for dinner.

“I had an idea,” he says as you settle onto the cot next to him.

“And what’s that?”

“I think we should stop for one day on the way so I can teach you more about weapons.”

You roll your eyes playfully and scoff, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Tonis sounded pretty clear on his timeframe.”

“This is a necessary stop, you need more than just hand to hand combat skills for what we’re headed into,” Din reasoned. “Plus, it’ll make me feel better about you coming along if I teach you as much as I can.”

You expect to feel nervous about the situation, but instead the care he’s showing in just a couple statements shines through and you feel a wash of gratitude toward him. It’s easy, now, to see the meaning behind his words. You’re ready to learn more, you can handle it, I care for you and want you to be safe. You nod, “You make some good points…”

“I know.” You can hear the smile in his words.

You turn toward him and sit criss-cross with your hands clasped together in your lap. “Alright. We stop and you teach me some more. What am I to be learning?”

Din reaches over and takes one of your hands, rubbing light circles along the back of it. “More practice with your blaster will be the main goal. Might even teach you to use a rifle. General weapons training.”

“Sounds good to me.” You slip down onto your back, legs over his in an echo of the night before. “With such a good teacher, I’m sure I’ll pick it up in no time.” He chuckles, transferring his touch to your legs.

A beautiful quiet settles over the cargo hold. Din’s head tips back with a clunk on the wall of the Crest. “We’ll stop sometime in the next few hours.”

“You can come down here, you know,” you scoot over to give him room on the cot. There may not really have been any room, but the thought of Din leaving and staying in his little nook made your stomach twist in an uncomfortable way.

He stares down at you for a moment in consideration. Slowly, he adjusts his body to lay behind you. Like pieces of a puzzle, your bodies shift together as his arms wrap around and pull you close.

“Din?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

He squeezes you gently, “I’m glad you’re here too, Cuyan.”

- - - - - - -

Your end goal was ultimately the Core World of Corellia, but your stop for training is on Sarka. Mid Rim and small, Din lands the Razor Crest in an uninhabited area in the mountains to avoid accidentally running into anyone. As the engines shut down, the sound of a flowing waterfall rumbles through the walls.

Down in the hold, Din hands you a new blaster, a slightly larger one with a sight, and a belt with a new holster. “You’ll wear your old blaster and holster as normal, but I want you to have this one as well. It’s better for longer ranges.” After you fit your thigh holster in its place, Din helps you adjust the new one. Supple leather rests naturally on your hips, the holster settling on the opposite side from where your old blaster sits. His touch lingers on your hips, sending sparks through you.

“How do I look?”

“Dral,” he responds, both hands pulling your hips and body closer, “Strong.” His fingers dig into your flesh through the fabric of your shirt and leggings.

“Din,” you breathe, trying to keep control of yourself, “Training?”

Din clears his throat, “Right. Training.” He steps back and gives you an actual once over before grabbing his own weapons. “Let’s go.”

You giggle and follow him out of the Crest, ramp closing behind you. The clearing you landed in is grassy, surrounded by mountain trees. The waterfall roars behind the ship. “I’ve never seen mountains like this,” you comment with awe, slowly turning in place and admiring the sights.

“They’re some of the biggest in the Galaxy,” Din responds next to you. “I had to capture someone here, once.”

“I’m sure that was fun,” sarcasm laces your words.

“It actually was.” He leads you to the middle of the clearing. “Alright, stretches first.”

Going through the stretches and forms is second nature now, your body responding and reacting without much thought. You use the time to calm your mind, pushing out any thoughts of lingering touches and glances and focusing on the task at hand. Din seems more focused as well by the time he moves you on to the blaster at your hip.

“This is a modified DL-18 blaster,” he explains. “There’s a sight for slightly longer range shots than what your sidearm can do.” The mechanics are similar to what you’ve gotten used to on your smaller gun (“That one’s an ELG-3A.”) and it’s easy to pick up on the differences. The gun on your thigh would be for your dominant hand, the other for your off hand as backup.

Like during your first training session, Din lines tins and other targets up along the clearing and asks you to knock down as many as you can. No time constraints, just feeling the weapon in your hand and how it feels to shoot. Lift, aim, breathe, aim, and squeeze.

Tins fly off their resting places one by one, some more stubbornly than the others. You take your time and focus on each target. After they’ve all successfully been knocked down, you lower your blaster and turn to face Din.

He’s standing right behind you, towering beskar form eliciting an oof from you as you bump into him. You look up into his visor. “How was that?”

“You’re a natural.” His voice is low, skittering over your bones. Your face heats and you turn away, hoping nothing in that helmet can track your breathing or heart rate. “Let’s practice with the other one.”

He steps away and goes to reset the targets a little further away this time. You watch every step, need growing with each move of his body. You can’t help your eyes roving over his body as he walks back toward you, cape whipping in the light wind and steps purposeful. The power radiating from him crawls over the ground toward you, slinking up your body and sending your mind racing. He steps behind you again, “Go again, and remember to take your time.”

Grabbing the DL-18, you take a moment to feel its weight in your hand. In the back of your mind, though, all you can feel is the heat coming off Din, his body inches from your own. You shake your head and lift your arm.

“Wait.” You freeze as Din’s arms surround your body. His hands envelop yours and he adjusts your grip on the blaster. “This one’s a little bigger so you have a little more room to fit your hands comfortably and securely.”

His hands leave yours and you take a breath. Aim. Squeeze. The slightly larger weapon takes some time to get used to but the targets fall one by one. With comments here and there, Din helps you mold your stance and aim over the next few hours. When he’s satisfied with the speed and accuracy of your shots, Din says, “Good. Very good, Cuyan. Let’s stop for now.”

Arms shaking from the unfamiliar weight and angle of the new blaster, you flip the safety on and holster the weapon on your waist. You realize, though, that the vibrating in your limbs isn’t just from the training; the pent up energy from the afternoon needs a release.

“Let’s spar,” you suggest, removing your weapons and stripping to your base layers. The sun setting through the mountaintops had heated your little hideaway over the afternoon. Although, the heat in your body could’ve been due to other factors as well…

“You sure?” Din asks, unbuckling and removing his armor at your nod.

This is what you needed; a physical way to get rid of the nerves and emotions coiled through your body. You don’t hold back sending punch after jab after sweep in Din’s direction. If he’s surprised at your renewed vigor he doesn’t show it. He just moves along with you.

The sparring session becomes a dance. You weave through his attacks, light and lithe on your feet. He manages to catch your wrist and pull you close before you whip out of his grip and spin out of his reach. You land a blow to his stomach, only for him to catch your shoulder and nearly knock you off your feet. Neither of you get the upper hand on the other for too long before the energy shifts, and the sun sets further by the time you raise your arms in defeat, both of you panting from the exertion.

“You… Win…” You say between breaths. Hands on your knees, you let your head hang as you let your breathing return to normal.

Din sits on the ground in front of you before flopping to his back. “If you hadn’t said something, I was close to giving you the round.” His head lifts in your direction, “You’ve come a long way.”

Straightening up and walking over to him, you help him stand and gather your things on the ground. “I told you, I have a great teacher.”

He holds your hand for an extra beat before letting you go to don his armor again. Even after thoroughly exhausting yourself, you can’t help but watch his deft hands work the armor back into place, the way he places his weapons back where they belong.

Back on the Crest, you both clean your blasters and Din reviews with you how they work internally. He has a few power packs laying around for both of yours, but after this you’ll definitely need to get more. Disassembling and reassembling your guns give your hands something to do for the next couple of hours, leaving your mind free to drift.

“When was the last time someone saw you without your helmet?” you ask after a stretch of silence.

“I removed it for Grogu when he left,” Din responds factually. There’s an edge to his voice, though.

You look up at him. “What does that mean for your Creed?”

“I… Don’t know,” his admission is laced with guilt. “But I’m going to find more Mandalorians and find out.”

Nodding and looking back down at your blaster, you slip the final piece into place before speaking again. “When are others allowed to see you without your helmet?”

His hands still before he answers. His helmet lifts to you slowly, “We really only remove our helmets for… Certain people.”

The energy in the room shifts as your mind begins to race. Family, maybe? Or maybe…

“Oh, like… When you’re married to someone?”

“Marriage is a little different for my people, but yes. My ridurr is the only person who can see my face.”

Heart now racing along with your mind, you nod. “Makes sense. Have you ever had someone… Like that?”

“No,” he answers frankly.

“Ah.” The conversation comes to an awkward end and the two of you clean up the rags and tools. Once everything is put away, you stop in front of him as he heads toward the cockpit.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I... feel like I asked you an inappropriate question earlier and it got weird and I’m sorry.” You look down at your feet after you finish talking.

“Hey,” he calls your attention back up to his visor. “You did nothing wrong. I’m sorry I responded poorly.” He steps closer and takes a breath. “I don’t really know where I stand with the other Mandalorians but that doesn’t excuse me being short with you.”

A soft smile lights your lips and you nod. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

“You’re fine to ask me anything, Cuyan, you’ve earned that.” Din squeezes your shoulder as he climbs to the cockpit.

Later, his voice comes over the comms system through the cargo hold. "Let’s stay here for the night and leave in the morning. We’re not too far from Corellia, one extra night won’t hurt."

“Sounds good, Din. You staying up there tonight?”

"Yeah, I’ve got some stuff I gotta make sure is good for the rest of the trip. I’ll wake you up before we leave."

“Okay. Sleep tight.”

"You too."

- - - - - - - -

In the middle of the night, you wake up to strong hands bringing you close to a warm body. You keep your eyes closed as plush lips kiss the crown of your head. The corners of your lips lift into a contented smile as you drift back to sleep in Din’s embrace.

Previous chapter || Next chapter

Interested in being notified when I post? Join my tag list here. 💖

#tag list reblog

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awholelottayeehaw · 2 years ago

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ONESHOTS:

SERIES:

On a Hot, Hot Day and a Cold, Cold Night

The Before and After

Kinktober 2022

SERIES:

Where the Sky Met the Sea Masterlist

#the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #masterlist #awholelottayeehaw's masterlist #baby yoda #grogu #fanfiction

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awholelottayeehaw · 2 years ago

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AWholeLottaYeeHaw's Hype List

Hey, ya'll! I absolutely LOVE hyping people up! Whether it's on here, AO3, in person, online... love it. SO I want to share that passion by letting people send me fics from friends, their favorite authors, or maybe someone who needs a little more love and I'll head over to their fic and leave them a detailed comment with all the love they deserve!

RULES:

No incest or graphic depictions of rape. Sex Pollen, roleplay, and similar tropes are fine; just nothing that is graphic in terms of sexual coercion where either party not consenting.

Currently only accepting Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader, general Grogu and Daddy Din fics, and Ezra (from Prospect) x Reader fics for now but will branch out once I'm less busy and get my fandom shit sorted!

I'm here for a good time and a good angsty cry, not needing to call my therapist. If you're unsure if the fic you have in mind goes against this just message me and we'll sort it out!

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #mando x reader #mando x you #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #reader insert #ezra from prospect #ezra x reader #Prospect #hype list #hype man #awholelottayeehaw's hype list

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prolix-yuy · 1 year ago

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Mando Taglist 3:

@hauntedmama, @thegreat-annamaria, @hello-th3r3, @maievdenoir, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @mandoblowmybackout, @thereisaplaceintheheart, @trickstersp8, @starlightmornings, @mothandpidgeon, @the-blind-assassin-12, @pretty-brown-eyess, @awholelottayeehaw, @thelion-sroar, @hungrhay, @javibaby, @randeerenae, @djarinluvr, @mypascalito975, @marvelouslyme96, @peterthepark, @againstacecilia, @jallen0126, @toxicfrankenstein, @iceclaw101, @pedropascalsx, @mandomover, @lelumi, @tusk89, @iccedays, @kurlyfrasier, @tintinn16, @hdkdjsmskd, @myswficlist, @trinkets01, @thereisaplaceintheheart, @alexxavicry, @your-slutty-gf, @stankferrik, @your-voice-is-mellifluous, @blueeyesatnight, @bbyanarchist, @stevie75, @chaoticevilbakugo, @palomaxaxaxa, @teddy2510, @uwiuwi, @warmdragonfly, @jekyll-jpg

Hello honey 💕 As promised, here I am submitting my request for the 500 follower celebration!

The list of prompts is amazing. I truly had a hard time choosing one, but after Chapter 2 of Both Side of the Door I need to know what happened between Mando and X'ian or I'll will never be at peace again. So I'll go for Heartbreak of betrayal with the two of them, hoping that you'll give us an insight into their relationship.

Ren's crew sees Mando as a sort of traitor, but I really can't see him act like that (as leaving Quinn behind) out of the blue. So who betrayed who? Who betrayed first? How? Why? And most importantly, what the hell happened on Alzoc III? S1E5 left us with so many questions. I need answers 🤯

Ma Chérie! My wonderful @amban-rifle! I have to start this off with an apology. I have held onto this ask for SO GOSH DARN LONG. This is from my 500 Followers Celebration OVER A YEAR AGO. I'm so sorry have kept you waiting but holy heck, what an ask! The drama! The complications! The holes in canon we all struggle with! Plus addressing one of the most confusing and complicated off-screen "relationships" many of us x Reader writers ignore. I wanted to do it justice, and it took a bunch of research, gorging myself on other Star Wars content, and staring off into space while that Spongebob meme of my brain being on fire danced in my noggin. But! It is here, finally. And for being so patient, it's an absolute monster.

Interlude: Burn in My Bloodstream

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader, Din Djarin x Xi'an

Summary: The Mandalorian has shared many secrets, but his greatest one is buried in shame and blood.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, canonical-type violence, allusions to sex work, rough sex throughout, oral sex (m receiving), gagging, voyeurism, fingering (f receiving), PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), anal sex, creampie, choking, degradation, threesomes, semi-public sex, cuckolding, blood and descriptive gore, character death, genocide (what a tag that was to write), suicidal thoughts, a fuckton of angst, The Helmet Stays On and it's a Big Deal, a very toxic relationship dynamic.

Notes: This one was an exercise in researching and complicated storytelling, but now that it's done I am over the moon with how it came out. I know that the Din x Xi'an pairing is not many people's cup of tea, but if you want my take on how it came about and what I think happened to give us The Prisoner, here's it all as best as I can surmise. I'm staying as canon compliant as possible because it's fun to connect a bunch of dots, but obviously this is all speculation with some liberal fudging of timelines.

Takes place after Both Sides of the Door, with much of the story set pre-S1 and spoilers for S1 Ep6 The Prisoner. Our Reader character makes an appearance at the beginning and end, so she'll still have a place in this interlude. The title is taken from Ed Sheeran's "Bloodstream" and if you want to know where my mood was for most of this, that song is a good place to start.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

After you retire for the night, Din contemplates telling you about the other woman who left marks on his life. Omera was easy; wrong place, wrong time, and no right time on the horizon. And if he was truthful with himself, maybe no right time ever. He could have loved her, loved the way she cared for him and allowed a softer life for himself. There are times when he lies in bed and wonders what a world like that might look like for him.

It’s…difficult.

Even thinking of a little plot of land, a space all his own tied to the earth of a planet, makes him yearn for the skies and space that surround you three on the Crest. He could never truly root in soil, so used to being a seed on the wind. There would always be bounties to chase, duties to fulfill, missions to complete.

Right?

And if he digs even deeper, he might find the clearest truth hidden among the memories.

His heart belonged to you longer than even he knew.

There were times when he let others touch it. Omera’s hands held it gently, too kindly for him to accept. And to keep it, she would need him to lift the helmet, the one thing he could not give her. Being a Mandalorian is all he knows. So he took his heart with him, and he’s sure she’s better off without it.

But there was another who reached into his chest with claws and teeth and left him bloody from her affections. One he tries not to dwell on as long as he can. A time in his life that brought more shame than any other, misted in blood and sex and credits.

He wants to share more of his world with you. You deserve to understand exactly why he is the man he is today.

But he does not think he can tell you about Xi’an.

“Got something special for you, Mando,” Karga says when he settles across the table. “You’ve been requested by name.”

Din cocks his head, one hand drumming restlessly.

“That’s new,” he says. He likes playing mysterious for Karga, embodying all that a Mandalorian is supposed to be, even when some days he feels like a small child wearing his buir’s armor. At least it hides the worst of his apprehension, impassive helmet masking how his eyes constantly dart around the room, legs tense and ready to spring.

“Ranzar Malk. Leads a small team of mercenaries.”

Din tips his head back, folding his arms over his durasteel cuirass.

“Didn’t think you liked sharing the spoils,” he drawls, watching Karga carefully. The man laughs, sipping back some spotchka and winking at a woman sitting at his bar.

“I don’t. I like my work without middle men. But they bring in very, very good credits. A percentage is more for both of us than the handful of riff-raff I could offer you.” Karga leans forward, elbow coming down and speaking lower. “They want the reputation a Mando can give their team. Help them get some bigger and better jobs. You lend them your striking silhouette, and you’ll be in enough credits to buy a whole suit of beskar. And my cut will be…barely noticeable.” The sly smile Karga schools off his face lets Din know it’s a lot more than unnoticeable, but the job intrigues him.

“What kind of work is it?” he asks. Flashes of memories play at the corner of his mind - Mandalorians coming down from on high to save him, droids shredded in their wake.

“Malk and I have a strict ‘no questions asked’ policy. You do the work, you get paid.”

Din rolls his shoulders, fingers itching to grab onto something solid and deadly.

“How long do they need my…reputation?”

Karga leans back and sweeps his hands wide.

“As long as you want. Open contract.”

Din considers the offer. Mercenary work has never been too lowly for a beroya, but he’d never done any. Mostly small-time criminals and shakedowns in return for credits. But if the money is as good as Karga makes it sound, it could help the covert ten times over.

“Deal.”

“You must be the Mando.”

The voice is snarly, raked over a steel timbre. Din turns to see a barrel-chested, long haired man with a thick salt and pepper beard to match. His face is folded into a smile but the light of it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Extending a short-fingered hand, he pumps Din’s gloved one vigorously.

“Karga said you were in need of reputation,” Din says, cooly delivering the lines he practiced on the flight to this no-name hangar in Outer Rim rubble.

“And what are you in need of, Mando?” Malk says, eyeing him with blatant curiosity. Din had planned for this question during his supply run. The covert wasn’t to be named, the last of a culture eradicated. So why was he still traveling, wearing the helmet if he’s not of an unseen world?

“Target practice,” is the dry answer he gives, leveling the helmet at the shorter man. Malk raises an eyebrow before a conspiratorial smile splits his lips.

“I like you, Mando. Man of few words. You’ll get along with the other chatterboxes I run with.”

Malk leads him to a hangar pad, small ships in various levels of disrepair scattered across the peeling floor. A sharp whistle brings three people into view, two purple Twi’leks and a human man.

“My crew,” Malk says proudly, gesturing for them to come closer. The female Twi’lek saunters over with a swing in her hip, the heavy forehead-first stride of her companion close behind. The human throws a grease-spotted towel onto a box of tools and comes to an exasperated stop in front of Malk.

“Can’t believe you shelled out credits for a tin man. I could have put a bucket on and we’d be just as well off,” the man says. His face is Malk claps him on the shoulder.

“Varlo,” Malk says, nodding to Din. He gives a polite tip of his head back. Varlo rolls his cold blue eyes and turns on his heel. His jaw is sharp and squared, matching his lithe frame as he climbs back into an open access hatch. The male Twi’lek approaches Din, soft footwork with his hands in his pockets.

“Qin,” he offers before Malk’s introduction, nodding his head at the amban rifle slung across Din’s chest. “Is it true weapons are part of your religion? Or is that all bedtime stories?” His smirk is condescending, not even veiled. A simmer of annoyance bubbles in Din’s veins but he tamps it out.

