#dank farrick

[onetruechromosome]

I love how Rebels and Mandalorian made up their own swears and then Andor just had someone mutter “shit.”

It was an experience like no other.

[orcasoul]

Broken Part 3

Summary: Din is on the brink of death. The only way to save him is to remove his helmet. Surely he'll understand and forgive you... right?

Warnings: Swearing, description of injuries, angst, established relationship, use of Y/N.

A/N: the amount of comments and re-blogs for the first two parts of this story has blown me away. Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read this, and for all the love and support.

Word Count: 5,503

The world ceased to exist for Din the moment he saw your limp body sprawled on the floor. All that remains now is you; all that matters is you. He doesn't even remember closing the gap to get to you. One second he's frozen with fear and the next he's at your side, cradling your face in both hands. "Cyar'ika? Sweetheart, can you hear me?! Can you open your eyes?!" The tremble in Din's hands have now moved to his vocal chords, each word laced with worry and regret. "Come on, sweet girl. I need you to open your eyes." Din begs, gently tapping your cheek, but you give no response.

He's sure your eyes were open a moment ago.... or maybe it was wishful thinking, his mind conjuring up the image to give him hope. Ripping a glove off, he feels for your pulse. You're alive but your pulse is... wrong. It's much too fast. That combined with the trembling and sweat soaking your skin, it can only mean one thing; a blood infection. Din pulls up your blood encrusted shirt and gently removes your makeshift bandage to reveal an inflamed and angry looking blaster wound. "Dank farrick!" Din curses under his breath.

He'd had his fair share of infected wounds throughout the years, so he knows just how bad this can get. Guilt begins to consume him, the intensity threatening to drag him down into a pit of despair. He caused this. This is his fault. He'd abandoned you when all you did was love him. And now, this is what you have to show for that love. He'll never forgive himself if you... nope, that won't happen. "It's okay, Cyare. I've got you, I've got you," Din whispers as puts his glove on, then slides an arm under your back and the other under your knees.

He stands slowly with you, not wanting to aggravate your wound and tucks your head into his chest. A pained moan wheezes past your blue tinted lips. "Kriff, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Din's heart sinks at hearing you in pain, hoping you'll never have to make that sound again. You won't if he has his way. "I'm gonna get you help and then I'm taking you home," Din promised, then ran from the cave and back towards the village.

By the time he got close to the village, Din could barely walk. Almost an hour of continuous running had pretty much pushed him to the edge of his endurance. But every second was critical, so he'd pushed and pushed his now exhausted body, ignoring the protest of his lungs, his limbs and his back. He almost cried with relief when entering the village, falling to his knees and holding you tight. "Help! Somebody help her, quick!" Din screamed as loud as he could.

A group of villagers ran to where Din had collapsed, a few of them quickly taking you from his arms and into a large hut, while yelling at others to find the village doctor. "Where are... they... taking her?" Din asked, breathlessly. "Medical bay," a man answered, as he and another man helped Din to his feet, each draping his arms over their shoulders. "They'll take good care of her, promise." Din straightened, nodded his thanks to the men and on wobbly legs followed you into the hut.

Din felt utterly useless as he sat and watched the doctor and nurses tend to you. He wants to help, every instinct screaming at him to do something, but he can't. All he can do is sit and stare numbly at your deathly pale face and slowly rising chest. You've never looked so fragile before and it takes all of his willpower to not fall apart right then and there. He silently observes the medical team as they hook you up to a drip and monitor (courtesy of the New Republic, along with a generator and more modern equipment) and clean and stitch the wound on your side.

And in all this time you haven't even flinched. Was he too late? Do you even have the strength left to survive this? Din is pulled from his anxious thoughts by a hand on his shoulder and a soft but professional voice addressing him. "Mando?..." the doctor began, waiting until Din's helmet turned his way. "We've closed the wound and administered antibiotics to fight the infection. She's lost a lot of blood and is very weak. We're trying to bring her temperature down to a safe level, but all we can do now is wait. It's up to her now; she has to fight it."