“Among other things,” he says instead, earning a sardonic smile and a handshake from Qin.

“All weapons?” the female Twi’lek says at Din’s elbow, running her fingers up the length of the rifle’s barrel. Din twists away, visor meeting the sparkling challenge in the Twi’s eyes.

“My sister, Xi’an,” Qin interjects as she circles Din with roaming eyes. She hisses at him, raising Din’s eyebrows under the helmet, before sharply switching to high-pitched giggles, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever done.

“Ohhhh, Mando, we’re going to have fun,” she says, finally coming to rest at her brother’s side.

Din should have walked away in this moment, saved himself a lot of pain and heartache and blood. They were volatile, waiting for a spark to burn everything around them, and Din was only more kindling.

The jobs were easy to start. Wealthy benefactors needing a little extra muscle to get their way. A handful of runaways returned home. One exceptionally smooth jailbreak. Din’s presence gave them a leg up on jobs, but his skills were where he became integral. Combat all done with the efficiency and proficiency of a Mandalorian, but flying was where he excelled. The Razor Crest, in her infancy when he first shook Malk’s hand, was a deadly bird under Din’s touch. Scrambling signatures aside, with Din piloting it was a ghost on the astral winds.

It also became a strange cramped home to the five of them while they traveled. After complaints of too many credits spent on lodging, Malk casually inferred that the Crest could be a better home base. “We’re in it more than out most days,” was his dry reasoning, and with four people staring him down Din agreed, pangs of discomfort pushed to the back of his mind. It made sense, after all. The Crest was a cargo ship. Might as well fill it with cargo.

So between jobs and screaming dogfights in the sky, the mercenaries found themselves within the durasteel walls. Hammocks strung along the hold allowed for sleep, belongings mixing and melding to become communal. There was comfort in that for Din. Individuality beaten out of him in training, he preferred not knowing who liked what ration bar or whose ‘fresher items littered the floor.

In that crush of company, however, he did learn about his family in arms. Not enough to urge him to reveal more of his own past. All of them lived in the present, their histories an inky shadow they let drag behind and paid no mind. He learned instead of their present, trial and error and observation his best tools.

Malk’s connections were far-reaching and unsavory, most bounties questionable in nature but not enough to turn down. He would choose jobs no one wanted, ones that were especially difficult or carried the highest price. A name for himself was the greatest goal, clawing for prestige in how fast, how deadly, how accurate the team could be. Din sometimes caught a feral glint in his eye when they returned, deed done. The crazier the escapade, the more he gloated in cantinas or to his associates. Rarely lifting a finger himself, he worked logistics and timing, connections and credits. And when the job was done, it was only his name that ever hung in the air as they walked away richer.

Varlo was quiet, calculating and cruel. Din thought the standoffishness was a front until he watched the man more closely and realized it was born of a distinct lack of empathy. He could not be bribed, or swayed, or bewitched. While Malk made connections and laid the groundwork, Varlo was the front man on foot. He could talk his way in, execute the seven councilmen sitting at a table full of secrets, and wipe the blood from a particularly valuable one before taking it as insurance. His carefully crafted armor of failsafes and blackmail let him sleep easy every night, no matter the strain Din might feel at the events of the day.

Qin was the strength of the operation. Not bulky like a Devaronian, but leagues stronger and more agile than his body could betray. With enough blaster cover he could incapacitate, maim, and kill anything in his path with his two hands. That surety in his body extended to his place in the world. His smile was always knowing, always scheming something behind the fangs. Time spent across from him could pass pleasantly - Qin could spin you a tale from thin air, wrestle someone into gasping submission, or share silence all in turn - but once he left there was the distinct feeling that he gained more than you meant to give.

And then there was Xi’an. Qin and her relationship was manic on a good day, volcanic on a bad one. They snapped at each other constantly, enough that Din stopped trying to understand if they were mad at each other or simply passing the time. Where Qin was strength, Xi’an was stealth. Her steps made no sound, the silvery whistle of her knives the precursor to bodies on the floor. The delight she took in her own prowess turned Din’s stomach more than once. Brutal hisses and snarls giving way to raucous laughter and almost childish giggles raised the hair on the back of his neck. She was competent and brash, and Maker help anyone who said no to her.

Behind all of them was Din, standing silent and glorious. His helmet parted crowds, murmurs and rumors following the swish of his cape. They wondered why he was running with this bloodthirsty lot, a member of one of the greatest warrior cultures. He let them guess. With his contributions his covert would grow, and one day the children - maybe even his children - would be able to stand in the sun on a world that they called home.

Until then, he hunts.

Din manages to maneuver the delicate balance of this crew living on his ship for over a month before tensions rise. A week without work has made everyone snappish and riled. Malk is hidden away in the cockpit making calls so Din has to remain with them, arms folded as Xi’an needles at Qin. His lip curls into a snarl, and Din braces for a brawl.

“Treating me like your baby sister isn’t going to make the men think you’re tough,” she hisses, sauntering by Qin and circling Varlo. “They don’t care about blood when it comes to close quarters, long hours, pent-up frustration.” She walks her fingers up Varlo’s chest, stroking her pointer along his leather jacket. “Care to blow off some steam?”

Varlo skirts around her touch, dropping down on a crate and leaning back.

“Hard pass, I don’t dip into crazy,” he spits out, Xi’an’s mocking smile chased by a wink of his own. For someone who barely experiences emotion beyond curiosity and satisfaction, he’s good at faking it. With a turn on her heel, she approaches Din instead.

“Ever felt the touch of a woman, Mando? Let someone polish your beskar?” she trills. Din keeps his posture loose, tilts his helmet and sighs.

“Quit dicking around, I’ve got something,” Malk says as he drops down the ladder. “Decommissioning factory has had some thefts. We’re doing short-term security until we catch the guilty party.”

Xi’an backs off, slumping down across from her brother as Din moves to set the Crest’s course. Out of the thick air of the cargo hold he can finally breathe.

He’d wanted to rebuff her, brag about the women he’s brought to the heights of pleasure with just his fingers, but it’s a dangerous path to wander in the barrel of rocket fuel the Crest has become. Shifting his hips in the pilot seat, he thinks back to the last time he fucked his frustrations into another person.

A Togruta, maybe? Or was it that sassy brothel worker?

(a girl on a desert planet that stopped time)

A shiver climbs his spine but he bats it down. In any event it’s been too long since he’s indulged in a soft body. He’ll take care of that after this job, ease some of the stress buried between his shoulder blades. It might make all of this strange arrangement more palatable.

Droids. It had to be droids.

Not the fact that the factory was decommissioning battle droids but that some were going missing, not turning up in the junk pile to be scrapped. The workers didn’t give two shits about it, but because the battle droids were so powerful and dangerous they had to have their chips pulled out and documented for the New Republic. Too many missing chips led to this group striding in like conquering forces.

The first night is uneventful, Din passing patrols with Varlo and Xi’an. Varlo looks at him like another droid, the cold boredom on his face inexplicably boiling Din’s blood. Xi’an’s constant prowling only makes it worse, still determined to crack his stoic demeanor. He’s tired the next day, body running on too little sleep and too much adrenaline. Malk offers him caf that he refuses. He doesn’t like lifting the helmet in front of them.

The second night the issue comes into sharp focus. Not theft, but escape. A droid spray painted in yellow stripes enters the facility to reactivate its brethren. For what purpose they don’t know, and Din doesn’t care. Putting the droid in his sight, muscles tight around the amban rifle, Din squeezes a lifetime of pain behind the trigger.

A cloud of dust. No more droid.

He thought that would satisfy the roar in his chest, but back in the Crest he’s more of a caged animal than before. Malk tells them to enjoy a day on-world, and Varlo and Qin follow him out to the industrial maze of the city. Din knows he needs something tonight, a fight or a fuck or both, so he gathers enough credits to cover his proclivities and makes to leave the ship.

“Where are you biding your time, Mando?” Xi’an’s voice purrs in the low light of the cargo hold. She’s draped over a storage crate, inspecting her nails and flashing a devious look at him when his visor turns. “Going to finally lose your virginity?”

He doesn’t know what compels him to say it. Maybe the constant pressure on all sides, or the neverending sniping at his expense. He knows it’s a mistake the moment he opens his mouth.

“Been a long time since I called myself that.”

Xi’an’s eyes flash up to the visor. It spikes in his stomach.

“I find that hard to believe, Mando, with all the…” She waves her hands around her head, pulling a serious face that she can barely keep on. He should stalk off, leave her to pouting and him to pounding into something softer and sweeter than whatever this was.

But it’s been too long, and he’s itching for confrontation in a way he’s never desired before.

“I’m good with my hands,” he says, one coming up to rest on his belt buckle, tilting his head to the side. Xi’an lifts off the crate, circling him with the serpentine swish of her gait.

“Oh I can believe that. Seen you with those weapons, your ‘religion.’ Man who keeps them that well cared for must be attentive in…other ways.” She slinks around to stand in front of him, dragging her eyes over the broad expanse of durasteel on his chest, flaking paint and silvered scratches. She walks her fingers down his chest, stopping at his trim waist. “But that doesn’t mean you know how to use this.” Her hand flashes out to grope at his crotch but he snatches her wrist, jerking her hands up as she squeals. For a moment he thinks it’s in pain, but the glint in her eyes and the flash of tongue between her fangs reveals it’s excitement. Releasing her, he moves to exit the cargo hold and find something, anything, to calm the rushing of his blood.

“Oh Mando, come on, wait,” Xi’an pleads, skipping back in front of him and adopting an apologetic expression. “We’ve all been cooped up here too long, rubbing each other the wrong way.” This time her hands glances down his side, nails lightly scraping along his hips before she drifts them feather-light over his cock. The electricity of her touch burns in his groin, filling him quickly. “Let me make it up to you, Mando. Rub you the right way this time.”

“This is…not a good idea,” he grits through his teeth, common sense screaming at him to leave, but the many-toothed monster that lurks in the back of his mind drools at the feeling of her fingers getting bolder, now stroking her palm over his stiffening cock. The helmet tips back a fraction as Din’s eyes flutter, excuses melting back into the delicious heat of her touch.

“The best ideas are the bad ones,” she teases, sidling closer to him. Her breath is hot on the edge of his cowl, soft little sighs zinging down his spine as she swipes her thumb over the clothed head of his cock. He tries to suppress the groan but it comes out a whine instead, spurring her on more. “You could use some release. Let me suck your cock, Mando. I’ll trade you for a kiss.”

This is a monumentally bad idea and his survival instinct kicks in just before the monster waiting in the darkness claws his way to the forefront.

“The helmet…stays on,” he grunts, backing up a half step. She rolls her eyes but triumph lives there now.

“Fine, fine, your precious Creed. Then how about I give you a hand, and next time I’m in need of one you return the favor?”

He struggles to take in a full breath, her fingers now wrapped around him and adding just enough pressure to spark in his pelvis and surge into his chest. He nods, fists clenching, as Xi’an’s smile breaks across her face.

“Oh Mando, how long have you been wanting this?” she purrs, sliding down his body to rest on her knees. Alarm bells sound in his mind. It’s too out in the open, too vulnerable. If Varlo or Malk or Qin, Maker forbid, came back he’d be caught and probably gutted. But the lap of her tongue along his waist as she opens the plaquet of his pants dissolves the worries into heady arousal as the monster he’s suppressed so long rears to life.

“Kriff,” he curses, tilting the helmet down to watch her pull his flushed cock out of his pants, thighs flexing when she coos over it.

“So you’ve got the goods to back up all that swagger,” she sing-songs, looking up at him through her lashes as blood pumps loud in his ears. The arousal he’s feeling is unlike his usual encounters. In those he’s simmering even when his frustration is at an all time high, his pleasure delayed in favor of watching them writhe and gasp with the force of the orgasms he pulls out of them. It gets him harder than anything else. But now, looking down at someone who makes his blood boil at any given moment, his libido is at a roar screaming at him to fuck and bruise and take. The force of it makes his heart pound, unfamiliar and exciting.

“If you’re only going to look at it, I’ll go somewhere else,” he growls, keeping his voice as level as possible. It does the trick, her smile sly before she licks a long path from base to tip. The shudder is involuntary, a hot wet mouth not something he usually seeks out. He prefers a dripping pussy to bury his frustrations in but the power this position yields makes all the lewd cantina talk he’s scoffed at come into focus.

“Patience, Mando,” Xi’an lightly scolds, but the thin wire of restraint he was still holding onto snaps. One large hand palms the back of her head, fingers digging into the edge of her head wrap for leverage. Her eyebrows lift in surprise just before Din presses his hips forward, breaching her lips with the head of his cock. He groans at the slick heat and the brush of her teeth over the ridge as he thrusts shallowly against her tongue. He thinks he sees a wrinkle of anger in her brow before her eyes flash with vengeance. She wraps her lips around him, sucking his head.

“I’ve had enough of waiting,” he grits out, pulling back a fraction before sliding in deeper, pressing her further down his shaft. Her hands come up to his hips, fingernails digging in as a warning. The sharp points of pain focus his arousal, the mix with pleasure intoxicating. “You wanted it so karking badly, you….take it,” he growls, his thrusts deepening again as she takes him even further. Hissing around his intrusion, teeth come down enough to scrape along his cock just shy of unpleasant.

“Oh no you don’t,” he punches out, his other hand pinching her jaw to force her mouth wide. The lack of resistance drives him down her throat, a loud gag heaving her chest. The sound shocks his system, pulling back quickly as drool drips down her chin with her gasps. Uncertainty falls heavy over his libido now.

“Are you…?” he starts to ask, but Xi’an yanks him back to her face, pumping his cock quickly with the thick saliva she’s left on it.

“What’s the matter, Mando? Afraid of a little mess?” she taunts before swallowing him down again, the rough gags of her throat beginning in earnest. He can feel her spit dripping down his length, sliding over his balls as she rolls them roughly in her hand. It’s nothing he’s ever felt fucking a woman before, frustration and anger burning him inside out. He palms her head again, thrusting with her own bobbing rhythm as she hums around his cock. His hips pump, thighs clenching, stomach quivering at the onslaught of sensations driving him closer and closer to his high. Hazarding another look at her, she laughs around his cock before pulling off.

“If I’d have known it would be this easy to make you fall apart…” she begins to say, but Din shoves his cock roughly back into her mouth.

“Shut up,” he pants, fucking into her face in earnest. His orgasm is on the brink, body convulsing around her prone form as the monster ruts and chases his end selfishly. His teeth are clenched so hard he tastes blood, puffing air through his nose and snarling behind the visor. Vision red around the edges, his control is long gone as he fights her sharp nails and encroaching teeth and wild eyes. The tiniest voice begs him to stop, to look at what he’s doing, but when he sees her kneading at her mound over her pants, bucking her own hips in time with his punishing thrusts, everything lets go. He cums with a bellow, holding her there as his spend empties into her mouth. He gasps, sweat rolling down his neck and spine, the helmet almost suffocating with the heat trapped inside.

When he pulls out Xi’an gasps and the gravity of the moment makes him stumble back. Tucking himself away he watches her cough on her knees, white streaks of his cum dribbling down her face to drip onto the durasteel floor. Once she catches her breath she looks up at him, and in her flashing eyes and feral smile he realizes something dark and devastating.

He wants to do it again.

Striding past to slam open the cargo bay doors, her roughened voice calls after him.

“That’s one on the books for me, Mando. I’ll come calling soon enough.”

His hands don’t stop shaking for hours.

Xi’an is right. It doesn’t take long for her to come to him.

A simple job gone bad, the target fleeing into hyperspace too quickly to follow. Xi’an had been seducing him in a flashy racetrack before he fled. Din had followed as her backup, watching her writhe on the target’s lap and whisper in his ear. Every now and then her eyes would flash to Din, holding the expressionless gaze of the visor as she guided another man’s hand to knead her breast.

He told himself it wasn’t supposed to affect him. He didn’t care what she did, or who touched her. The scene from that night played in his head wrapped in nausea and regret. No partner he’d ever laid with drew out that much uncertainty and self-loathing, and he wasn’t keen to return to it.

But her curves still called to him, now straddling the mark’s waist. Familiar stirrings pulled up hard against disgust as he pushed the ravenous monster back down. It had gotten louder, fiercer after taking his pleasure so brutally. It screamed to take her again.

All of her work led to nothing. The target caught Varlo stalking up to apprehend him and make a quick exit. Even with four highly skilled mercs after him his resources won out. A faster ship, quicker access to his speeder. He was just within their grasp when he blasted off and into the atmosphere.

Xi’an shrieked her frustration into the air as the team re-entered the Crest. Malk confirmed there was no point following. They’d try again when he showed up at whatever gambling circuit he fancied next. She couldn’t stop prowling the ship, head down, glaring through her lashes. Varlo got a few sharp swipes for giving away their plan, but he threw up his hands and moved into the engine bay to let her cool off. Qin reclined in his hammock, watching bemused as she tried to self-soothe with no luck.

“Mando!” she finally hisses, jerking her head sharply as she strides past him and out of the Crest. His shoulders stiffen instantly, her brother’s hot stare branding his back. Hazarding a look back, Qin’s raised eyebrow and smirk make his face burn. But he still follows.

Xi’an is around the front of the Crest, leaning against the landing gear and seething. Din comes close, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. Her eyes rake over the helmet, snarl less playful and more agitated.

“I’m cashing in your debt, Mando,” she says, whipping her belt out of the loops so quickly it cracks. Din’s hands tighten on his, stance faltering.

“Not sure that’s a good idea,” he murmurs, bracing for the impact of his words. They land hard on her skin, quick steps bringing them chest to chest.

“I don’t give a flying kark what you think. I gave you my throat to cum in, it’s your turn. Give me your cock.”

Din balks, trying to disentangle from the swirling vortex of rage, but her hands are small and quick to grab at the fabric around his neck.

“Or you can give me something else, Mandalorian. Show me your face if you won’t fuck me,” she snarls, grabbing for the edge of his helmet. He yanks her arm away, but the other tries just the same. He snags it in his fist, whipping his head back when she tries to knock the helmet off. Both wrists captured he pushes her back, pinning her against the landing gear. Her hips jerk against his own, legs kicking at his shins. Some blows land, leaving dark reminders for days to come. Her bared teeth and hissing finally push him to pin both of her hands with one of his, the other coming to firmly wrap around her throat.

That finally stops her, eyes fluttering as he puts just enough pressure on her windpipe to quiet her. Hips rolling against his hardening cock, he leans in to crowd her against the durasteel mechanics.

“Is this what you want?” he husks, removing his hand from her throat to shove into her pants. The fit is tight, his thick forearm and vambrace stretching the waistband, but his skilled fingers cup her hot cunt. Even with the gloves on he can find her clit, roughly circling as she gasps and rocks against him. “Needed this attitude fucked out of you?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she moans, hooking a leg behind his thigh to pull him closer. He yanks his hand out of her pants and pushes slick-soaked leather between her lips.

“Take them off, or I won’t,” he growls, waiting for her teeth to tug his gloves off his fingers. She stares at the tawny skin, all the silvery lines cross-crossing his knuckles and fingers. He tries not to dwell on this, on how she’s already pushed him past what he knows he shouldn’t do. Jamming his hand back into her pants he buries two fingers in her wet cunt, setting a fast and firm pace that has her crying out against his overwhelming hold. The monster snarls inside him, salivating at the prospect of rucking her pants down and…

“Mando, need your cock, need you to fuck me,” she whines, just short of begging. It knots his stomach that she knows how much she’s making him lose control. The rhythmic slap of his palm on her intimate flesh has him full and hard, grip tightening as he feels her walls spasm around his flexing fingers.

“Cum like this first and I’ll see if you deserve my cock,” he rasps, buying himself enough time to calm his raging libido a fraction. He shouldn’t fuck her, shouldn’t let this go on any longer than it already has, but his body is thrumming, snapping and snarling into her as she beckons him to let go, to find something blinding in her soaked cunt.

Her orgasm clamps down on his fingers suddenly, the raw shriek making him clap his hand over her mouth. The loss of his hands pinning her wrists gives ample opportunity to rush open his pants and find his weeping cock. A few well-placed strokes has his rational mind dissolving into the single-minded concept of fucking.

He bends her over the landing gear, tearing her pants down over her ass to expose her glistening pussy. Normally that sight makes his mouth water. Instead he tugs on his cock a couple times to prepare.

“Hurry up, Mando,” Xi’an whines, arching her back higher to present her hole to him. He pushes her chest down hard, a whoosh of air escaping before he sheaths his cock in her tight pussy. The momentary ecstasy of his slick entrance washes over him, planting both hands on either side of her head. His first thrust punches a moan from her lips, followed by a litany of curses and whines as he snaps his hips fast and hard. The loud smack of skin pulls out a thin moan of his own.

“Karking Maker, Mando, you feel so good,” Xi’an croons, a momentary lapse in vitriol. It makes Din chuckle as he grunts at her wet clutch.

“This all you needed? A cock to make you bearable?” he teases, angling his hips to drill into a spot inside he knows will make her scream. She gathers air before he shoves his sticky fingers into her mouth, pinching her jaw open as he penetrates her here too. Everything is dripping and liquid and hard and soft at the same time. His own orgasm is fast approaching, a roar in his ears that he chases with fervor.

“Gonna cum again,” Xi’an gasps around his fingers, slamming back against Din’s thrusts as she chases her own end. Two people so far inside but so far apart.

Din dutifully reaches between her legs and pinches her clit, sending her toppling over into a shuddering orgasm that clenches his cock so hard he has to pull out and cum all over her other tight hole. Lightheaded and heavy-limbed, Din tries to regain a semblance of control over the situation.

This is just returning the favor.

This won’t happen again.

He doesn’t want this to happen again.

Shuffling back, he uses his bare hand to scrape his cum off her ass and flick it on the ground. Xi’an pulls her pants back up as Din tucks himself away and turns to stride back into the Crest.

Stepping outside looking to be without a care in the world is Qin, licking Jogan fruit juice off his fingers as he discards the peel on the ground. Din’s whole body locks up, fight or flight response screaming at him to get away.

“Get a good eyeful brother?” Xi’an singsongs behind Din, walking past him to re-enter the ship. Qin mock-glares at her as she passes and saunters away. When his eyes land back on Din he waits for a fist or a blade to connect with his flesh. Instead Qin just shakes his head with an amused expression and follows his sister.

Dread lands heavy in Din’s belly. His grip is slipping and he’s not sure whether he’ll hang on or fall into something even harder to climb out of.

That was the last time, he says to himself as he leaves a freshly fucked Xi’an in the ‘fresher.

This time it’s over, he says as he splatters his cum on her tits.

Never again, he promises after he spills his load into her tight asshole, cursing to the Maker about how good she feels choking his dick.

He tries over and over to stop it, to tell her no, but every time she whines and needles and baits until he can’t help but bury his frustrations in her body.

It’s been months since he joined Malk’s crew, and the spoils of their missions were fat in his pocket. He knows he should sneak off to the covert, give them the credits needed to keep them safe. Or to Karga, pay him his cut of whoring out his Mandalorian. It itches in the back of his brain, the duties he’s supposed to be performing.

Instead, he ignores Karga’s messages on his holo. He spends the credits on upgrades to the Crest and Corellian whiskey and brothels. The last is in a desperate hope to rid him of his addiction to the purple Twi’lek plaguing his bed.

She stalks his days and haunts his nights, rarely away from each other. It makes it easy to let her straddle his waist in the tiny cubby of a bed and ride him until he’s dripping out of her. Sometimes she follows him when they’re on-world to the places where he spends his credits. The first time he caught her he made her watch as he fucked a plain but skilled prostitute. The following times, she joined him in his debauchery.

He tells himself it’s the last time every time, but the fire always returns. The itch under his skin. The monster that roars under Xi’an’s sharp nails and sharper tongue batters the inside of its cage and howls until Din can leave more marks on her skin. It’s feral and bloodthirsty. Definitely unhealthy.

He still can’t stop.

The bounty they lost finally turns up in a swanky hotel on Coruscant. Xi’an goes to complete the job, her cover not blown enough to approach the target again. Words and drinks pass between them before his hands are groping her beneath the table. They slink away together, Din’s helmet following their heat signatures. The man’s crotch is white fire, but Xi’an’s registers no hotter than her body temp.

Couldn’t even get her wet. He’d have her blazing by now.

Din waits for the signal to apprehend the target outside the closed hotel room. Long minutes tick by, Din’s imagination spinning wildly as he imagines the man’s fingers in her pussy, licking her clit like he can never do, spitting in her mouth like he sometimes imagines with a frightening tightness in his groin.

A trill sounds. Time for action.

Din bursts in, blaster pointed ahead of him to take in the lewd scene. Xi’an is naked on the bed, the target thrusting into her from behind. Her face is bored until she sees Din enter, lax posture trading for silky and sexy.

“What the kark-!” the target shouts, hands shooting up in surrender.

“Took you long enough, Mando, I had to put up with this paltry cock for much too long,” she sighs, arching her back and presenting her heavy tits between her arms.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold,” he rasps, modulator hiding the strain in his voice. Xi’an tuts, shaking her head.

“This is my mission, Mando, and I get to decide that.” She cocks her head at him, backing up against the target.

“Does it make you jealous, knowing he’s inside me right now?” she purrs, circling her hips to elicit a choked gasp. Din’s hand tightens on the blaster, forcing his posture to be neutral.

“You did what you had to,” he grits out. Xi’an shrieks out a laugh.

“I didn’t have to fuck him. I wanted to, because I wanted to see what you’d do when another man tries to cum inside me.”

Din’s arm begins to shake, and the monster snarls inside him. Mine, it roars. My fucked up little thing to break.

“What are you going to do, Mando?” she taunts, rolling her hips on the terrified man’s cock.

“What you want.”

Xi’an’s eyes flash in triumph.

“I want to bring him in cold.”

Din shoots a blaster bolt between the man’s eyes, toppling him over and onto the bedroom floor. Xi’an wastes no time crawling to the end of the bed and turning around, round ass in the air.

“Fuck him out of me, Mando.”

They pull orgasm after orgasm out of each other with a dead man on the floor. His blood stains one corner of the bedding, crimson as regret. When Din has her splayed out below him, tits bouncing at the force of his thrusts into her abused pussy, she croaks out a request.

“Take it off.”

He stills inside her, fire in his veins replaced by ice cold clarity.

“No.”

Xi’an snarls at him.

“Show me the face of the man that’s fucking me, Mandalorian.”

His hand comes up around her throat, a warning squeeze rougher than the ones he normally doles out. She quiets, but he has to flip her over to drill out his last orgasm. The disdain on her face is too much.

Seventeen missed holos from Karga. Shadows that follow him when he strides through town. And yet Din can’t pull his head above water. The light get fainter every time. During one mission he freezes in front of a snarling attack massiff and for a blissful moment wonders if its bite would kill him if he bared his throat. Varlo fells it instead, giving Din a confused look as they return to the Crest.

“You been sleeping, Mando? You seem off.”

Din bristles, stride widening.

“Don’t pretend that matters to you.”

Varlo shrugs, veering off to speak to Ranzar. The anger masks the anguish until later that night, when Din begs for the thoughlessness of sleep.

“Need some company, Mando?” Xi’an asks, like she does most nights.

It’s better than guilt, at least.

It’s not long after Xi’an’s hunt that Qin climbs up into the cockpit while Din is piloting. They just entered hyperspace, the streaks of light soothing Din. The quiet sinks into his bones, contrasted against the dread of re-entering the cargo hold. The air is thick with boredom and potential energy waiting for a spark.

He’s turning to leave, find somewhere to escape for a few more moments of peace, when Qin clears his throat. He stands in the doorway, leaning against it with folded arms. Din stills, a standoff between the two men. He was wondering when he might have to endure this conversation.

“Whatever is going on between you and my sister,” Qin starts, right to the meat of the matter. Din respects that he doesn’t pull punches. “You need to figure it out soon. You may be having the time of your life fighting…and fucking.” He sneers at this, making Din’s face scorch under the helmet. “But the longer she thinks something is going to come out of it, the worse it will be when you tell her no.” Qin shifts to stand chest to chest with Din. They’re close in height but in this moment Din feels small and sacrificial.

“She doesn’t like being told no. I’m sure you’ve seen that.”

He has. The helmet is the symbol of his refusal, and Xi’an seethes at it. More than once he’s had to pin her hands down, too bold in her touches. Some days she playfully grabs at the lip, pulling him down to her level, but doesn’t let go quick enough for Din’s liking. Other times she lays her hands on either side and it feels tender. Her eyes soften, and Din wonders if there’s a hurt girl under all the posturing that wants proof that he cares for her.

He’d told her once, as they laid in a post-coital tangle. The Creed, the helmet, why it meant so much to him. He didn’t speak of the covert, or of any other Mandalorians. They both have their own secrets.

“It’s a symbol of my fidelity,” he said. Xi’an lifted up on one elbow and studied the sharp lines and curves of the helmet, fingers tracing the impressive profile.

“How beautiful it must be, to have someone so devoted,” she murmured. “What a gift.”

It’s one he can never give her, and she can never forget it.

“If you aren’t planning on giving her what she wants,” Qin husks, leaning in with a steely gaze. “Don’t drag it out. Make it professional.”

He leaves as quickly as he arrived, the weight of his words now on Mando’s shoulders. Qin has never been kind, but his ultimatum is a balm to Din’s anguish. He needs to end it. If he believes her to have any gentleness underneath her posturing it would be cruel to continue. There is no room in his devotions for her.

The monster inside his chest finally soothes, curls into a ball and sleeps.

She doesn’t take it well.

“You want this to stop?” she laughs, lounging against a tree. Din had deigned to tell her away from the others, wanting privacy and space for her anger to hit a flash point.

“We’re professionals. This is too messy,” Din says, keeping his voice as even and calm as he can. Her face changes from incredulity to anger.

“This isn’t over just because you get a crisis of conscience.” She pushes off the tree and stalks towards him, suspicion coloring her demeanor. “Did my brother say something to you?”

That’s a trap he’s not going to walk into.

“I can’t give you what you want,” Din says, holding his ground as she comes chest to chest, much like her sibling. How alike they are in their ruthlessness.

“Of course you can. You’ve got a perfectly good cock and talented fingers and some Maker-blessed stamina. Plus you’re filthy,” she purrs, raising goosebumps on Din’s neck. “What else does a girl need?”

Din tilts his head, watching her closely as he sees the shroud of the lie settle.

“The helmet,” he sighs, exasperated. His words hit the target. Xi’an’s features twist, shocked out of her feigned nonchalance.

“You’re ending this over a stupid little symbol?” she spits out, circling him like a prowling loth-cat. Din tenses, tempted to follow her path but knowing she’ll take advantage of it. He prepares for a blade.

“I won’t remove it for you. And I’m done fighting you trying to do it yourself.”

There’s a moment where he sees the hurt girl he’s trying to spare. It’s quickly raked back with fury. She hisses, digging her fingers into his cowl and yanking him backwards. He stumbles to his knees, his cape now wrapped around her forearms as she cuts off his air .

“All your morals and high ground as you’re spilling as much blood as we are, Mando. Defiling my body as you pray to your Creed. You’ll be crawling back to my cunt in no time, and I’ll slit your throat before I let you make a fool out of me.” Just as his vision begins to darken she releases her hold, letting painful lungfuls of air back into his chest. One boot kicks him square in the back, and he topples forward into the dirt.

“You’ll regret this, Mandalorian.”

She storms off to the Crest, leaving him gasping and coughing. He wishes, not for the first time, that he never shook Malk’s hand, never let them onto the Crest, never let Karga talk him into this.

He wishes for time to stop, to take back everything the last months had carved out of his soul. For a bed, and a soothing touch.

(where is she now? Could she ever look at him the same way, after all he’s done?)

“New assignment,” Malk calls down, a groan of relief lifting the mood in the hold. “Big yield, and even bigger hush money.”

Qin grins, jostling his sister as Malk descends to them. She nods, listless since their argument. Din prefers that to the rage. It still pulls at a confusing feeling in his chest, something akin to regret.

“Where we off to? I’ve been itching to get out of this karking morgue,” Varlo gripes, taking the holopad from Malk.

“Cleanup effort on Alzoc III. There’s some mines infested with a local species the mining company needs cleared out. Not sentient, but territorial. Mando, need you in the air. Varlo, running logistics. Qin, Xi’an, you’re with me doing ground work.”

Din rolls his shoulders and cracks his knuckles. A big haul should set everyone up for a good while. Improve spirits, and maybe give him the boost to break away from this group that only becomes more hostile by the day. His silence will cost him, but with enough credits he may be able to buy himself back into the covert, and the Guild’s good favor.

Alzoc III it is.

The planet is icy and hostile, vast snow-swept tundras and sharp peaks slicing up into the permanently gray skies. The harsh weather eats up heat from the outside in, the Crest’s life support systems working overtime to keep the interior above freezing. Din had to pull out a heavier flight suit, the other crew members donning furs and goggles in preparation for the mission. Xi’an had taken to glaring at Mando any time he was in the room, so he’d stayed in the cockpit for most of the trip. Malk had scoffed at him, standing behind the pilot’s chair as Din maneuvered them out of hyperspace.

“Women problems, Mando?”

Din did not deign to give him an answer, but Malk persisted.

“Not a good idea to mix business and pleasure. A man of your experience should be more careful,” he says, clapping a hand on Din’s paudron. He tenses, but Malk releases him quickly after and heads into the tense hold with a snicker under his breath.

Din can’t wait to have the Crest to himself. Months of close quarters were making him itchy with tension, a constant frenetic thrum under his skin that he can’t even fuck out now. Varlo’s company would be silent at least. Plus a simple point-and-shoot mission has its appeal. The rest of the dossier states that the mines are overrun to the point that they can’t send in crews to extract the planet’s precious commodities.

Varlo plots a multi-stage assault; Malk, Xi’an and Qin would place bombs at mine entrances and pick off anything that could tip off the plan. Once at their sniper posts, Din would aerial attack the mines from above, detonating the bombs and dropping his own payloads to collapse strategic parts of the tunnels. The mining company provided blueprints, and designated the choke points that would create the least amount of cleanup effort for them after the fact.

In retrospect, when Din’s nightmares push into this shadowy period of his life, it was so well thought out it should have made him pause. They didn’t need highly skilled mercenaries, they needed bodies to carry out this plan. What the company really bought was silence, and anonymity.

Din circles the Crest just out of range of the mines, waiting for the go signal from Malk. Varlo lounges in the jump seat, occasionally speaking through his communicator. Din doesn’t much enjoy conversing with Varlo, so of course this is the time he decides to be chatty.

“So, was she purple like…all over?” Varlo says, raising the hackles on Din’s back.

“You can ask her yourself. I’m sure she’d love to tell you,” Din replies calmly, banking a little harder to the left than he means to. Varlo chuckles low in his throat, his gaze burning into Din’s back.

“I mean I could, but it’s more professional curiosity. I’m surprised she hasn’t gutted you in your sleep yet.”

“Mando, time to shine!” Malk’s voice rings from the Crest’s holocomm.

“Roger,” Din murmurs, the muscle memory of his training kicking in as the Crest dives into the valley. Everything that’s plagued him for months - the loss of control, the cloying atmosphere, Xi’an’s magnetic push and pull - all fades into the background when he’s flying. His shoulders loosen, grip on the controls firm but relaxed. The lift and dip of the Crest is a familiar dance, lapping waves on a beach he’s never visited but somehow always knows.

Then the first explosion appears through the transparisteel, and he dives into action.

The entire assault lasts maybe a quarter hour. Each explosion triggered by Malk is timed with another bomb Varlo releases out the cargo doors. The more powerful weapons hit their mark, miles of tunnels collapsing with shifting snow to fill in the depressions. Sometimes a small group of moving creatures - barely perceptible - burst from an entry, and the on-ground team quickly eradicates them. Din isn’t even sure he feels the cold creeping into the ship, too wrapped up in the warmth of a skill he’s honed for decades being used to its utmost ability.

“That’s it, Mando, we’ll bring her down to pick up the rest at the hanger pad.” Varlo indicates a vast stretch of buildings, no doubt some shipping operation, with a generous landing zone. Din wonders how much trade must happen on this desolate planet, and how pitiful their price must be compared to the credits the company rakes in.

Once landed, Varlo leaves to speak with their contact and provide a final report. Malk gets the payment, but he’ll be a little while traipsing across the frozen grounds. Din takes the lack of anyone on his ship as a brief moment of respite, checking for any potential damage and wandering through the cluttered living space. His annoyance at the mess is less than usual, the silence after a job well done vastly improving his mood.

Deeper in the ship checking on engine function, Din hears a clatter. His shoulders slump again. He’d hoped for a little more peace and quiet before they returned. Trudging out to the cargo bay, he’s met with an even stranger sight.

Varlo left the cargo door open, the windbreak from the surrounding buildings keeping the elements at a minimum. Instead of the crew ascending the ramp, two furred creatures freeze just inside the warmth of the Crest. The larger one puts its body between Din and the smaller one, four black pearl eyes locked on him. His hand itches to grab his blaster, absolutely certain these are the creatures infesting the mines. They’re supposed to be hostile, ferocious and powerfully strong. He might be able to take one, but two could be a problem. He steels himself for a charge, but the larger one holds up one long-clawed hand, three fingers spread in the universal symbol for wait.

Din stops, confusion and a cold pit of dread opening in his stomach. The larger creature looks back at the smaller one, stroking its face as they make high pitched chirps and buzzes at each other through strange tubular mouths. Their fur is matted white and gray, easy to blend in on the tundra, as they tower taller than most bipedal creatures Din has encountered. The brief conference concluded, the larger creature rummages in its fur.

Din snaps his hand to his blaster, unholstering it in a flash to point at the creatures. The smaller one squeals - Din swears it’s in terror - and the larger one whips its head up to look at Din. It stills, one hand now held out overflowing with baubles. Din’s blaster falters as the creature takes a tentative step forward, offering lustrous milky pearls. His throat closes up, but his training keeps his weapon on them. At his lack of movement the creature looks back at the smaller one, urging it forward. It holds their faces together, foreheads touching as plaintive whines cut through the air. The pearls transfer, and the larger of the two urges the smaller forward.

Din can’t breathe, chest banded with horror. The littler creature holds out the offering, clicking and chirping as the larger one waits back. It’s all too clear to a man who lost his family in a war he did not understand what this transaction is, and what the consequences of his actions means. He drops the blaster, stepping towards the creatures. They shrink back in fear, but the little one still holds out shaking hands, pearls dropping to clink on the durasteel floor.

“I…” he says, heart hammering in his throat. The larger one - the mother, he thinks - raises its head with something like hope.

“What the kark?!” Varlo shouts, ascending the ramp. Din tries to speak, to explain that everything has gone so wrong in a handful of moments, but Varlo’s blaster is already out.

Three bolts, loosed with deadly efficiency, and the smaller creature falls, pearls scattering on the floor and rolling away. The shriek of the larger creature will haunt Din for years, as clear as the day he heard it when he finds another pearl lost in the ship.

“No!” Din screams, but Varlo is already turning to the charging creature. Three powerful swipes knock him down, blood spurting into snow, before he fells the creature with another series of blaster bolts. Then it’s just Din, gasping amongst the gore. Sobs wrench his throat, hot tears running down his cheeks as he shakes on his feet.