"I understand," Din replied sorrowfully. "Thank you for everything." "Of course," the doctor nodded and lightly squeezed Din's shoulder. "We'll give you some privacy." He cocked his head at the nurses, silently gesturing for them to follow him. Din sat beside you, at a loss for words. How could he have let this happen? If he hadn't been so closed minded, so damn stubborn and proud, if he'd just talked things through with you as you'd begged him to do, you wouldn't be here now, fighting for your life. You'd saved his life and he'd almost cost you yours. He doesn't deserve your forgiveness. But if by some miracle, you do forgive him and give him another chance, he'll never take you for granted and never leave you again, no matter what.

Din removes his gloves, desperately needing to feel you, skin to skin. Taking your smaller hand in his, he closes his eyes and just allows himself to feel. The softness of your skin, the warmth, the ridges of your knuckles. How he'd missed you! "Cyar'ika, I don't know if you can hear me..." Din murmured, guilt eating him alive, "But if you can, I want you to know how sorry I am for everything I've put you through. For everything I said. I was wrong and stupid. I want to make things right, so you have to fight. I know you can; I know how strong you are. Just... don't give up." Din prays you can hear him, but if you can, your still body shows no sign of recognition.

Sweat trickles down your forehead due to your fever. Din reaches into a bucket of iced water set beside your bed and rings out a cloth, placing it on your forehead. "Can we come in?" Din looks over his shoulder to see Omera and Winta by the entrance of the hut. With a silent nod, he beckons them in. They stand on the opposite side of the bed, Omera holding your other hand, while Winta leans down to lay her head by yours, arm slung over your chest in a gentle hug. "Is she gonna be okay now?" Winta looks at Din, eyes full of hope. Her expectant and pleading expression brings a crushing weight of uncertainty to settle inside Din's chest, because honestly, he doesn't know.

"Um..." Din clears his throat, "I hope so. It's too early to tell right now, but the doctors and nurses are doing all they can for her. Only time will tell." "What happened?" Omera asked through held back tears. Din looked from Omera to Winta and back to Omera again. Omera, understanding what Din is trying to silently convey - that this is not something a child should hear - gently places her hand on Winta's shoulder and asks her to wait outside. Winta places a kiss on your cheek and leaves. Omera takes a seat beside the bed. "Tell me," she urges, softly. "I found her..." Din's tone becomes frustrated, "Bleeding to death on a kriffing cave floor! She was all alone. I never should have left her; this is all my fault." Admitting it out loud just makes Din even more angry with himself.

"It's not your fault," Omera insists. "You couldn't have known this was going to happen." "But she shouldn't have been here inthe first place. She should have been home with me, safe." A moment of awkward silence passes before Din asks, "Did... she tell you what happened?" "Yes," Omera nodded. Din sighed. "I failed her." "You're here now. That's what matters. I'm not taking sides here, you're both my friends, but you should know she hasn't been herself since you left, more like she's been a shell of herself. She's missed you, so much. You and Grogu are her life. She's been so lost without you both."

Omera's words hit Din more brutally than that Mudhorn did back on Arvala - 7. He thought he couldn't feel any worse, but he was wrong. "Dank farrick!" Din swore, quietly, feeling sick at the thought of what he's done to you. "I... I don't know how to make this right." Din's shoulders slump in defeat. "Start by being here for her now. That's all you can do... until she wakes up," Omera offered, sympathetically. Din nodded. "Thank you for looking after her." Omera looked at you with a sad smile. "There's no need to thank me. She's family." Din's heart warmed at Omera affection for you. Gripping your hand tighter, he looks at your peaceful face and with conviction he replies, "Yes, she is."

The nurse returned a few minutes later to check on you. Omera took her leave - not wanting to impose - telling Din she's here for him if he needs her. Din held onto your hand the entire time the nurse fussed about you. "Hmm... her temperature's still a little high," she frowned, "Other than that, she seems to be doing okay." Din didn't get a chance to respond as your hand suddenly tightened around his and your whole body began to violently convulse. "What's-" "She's having a seizure!" the nurse exclaimed, grabbing an extra pillow to place above your head so you don't hit it on the headboard.