“Fuck, Mando…need…kit,” Varlo gasps. The creature cut him deep, flashes of white bone peeking through the layers of flesh. Blood dribbles from his lips, teeth stained red as he struggles to breathe. His voice is faraway and tinny, but Din’s body answers. He walks numbly to Varlo’s side, kneeling beside the man’s mutilated body.

“They were sentient,” he says, and the horror blends into anger, one hotter and more encompassing than any he’s ever felt.

“Get me a Maker-damned bacta shot!” Varlo burbles, a rough cough spraying blood on Din’s chestplate. He’s not sure when he decided to slit Varlo’s throat, but one moment he’s alive, the next he’s laid out with unseeing eyes, the messy slash of a vibroblade mimicking the brutal claw marks.

He doesn’t remember moving the creatures’ bodies, laying them down on the icy ground outside the Crest.

He doesn’t remember what he tells the others when they return. Xi’an and Qin stalk by, barely affected. Malk chews the inside of his cheek, staring at Varlo’s corpse for a few moments before entering the Crest.

“Split is four ways now. First come first serve to his things. We take off in 5.”

Din doesn’t recall where his body was during takeoff, or once they got into hyperspace. The events play like a holovid missing an actor, feelings and sensations eerily absent. He thinks he piloted them off world, attributed to muscle memory. He remembers a conversation, but not with who, or why it began.

“The species was sentient. They tried to barter to get on the ship.”

“Mando….”

“One attempted to sacrifice itself for the other. An animal can’t do that.”

“We got paid not to ask questions.”

“That wasn’t a mission. That was genocide.”

“You’ve done worse, Mando. We all have.”

Except that wasn’t true. In the song of Din Djarin, this would always be his greatest sin.

One tip to the New Republic was all it took. A set of coordinates and a date and time. Malk wanted to gamble and whore after Alzoc III, and Qin and Xi’an had no qualms. Din only sat silently, the days since the genocide bleeding into one another. Xi’an had tried to tease him about it - seems like you lucked out against those claws - but his cold turn of the head and quick exit quieted her tongue.

He waited for them to leave, credits in hand, before reporting their whereabouts to the New Republic garrison. He conveniently left himself and the Crest out, detailing his crewmates’ crimes and exactly where they would be. Then he laid low, waiting for enough time to pass so as to not arouse suspicion.

He would not see Qin or Malk for many more years, though he’d hear of their escape from some Guild contacts. Not much could hold either of them for long. Xi’an didn’t leave him so quietly.

“Karking traitor!” she screams, leaping on his back outside of the Crest. A blade sinks into his shoulder, ripping a cry from his lips. She pulls it out and drives it back in his bicep, his hands scrabbling to throw her off. She gets him two more times before he crushes her against the Crest’s hull, knocking her grip loose. His left arm is screaming, blood pouring down his fingers.

“After all we did for you, you turned us in?!” Her knife hits home again, swinging to stab into his calf and the meat of his thigh in quick succession. Din disarms her, skittering the knife away, before landing a blow in the center of her chest that, with a little more force, could have stopped her cruel heart. She lies gasping on the ground, eyes wide and wild as they look at him towering over her. For a moment that uncomfortable feeling pulls at him again, something like regret and remorse and a mourning of what could have been. It weakens him enough to kneel down, body screaming.

“I’m sorry…” he tries to say, the next words lost in his turmoil. Sorry for starting whatever fucked-up thing they had between them? Sorry for not being able to give her what she wanted? Sorry for how it was destined to end?

Another blade sinks into his side, ripping down as she screeches.

“You are nothing but a traitor, Mandalorian. Betrayer of your allies, of your Creed. I hope your Maker-damned helmet ends up in the gutter with your corpse.”

He yanks the blade free, head dizzy at the realization that much of his blood is on the ground instead of inside him. He puts one hand around Xi’an’s neck and squeezes down. She’s out in seconds, dragged to the hangar entrance for the New Republic guards to find. Safe or not, he takes off with the Crest and manages to close up enough of his wounds with the cauterizer to stop the bleeding, burnt flesh singing his nostrils. He blindly dials in coordinates for Nevarro, barely staying conscious through the jump. Once autopilot kicks in he dips into darkness.

The Guild takes him back. Begrudgingly. He pays his dues and offers them the pearls the creature spilled across the hold. Their value surprises him, almost annoyed he didn’t save some for himself, but the thought of his own pockets lined with treasures given by the dead chills his blood. He leaves them all with Karga, and waits for the distrust to fade from his face.

The covert welcomes him back with disapproval. His wounds spare him for a few weeks, sequestered from the rest of his people. It makes him ache, the obvious disappointment of his alor and the wariness of his fellow Mandalorians. The rumors swirl about where and why he was gone so long, why their beroya would betray them. He takes his penance, every blow and setback and humiliation. It is no worse than how he punishes himself.

When he returns to the Crest, tucked in the back of a trusted hangar, the mess strewn about the hold claws at his throat. He removes every memory of those months, setting belongings and refuse outside the cargo doors for scavengers to pick through. Even his own personal items make it into the pile, the memories attached to them too painful.

He cleans the ship top to bottom. No more hammocks strung from every corner. No more constant noise. No more ever-mounting tension. Just durasteel and silence.

It takes a full day to bring the Crest back to pre-Malk condition. The darkness surrounds Din, and after weighing the pros and cons of returning in the night he closes the cargo door. Shuttling open the small cubby sleeping space, he crawls in and settles on his side. The door slides shut with the lights dimming soon after.

Din lies there as his body slowly quiets, his armor digging into his sore shoulder, tender ribs and neck. Piece by piece he removes it, laying the shining examples of his honor beside him. The helmet is last, and it’s the first time in months he’s been able to breathe without it inside his own ship. The pillow is measly under his head, but he sinks down with a sigh. Arms tucked into his chest, knees pulled up to his stomach, surrounded by the walls of his ship and nothing else, he lets himself mourn the deeds he’d done. It will be far from the last time, but this is the rawest, the most painful as he let the shame grip him. Once exhaustion wins the hums and whirrs of the Crest lull him to sleep.

Din doesn’t tell you about Xi’an. It’s a lie of omission - you never prod him on his past, and he rarely asks about yours. There’s no reason to dredge up pain. If you want to offer something you do, and if you truly ask him he’ll offer pieces of his own. But you’re not swapping stories around the fire. So he sees no reason to tell you.

Until one day, he does.

It was the perfect sandstorm of triggers. A child snarling at her brother, then squealing out a laugh that cuts through his head. The singing of blades through the air as some men toss them at a target. A purple Twi’lek between you and Din, reaching out a hand to clap your shoulder. Din’s hurried steps bring him to your side in record time, helmet tilted down in challenge but the Twi just looks at him curiously and takes a step back. Your own brow knits, a bag of supplies in hand.

He tries to center himself back on the Crest, busying his racing thoughts with jump calculations and messages to contacts about the Jedi. It works until you climb up to the cockpit, leaning against the console as he turns his attention to you.

“Bean found something in the ship, I thought it might be important,” you say, holding out your upturned palm.

A pearl.

He thought he’d found them all, but the child’s nosiness unearthed one last bloody memory. He freezes, hands tight on the console.

“Been holding onto some treasure?” you tease, but your face is uneasy as you sense the tension in the air. “I’ll put it somewhere safe, maybe we can barter it…”

“No,” Din rebukes sharply, snapping the visor to you. Your eyes widen, chest curling in on yourself.

“Okay,” you say quietly, hand closing around the painful object. Din slumps, leaning forward and hanging his head.

“I’m sorry, it’s…nothing good will come of that. It was bought with blood,” he says quietly.

“So are most things on the Crest,” you say, wrapping your arms around your middle. Din heaves in a breath.

“Not the same kind.”

And so he tells you the story of Ranzar Malk and his employment, of the acidic crew and the six cloying months he spent with them. Of Xi’an and her allure, and the pain it caused. Of Alzoc III. Of the pearls.

You listen in silence, watching as Din relates his darkest story. The shame burns his skin, eats at his stomach, sours his tongue. How can he possibly redeem himself in your eyes after this? Would you ever look at him the same again?

Once he finishes, and the quiet of the ship pervades, you move to stand between his parted knees. Two hands settle on his shoulders, and without reservation he wraps his arms around and lays his head just below your breasts. The rhythmic inhale-exhale of your breathing cools his pain.

“Have you seen any of them since?” you ask. Din huffs out a sigh.

“Malk hired me for a job a few months back. Didn’t tell me the mission, just relied on a debt being repaid and the Crest still flying.” Din shifts against you, considering leaning away, but your firm hands keep him held to your chest.

“Was it bad?”

“We were rescuing Qin from a prison ship. Xi’an was there, set me up to be killed by the new team. I left them there.” After the draining retelling, he can’t bring himself to extrapolate on the tense reunion.

Tell me why I shouldn’t cut you down where you stand.

I did what I had to.

Oh, but you liked it.

You were hired to do a job, so do it.

Isn’t that your code?

Aren’t you a man of honor?

“Thank you for telling me,” you finally say, stroking your thumbs along the line of his shoulders. “That was…difficult. To tell, I’m sure. It was hard to hear.” Din fists your shirt, squeezing his eyes closed at what will surely come.

“You made decisions and you’ve suffered the consequences of them.” You cup the back of his neck through his cowl. “And if you think I haven’t made a terrible decision about who to trust, I have stories I can share. Later,” you say, lightness in your voice. It makes Din lean back to look at your face. If you could see his, you would know his mouth is dropped open, eyes wide and wet, as you stroke the sharp lines of his helmet. You’re the only one he trusts to touch.

“Did you think I would hate you for this?” you ask, and Din’s nod is barely perceptible but you feel it. “You’ll surprise me, and terrify me many more times Mando, but you’ll never drive me away. The galaxy is only shades of gray.”

He lets you hold him for a time, hands soothing on his worn body. Your acceptance doesn’t heal him. By now he’s not sure anything will. But it balms the wound enough to breathe easier.

It’s the beginning of letting himself know you, and be known by you. When you say that your best friend taught you how to skip rocks, he asks how you met her. When you look on in wonder as he dresses a piece of game, he explains how his buir taught him survival hunting. And when the child wraps his tiny claw around Din’s thumb and he strokes it gently, you ask him if he has a son somewhere.

“No,” Din answers, the child warm in his arm and your body close enough to coax into his, if he would dare let himself want it. “But the Creed states the importance of caring for foundlings, and raising warriors.”

You hum and smile, turning back to your task, and for a moment much longer than fleeting, Din lets himself wonder if this is what a clan is supposed to feel like, and when it grew from two to three.

END

Interlude 2 of the I Think of You series

#prolix taglist

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guess-my-next-obsession · 2 years ago

Note

For your spooktacular, I've been thinking about werewolf din. But not typical werewolf au. He actually wants to stop shifting, so he seeks out help. Reader is a witch who tries to help him control his "urges".

Definitely smut with some fluff.

Spooktacular Day 8: Training

pairing: werewolf!din x f!reader

rating: E (no explicit sex scene but too explicit to not have any warnings, werewolf!din, witch!reader)

a/n: thought this request was amazing but didn’t want it to be too long so i will be writing a part two later on in my spooktacular with all the smut/fluff!

Spooktacular Masterlist

“I know it’s hard, but you’re doing so well.”

Din replayed your words over and over in his head as he sat there, the full moon high in the sky above the two of you. Every nerve in his body felt like it was burning, the need to shift overwhelming but kept at bay by your magic.

“F-feels like…I’m losing control,” he warned through gritted teeth, his body tense and writhing on the floor of the woods.

“Hm,” you approached him carefully, his hand lifting to tell you to stop. “I’ve heard tales of your condition. Magic can only do so much…”

“What are you—“ Din watched as you straddled his lap, undoing his belt and unzipping him. “Not safe—I’m not s-safe.”

“You just need to learn to control it,” you assured, pumping his cock and trying not to let how impressed you were by his size show.

“What if I hurt you?” Din asked the question sincerely but you couldn’t help but chuckle. You weren’t weak, in fact you were the strongest witch in your coven.

“What if I hurt you?” You challenged with a grin, Din gulping at the look in your eyes. “If you can learn to hold it, learn to fight the urge under a moon like this…you will be able to finally control your shifting.”

“A-and if I can’t?” You chuckled, thumb collecting the pre-cum that dribbled from his thick head, lifting it to your mouth and earning a shudder from Din.

“Then we’ll have one hell of a story, won’t we?”

•••

din taglist: @joelmillerscoffee @ajeff855 @wildemaven @axshadows @sherala007 @browneyes-issac @tooflef @mariasabana @tae27 @kimm4710 @stxrrylunatic @paulalikestuff @jbh-castaway @mandomover @chxpsi @marvel-sw-lover @jediknight122 @harriedandharassed @star-wars-fan-2005 @alwaysdjarin @trickstersp8 @idkifimaliveanymore @trinkets01 @chloeinpink @alwaysdjarin @tizylish @jessie-skywalker @come-hell-or-eldren-fire @dindjarinsmut @jlmaddinson @ladyrebel25 @lexloon @awholelottayeehaw @hungrhay @bxmxtx @funnymcfunbunz @graciexmarvel @a-phan-of-youtube @whoodat @laureliciousdefinition (sorry if your tag isn’t working! as always, let me know if you’d like to be removed/added!)

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin oneshot #din djarin fic #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando smut #mando fic #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #mandalorian smut #spooktacular ‘22

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airasilver · 2 years ago

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@awholelottayeehaw

If it could be destroyed by other Beskar, why hasn't it until now? Like, we know Tor and Pre didn't use it, so they say (I'm just starting TCW so I'm not up to Pre yet), but others must have. Heck, Gideon might have. Maul, I don't know if he did or not.

But some must have used it. Torre (Tarre? Torra? I'm confused on how to spell his name) used it so wouldn't it have been destroyed then? Especially if Mandalorians were using Beskar themselves? I mean the Jedi have their lightsabers destroyed alot of times but the darksaber seems to be the same....if it was made with the kyber crystals of the Jedi.

I'm just confused that it was destroyed that easily when no one else could ever do it... doesn't make sense. Especially for Death Watch who had to have some use it, fight for it.

Everyone seems to be overlooking Gideon being able to break the darksaber.

You can’t just bend beskar like that lol

#star wars #the mandalorian #reply #the darksaber

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againstacecilia · 2 years ago

Text

Tag list 💖

If your name is crossed out, I can’t tag you! Make sure your blog is searchable or tag lists won’t work.

Choices

PAIRING: Din Djarin x Poe Dameron x female!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

RATING: Explicit, 18+ ONLY (minors, DNI), nsfw

WARNINGS: Look, it's all sex. Oral (female and male receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex, language, canon-divergence (obviously). Some parts have been looked over but, overall, pretty unedited. A couple brief mentions of alcohol.

A/N: I honestly tried to add some plot to the porn, but after an initially innocent ask from @bakerstreethound, it kinda got away from me lol. Thank you so much for the maladaptive daydream request, friend! 😂

Your little home is quiet as the suns set outside the window. Orange and red paint the walls in warmth and the crackle of the fire in the hearth was better than any music your music player could pump out, especially after today. Work was stressful, people coming in and out seemed extra snippy today, and Poe had to cancel on your movie night because of some Resistance thing. Not that you blamed him at all, but the thought of curling up on the couch with him and watching some old holofilm had gotten you through more than one angry old woman complaining about her caf.

As you’re settling in on the couch with a blanket and your favorite book, your radio beeps from across the room. Grumbling, you put the book on the cushion and head over to the screen.

“Hello?” You ask, perhaps sharper than you needed to.

“Hey, you busy?” Din’s voice filters through the speaker.

A smile cracks the frown that had been ever-present on your face today, “Not at all, I was just settling in for some reading.”

“Mind if I swing by? I’m in town for a little while between bounties and wanted to see you.”

It had only been a couple of weeks since you’d seen Din, but you missed him like it had been longer. “I’d love that,” you respond immediately, “See you in a bit?”

“I’ll bring wine,” Din responds before cutting the connection. He’d gotten more relaxed about removing his helmet over the last few months, his Creed being kept alive in his actions and commitment to Grogu and the new clan he was building around himself. Your body relaxes at the idea of seeing him tonight; it was just as good as being able to see Poe.

Both Poe and Din knew about the other, and you weren’t really dating either of them, per se, so as long as communication was kept open everyone was happy with the arrangement. If you were forced to choose between the two of them, though… You didn’t want to think about it because you genuinely didn’t know if you’d be able to make that decision.

Shaking those thoughts from your mind, you curl back up under your blanket and crack your book to pass the time before Din arrives.

Thirty minutes later, a knock sounds at your door.

“Come in!” you call, marking your place and standing to put the book back in its spot on the shelf. You turn as Din walks through the door and, as always, you momentarily forget how to breathe as he makes his way into the room.

Broad shoulders covered in gleaming beskar fill the room, his presence taking up even more space than his physical body. Orange-tipped gloves cover the hands holding a bottle of wine and a bag of what you assume is take-out from the restaurant down the road. The heavy thuds of his boots snap you back to reality as he chuckles lightly, “Hey, mesh’la.”

“Hey handsome,” you laugh, heat pooling low in your stomach at the intensity radiating off of him.

His hands grasp the bottom of his helmet and lift, beautiful smile and eyes coming into view. He places the helmet carefully on the table before crossing the room in two long strides and pulling you in to kiss him. “Mmm I missed you,” he sighs into your lips.

“I missed you too,” you respond breathily. Your hands find their way into his soft curls and tug just a little bit.

He smiles against you, lightly nipping at your bottom lip, “I just got here, cyar’ika, we’ve got time.”

You hum in response, pulling away and taking a steadying breath. “You’re right,” you laugh. “What’d you bring me?”

- - - - - - - -

One meal and a couple of glasses of wine later, the only light in the room comes from the fireplace as you and Din are sitting on the couch. He had doffed his armor before dinner, leaving nothing but an olive green t-shirt and loose pants hemmed tightly at the ankle between him and the world. Your legs drape over his lap, your back leaning against the arm of the couch, and his hands trace idle circles over the skin left exposed by your shorts.

“It wasn’t that dangerous,” Din argues. He had told you about his most recent bounty, sending you into a small panic as he explained how close the bounty’s dirty vibroblade had gotten to slicing into the un-armored part of his torso.

“What do you mean ‘wasn’t that dangerous’?” Your eyes are wide and incredulous at his nonchalance.

“I had it under control! Plus, I came back, didn’t I?”

“I guess,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest. “You better keep coming back.”

He puts his hand behind your neck and leans in to kiss your forehead, “You know I will.”

In spite of yourself, you smile at the contact and relax your arms into your lap. Your mouth opens to say something else when a knock and the sound of the door opening come from the front of the house, “Hey, sweetheart, you up?”

“In here, Poe!” you call, looking over at Din. His eyebrows are raised. “He was supposed to come over tonight but got called in for something at work.”

“Hey, honey-” Poe’s greeting is cut short when he sees Din on the couch. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“No, no, it’s okay, come in,” you pull your legs off Din and stand to greet Poe behind the couch. “At least, I think it’s okay?” You turn your gaze to Din, hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“It’s fine,” Din shrugs, not making any moves to leave his seat.

You look between the two men, something shifting in the air. “Okay…” Turning to face Poe, you ask, “Everything okay at the base?”

“Everything’s great,” Poe responds, giving you a quick hug, “Finn came in early to take over for me since he knew I was supposed to be here tonight. Was going to try and surprise you…” He pointedly glances at the back of Din’s head with his last statement.

“Looks like you surprised both of us,” Din quips, turning to face Poe.

“Look, just because you had a free night doesn’t mean-” Poe starts.

“It’s not just a free night, I’m only in town for-” Din interrupts.