Din shot to his feet, ready to hold you, to comfort you. "Don't touch her!" the nurse warned. "You could hurt her if you try to restrict her movements." "Well... what do we do?!" Din shouted, feeling like he's about to lose his damn mind. "She just has to go through it I'm afraid. She's fitting because of the fever. These seizures look frightening, but they're normally quite harmless," the nurse reassured. As if that's any comfort right now. After what felt like an eternity - but was only a couple of minutes, according to the nurse - your jolting body began to calm until you were still once again.

Din released a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. The nurse checked your vitals again. "She stable now. I'll come back to check on her in an hour," she informed Din with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, before leaving the hut. As soon as the coast was clear, Din ripped his helmet off, dropping it by his feet without regard. He quickly but gently placed both hands on your cheeks and rested his forehead against yours, his tears dripping onto your face. "Don't you ever frighten me like that again! Do you hear me?!... Never again." The last two words came out in a choked whisper. Din kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips. "Please my love, don't leave me."

Din winced internally the second those words left his mouth; those very same words that had been haunting him in his sleep. The last words you had said to him. Din reached for the cloth that had fallen on the floor during your fit, dunked it in the bucket and placed it back on your forehead before reaching for his helmet. He knows anyone could walk in at any moment, so it's best not to tempt fate. He places it back on and for the first time since taking the creed the helmet feels like a barrier instead of a comfort, the inch of Beskar separating you feeling more like a thousand miles.

The next several hours went by in a surreal blur for Din as he watched the doctor and nurses taking care of you, and also watching you for any indication of waking. They were even kind enough to bring him food since he never left the hut. The evening drifted into night, the whole village becoming quieter as everyone settled into their homes. Din remained glued to your bedside, politely refusing the offer of a hut to rest in.

He will not be more than a few feet away from you. A nurse assured him no one would enter again until morning - unless in case of an emergency, of course - so he can remove his helmet if he wishes. Din prepared himself to sit vigil with you all night. He took off his helmet and breathed deeply. If you wake tonight, his face is the first thing he wants you to see.

Sound is the first thing you notice, crickets chirping distantly, a strange beeping and... a voice? It sounds distorted, the words not making any sense to you. An involuntary whimper escapes you as you try to move your head, which at this moment, feels like a ten tonne boulder. In your hazy state, you feel something touching your face, smoothing featherlight strokes across you cheek. The voice is becoming louder, clearer as your mind begins to catch up with your body. It sounds familiar and you use it as a beacon to hone in on. Your eyelids fight against your will to open but you finally manage to do so, only to be met with blurry vision.

A few more blinks and your vision clears, focusing on the once blurry figure hovering over you. A face, but not just any face. Brown eyes, vulnerable and cautious, but also filled with relief and tenderness stare back at you. Brown floppy locks drape over his forehead and salt and pepper stubble adorn his jaw. You are completely taken aback. Are you dead? Or is your mind playing another cruel trick on you? "Hi, Cyare..." a voice you never thought you'd hear again whispers lovingly. It's that which snaps you from your stupor, confirming that you are alive and he's here!

"Din?!" your voice croaks harshly from disuse, scraping your throat on the way out. "Shhh..." Din continues to smooth the apple of your cheek. "Try not to speak Y/N? You're safe now." Your eyes shoot around the room, confusion and panic overtaking your senses. "You're in the village..." Din's low timbre brings an instant calm to you. "You're going to be okay." You try to get up but a sharp pain flashes through your torso causing you to gasp. Din's hands are pressed to your shoulders, gently but firmly holding you down, "Don't move. You'll tear the stitches," he tells you. Stitches? Then it all comes back to you; the attack on the village, the blaster shot and the cave.

Your eyes fall on Din's again and you panic. "Oh shit!" you gasp, weakly and shut your eyes tight, turning your head away. "Y...your helmet! Where's your helmet?!" Your heart beats wildly in your chest, guilt and alarm filling you once more. Maybe he forgot to put it back on, and now I've broken his creed, again! You bite your lower lip in worry, awaiting the inevitable chastisement... only it never comes. "Y/N?" Din's bare hand cups your jaw, turning your head to face him. "It's okay, look at me." You remain frozen, eyelids firmly locked in place, unsure of what you should do. "Please, Cyar'ika..." Din's voice is calm, soothing. "Open your eyes. I want you to see me."