“She and I had plans-”

“And you canceled, so she was free-”

“Stop!” You yell, startling both men into silence. They both look at you, waiting for you to continue. “You both know about the other and you’ve been good with it so far, what’s going on?”

Silence hovers for a moment before Din clears his throat, “Maybe… Maybe I wasn’t always so okay with it.”

You stare at him as he drops his head and fidgets with his fingers. Poe looks over at him as well, an odd look coming over his face before turning his attention back to you, “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but, I’m in the same boat as Mando here.”

“So, wait… You both have had issues with this and you haven’t told me?”

“I can’t speak for him, but I didn’t want to tell you what to do with your life.” Poe sighs and leans against the back of the couch.

“And you?” You ask Din.

“I’m gone so frequently and you have your life here,” he responds, “and I know you and he had something going on when we met…”

They both look at you again, similar emotions swimming in their eyes. Two men, dedicated and loyal, looking at you and silently asking you to choose. You knew they’d both respect your choice, but you’re suddenly frozen in fear at the shift in the wind.

“I… I can’t choose,” you whisper, eyes wide.

Din stands and you panic, thinking he’s going to gather his things and walk out the door but, instead, he comes to stand next to Poe behind the couch. “Cyar’ika…” He pauses, looking quickly over at Poe before continuing, “I don’t want to make you choose. Maybe…”

Something in Poe relaxes as the meaning of Din’s words sinks in and he reaches his hand out. You take it and he pulls you close, his free hand coming up to pull your face to his. Looking into your eyes, he brushes his thumb along your cheekbone and asks, “Is this what you want, sweetheart?”

Din’s knuckles run up and down your arm leaving goosebumps in their wake. You look into his eyes, then into Poe’s, and nod. The two men share another look before turning back to you with a smile, “Then that’s what you’ll get mesh’la.” Din’s voice slips low, sparks lighting deep in his eyes.

Relief washes over you, followed closely by the rising shimmer of need. Poe’s smile turns mischievous and his grip on your neck shifts higher into your hair, tugging ever so gently to expose your neck where he places a cluster of kisses. “Well, this should be fun,” he chuckles, reaching his free hand to grab Din’s and leading all of you into your bedroom.

Lit only by the lamps on your bedside tables, your room is lit by a soft glow that casts shadows over the angles and planes of your companions. Poe angles you gently toward your bed and you perch yourself on the edge, eyeing the two men appreciatively. “So, what did you have in mind, boys?”

Poe once again takes the lead, turning to Din and asking, “Are you okay with this?”

Din nods, reaching over and tugging at the hem of Poe’s shirt, “I was starting to get disappointed she hadn’t asked earlier.”

A soft hum vibrates from Poe and he lets Din remove the article of clothing, toned muscle and tan skin gleaming in the low light. You can’t pull your eyes from the way Din’s hands skate over Poe’s skin, heart racing in your chest.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” Poe asks, pulling you out of your trance.

“I see a couple things I like,” you respond, going for suave but your voice comes out as barely a whisper. It’s hard to care, though, as Din slips his hand into Poe’s waistband, both of them making noises so filthy your hands bunch into your sheets of their own accord. “Come here,” you request, scooting to the other side of the bed. You gesture to Poe, “Lay down.”

Din places a testing kiss on Poe’s shoulder as he leads him toward you, letting go to remove his own shirt and pants. You tear your gaze away from his strong thighs and focus on Poe laid out below you.

“Tell me what you want, honey,” Poe says, voice low and dangerous and hands helping you remove the soft shorts and oversized shirt you had put on hours ago for a quiet night in.

“You,” is your only response as you lean over to kiss him. It’s deep and takes your breath away, but you keep your mind for long enough to pull at his pants. He helps kick them off without breaking away.

“Mesh’la,” Din’s voice is close behind you, his hands running up and down your arms. “I want you to make him feel good while I make you feel good. Can you do that?”

You smile into Poe’s lips and pull away. With a nod, you situate yourself between Poe’s outstretched legs, his cock already hard. You waste no time swirling the bead of precum around the head of his penis and licking a wet line from base to tip.

“Fuck, baby,” Poe moans, hands twitching to grab the blanket beneath him. Your smug smile only lasts for so long before Din’s hands lift your hips and you moan around Poe’s cock as Din’s tongue starts working magic of its own.

“Focus, mesh’la,” he chides before diving back in. You do your best, taking Poe fully into your mouth and hollowing your cheeks around him, bobbing your head up and down. His hips buck involuntarily as Din’s fingers begin to work tight circles around your clit, sensations overwhelming you enough to pull yourself off of Poe and you cry out.

“Yes, oh fuck, Din, yes,” you babble, bringing your hand to Poe’s cock and pumping while trying to catch your breath.

Poe takes pity on you, shifting down the bed and saying to Din, “Poor girl, I think she’s having a hard time focusing.”

“Let’s help her out,” Din agrees, pulling away from you and gently pushing you up toward the headboard. He situates himself on the pillows and grabs your hips, pulling you over and then down onto his face. “Sit,” he says, before busying his mouth by continuing his ministrations.

You grip the headboard for dear life, nearly missing as Poe gets back onto the bed. “You’re taking such good care of our girl,” Poe says behind you, “Let me take care of you too.”

You open your eyes and look over your shoulder to see Poe taking the position you were just in but now between Din’s legs, removing the last piece of clothing on Din’s body. Poe’s perfect lips wrap around Din’s cock and he starts bobbing up and down, Din’s moan vibrating through your body. He never loses sight of his goal, though, and before long the tight coil in your stomach snaps, waves of pleasure crashing through your body as you come apart on his tongue.

When you finally come down enough to focus on the world around you, you lift yourself off of Din and adjust to sit alongside him, Poe still working up and down on Din’s cock. The scruff around Din’s mouth shines with the evidence of your release and you reach down to wipe it away before bringing the slick up to your lips, Din’s eyes following your every move, pupils blown wide with pleasure. “Come on, baby,” you whisper in his ear, “Tell Poe how well he’s doing.”

“S-so good,” he grunts, eliciting a dark chuckle from Poe. Din’s hand shoots down to grab Poe’s messy curls and he pulls him up into a crushing kiss. “Careful,” he pants between kisses, “Not gonna last with your filthy mouth working me like that.”

“I think I know how to help,” you coo. “Din, baby, make sure Poe’s comfortable.”

He does ask you ask, switching places with Poe and settling down on his side next to the other man. A strong hand comes up to latch onto Poe’s face and Din dips down, meeting Poe’s lips without needing any more prompting. You settle back between Poe’s legs with a smile and take him into your mouth, eager to give him the pleasure and attention he deserves. Sloppy, wet sounds fill the room and Poe’s hand drifts into your hair as if he’s using you as a lifeline to ground himself to the reality of the evening.

With only a low moan as warning, he’s suddenly cumming; hot, thick ropes coating the back of your throat. You swallow as much as you can but some still leaks from the sides of your mouth. You pull away as Din does, looking over the men laying before you with a warm feeling in your chest.

Din leans up enough to reach a hand to your lips, wiping Poe’s cum away and, mirroring your actions from before, he licks his fingers clean, eyes closing like he’s enjoying fine cuisine. “Fuck, you both taste incredible.”

“My turn,” Poe smiles mischievously. “Come here, sweetheart.”

You crawl up his body, gliding your hands over his stomach and chest as you do, feeling every inch of battle-hardened muscle beneath you. Din shifts down to settle behind you again, wrapping his hand around his still-hard cock and pumping it leisurely as he lines up with your sensitive entrance.

After a couple of breathless kisses with Poe, Din sheathes himself in one fluid motion, drawing a high-pitched whimper from you. “Wish I could… Unh… Wish I could see that pretty face when you make those noises, mesh’la,” Din pants, dragging himself in and out of you.

“She’s such a pretty girl,” Poe croons into your lips, dipping his head to your neck and marking the skin with nips and brutal kisses. “Come on, Din, make her make the noise again.”

You’ve never been more okay with being ganged up on like this as Din’s hips begin sharply snapping into you over and over again. Whimpers and moans mixed with their names slip from your lips and Poe chuckles into your neck, “That’s it,” he whispers, “you’re both doing so well. So fucking good…”

Heat crawls up your spine as your release dances just out of reach, your overstimulated body chasing too many sensations at once. “Please,” you whine, “I’m so…”

“Come on, cyar’ika,” Din says, “Let go.”

Poe’s hand snakes between your bodies and begins working your clit, and the attention is all you need to topple over the edge. Your walls clench around Din’s cock and you break, slamming through your orgasm as Din groans and follows close behind. Poe’s lips never leave yours as your body twitches and shudders and Din’s hands grasp your hips hard enough to bruise, but you don’t care. You fully collapse as Din pulls his cock out of you and he slumps onto the bed behind you, the two men carefully adjusting to surround you in an entirely new level of warmth and comfort.

After everyone’s breathing returns to normal, you snuggle closer into Din’s body and drape your arm over Poe’s torso. Peeking up, you can see Din’s hand carding through Poe’s hair and the image brings a smile to your face.

“So,” you begin, “how are we all feeling now?”

Both men chuckle, Din’s hand splaying over your stomach and hugging you tight. Poe places a kiss to the crown of your head and says, “I’m feeling great. How about you, Mandalorian?”

Din burrows his face into your neck and grazes his teeth along Poe’s marks, “Mmm, that was a fun little experiment.”

“Nothing little about anything in this room,” you laugh.

Poe playfully pinches your arm. “Gonna give a guy a big head with a comment like that, sweetheart.”

What started as a quiet night at home alone turns into a night with your guys, literally wrapped up in them for hours longer. By the time your eyes begin to drift shut, arm thrown over Poe while Din pulls you in close, contentment fills your chest and sends you off into dreams of them.

#tag list reblog

116 notes · View notes

prolix-yuy · 2 years ago

Text

Mando Taglist 3:

@red-pill-blue-pill, @maknimuk1, @crimsonheart01, @littlemissthistle, @therealchickenjoe, @beskarprincessjenny, @hp-hogwartsexpress, @terecord, @storyarcscribe, @unofficialavenger90, @batdarkladyvampir, @dindjarinsmut, @aynsleywalker, @alwaysdjarin, @karlawithacapitalk, @niall7inches, @hauntedmama, @thegreat-annamaria, @hello-th3r3, @maievdenoir, @wumpsquill, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @mandoblowmybackout, @curiouskeyboard, @thereisaplaceintheheart, @trickstersp8, @starlightmornings, @sassybananagardenartisan, @mothandpidgeon, @the-blind-assassin-12, @pretty-brown-eyess, @attheriv, @skinnruins, @awholelottayeehaw, @thelion-sroar, @hungrhay, @javibaby, @randeerenae, @kai2tough, @djarinluvr, @mypascalito975, @raphaelaisabella, @marvelouslyme96, @peterthepark, @againstacecilia, @jallen0126, @toxicfrankenstein, @iceclaw101, @pedropascalsx

Rising Phoenix

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian offers a gift greater than he imagined.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: M, allusions to sexual acts, some heavy petting, flirty banter up the wazoo, minor injury treatment, hand kink, hand worship, plot? Plot. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ so MINORS DNI.

Notes: Is this an excuse for me to put all of my favorite things about Mando into one story? Yes, yes it is. Including making fun of that tin can man's ridiculous fashion choices.

Takes place after If the Moon Walks Out.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

Mando is hiding something from you.

If anyone on the outside was looking in, they’d think the opposite. They might even say he’s being more open than in months. After the bite and subsequent breakdown (which you’re still a little embarrassed about), Mando started showing you how he runs the Crest. Walking you through a takeoff sequence, demonstrating what the other buttons along the cargo hold walls do.

(you didn’t know there was a button to close Mando’s cramped cubby)

(might come in handy when you want a little privacy)

You were appreciative at first, until Mando started disappearing in the evenings with no warning or explanation. One minute he’d be feeding the child, the warm thrum of your cavewoman brain revving up -

(he wiped the child’s mouth with the edge of his cape and you had to go take a breather in the kitchenette)

- the next moment he was gone, up in the cockpit or down in the hold, wherever you’re not. A whiff of solder sometimes wafted by, or the clunk of metal on metal reached your ears. You’re curious, endlessly so, but if there’s one thing you would not betray, it’s the trust Mando has finally given you.

(he’ll come to you when he’s ready)

Instead you prepare food and tidy the hold and read on your holopad until he returns, either to bid you goodnight with the child tucked into his arm, or to put him down before sneaking back to you, large hands on your hips a precursor to his hushed question:

“Can I have you tonight, Mesh’la?”

(more often than not your nights end with him inside you)

But as the days continue, another bounty on the horizon, your treacherous mind begins toying with your insecurities. The next planet wasn’t far but Mando’s taking his time, making short hops instead of fast travel. When you questioned it, the threat of Imps and blaster residue in your nostrils, he said it was to show you how to hop in and out of hyperspace.

(the holopad full of calculations makes your head spin)

(you hold it like a lifeline)

“Mando, I appreciate you taking my feelings to heart, but moving this slow…aren’t we tempting our luck?” you finally asked, legs crossed in the jump seat when Mando pulled out of hyperspace yet again.

“I’m willing to press it,” he replied, “but not much longer. Tomorrow we land.”

“Could have landed three days ago,” you said, goading Mando to turn to you. He cocked the helmet, which still managed to thrill you, and leaned back.

“I thought you enjoyed my company,” he said, the tease making you smile. “You certainly did last night.” Your face turned molten as you played up a salacious gasp.

“That was a low blow, Mandalorian, you won’t get many more nights like that if you use them against me,” you scolded, biting back a bigger smile when Mando stood up to tower over you, cocking his hip.

(what you wouldn’t give to leave a mark on the flesh there)

(make him wear it under the armor)

(your own symbol of devotion)

“That’s an empty threat,” he said coolly, making you roll your eyes before he tucked his knuckle under your chin, swiping his thumb over your lower lip.

(a Keldabe kiss is one thing)

(this kiss is only for you)

“Only a little longer, Mesh’la. I promise it’s worth it.” he said, quieter, and you nodded, wrapping your hand around his wrist. One squeeze before he moved to the cargo hold.

“I was going to show you how to dump the waste reserves today,” he called up the ladder as he descended.

“Oh thank the Maker, the suspense was killing me!”

You chased his huffed laugh.

An arid planet comes into focus, the child perched in your lap as Mando begins descending into the atmosphere.

“We’re a day early, bounty’s not expected to be on world until tomorrow,” Mando says as the Crest leans into entry, hull shaking against the heat as it skims over the bubble-like surface of the atmosphere.

“What should we do until then?” you ask, lifting the child a little higher so he can watch the descent. “Looks like a dry planet, Bean, no frogs for you.” His trill of disappointment makes you wonder, yet again, if he understands you more than the energies you assume he’s reading. The thought is dashed from your mind as you focus on Mando’s technique, riding the curve of the planet until gravity begins to tug you down in your seat. The Crest dives like a much more graceful bird than her silhouette, weaving through clouds and pockets of rougher air as a stretch of open land surges up to meet you. With a gentle lurch (good job landing Mando), you’re back on solid ground and the child is chirping at his father.

“Yeah kid, we can go outside. We’re far out, should be safe,” Mando says, directing the last part of the sentence to you. As you make your way to the ramp Mando calls down.

“Wear something warm.”

Your head cocks at the request.

“It’s a desert, I’ll cook alive.”

“Trust me.”

You exchange a look with the child, who lifts and drops his ears in as close of an approximation to, “Beats me.” You shrug on a long-sleeve shirt (one of Mando’s old ones, you still covet a few) and comfortable boots. Giving the button a slap, you wait for Mando by the cargo ramp as hot air blows into the hold.

“I don’t agree with your opinion on the climate,” you call back, turning when his footsteps near. “I think the armor’s skewed your perception of heat.”

“You’ll need it for this.”

In Mando’s hands is a harness, leather straps reinforced with thick thread along the seams. A hefty buckle centers in the loops, which attach to the baffling item in question.

(a jetpack?)

Mando has his on too, clasped into the backplate of his armor. This secondary one is more beat-up, yellow and green paint flaking off in places. It hangs heavy, the straps gathered in one hand as he lifts it to you.

“It’s old, but it works fine. Used to belong to Cobb Vanth,” Mando says, shifting a little as you watch him with parted lips. Your eyebrows raise briefly at the name of the Mos Pelgo Mandalorian you ventured to meet when (your) Mando was still among the stars. The jetpack, however, and all its potential holds your attention.

When you don’t say anything, Mando continues. “The Rising Phoenix is calibrated to my vambrace, but this one could be programmed to a…” He trails off as you step closer, shifting the child in your arms to reach out and finger the leather strapping. “Is this okay?” he finally asks, low and quiet as you feel the T-visor burn along your cheeks.

“You made this?” you finally say, barely registering Mando taking the child from you so you can inspect the rig. “This is why we were taking so long?” you breathe out, realization warming you.The stitching is tight and neat, the soldering clean. It even looks like he tried to remove some of the flaking paint but gave up. He shrugs briefly.

“Makes sense for you to use it. It’s likely to draw attention. But if there’s trouble, it’s fast,” Mando says, his body language cautious right now. He must have been nervous at the proposition, anticipating your apprehension, but you feel anything but. This hunk of junk repurposed to protect you is a greater gift than he understands. It makes you break out into a dazzling smile.

“This is karking amazing!” you shout, the child joining in as you turn over the rig and inspect it from all angles. Mando’s chuckle sends tingles down your spine, and when you meet the visor again you can imagine a bashful smile gracing his face.

(a face you’ll never see, but dream of all the same)

“How do you…” you start, holding the jetpack to your chest like a child on Life Day.

“A desert planet with nothing to do seemed like a good place to teach you,” Mando says, sauntering down the ramp, the child’s ears bouncing. Your heart hammers into high speed while sweat beads along your hairline.

(you’re going to fly today)

Mando takes an especially long time to walk you through the components of the jetpack, how it works and what each part does. You’re barely containing your excitement, hovering over his quick-moving hands and nodding endlessly.

“What’s this for?” you ask, pointing at a cylinder in the center that looks empty. Mando shakes his head.

“That’s for another day, Mesh’la, today we’re flying,” he deflects, and you don’t push. The possibility of being weightless, suspended in air the way you’d only experienced in dreams, was a much greater distraction.

“Do you have the controller?” Mando asks. You flash the metal gauntlet on your wrist. It’s just as cleanly built, a small series of buttons that do the basics. You’ve ridden speeders with more complicated controls. Though speeders barely leave the ground.

“Ready?” he asks, holding the straps open for you to slip into. You flash him a bright smile before turning around, shouldering the bulky machinery like a school bag. It settles on the center of your back, Mando fussing with the chest clip and adjusting the tension of the straps.

“This needs a real harness, but for now it’ll work.” Mando slides his fingers under the restraints to test their tautness. “It won’t distribute your weight, so no long trips. You’ll bruise up.”

“I can handle a few bruises,” you challenge, a coy smile melting onto your face as Mando slows his pacing. He tips the helmet in, tugging on the central buckle once more.

“Cheeky,” he purrs before stepping away, typing something into his vambrace. You twist and test the harness. It’s a comforting level of snug, the kind that makes you feel made of durasteel. The child, left to his devices during the suit up, pats at your calf.

“Am I looking cool, Bean?” you ask, doing a quick spin for giggles. “I need a cape like your dad to go…with…” You trail off, a wicked little smile replacing your coy one. “Hey Mando,” you call out innocently, drawing his gaze. “Did you always have the Rising Phoenix?”

He tilts his head with some hesitancy.

“No.”

“So when we first met, you didn’t have it.”

“No.”

“And I remember you having quite the impressive cape back then.”

“I’ve always had…”

“And now it’s a little, you know. Worn. A little tattered. Maybe a little…burned.”

Mando stares you down and it takes all of your effort not to lose it.

“Do you…wear the cape when you’re flying, Mando?”

He shifts from one foot to the other.

“It takes a lot of work…”

“Oh my Stars, you do!”

Mando shifts into what you’ve come to call the Exasperated Stance, hands on his hips, shoulders squared, helmet tipped back.

“It’s easier to…”

“Mando, you are going to set yourself on fire, you kriffing idiot. I can see the scorch marks!”

Mando advances on you, and you skip backwards. Your hands fly to the controller on your wrist. It’s easy to psych yourself out thinking about flying, but with Mando stalking your way, your pounding heart could be attributed to that.

“Mesh’la…” he growls, but with little fire behind it.

(unlike the amount of fire he’s definitely set to that useless piece of fabric)

“Mando…” you mimic, hand dancing over the gauntlet like a gunslinger about to draw his weapon.

“Stop it.”

(perfect)

“Catch me and make me,” you taunt, taking off into a real run. Mando’s footsteps falter, then pick up speed behind you.

(now or never)

You press the short series of buttons to ignite the jetpack, your speed masking the initial jolt of thrust when it catches.

“Wait!” Mando shouts behind you. For a moment you do feel bad for the plaintive plea threading his shout, but adrenaline kicks in and if you do this right, you’ll be flying.

(if you do it wrong, well, you’ll just have a bruised ego…along with a few other places)

Three more long strides and the thrust lifts you off the ground, a disbelieving laugh following. Your feet dangle uselessly as you lift off, the wind in your ears drowning out further shouts. Faintly you hear another roar of ignition, Mando likely to yank you back out of the sky, but euphoria is all you can absorb. The drop in your stomach evens out as you slow your climb, easing the throttle until you’re hovering about fifty feet off the ground. You kick your legs, heat kissing the back of your thighs reminding you to be careful. Below, the sable sand and rock stretches like a rolling canvas, the undulations of hills and sharp creases of mountains in the distance shifting perspective as you absorb beauty at a height you’ve never known.

“Are you crazy?” Mando shouts, zipping into view right in front of you, broad beskar body blocking out the horizon you were just admiring. The startle makes your finger slip, and you drop ten feet fast, Mando’s hands chasing you. Regaining control, you zip away from him.

“I’m getting the hang of it!” you laugh back. His posture is rigid as he flies close behind, more disciplined with technique. You’re just happy that you haven’t crashed face-first into the hard packed dirt yet. Below the child watches you weave around, little hands raised when you zoom overhead. Narrowly avoiding Mando when he reaches out, no doubt to slow you down or scold you further, you speed up with the barest recognition that this is probably a bad idea.

“Look at this Bean!” you shout down, wobbling your shoulders back and forth until you discover how much sway banks you left or right. It doesn’t feel real, like you’re flying in a dream, even though the wind whips past your face and the straps pull painfully against your ribs.

(it feels like freedom)

A flash of silver glints in the corner of your eye and Mando is pulling up beside you, one hand clamping down on your bicep.

“Enough. Land,” he shouts, but for the first time in ages you feel light, like every care on your shoulders was left in the dirt. You don’t want to touch down and let it crawl back up yet.

Plus, it’s been too long since you sparred with Mando.

The controls are surprisingly intuitive, though considering he made them for you might that speaks to his intelligence. Or insight. But now he must be cursing his thoughtfulness because you speed up and up, the weight of his armor lagging him behind. His grip loosens and you spin away again, testing how quickly you can change direction. The dance continues, Mando’s hands coming close, his voice lost to the roar of the packs and the wind whipping against your cheeks. You push him back, kicking him in the chest once and feeling a little bad about it.

He finally yanks you down by your ankle, flipping you so the propulsion shoots you towards the ground. Righting yourself more nimbly than expected, he barrels into you and digs his fingers into your waistband.

“Stop. Teasing.” The growl is heavy, but even he can’t hide the winded excitement of the chase under the vocoder. You’re sure if you palmed him now he’d be hard.

(jetpack sex)

(no way, that’s how idiots go about dying)

“Make. Me. Mando,” you pant, hitting a random button on his vambrace. Thankfully it just stutters his jetpack, grip slipping enough for you to wriggle out. You want to see if you can do a loop, entertain the child below, fly along the horizon the way you’d always dreamed of when two desert suns set on your planet.

The jetpack lurches hard against you. The ever-present heat skirting down your thighs lessens. Something smells like chemicals and smoke.

(out of fuel)

(DANK FARRIK)

All the elation building in your chest freezes to terror when gravity pulls you, but before you can shout Mando’s hands jam under the harness, wrenching you to his chest as all your gravity-defying stunts fizzle out. You thud your forehead against his paudron as he lowers you back to solid earth, talking yourself down from the brief heart attack. Once your feet touch down you back away, Mando’s grip easing as you sweep sweat and dust from your forehead.

“Thanks for the rescue,” you mutter, cheeks hot with embarrassment before you turn your attention to the little green child hurrying his way over. “How’d you like the show Bean?” Kneeling down, he practically tumbles into your open arms, clawing his way up to your face to pat at your cheeks. “I’m okay buddy, had the time of my life up there thanks to…” Looking over at Mando you can almost see the frustration wafting off him in waves.

(kriff, you really pissed him off this time)

“Okay, how about we pop you in here and send you back to the Crest while I get a lecture,” you murmur as you tuck the child into the silver pram and send it scooting. The child looks back once, concerned ears perking, but turns back around when you wave him off. Mando’s footsteps approach heavily, scuffing in the dirt. You sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face.

“I’m sorry…” you start to say, ready for the harsh reprimand you’re sure is coming.

(how can you explain the wonderful gift he just gave to you?)

“Why didn’t you listen to me?” he says, dangerously low. His shoulders are tight, forehead almost pressed to yours. You can see how intimidating being on the Mandalorian’s bad side could be.

“I was…” you try to say, the emotionless visor following your gaze. The horizon, sparkling with midday sun, is where your gaze finally lands. “I’ve always dreamed of flying. I got carried away. I’m sorry.”

Seconds tick by as you wait for a scold, but it doesn’t come. Instead Mando sighs, and two heavy hands drop on your shoulders.

“You’re lucky I caught you,” he murmurs, squeezing briefly. You bring your eyes back to the smoky T-visor and quirk a wan smile.

“Seems like I’m always falling for you.”

(would that be such a bad thing?)

Mando stills, then cradles your cheek in his hand. The cool kiss of beskar on your forehead raises goosebumps despite the desert heat.

“Mesh’la,” he groans, “don’t tease.”

“Not teasing now, Mando.”

A rumble in his chest burns straight to your sex.

“Yeah? You’ll be good for me?”

(oh kark)

Mando twists you in his arms, back to front. The jetpack puts too much bulk between you, making you have to bend at the waist, but it’s immediately evident this is exactly what Mando wants. He palms your hips, dragging his hand up to stroke your stomach before sliding down to cup you over your pants.

“You want this?” he asks, but he’s already kneading at your mound, the heavy swipe of his fingers through your clothes sparking heat in your cunt.

“Mando…” you choke out, hands coming back to grab at his narrow hips. You’re unbalanced and clumsy against his unyielding stance. “The child.” His little silver pod is ascending the ramp into the Crest. Mando chuckles.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.”

Your cunt clenches, ripples of pleasure as you scratch your nails into the rough weave of his pants. The jetpack tugs against your chest and you realize he’s using it as leverage to pull you back into him.

(jetpack sex jetpack sex jetpack sex)

“Feel what you do to me, Mesh’la. All the kriffing time.”

Your hands scrabble behind you, fumbling between your bodies.

(give it to me)

(all of it)

(all of you)

Mando shifts, jostling your body a fraction to the side. There’s a sudden white hotness against your arm and you cry out, jerking against his hold.

(the exhaust pipe)

The jetpack is still cooling down, hot rings of metal that just touched you at the worst possible time. Mando’s grip disappears immediately, the press of his body against you suddenly gone.

“What happened?” he says, and the vocoder can’t hide his concern. You twist your arms back up by your face, straightening back to standing. There’s a small welt, hot to the touch. You’ve barely inspected it yourself when Mando’s familiar orange-tipped gloves take your hand into his.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, careful not to touch the mark but still holding your arm so gently.

(oh Mando)

(never)

“Just touched the exhaust, nothing a little bacta can’t fix,” you say breezily, but you know the moment’s passed. Mando’s already leading you back to the Crest, and you follow begrudgingly.

(trust you to ruin some of the hottest foreplay with an injury)

The child burbles at your entrance, hovering the pram over to where you sit at the table, injury outstretched on the durasteel. You turn your arm to touch the burn against it, offering a tiny sliver of relief from the dull throb. Mando bustles into a cargo cubby, pulling out the medkit you’d put to good use barely a week before. A packet of bacta gel, and the Mandalorian, settle across from you.

“I promise, I’m okay,” you say with a lopsided smile, reaching for the bacta. He snags it up first, motioning for you to reveal the burn. It’s halfway up your forearm, the flesh rising.

“I know,” Mando says before tugging at the tips of his gloves.

(Maker)

The last time you got to watch this ritual closely (not clouded by lust or in a frantic scramble) was when he stood at the foot of the bed in Joeken’s inn. You’d admired his wide palms, his thick fingers, how capable they looked. There’s much there you remember, but age and circumstance changes all. There are more scars along his knuckles, callused and rough. He almost glows in the artificial lighting, a deep golden tone forever under his skin. Being able to savor it screams of transgression.

“Let me,” he says, breaking you from your reverie. You extend your arm into his reach, the scratch of his well-worked fingertips tracing the injury. He squeezes a small amount of bacta onto the burn and works it in with two fingers, the touch featherlight and gliding. Mesmerized by the methodical strokes, your other hand drifts to the back of his hand, your fingertips sliding over the smoother skin. His fingers falter as you both watch the slow advance of skin on skin.

“Mesh’la,” Mando breathes. You start to retract, afraid of an overstep. “No, it’s…” he stutters out, “It’s okay. Just not…used to it.”

(touch him until he forgets what it was like to go without)

Bacta application forgotten (or completed), Mando cups your injured hand, tracing the lines in your palm that supposedly speak of your future. You let your own wandering touch linger along the mountains of his knuckles, slip along the veins and raised injuries, before resting on his wrist. His chest hitches like he’s in pain, or something much sweeter.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks, now holding your hand between both of his.

“No, much better,” you answer, leaning when a flash of black catches your eye. Your mouth and one eyebrow quirks up. “Who gave you that?”

Mando turns his wrist, a black tattoo - two rings around a dot - appearing on the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger.

(target)

“Paz. A brother in arms.”

You stroke over it, no discernible texture.

“Did he give you more?” you ask cheekily. The child hovers closer to inspect his guardian’s ink, tilting his head and softly cooing.

“You’ll have to find those yourself,” he says, the edge of sass in his voice making you giggle. You move to pull away but his hands wrap around yours, warm and gentle for implements of such bloodshed.

“I never want to hurt you,” he says, much quieter. The vocoder almost loses his consonants. “If I ever do…”

“Hush,” you scold, leaning over the table to meet the visor. “It was an accident. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of them.” The stillness in his posture twists your stomach.

(he’d be devastated if he harmed you)

“You could never hurt me,” you say. Mando tilts his head, the sentiment too simplistic. But all of its meanings fill the silence.

(you would never do it purposefully)

(I’ll always forgive you)

(I would rather be hurt than without you)

With molten slowness Mando leans over your arm, raising it between you. You think it’s to inspect the burn, see that the bacta is working, but he just stares at it for a long moment. His hand drifts to the edge of his helmet, aimless and lost. When you touch him again he snaps back, standing up quickly.

“I have to make some preparations for tomorrow,” he squeezes out, taking a half step back. His movements are sluggish, quickening only when he strides away.

“Thank you, Mando,” you call as he mounts the ladder. He gives a nod, tugging his gloves on before climbing the ladder into the cockpit. The child hovers by your side, looking up at his retreating father figure before reaching up to you.

“Been a bit of a day, hasn’t it Bean?” you say, lifting the child out of the pram. The warmth of his touch lingers, the images of his hands holding yours only a blink away.

The baby yawn is all the answer you need.

In the cockpit, Din leans down and braces his hands on the console, trying to slow his pounding heart. He’s been inside you, why was letting you touch his bare hands more intimate? He’d had to cover them up to stop reliving every caress, the way your eyes roamed along the only bit of skin he’d allowed you to observe. His face burns with self-consciousness but also the thrill of your exploration.

But as much as that all excited him, it was that final moment that drove his heart into his throat and made him feel lightheaded. Because he held your hand and looked at the burn - an injury he caused, however inadvertently - and let a fleeting thought grow wild in his mind.

Kiss it better.

Something his mother would do with a scraped knee or a bruised finger.

Kiss it better.

Those three words grew from a whisper to an ocean roar as he considered how your skin would feel under his lips. If he could lift the helmet just enough to touch but not for you to see.

That wouldn’t risk his Creed.

Yes it would.

He crushed the desire down, left you behind a little more confused than before, but safe and cared for in his ship. Safe with the child and with him.

You could never hurt me.

You’re right. Din would never, could never bring harm to you. But some days, like today, he can see how much harm you could do to him. With your bright smile and open heart and patience, you could destroy the Mandalorian.

But from those ashes, Din Djarin could grow.

A flashing light grounds him as he flips on a holo-message. A halo of messy curls and a sassy expression glows to life, the dull scrapes and whines of a working hanger in the background. Din cocks his head as the message plays.

“Mando! Long time no see! Not that I miss that hunk of junk ship of yours. Well, I do miss the credits it brings in. Anyway, I’ve got a lead for you. You wanted those, right? About the Mandalorians? Got a client who may know where some are. The info’s not for free, I’ll fill you in when you get here. Bit of a time crunch, though, so you better shift that rust bucket into hyperspeed. You’re her last hope.”

Peli Motto’s image fizzles into static, and a blanket of duty settles back on Mando’s shoulders. A mission long paused. An outcome he comes to dread more with each passing day. A galaxy that spun on without the three of you for a long while.

But there is much work still to be done.

Episode 11 of the I Think of You Series

Episode 10: If the Moon Walks Out

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prolix-yuy · 2 years ago

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Mando Taglist 3:

If the Moon Walks Out

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian's profession ushers in a harsh reality.

Word Count: 6000

Warnings: M, descriptions of injuries, blood, and medical-ish procedures, allusions to sexual acts, PiV sex, fingering (f-receiving), hurt/comfort, angst but there's some good sweetness to balance it out. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ so MINORS DNI.

Notes: It's been a hot minute since we've checked in with our space family! I realized after pausing updates that I left the story in somewhat of a "season finale" state, so I'm embracing it and calling this new episode the beginning of Season 2. Time to buckle up our butts and hop back in space with my favorite space dad and his green baby!

Takes place the day after Soft Fires.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

The strange insistence of your circadian rhythm wakes you inside the Razor Crest. Time has a fuzzy aspect in space, but you still manage to keep your schedule as regular as possible. Like now, as sleep recedes from your eyes and you stretch with a thin groan. Your legs and arms tighten and release, pleasant tension and relaxation working through your muscles. As you shift, thighs rubbing together, a tenderness at the apex rushes last night’s actions to the forefront.

(you finally fucked the Mandalorian)

(again)

A smile breaks out on your face that, even without an audience, you hide behind your hands. Rolling over to curl on your side, you bury your face in your pillow and stifle the burst of happiness under the covers.

(you are more beautiful than Basic can convey)

(careful Mando, or I might fall in love with you)

(would that be a bad thing?)

(no it karking would NOT)

Swinging out of your cubby bed, you pad to the kitchenette to make a pot of caf. You might say there was a spring in your step, and a smile unwilling to quit on your lips. Mando doesn’t seem to be up yet, but you’re sure he’ll be along soon.

Measuring out grounds and water, your mind keeps drifting back to your time in the cockpit.

Mando’s arms, bare around you after a moment of conflict.

His words, growled through the vocoder as he pumped inside you in waves of pleasure.

Two of the best orgasms of your life.

(the others were also at his hand, that night so long ago)

“Good morning,” comes the same voice you’d just been recalling, Mando standing tall behind you with the child waking slowly. His marble eyes blink blearily, but when he sees you standing in the Food Place he reaches out to be held. You snicker at him before taking him into your arms.

“Good morning Bean,” you coo, and he yawns and gives your thumb a firm grip. It always makes your heart clench a little, that anchoring touch. “And good morning to you too, Mando,” you add, turning up to look into the featureless visor.

(well)

(what do we do now?)

After the child went to bed, you stayed with Mando in the cockpit for a few hours more. Some of it was spent talking, explanations of the next couple bounties, when you’d be touching down, where. He told you a little more about how he and the child came to be a clan of two, the darker details coming forward. You listened, commented when silence indicated Mando wanted your opinion, and absorbed their history together.

(a clan of two)

(two plus one, now, you hope)

When sleep began to pull at your eyes, Mando lifted from his seat and cupped your cheek.

“Let’s put you to bed, Mesh’la,” he murmured, to which you smiled and shooed him away.

“Would rather not see how you intend to get me down the ladder,” you joked, giving him a long look. He was as ferocious and powerful as he’d always been, but the more time you spend together, the more you find the man behind the beskar. He was amused, but also relaxed, offering comfort. You’d take it any chance you get.

“Good night, Mando,” you said, and with a new boldness you wrapped him in your embrace. His arms circled around your back quicker than you thought, and that small act made you smile into his chestplate. His hug was sharp edges and firm muscle and the gentle expansion and contraction of breath.

“Good night, Mesh’la. Sweet dreams,” he returned, and you stumbled into bed half-drunk off his embrace.

Now, in the bright light of a new day, you wonder briefly if anything will change. If Mando will allow himself your touch, or if he’ll act like last night never happened. You hope not, but if past experiences dictate future ones, dealing with Mando’s emotions is a bit like trying to climb a mud-slicked mountain. Two steps forward, one slide back. Slow going, but a journey you would happily traverse.

Mando cocks his head at you, then steps into the kitchenette.

(Maker, he takes up so much space it’s suffocating having him in this small room)

The child is fixated on a bit of bread he probably hopes is for breakfast, so he doesn’t notice his caretakers’ locked gaze, or the way Mando slides one hand to your hip and around to splay on your lower back. With a gentle pull he fits you against his body and presses his own special kiss to your forehead. Butterflies explode in your stomach.

(no more guessing no more hoping this is real)

It’s brief but meaningful, a sign that Mando won’t be ignoring your affections any longer. It makes your heart skip several beats.

“Caf’s ready,” you squeak, spinning around quickly enough that the child’s ears flop dramatically. One-handed pouring cups for you both, Mando’s gaze is hot along your shoulders, the curve of your neck. Not lustful, but possessive, like a man who has finally let himself have something decadent and has no intention of giving it up.

He takes the cup with a quiet “thanks,” stroking his free hand along your back as he exits to the cockpit. Once he’s out of earshot you let out a shaky breath, waves of excitement and arousal and tension breaking along your coast. The child looks up with curiosity, squeezing your thumb a little firmer

“Everything’s fine, Bean,” you say, a smile almost cracking your face with joy. “More than fine, actually.”

“This should be quick,” Mando says as he slings his amban rifle over his shoulder, bandolier tightening with the additional artillery. You’re perched on a seat by the table, fingers quick on your datapad as you pull up something to keep you entertained. While the planet looks lush and some trees are heavy with fruit, Mando assured that you wouldn’t want anything that thrives here.

“This region cultivates many poisonous plants. Creatures too. Stay inside with the kid.” He takes in the child’s downturned ears and runs his thumb and forefinger over the ridge of one. “Next time we’re somewhere safe you can go exploring.”