It was with trepidation you slowly opened your eyes, Din's warm smile instantly easing your anxiety. Heaven's that smile! It would have floored you if you'd hadn't already been laying down. "There you are," Din said warmly. Too much is happening to fast for you to comprehend. "Din?... What?... How?" you stutter after every word, a part of you still unable to believe he's here. "I came for you, "Din interjected with purpose. "When I heard what happened, I couldn't get here fast enough. And when I couldn't find you I..." Din's voice shuddered, "I thought I'd lost you forever. I was so afraid."

The raw devastation of Din's voice along with the wretched fear in his eyes stabbed you right through the heart, releasing a torrent of tears; tears of heartbreak, of frustration, of relief and of love all mixed together in one huge outpouring of emotion. At once, Din's hands found your cheeks and he lowered his forehead to yours. "I am so so sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I was a fool. I love you." He gently pressed his lips to yours and, even though he'd hurt you, you found yourself wrapping your arms around his keck, returning the kiss and holding him close. "I love you, too." You couldn't deny it, deny him. You didn't want to.

Din slowly pulled his lips from yours, placing a delicate kiss to your forehead. "You should rest now, Cyare. Your body needs it. We'll talk more when you're stronger." "Wait!" You grip Din's wrist in panic. "You're not leaving, right?! You'll be here when I wake up?" Din smiled and kissed the back of your hand. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart, I promise." With that reassurance, you allow yourself to drift off once more.

When you awoke again it was to the poking and prodding of fingers checking your pulse, you temperature and your wound. "How are you feeling Y/N?" a kind older voice asked. "Mmm... thirsty..." you cough as your parched throat sticks together. Din appears immediately, holding a cup of water and a straw in front of you so you don't have to move. "Well, the good news is you're going to be fine," the doctor says, encouragingly. "And the bad news?...." you question, cautiously. "The injury you sustained was quite deep, so you'll have to take it easy for several weeks while you're healing. I know how you like to keep yourself busy," he adds with an apologetic look. "When you're feeling up to it I'll get you some soup. He places a hand on your shoulder and you thank him before he leaves.

Moments later a soft hiss turn your focus to Din as he removes his helmet. Your first thought is to shut your eyes and turn away, but you stop yourself. Din wants you to see him and, damn it, you want to see him too. The other two times you had seen him had been under dire circumstances but now... now you get to really see him and he takes your breath away. Your eyes trace every slope and contour of his features, taking your time to really appreciate just how devastatingly handsome he is. It feels wrong that he's had to hide such beauty for most of his life. Din offers a sheepish smile. "Hi," he breathes out quietly. It's obvious he's been in great emotional turmoil as he looks at you filled with remorse and with teary eyes.

"You stayed," you sigh in relief. "Of course I did," asserted Din, as if the thought of him doing anything other than stay is ludacris. "I told you I'm not going anywhere." You couldn't help but begin to cry again. Din brought a hand to your face, gently wiping your tears. "Hey, hey, you're okay." he whispered, fighting back his own tears. It kills him to see you in this state. "It's okay. Let it out. I've got you, I've got you." He so badly wants to gather you into his arms and tuck you into his chest as you fall apart, but he can't move you yet so he settles for resting his forehead against yours again. "I was... so...f...frightened!" you whimper between sobs, gripping onto his wrists for comfort. Hearing such intense fear in your words finally broke Din. His sobs joined yours, unashamedly.

"I don't know where to even begin," he choked out, "I'm so sorry.... fuck," he huffed at himself, sitting back to look you in the eyes. "I know that's not enough. There are no words to express just how sorry I am. I hurt you, and not just you, but Grogu too. I hurt the two most important people in my life. What kind of man does that?!" You can feel the self loathing radiating off of Din and it's agonising to witness. Before you can offer any comfort, Din continues, "I was so caught up in my dedication to The Way of the Mandalore that I refused to accept your perspective. I refused to see anything beyond the creed." Din hung his head in shame. "I was wrong and for that I'll always be sorry."