“C’mon Bean, don’t you enjoy my company?” you tease, earning the tiny-green-baby equivalent of a begrudging shrug. It would have made you laugh if you weren’t pretending to act offended.

“How could you say such a thing! When I’ve been nothing but patient with your needs!” A staticy chuckle warms your skin as you throw out one of the few hand signals you knew from the Tuskens who traded on the outskirts of Tatooine: ungrateful, a hand cupped and pulled towards your chest, then turned to the ground. Accepting water and throwing it away. The child’s bottomless eyes lock on your hands, ears perking up as you lean on the crate.

“You like that, Bean? It’s a different way of talking. I’m not very good at it,” you huff, showing him the sign again. You’d seen it during a barter once, gleaning the meaning before asking your father what they were doing. There were a scant few others you knew, most of them to do with trade, but the child’s reaction was promising.

“You know the Tusken language?” Mando asks, startling you with his hovering at your shoulder.

(every time you think you know where he is, he gives you a karking heart attack)

“Just a little, we got traders in town every now and then,” you say, straightening up in your seat. “Had an idea a few days ago that it might be a good way to communicate. Since, you know, the talking thing hasn’t been going great.”

“I can teach him,” Mando says, making you lean back to look up at the helmet.

(Maker, he looks gorgeous from any angle)

“Where’d you pick that up?” you ask, a smile playing at the corner of your lips. Mando’s hands come up to his waist and make several complicated gestures. You hold yours up in protest.

“Woah, woah, I only know a few words!” you laugh, earning a squeal of delight from the child. Mando puts a hand on his hip, cocking his head at the two of you.

“The Dune Sea is easier if you can negotiate with the locals,” he says. You nod knowingly, leaning on your elbow as Mando picks up the last few items he needs for the hunt. “Languages are useful in my line of work.”

“Please tell me you know some Wookie,” you tease, and for a second you think Mando might actually indulge you before he shakes his head.

“Maybe later, Mesh’la. I’ve got to get moving.”

Nodding curtly, you pick up the child and move over to open the back ramp for Mando. He strides to the edge, standing side by side as the ramp lowers. You’ve stood in this spot a few times before, but today feels so much lighter. The child grips your shirt and pulls himself up to your cheek, his smaller, chubbier face now level with yours. The ramp thuds to earth as Mando turns to you both.

“Be safe,” you say, almost a force of habit by now. The child trills in response. You didn’t expect much from Mando, his leaving normally not accompanied by a farewell. A nod in your direction and a heavy saunter were your usual signals of departure. But like you felt before, the mood is different today. Instead, he tucks his forefinger under the child’s chin and strokes the roundness of his cheek. It makes him squinch up his eyes, but you swear you can see a smile on his wrinkled face.

“Stay out of trouble,” he says to the child, then turns his attention to you.

Heart thumping in your chest, you briefly imagine another Keldabe kiss. The few times he’s indulged you’d cherished, but never imagined it could become a habit. Now with him about to depart, you wonder what your goodbye could look like.

(would he want you to kiss him?)

Your answer comes in the form of his knuckle tucking under your chin, the soft leather of his glove swiping below the crest of your lower lip. He strokes a path to the back of your neck, cradling the base of your head in his expansive hand.

“You too,” he tries to say lightly, but there’s a thickness in his voice that explodes in your stomach. “You can be just as bad as him sometimes.” You snort at his teasing.

“Well, you’re the worst of us all,” you quip back, but lean into his touch. It takes him another moment before he lets go.

(yours your yours Mando)

With a curt nod he descents the ramp, shoulders and hips swaying a little more than normal. It blooms excitement in your chest.

Another day. Another bounty. Possibly another night of his touch ahead of you. The galaxy felt like a kinder place.

The hours tick by, not too dully at least. You started the day cleaning the hold, gathering yours and Mando’s clothing for a wash. It was slow going in the small ‘fresher sink, but you had time to spare and the child didn’t mind being entertained by stories and splashes. Grime and sometimes worrying rust-colored water washed down the sink as you moved the sopping cloth into the shower to dry.

“You know Bean, I think we need to convince your dad to invest in a few household appliances,” you hum thoughtfully, a reassuring trill answering. “Besides the sub-par cooking supplies, a wash system would be amazing.” The child burbles on your hip as you bounce back into the hold, going down your mental list of tasks you wanted to complete.

(clothing clean, supplies checked)

(need a shower, maybe a shave)

(you know, just in case)

Smiling to yourself, you start gathering your toiletries. The child never seemed to mind being cooped up in the 'fresher with you, though some days you do wonder how much of a child he really is. Hopefully the fogged-up transparisteel of the shower door is enough to protect his innocence.

(then again, leaving him to roam has not gone well)

You’re about to head into the ship when the comm in the cockpit pings. Climbing up to investigate, it only relays the distance Mando is from the Crest.

(unusual, he normally calls)

Fear prickles in your belly, but you try to shake it off in favor of pragmatism. The bounty could be rowdy, or heavy, and Mando may not be able to reach the vocal transmission controls. Descending, you open the back hatch and wait at the top of the ramp for his shape to gleam on the horizon.

It doesn’t take long, the beskar a beacon for the sunset to dance off. You watch his approach with the child in your elbow, shading your eyes against the glare. He’s trudging along, bounty slumped over his shoulder but seemingly conscious. It’s slow though, slower than you’re used to seeing Mando. As the distance closes, your heart spikes into panic.

(he’s limping)

It shouldn’t come as a shock to you that Mando could get injured on the job. The most dangerous moment of your life, trapped in the Lively Bantha as blaster bolts rang out around you, is a blip on his radar. From the stories you’d heard and the pieces you’d put together, you’re sure the map of Mando’s body is patterned in injuries.

This, however, is different. You’re here, and you’re terrified.

“Stay here Bean, I mean it,” you say sternly, placing the child on a crate in the hold. He makes a concerned “patu?” noise, which you try to soothe with a hand on his back.

“I’m not sure, I hope he’s okay. Stay here. Promise me,” you say, and for some hysterical reason you put out your pinky as if he’d even understand what that meant. He doesn’t have enough dexterity to wrap his littlest claw with yours, but he does grip it briefly before you rush back.

Mando and the barely conscious bounty, human by the looks of it, are approaching the base of the ramp. You barrel down it, coming to a stop in front of them both.

“Get back in the…” Mando tries to say, but a sharp inhale cuts him off before he can rebuke you further. Wordlessly, you slide under his free arm and give him a steadying push. Stepping in tandem, the three of you make it to the top of the ramp, and as if on autopilot Mando shoves the half-aware human into the carbonite chamber, slapping the button to initiate. The hiss of gas dissipates behind you as you pull Mando further into the hold.

“Kriff, Mando, what happened?” you pant, the stress of shouldering someone that much bulkier than you quickening your breath. Mando groans quietly, soft little pants coming through the vocoder as you sit him beside the child.

“Bounty was fine. Had a run-in with…something. Got bit.” Mando grits out, leaning heavily on his elbow to keep from toppling over.

(on a planet that houses the most poisonous species)

(oh Maker)

“Where?” you breathe, hands already starting to shake. Infection is bad, poison is worse, venom is…you can’t even fathom. He pats his outer thigh, another wince and a groan following.

“It was…a reptile. Fast. Red…I think.” Mando’s voice is starting to weaken, and terror seizes your body like a iron cage. The child is trilling at Mando, scrambling onto the table to be closer to his protector.

(no no no what the kriff are you supposed to do this cannot be happening Mando cannot be NO stupid girl don’t even think that he’s okay it’s going to be okay kriff what do you do?)

All at once the tension, the fear and the terror are doused in cool logic. Your father was the one who taught you to protect yourself, but your mother had teachings of her own. Adept in medicine, problem-solving and crisis, her voice now steels your spine.

(Daughter of mine, the first thing you must do is assess the damage)

Dropping to your knees, you inspect the spot on Mando’s thigh where he indicated the bite. Nothing looks the matter at first glance, but investigating closer reveals two ragged holes in the fabric of his flight suit, dark blood sticking it to his skin.

(Fangs most likely mean venom)

Heart thrumming, you work your finger into the hole and tense to rip it.

(sorry Mando, the Creed will have to take another small hit to keep you alive)

The taut tan flesh underneath quivers when you press near the wounds, hot and hard to to the touch. The pressure elicits a rough choking noise from Mando. It makes your skin prickle, but you surround the wound with your hands and squeeze.

Thick clotting blood oozes out, along with yellow ichor and something deep and dark.

(Venom, daughter. Bacta won’t be enough)

You squeeze again to be sure, making Mando’s fist come down hard on the table. A string of curse words in a language you don’t understand bursts through static, the child coming up to press his three-fingered hands on Mando’s vambrace. He chuckles, somehow, in the midst of all this.

“Don’t, kid, I’ve had worse,” he scolds the child.

“Stay with me Mando,” you shoot back, twisting around to retrieve your datapad. “How big was it?” Mando shakes his head, forcing focus.

“Four feet long, reptile, low to the ground, yellow eyes,” he spouts off as you type furiously. Turning the datapad to Mando, you press his thigh just a bit to snap his head to the image.

“Yeah, I think…kriff, looks like it,” he groans, doubling over. The child is louder now, squeaking and struggling against Mando’s hand holding him back.

“Breathe,” you direct, watching him try to take less shallow gasps. “Okay, venomous but not deadly. Painful, for sure. Antidote is…” Your fingers fly through the information, a strangely frilled leaf coming into view.

(You’ve seen that before, daughter)

“Thanks the karking Stars,” you shout, scrambling to your feet and tossing, “Stay there!” over your shoulder as you gallop down the ramp. Taking off at a sprint, you round the front of the Crest to find a wall of the same leaves, hanging so low they brush along its steel haunches. You had admired them through the transparisteel earlier in the day, wondering if they stayed that green their entire lives. They’re not quite in reach, but a few carefully judged steps up the landing gear and a lucky snatch has three of the dinner plate-sized leaves clutched in your hands.

(Hurry, dear girl)

Lungs and legs burning, you clamber up and into the hold again, skidding to a stop on your knees that will surely leave bruises.

“Macerate into paste…needs…what the kark is ‘subtle acid’?” you pant, tearing the leaves into smaller pieces.

(Chew)

Without a further thought you stuff the leaves into your mouth, chewing vigorously. The flavor is instant, strongly vegetal, bitter, but you let saliva pool in your mouth.

“Mesh’la…” Mando groans, followed by an anxious coo. Looking up, your clan of two are regarding you, on your knees with cheeks full of awful tasting leaves. Drool is dripping down your chin - there is some numbing chemical in the greenery, you’re losing feeling in your lips - and you’re sure you look a mess, but Mando still cups the side of your face. You shake your head, digging wads of the leaf paste out and into your palm.

“Save whatever you have to say for after I get this in you,” you scold, your voice only shaking a little as you pour water over the open wounds to clean them. The trickle of blood is weak, but the swelling and angry color does not bode well. Unceremoniously, you jam the paste into the wounds, ignoring Mando’s groans as you press and rub and work the paste in.

“Dank farrik, Mesh’la, I think it’s in there,” Mando squeezes out, fist clenching on the crate.

“When you’re not in danger I’ll listen to you,” you shoot back, and are rewarded with a dark chuckle.

(he can laugh, that’s a good sign)

Once the wounds are stuffed and slathered to bursting, you spit the rest of the bitter paste into a bowl, licking around your gums to dislodge any remaining bits. Your lips feel heavy and thick, tongue tingling and half numb. It’s hard to tell if you’re still drooling, but a few swipes along your face reassures you. The paste looks to be working, the deep green darkening to black and oozing out of the wound. You repack it two more times, much to Mando’s displeasure, but the angry redness is dissipating and the flesh is no longer hot. Throughout the process the child grips Mando’s vambrace, eyes locked on his visor as he makes tiny concerned coos. Mando murmurs to him, reassurances you remember from your own mother.

(All will be well soon, daughter. You did a fine job. I’m proud of you)

(miss you, mom)

An hour passes like this, few words actually spoken under your careful watch. When the final wad of salve oozes free without deadly black poison following you know the wound is drained. Next comes fresh water, a cloth gently washing away the mess from Mando’s thigh, and a bacta patch to close the wounds. You debated on stitches but the punctures looked small enough, clean enough, to take bacta well.

Sitting in a crumpled heap on the floor, you finally allow the adrenaline to seep from your limbs. Every muscle shrieks, your knees hot and aching, hands chafed raw. Amongst it all, you watch Mando carefully. He stands, testing the weight on his leg. He’ll carry a slight limp for a day, but you can tell the pain is manageable for him.

(he’s been through worse with less help)

The child chirps from the crate table, urging you to your feet. When you lift him he goes willingly, but holds his arms out to Mando with a whine. You smirk, but hand him over to his guardian.

“Hey kid,” he rumbles, propping the child on one arm to look at his concerned face. “You should be nicer to her, she took very good care of me.” Wrinkling your nose, you barely find the energy to huff a laugh at the gentle scold. The child looks back at you, ears downturned and reaching back one hand. His other is firmly wrapped around Mando’s thumb.

“Thankless job, saving your life,” you warble, more emotional than the joke you meant it to be. Mando meets you in the middle of your step, wrapping his free arm around your back and pulling you into his side. Tucking your head into his shoulder, he squeezes you tightly. The child grabs for your hand and you offer your thumb, but he takes your pinky in his tiny grip instead.

(good memory Bean)

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Mando murmurs above your head, the beskar pressing against your temple. It grounds you enough for a shaky breath.

“I forget this is your life,” you admit, fisting your hand into his cape as your clan of two holds you in such different ways.

Mando hums, stroking his hand up and down your back with long, slow passes. You press into his shoulder, fighting back the tears that threaten to fall now the work is done. “Are you okay, Mesh’la?”

“I’ll be fine, just…need to breathe,” you answer, and Mando lets you do that, just breathe in the tiny circle of the people you care most for in the galaxy.

(main thrusters, backup thrusters, directional…kriff, it looks the same as…oh okay, that’s the comms, and that’s the landing gear sequence…now where’s the…)

“Mesh’la?”

Mando’s voice startles you out of your deep concentration, once again cursing how quietly he can move around the ship.

“Hi, yes, sorry, do you need…sorry, I’ll…” you stammer, gathering the tattered manuals strewn across your lap as you shuffle out of the pilot’s seat. Through the heat of your embarrassment you catch Mando tilting his head at your clumsy shuffle, the armful of pages plopping down on the jump seat as you smile too brightly at him.

(why do you feel like you’ve been caught watching dirty holos? You were just sitting in the pilot’s seat)

(his seat)

Mando’s ankles are crossed one over the other, arms similarly folded against his chest. The dark T visor is trained on you, his observation making your hands restless.

“What are you reading?” he asks, nodding down at the manuals. You straighten, starkly self-conscious now that you’ve been caught in the act.

(will he think you a fool?)

“Well, after today, I just…I realized that I don’t know much about the Crest.” You swallow hard, the image of Mando’s body going limp in the hold pressing behind your eyes, “The biggest thing I’ve ever driven was a speeder but I found all of these manuals.” The top one is open to the page on the console buttons, and you scoop it back up to distract from Mando’s attention.

“This seemed like a good place to start,” you say cheerily, coming to stand in front of the console with its dimmed lights. “Power up sequence is…” you start, finding the tiny writing that details each step. Miming the button presses and level flicks, you count out the procedure.

“One, two, up, up, lift-case-press-once…” Turning your head to the switches above you, Mando’s silhouette is no longer in the doorway but standing behind the pilot seat, one hand resting on the back. His closeness tightens your posture, cheery smile on your face feeling more like a grimace.

“Four switches here, all in a row…” you murmur, reaching up to tap them in sequence. When you do, the cool air of the cockpit breezes against a sliver of skin on your stomach. It’s contrasted immediately with the heat of Mando’s gaze on it.

(no distractions, you have to learn)

“Then we’re on to takeoff procedures, so we’ll engage…” You’re interrupted with the warm weight of Mando’s hand circling your bicep.

“What’s this about?” he murmurs, but you pull free from his barely-there grasp with a tut.

“You’re going to make me lose my place,” you scold, taking a step out of his reach to lean over the console, but your hand shakes as you rest it on the thruster. “Thrusters to…thrusters…to…”

(Mando lying dead in a forest you could never reach)

(dead on a prison ship parsecs away)

(dead on a planet you don’t know the name of)

(dead dead dead dead)

His hands touch you with purpose now, shifting you to stand beside the pilot’s seat as he settles into it. Your grip on the manual is white-knuckled, your teeth clenched as you try to say anything, explain yourself, but Mando pays you no mind as he spreads his hands along the console.

“The manuals are a start, but the Crest has had better days,” he says, a dry smile in his tone. Your muscles begin to loosen, eyes locked on the Mandalorian as he speaks slow and carefully, his hands moving with purpose.

“Only one back thruster has an ignition spark, so you have to ignite the live one and use the exhaust manifold to light the other,” he says, walking you through each revised step of the Crest’s takeoff procedure. He pauses when he hears you furiously scratching notes, and goes over parts of it again when your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Once you’re out of the atmosphere there are a few steps to prepare for hyperspace, especially without an astromech…” Your lungs freeze at the thought.

(how the kriff are you going to compute hyperspace travel without a droid?)

(kriffing Mando and his Maker-damned brain)

(it’s one of the sexiest things about him)

“...but if you give me a few days I’ll write out the calculations for you,” he finishes, and the relief paired with the wave of arousal at how easy he makes it sound is a dizzying combination.

“Thank you,” you breathe, putting down the manual and wiping your sweaty palms on your pants. “Where’s Bean?” you ask, the little bogwing nowhere in sight.

“I gave him some jerky, he’s probably still working at it,” Mando replies, and finally a light chuckle bubbles from your lips.

(two baby teeth and a strip of jerky, you’ll have to save Bean from the torture)

“I’ll go check on him,” you say, turning to leave but Mando’s hand wraps around your wrist with a gentle tug.

(guess you’ll have to explain yourself now)

He guides you back to stand between his knees, thumbs stroking the backs of your hands.

“Would you tell me what you’re thinking?” he asks, and you’re struck by how often Mando surprises you. You expected an accusation, an interrogation, and then he only asks you to help him understand.

(Maker you can barely comprehend the care he offers you)

(is this what it’s like for him?)

“When you were…” You pause, trying to get more moisture in your mouth. Mando waits, helmet turned up to you in patient silence.

“When I thought you were dying, I realized I wouldn’t know what to do if you did. I - we rely on you so much. To pilot the Crest, to earn credits, to keep us safe, and if you were gone…” The words can’t come up for air, the devastation of that dread scorching your tongue.

“...I thought if I just read these and figured out the basics it would mean I could at least get us to safety. If you were in trouble I could find you. If it was just…Bean and I…I could still complete your mission…”

(Kark the mission)

(if Mando was gone, you’d be all that Bean had)

“Nothing will happen to me, Mesh’la,” Mando says, gentle assurance on the outskirts of that modulated voice. It makes you ball your hands into fists, gritting your teeth when you meet the visor’s stare.

“You don’t know that. You leave every time to risk your life and there’s no telling which time you’ll walk out and never come back.” Saying those fears out loud tightens your throat, the corners of your mouth pulling into a grimace as you fight against tears.

“I won’t allow that to happen,” Mando says more forcefully, his grip grounding. This close you can almost believe him. He’s impenetrable to most - beskar, strength, cunning, speed - but today only fattened up your fears.

(you’ll be alone)

“I can’t live like that, Mando, relying on you to not get bit, or shot, or killed. I can’t sit by and pretend you’ll always come back. I need to know how to fly, where to keep searching for the Jedi, how to find you if you’re lost or taken. I can’t just live on this ship until one day you’re gone.”