Wow! You weren't expecting that. The creed is everything to DIn, so for him to put you before it shows you just how much he must still love you. "What made you change your mind?" you ask in bewilderment. Din looked back to you and chuckled, lightly. "I had some sense knocked into me by Karga. He said some things I needed to hear." The corner of your mouth ticks up in an amused smirk. "I guess I owe him one." Both of your smiles faded as the tension still lingered. "How's Grogu?" You fight to keep from choking up again at the thought of him. Din rubs the back of his neck. "He's uh... he's okay, but he's missed you terribly."

Your heart aches for your poor liittle boy. "I missed him too, both of you. Is he here?" "No, he's with Karga. I didn't want to bring him in case..." Din trailed off, bile rising up his throat at the thought of finishing that sentence. Even though you feel the sting of disappointment, you nod in understanding. The last thing you want is for Grogu to see you like this. As long as he's okay, that'll be comfort enough for now. Do you need anything?" Din asks, breaking the silence that has fallen again. "Yeah. Could you help me sit up?" "You shouldn't move," Din insists, worry lacing his voice. "Please?..." you shift awkwardly, "I just need to change position."

Reluctantly Din nodded and stood over you, threading his arms under yours and around your back. Stars! You've missed his touch, the comforting warmth of his body against yours, even through his armour. "Easy now," Din cautioned as he carefully lifts you to a sitting position. You suck in sharply through your teeth as a sudden sharp pain spreads through your side. You feel Din tense in in response. "I'm okay," you reassure him. Din sat you back against the headboard and sat on the edge of the bed. "No, you're not okay. Nothing about this is okay. Not the way I treated you or the things I said. Dank farrick.! You almost died because of me!"

Din is on the verge of completely losing it. The only other time you'd seen him like this was when Grogu was taken by the Dark Troopers. "Din." You grab his hand, holding tight to ground him. "This isn't your fault. No one could have foreseen this." Din shook his head vehemently, unwilling to accept your words. "I should never have left you here. You should have been with me. Kriff, when I think back to the things I said to you..." Din lifts his head t the ceiling, rolls his eyes back and sighs. "It was cruel and I was wrong. I trust you. I was just so blinded by my arrogance, but deep down, I guess I understood why you had to remove my helmet. I just wouldn't admit it to myself, so I lashed out at you."

Din's fingers tighten around yours. "The truth is, if it were the other way around and you were hurt, I'd do the same thing." "Oh, Din." Tears burn your eyes as he lays his soul bare. "Can I ask you something?" "Of course, Cyare." Din smoothes the back of your hand, a silent gesture for you to continue. "Why now? Why are you allowing me to see you now? What about the creed? I know it's important to you." " It is," Din agreed, 'But you are far more important, and I wanted to show you just how important you are to me." You have no words, your eyes and heartfelt smile telling him what you cannot put into words. "I uh... I don't expect you to forgive me right now, I don't deserve it. But if you'll come home with me, I'll wait for as long as you need to-"

"Shhh..." you press a finger to Din's lips and look into his brown puppy dog eyes with tenderness. "I've already forgiven you, Ner Karta." Din is stunned! "W... what? Why?" He can't comprehend why you're so willing to forgive him, after all the pain he's caused. You reach over to stroke his cheek, feeling the rough stubble tickle your fingertips. "Back in the cave... I'd accepted I was going to die," you sniffle as you remember the feeling of despair that came with said acceptance. "All I could think about were you and Grogu, and I realised... I didn't want to die being angry with you. I wanted to go with only love in my heart, so in that moment I chose to forgive you."

Din exhaled as if he'd been punched in the chest. He's in complete awe of you. He'd hurt you beyond measure, almost gotten you killed and you still found it in your heart to forgive him. "I don't deserve your forgiveness," he mumbled in disgust at himself, eyes cast down. "I don't deserve you." You gently hook your fingers under his chin, lifting his head up so that you're looking into each others eyes. "Yes you do," you declare with certainty, "Everyone deserves a second chance, Cayare." Din closed his hand over yours resting on his cheek and, pulling it away, brushed a soft kiss on your palm. "I promise I will never hurt you like that again. No matter what problems come our way, we'll handle them together." "Together," you repeated breathily.

Din stared longingly into you eyes for a moment, then leaned into your face and you met him halfway, your lips joining in a delicate sweep, gently at first but becoming more intense as the seconds passed. His hands slowly slide up your arms and around your back, pulling you closer as he groaned into your now open mouth, his tongue caressing yours. You loop your arms around his neck, relishing in the familiar taste and feel you've been needing but denied for so long. It's as if an invisible weight has been lifted from your soul, all the anguish and sorrow floating away into the ether. In it's place; love, relief and the promise of renewal. You feel reborn. You slowly pull away from Din's plush lips, bury your head in the crook of his neck and breathe in his scent of leather, gunpowder and something uniquely him.

Everything around you stills as you hold each other and just exist in this moment. "I love you so much," Din purrs into your ear. "I love you too," you reply, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "I promise..." Din begins, straightening up and tucking your hair behind your ear, "I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you." You chuckle quietly and shake your head. "That's not what I want." Din looks at you, confusion crinkling his brow. "I don't want you to live in guilt everyday. All I want is my family back and to move on from this. Can I have that?" Din's features soften and he smiles in understanding. "Meshla, you can have anything you want."

You pull din in for another kiss, this time a bit more forcefully. His eyes widen and he chuckles in response. Din finishes the kiss with little pecks to your nose, making you giggle. "Din?" "Mmm?" "Did you mean it?" Din tilted his head in question. You've seen him do that often with his helmet on and seeing him do it now without it is adorable. "Mean what?" "That I can have anything I want?" "Anything!" he declared with passion, holding onto your arms. You throw him a cheeky grin. "Can you get me some soup? I'm starving."

Din's shoulders relaxed and he laughed endearingly. "Of course. I'll be right back." He put on his helmet and walked to the entrance, stopping to look at you once more before leaving. Slumping back you lean your head against the headboard and sigh happily in sheer relief. It's over. This whole nightmare is finally over and in the past where it belongs. Your heart is finally at peace.

Two days later you're given the all clear by the doctor. As you finish packing your belongings into your bag a pair of strong arms wrap around your body in a loving embrace. You lean your head back onto Din's shoulder pauldron, close your eyes and hum in contentment. "All packed, Cyarika?" "All packed," you beam as you turn in his arms and plant a kiss on his helmet. "I almost forgot..." Din reaches into a pocket, your jaw dropping as he pulls out your beaded bracelet (now cleaned from dirt and blood). With a gasp you take it, looking it over in disbelief. "I found it not too far from the cave." "I thought I'd lost it," you exclaim, voice cracking with emotion. "Thank you!"

You slide it onto your wrist and wrap your arms around Din's waist, hugging him tightly. Din brings his hand to the back of your head, gently stroking your hair. "I can't wait to hold Grogu again," you gush into Din's chest. "He'll be overjoyed to have his mother back." You lift your head from his chest, your eyes gleaming with excitement. "Does he know I'm coming home? Have you told him?" A small chuckle came through the vocoder. "No, I thought we'd surprise him." You couldn't contain the massive grin that spread from cheek to cheek as you imagine the soon to be reunion with your son.

Just as you turn to reach for your bag, Din grabs it, slinging it over his shoulder. "I can carry the bag. It's not heavy," you protest teasingly with your hands on your hips. "Your not carrying anything until you're fully healed." You know that finality in his tone too well. "Bossy!" you roll your eyes in jest. "Yep," Din replied, popping the P for emphasis. He wrapped his arm around you and under your arm to support you, since walking is still slow and painful for you. Outside the hut a group of people had come to see the two of you off. Omera and Winta held onto you like there was no tomorrow.

"I never would have gotten through the last month without you," you whispered to Omera, trying to hold back your tears. "You're the best friend I've ever had." "Promise you'll visit us soon," Omera pressed. "I Promise," you smiled. "Will you bring Grogu with you?" Winta asked, excitedly. "Do you really think he'd allow me to come without him?" you laughed fondly as you pictured his little face. Winta giggled and you pulled them both into another hug. "I'll miss you both so much." "We'll miss you too," Omera said sadly. While saying your goodbyes and thanks to the others, Din approached Omera. "Thank you," Din exclaimed, "For everything. For being there for her." He knows he owes Omera a debt he can never repay.