At the crack in your voice Mando surrounds you, pulling you down into his lap and letting you sob into the cool beskar. One hand cradles the back of your neck, his arm wrapped around your back to sink you deeper into him. The scent of dirt and warm fabric and blood envelops you, comforting as it is terrifying.

(you could have lost him today)

“I’m sorry, Mesh’la, I know,” Mando soothes, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles behind your ear. “This was a bad one. I have you to thank for stopping it from being far worse.” Mando pulls away enough to cup your chin in his soft gloved hand. “I will do everything in my power to stay safe…” He sighs, the truth on his lips. “...but you’re right. I may not come back one day.”

He lets the acknowledgement sit in the air for a few moments while you search the helmet for something more. Sadness? Fear? Worry? Or are those all just your own emotions reflected back in the brilliant shine?

“So I’ll teach you. How to fly the Crest, my contacts, my plans, all of it.” The resolute tone of his voice smooths your face, leaning into his touch as the thrumming anxiety beneath your skin lowers to a simmer. “We’ll have backups, boltholes, everything you need in case of an emergency.”

The shuddering breath you take is met with a quiet, “That’s it, Mesh’la,” as your heart rate begins to drop. A few moments more and you find your fortitude, his arms resting in an easy circle around your waist.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Mando promises, wiping away a streak of tears from your cheek. The leather is soft on your skin, the touch reverent.

“I know, Mando,” you hiccup, nose stuffed and head pounding from the ache of emotion bouncing inside it. You must be a sorry sight, but Mando only caresses your face and holds you close.

(you don’t dare think this could me more than care right now)

(your heart couldn’t take it)

“Didn’t know you had medical training,” he says, his thigh shifting making you hiss out a “sorry” as you adjust your weight off his injured leg.

“My mother taught me well,” you reply, eliciting a nod from Mando. “Didn’t know the Crest was such a complicated ship.” A pause. “I like watching you pilot her.”

“Is that so?” Mando purrs, and that sneaky arousal from before aches quietly between your legs as Mando’s hand slips from your cheek to slide along your collarbone.

“You’re good with your hands,” you gasp, your own coming to his forearm to tighten on the vambrace.

“I know,” he replies cockily, fingers sliding back up to brush his thumb over your lower lip.

A small curious trill echoes up the ladder, pulling his hands away from you with a sigh. You would laugh but it’s probably for the best. Your nerves are live wires, raw emotions still just barely simmering under the surface.

“Sounds like Bean’s given up on the jerky. Coming down?” you ask, standing and wiping your face more thoroughly with your shirt sleeve.

(no point in scaring the kid)

(you’ll be okay)

“Wait…” Mando says, bringing you back into the bracket of his thighs again. “Tonight, after the kid goes to sleep, meet me in the ‘fresher,” he says, one wandering hand dragging slowly up your hip. “I’ve been thinking about what I’d like to do if we were back there again.”

Heat erupts across your face, molten hot down your spine and puddling in your core.

“Kriff, Mando, don’t know how I’m going to last until then when you talk like that,” you groan, thighs rubbing together as he tilts the helmet at you.

“Better hope he tires out quickly,” he teases.

Bean does not go down early, but you use the time to dote on him further. He relishes in the long dinner, the extra-detailed story you weave about a Bantha family in the desert, the indulgent snuggle under your chin as you soothe him to sleep.

(maybe your heart needed just a little more comfort)

(or maybe you just love him more than you let yourself admit)

Either way, when you settle him into his hammock, blue blanket tucked around his tiny body, you thank the Maker that he’s trusted you with such a precious, weird, perfect little creature.

And then later, when you enter the ‘fresher and Mando’s hands land hot and bare on you, you thank the Maker again for sparing Mando as he takes you apart pressed against the cool tiled wall, mouth buried in his thick bicep as his skilled fingers drag your orgasm to new shattering heights.

Balanced on the edge of the sink, Mando’s helmet tucked over your shoulder as he pumps into you with long slow thrusts, you whisper all of the words you couldn’t say in the cockpit.

“Thank you for coming back to me.”

“Feels so good Mando, you feel so good inside me.”

“Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

Mando’s voice drags roughly over your skin, rumbling into your ear.

“I’m here, Mesh’la.”

“I’ve got you.”

“I’ll keep you safe.”

And you believe him.

END

“a flower knows, when its butterfly will return, and if the moon walks out, the sky will understand; but now it hurts, to watch you leave so soon, when I don't know, if you will ever come back.”

― Sanober Khan

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prolix-yuy · 2 years ago

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Mando Taglist 3:

HAPPY 500!

So I have a prompt for [Din x Reader] using the theme of "Identity Crisis" wherein the reader learns she's either related to a high ranking Imperial or maybe she was created by the Imps using clone technology and he comforts her?

My darling Kelly, what an excellent prompt! I've been in my Din feels a lot lately and when I heard you weren't feeling well I wanted to share this story sooner so you can curl up with it. I hope you enjoy where this went, it veered into an unexpected deep dive on family and legacy but I'm very happy with how it turned out. Thank you for the prompt, I hope you enjoy!

Legacy

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original F!Character (not named but with a physical description)

Summary: The discovery of your origin has you questioning what your future holds.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: T, allusions to sexual acts, heavy discussions of self-worth and personal identity. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ so MINORS DNI.

Notes: This story is written in reader format, but because the character is connected to Boba Fett and therefore Temuera Morrison, she is described with similar features to the Māori people. Gold stars go to anyone who catches the reference to another Star Wars show I've sprinkled in!

The hum of the N1 matches the numbness in your limbs as silence sits heavy on your tongue. Din doesn’t look back, hasn’t since you climbed into the astromech compartment and waited for takeoff.

“You could be my sister.”

The words tumbled from Boba Fett’s mouth after the heat of battle, tugging his helmet off to reveal the scars of the Sarlacc pit, the nose that followed the shape of yours, twin eyes, brethren in skin. You even imagined his hair to be as thickly curled as your own, though he lacked it.

“I don’t know my mother, or my father. You could be right,” you’d tossed back, smile glinting in the twin suns. But later, when meals were shared and Boba found you trying to sneak back to the N1, he clarified.

“If you are who I think you are, then you have no mother.”

You narrowed your eyes, hand on your blaster as the scarred man in Mandalorian armor similar to your ally’s motioned for you to sit.

“Bold claim for a man who has laid eyes on me once,” you warned, ready to cut out his tongue for the insinuation, daimyo or not.

“I wish I could believe myself to be insolent,” Boba said, a little quieter, a little more regretful this time.

As he spoke your affront melted to amazement, then to anger, and finally to the grief. If you could find fault in his argument you would, and you tried.

“I’ve never been to Camino.”

“I have a chain code, a name, a life. Surely they would never let a…let me live like this.”

“How do you know?”

But Boba had answers, good ones too. You tried to hold his reasoning to the light for imperfections, but the deep pit of dread opening in your stomach gobbled up your strength. It lined up, questions you’d always had, memories you wished you could access. In mere minutes he offered you pieces of your life that made a more terrifying image than your worst nightmares.

Clone.

The word echoes in your mind as Din pilots the N1 away from Tatooine, the ache in your body like two massifs struggling to rip you in two.

The blank spot in your memory up until twelve years of age shouts at you, begging you to crack open its shiny black shell and reveal its secrets. You used to beat your first against it, scream at it to fall away. Now you want to bury it deeper, let no light shine upon it.

There are memories you access without thought - reflexes faster than your mind can keep up, skill with any blaster put in your hands, accuracy that scares you - that now drip with military training.

Your headaches - by-product of inhibitor chip removal, Boba explained - now explain how you’d gone undetected for so many years.

The shadowy memories of silhouettes in armor surrounding you. A scarred face with a wide smile. Relentless tapping on holopads. Hands, one flesh, one durasteel. A skull half in shadow. Target signs. A child’s laugh. They hold secrets but none this revelation has offered up.

The bubble of viscous fluid you coughed up when you crawled out of that tank, wondering why the bacta was green instead of blue.

“You must have been under for years.”

Din heard much of Boba’s explanations, finding you frozen across from his brother in arms. He was by your shoulder when the first sob came, your fist cramming it back down your throat. Grogu, tucked into the crook of his arm, made a concerned warble.

“Why would they do this?” was the first true question you had. Boba sighed with a world-weary breath.

“You were made to build an army. Why you deviated in this way I couldn’t tell you. I’ve heard whispers that my father’s genetic code was degrading. But why they would let you live…”

“And why were you allowed to become the man you are today?” you spat out, rising to leave, Din looming in shadow behind. He hadn’t said a word the entire time.

Boba smiled crookedly. “Legacy.”

It was best you never met your father.

Din pushes the N1 out of hyperspace, the lurch refocusing your eyes. A planet swims into view, dollops of white and blue and green that swirl together like a treasured marble.

“Thought you didn’t have another stop before mine,” you grumble into the communicator, rubbing your temples with the heels of your hands. The exhaustion is finally catching up with you. Just two days ago you were fresh off a mercenary job, flush with credits and ready to sink neck-deep into a bath, good food and better company. Then Din Djarin darkened your doorway, his plea for assistance falling on deaf ears until a familiar name buzzed through the vocoder.

Pike Syndicate.

It piqued your interest and released a new burn in your veins.

“What’s the payment?” you asked, tilted back in your seat in your rented room. One you planned to commit many acts of pleasure while occupying.

“The debt of two Mandalorians.”

Your eyebrow raised involuntarily.

“I didn’t know there were more of you willing to work with me.”

“I’m out of options.”

“And friends, I’ll wager.”

Din stepped further into your space.

“You wouldn’t call us friends?”

You mulled on the offer a few minutes longer.

“Can I cash in on your debt now?” you purred. Din’s helmet tilted to the side, hand coming down to palm at his belt buckle. The bucket was a nuisance, but he always made up with it in stamina and voracity.

You did like getting an advance.

“It’s important,” Din says, voice crackling with static as he veers the N1 into landing formation. You brace in the seat, gritting your teeth through the hurtling speed. The size of the ship makes you feel like you’re entering the atmosphere in a children’s toy, one moment away from crumpling under the weight of gravity.

Once the N1 breaks the atmospheric barrier it glides like a seabird over stretches of blue water, skimming low enough to ruffle a canopy of trees that lead to an open field. This is Din’s destination, powering down and opening both cockpits to allow you out. A hard-won smile graces your face when you watch his broad shoulders unfold, tugging himself out of the pilot’s seat that’s two sizes too small for him. You’re no more graceful, but an astromech compartment was never meant for a full person to squeeze into. Grogu had a much easier time, practically leaping like the frogs you’d seen him devour.

“Okay, we’re here,” you sigh, stretching your legs. The sun on your back does improve your disposition marginally, fresh air reviving your lungs. “Meet you in, what, a few hours?” you ask, surveying the plain for something to occupy your time. Anything to remove the pounding drum of clone clone clone from your brain.

“I need you to come with me,” he says before striding into the treeline, slow enough for you to overcome your confusion but quick enough to make you keep a steady pace. Grogu’s ears bounce playfully over his shoulder, black marble eyes blinking back at you.

“What’s this about, Din?” you ask, blood pumping in your ears as annoyance scars your face. “I’m not in the mood for an add-on job.”

“Not a job,” Din answers, not breaking stride.

Rolling your eyes you follow, trying to hold on to the annoyance and anger that was fast making a home in your spine, but it’s melting away with the gentle breeze on your face, the sweetness of the air, the softness of the ground beneath your feet. By the time brighter light bursts ahead your mood shifts to a pensive melancholy you meant to save for behind closed doors. Din doesn’t need to be a part of that.

A few more steps and you’re in a different field, a breathtaking one resplendent with buttery yellow flowers surrounding a tree with sprawling branches supporting a thick head of leaves. The light that filters through dapples the ground with ever-changing patterns. Grogu lets out an excited squeak, fussing to be put down. Wordlessly Din moves towards the tree, picking his way carefully through the flowers. You follow his footsteps, a nameless emotion growing in your throat. The flowers brush against your calves, identical sunny faces turning to watch your journey.

By the time you get there Din is sitting beneath the tree, the trunk steadying his back. The helmet is as unreadable as ever but his body language is anything but. It’s an invitation to rest beside him, to speak on the events of the day. Grogu ignores the directive, instead toddling out to investigate the blooms. His head barely clears them, the tips of his ears flagging his path. Fighting against your instinct to run, to not show anything that could be used against you, you sit.

The field from the center is even more magical, a golden sea of rippling petals surrounding you. The wind blows striations of color into the buttery landscape, leafy greens and earth browns. Slowly, your heart returns to your chest. Your hands unclench, your shoulders ease down. When you finally feel a semblance of peace you speak.

“Is this your way of comforting me?” you ask, the sharpness of your tone cutting through the heaviness in the air.

“No,” Din rumbles, shifting beside you. A smirk curves your cheek until warm fingers circle your wrist. Your eyes lock on Din’s hands - bare - taking one into both of his. They dwarf you, heavy fingered and worn. He’s never touched you like this before.

“What are you mourning right now?” he asks, thumb circling your pulse in a soothing pattern.

He’s being soft to you because he thinks you're fragile, the nasty voice lashes out, but is quickly replaced by wonder.

He’s being soft because he cares.

“I looked for them, for a long time. Wanted to know what my mother smelled like, how she smiled. Wanted to see what parts were hers and which were my fathers. I hoped they wouldn’t turn me away, or tell me something terrible about why they abandoned me.” You take in a shuddering breath. “It was more a dream than I thought.”

Din nods, stroking your palm in long soothing paths. It keeps you tethered.

“The loss of the family you never had?”

Chewing on your cheek, you shake your head.

“It was always a possibility they could be gone forever, that I might never learn more.” You let Din watch your face, not trying to school it for the proper emotions. You didn’t even know which ones should come out now.

“All this time I wanted to know why I couldn’t remember. My body knows what I am, but to have nothing come through…”

A skull in darkness. No, maybe a tattoo.

“And now I do. And it’s…so much worse.”

Din cocks his head.

“Worse than anything you thought before?”

You snort, the steel starting to return to your bones.

“A clone, Din. Made to serve the Empire. I thought what I was forgetting was love, and loss. Instead I was forgetting being a slave.” Tears brim now, smearing the landscape into an abstract mess. “I wanted to know what I was before, and now I’m terrified. Was I in the GAR? Did I…” You trail off, the implications too great.

“Whatever you were, you’re here now, and you have the time, and the ability, to change,” Din says, and it might be the longest sentence you’ve ever heard from him. It comes close to making you feel better.

“I can’t change this,” you rebut, pinching skin between your fingernails. “I can’t change that I am exactly like them, down to my chemical makeup. A karked-up clone, but one still.”

Din releases your hands and leans over, reaching for something behind him. When his hands return there’s a yellow blossom pinched between his fingers. He twirls it briefly.

“It looks exactly the same,” he muses, tossing his head to the field surrounding you. “But I could never tell you how old it is, or how it grew. If it got enough water, or sunlight. That makes it unique. That makes it beautiful.” Din drops the flower into your palm, the kiss of the petals featherlight. You try to see it, the reassurance he’s giving you, but it’s too small a gesture.

“It still shares everything with the rest,” you say. “It’s still a part of the whole.”

“There are things that can be shared that are greater than blood.” The helmet tips, hands coming together to worry at his oft-hidden skin.

Silence reigns again, your head thumping back against the smooth bark. Closing your eyes, you study the pattern of your heartbeat, steady and true in your chest. If they cut you open and placed your heart beside another of your genetic brothers, would they be able to tell the difference? Even with what you know it is capable of?

A click and a hiss echo next to you. Then a voice you’ve never heard. Not like this.

“Look at me.”

You peel your eyes open, the sight shocking you into a crouch. Before you is still the Mandalorian, armor and strength and valor. But the helmet is nestled in the moss, a man’s face revealed. Din Djarin, who you’ve only known by name for a short time, stares back.

You’d fantasized on what the Mandalorian looked like under the ever-present helmet, but to know now is to confirm and supersede all your expectations. Brown tousled hair, matted in places where the helmet pressed the curls flush. A dusting of scruff along his jaw and upper lip, flecks of caramel and silver. Full lips curved in a nervous grimace. Heavy brows constantly twitching against the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

And Maker, his eyes. Deep brown and so expressive you realize he couldn’t possibly lie to you without the helmet. They dart to yours before dropping down, so unused to eye contact he can’t hold it long.

“Din…” you whisper, the forest fading to ochre around you. He quirks a smile.

“That’s me,” he says with a breathless chuckle. You shuffle closer, observing the uncertainty painting his face.

“Din, your Creed…” you ask, but his hands return to yours. Sitting hip to hip and face to face for the first time, he’s more beautiful than you have the right to see.

“I broke it when I showed my face to Grogu. I am Mandalorian no more,” he says, sadness now mixing in his eyes. “But I still wear it to be close to my brothers, to feel part of the culture that raised me. I am seen as one of many…” The tears are threatening to spill now, Din’s eyes turning sympathetic as he cups your cheek. “...but underneath I am Din Djarin. I will always be that boy, this man. And what I share with my brothers is nothing compared to what I can choose to share.”

“Din, I’m not…”

He shushes you with a press of those powerful fingers.

“This isn’t about worthiness or what you deserve. This is about free will, and choice. I choose to share my face with you. I need nothing in return. This is my choice. I choose to be Din Djarin with you.” He studies your face a moment longer, thumb interrupting the track of a tear. “What do you choose to be?”

The answer is so simple that saying it aloud is like writing it in stone.

“I choose to be me. No matter what came before. I’m me, for the rest of my days.”

Din nods and smiles, the motion so familiar but so different seeing how he looks at you. It makes you want to give him something in return.

“I’d like to kiss you, Din.”

His eyebrows shoot up into his messy hair, mouth falling open into an O that pulls a smile back on your face. Sitting up on your knees, you take Din’s head into your hands. He trembles at the contact, your fingers slipping into his sweat-damp hair.

“I’ve never…” he stutters, which you soothe with a scratch of your nails on the nape of his neck.

“I won’t take your first kiss from you,” you tease, “Save that for someone you love.”

As you lean closer he breathes out, “There are many kinds of love.”

“When did you get so wise, Din Djarin?”

He lets out a puff of air before you press your lips to his forehead, inhaling musk and metal and something earthy before you pull back. His eyes are closed, lips parted, and before you can move too far he cradles your head and pulls your foreheads together. You stay like that for a handful of breaths, the monikers and duties of your lives washing away.

“Can we stay a while longer?” you ask, your noses bumping together. His is larger than you thought, broken along the bridge at least once, and wrinkles when he smiles.

“As long as you like,” he says, letting you settle back. A stronger breeze ruffles your clothing as you turn to see Grogu stretching his little green claws out, a tiny magician to the audience of flowers. The wind whips around the tree and suddenly the air is full of delicate yellow petals, swirling in a golden vortex. You laugh, a belly one this time, as Grogu’s gestures lift and twirl the petals in the air.

“Good job kid,” Din calls, Grogu’s ears lifting briefly before he turns and waddles back to his guardian satisfied. Din unclasps his cape, folding it into a neat bundle before settling it on his lap.

“Rest,” he says simply, and while you normally hate a directive your body hangs heavy with exhaustion. Grogu climbs Din’s thigh before he lifts him up to rest on his chest. With a baby yawn he drops his head to Din’s cowl and closes his eyes. Din looks at him for a moment before pressing a kiss to his wrinkled forehead. It warms your whole body.

That is the first kiss you’re meant to have, Din.

He pats the makeshift pillow in his lap and you lean down to rest your head. The petals are still lazily swirling in the air, drifting to the ground in handfuls. He waits for you to still before he lays his large hand on your head, softly stroking your hair and temple. Time slows in this bubble you’ve found yourself in, a world outside demanding answers and ready with tragedy at every corner. But for this brief moment you’ll let yourself rest in the care of someone who you share more with than blood, or oaths.

END

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