"Of course," she smiled softly at him. "I'm just so glad you two could work things out." "Me too," Din smiled to himself. He looked down at Winta and patted her head affectionately, "Take care, you two." Din walked over to you, placing his hand at the small of your back. "Ready?" You smile and nod and Din holds onto you gently yet firmly as you slowly make your way to the the Razor Crest. Oh, how you've missed this big hunk of junk! You settle in the co-pilot's seat in the cockpit, the smells and sounds you'd taken for granted welcoming you back in their own way, and you take a moment to appreciate everything around you, even the way Din so expertly prepares the controls for take off.

Din turns to you, lacing his fingers through yours on your lap. "You ready to go home, Meshla?" he asks you, lovingly. You smile, placing your other hand over his. "I'm ready." Din returns to the controls, somehow managing to pilot the ship one handed while still holding your hand. The Crest rattles and shakes as it ascends, every minute bringing you closer to home, closer to Grogu. Silent tears begin to fall, but for the first time in a long time, the tears are not of sadness, but of joy.

@picketniffler @johnssherlock221 @nicolebarnes

[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Exchange (part three)

AO3

Part Two

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Word Count: 19.1k (HAHAHAHAHAAA)

Chapter Summary: Previous feelings for each other are revealed, and then those feelings are explored. An exchange, if you will.

Content Warnings: 18+ only, MDNI, nervous!reader, soft!!!!!!mando, reader loves facial hair, fluff fluff fluff, helmet comes off, cuddling, SMUT: making out, grinding, PRAISE kink, lowkey size kink, big dick mando, consent king mando (consent king mando is the hottest mando, it is law), m and f masturbation, dirty thoughts of reader and of mando, piv, unprotected and protected piv, fingering f receiving, ass grabbing, a lil nipple play, half naked and naked mando, lovey dovey sex hehehehehe, physical descriptions of reader are as neutral as possible but reader has a vagina

A/N: I cannot thank you all enough for your responses on the first two parts. I also cannot thank you all enough for your patience for part three. It is longer than part one and two combined (y’all voted for me to post in one long part, ya get what ya ask for!), so I think it was worth the wait. Also I didn’t proofread this because I was too excited to post it. Will read over it later though! ENJOY!!

THREE MONTHS PRIOR

A thudding sound was produced by Mando’s footsteps up the Crest’s ramp. Looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad, your eyes were trained on the lowering ramp. You nestled a bit further into your reading nook–a pile of blankets and some pillows stacked against the wall–as you anticipated the outside air hitting you.

Mando entered the Crest covered in mud. His footprints left a trail up the metal of the ramp. That’s another thing to add to the list of chores, you thought. The planet’s surface was half-swamp, so of course he would come back looking like he just rolled in bantha shit. A struggling bounty that Mando was dragging by the cuffs snapped around their wrists only made the mess worse. 

With a grunt and a push, the quarry was frozen in the carbonite cell before Mando could finish the harsh grit of his, “Dank farrick.” His muddy, gloved hand left a mark on his vambrace when he touched it to close the ramp. 

Silence.

A modulated exhale.

He stood with his expansive shoulders slumped and helmet turned downwards a bit. An apologetic tone crackled through the helmet, “I’m really sorry about the mess,” he slowly said as he used his hands to gesture around him.

Yeah, it wasn’t the most fun chore in the galaxy, but the alternative would be sitting and reading an article on your Holopad. Or sitting next to Mando in the cockpit, the streams of light gleaming off of his armor as you two have a sleepy conversation. They do sound like better alternatives, but you wanted to maximize your time with Mando.

You knew that Mando would help you clean up the mess. More time with Mando greatly sweetened the task of scrubbing the hull.

“I’m going to uh,” he glanced down at the muddy ensemble that covered his body, “go rinse off real quick.” He began his path towards the fresher door and stood still in front of the door. The helmet turned towards his right shoulder, like he was lost in thought. You could tell he concluded his reasoning as the helmet turned back to face the fresher door and he reached up to unlatch his armor. 

First the chest plate was placed on the floor.

Tung.

Then the thigh guards.

Tang. Tang.

Vambraces.

Ting. Ting.

Pauldrons.

Dunk. Dunk.

It wasn’t unusual for Mando to remove his armor outside of the thresher. Occasionally the planet he needed to hunt on was sweltering hot, and removing the armor helped him cool down. Other times it was the inverse, the armor was too cold and he needed to heat up. It made sense to you this time as well. His armor was dirty so removing it before stepping into the fresher helped him clean up easier.

You didn’t realize he would apply the same logic to his mud-soaked flight suit.

Reaching up, his gloved fingers fiddled with the buttons at the top of his shirt. Eventually he was successful in undoing them and brought his hands behind his neck. He gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled it up and over the helmet. Off of his torso and onto the floor.

Plap.

The saturated long sleeve clung to his upper body like a surgical exam glove. Every muscle. Every ripple with his movement. They shined in the light of the Crest and displayed every lean curve of the Mandalorian’s body. Once more he reached up, this time undoing the buttons on his long sleeve.

Oh kriff.

Hands gripping the back collar of the shirt, the removal of the wet, black fabric revealed golden tan skin. Scars littered the expanse of his back from the years of combat he’d endured. The muscles that previously rippled underneath black fabric now gleamed under tan skin, coated with a layer of sweat.

Plap.

Oh kriff.

You were behind the nearly beskar-less man. Knowing he couldn’t see you, your jaw dropped.

Mando stepped out of his shoes, which revealed clean black socks. Hopefully his boots were equipped with mechanisms to keep his feet dry. Lastly, he slid off his gloves.

Plap. Plap.

Veiny, golden hands–matching his torso–were ungloved. His fingers were thick with well kept nails. You supposed that longer nails would make hand-to-hand combat difficult. As he opened the fresher door you watched his hand flex around the handle. His biceps bulged in the process of pulling the metal door open.

Once he was inside the fresher, you heard shuffling. After a minute or two, the door opened slightly. A large hand and toned forearm reached out and discarded his pants and underwear on the floor.

Plap.

The water began to run in the fresher and the pattering of liquid hitting the fresher floor filled the Crest. Occasional variations in the pattering occurred when Mando moved his body underneath the stream of water. 

Then the pattering stopped. Mando must have been drying himself off, the slight shuffling sounds made their way to your ears. Those sounds ceased as well.

The Mandalorian cleared his throat and called out your name, “Um. Hey.”

Blinking a few times, you snapped out of your daydream-like state, “Yeah?” You called in response.

A pause. “Would you mind getting me some pants, please?” His voice was tight–possibly in embarrassment.

Your eyes widened and body sat still, “Uh, yeah sure! Where do you keep clean pairs?” You asked.

“Right side of my bunk. First cabinet on the left.” He raised his voice in order to enunciate his words. 

Before you knew it, you were leaning into Mando’s bunk. Your gaze floated around the space in a quick glance. It was clean and organized. After witnessing his wide and tall frame the bed looked almost too small. Or maybe he just looked that large.

Your hand opened the first cabinet on the left and the other hand selected a clean pair of pants off the top of the stack. They were soft, fleece-like. Realizing they were sweatpants you extended your arm to put them back, but then hesitated as your hand hovered over the pile. Mando just came back from a hunt. A swampy, muddy hunt at that. He should get to be comfortable now.

The sweatpants remained in your hand and your footsteps took you to the fresher door. “I got you a pair,” you shyly announced. 

A squeak came from the fresher door’s hinges as the crack in the door allowed Mando’s hand to stick out of the space. His palm was open, waiting for the pants to meet his touch. Your arm reached forward and placed the soft pants into the grasp of his thick fingers.

“Thank you.” The smooth bass of his voice entered your ears and went south. Air moving through his vocal chords produced warm, honey-like vibrations and they made you melt. “I’ll get the rest,” he concluded, and shut the fresher door. 

You stood and studied your bleary reflection on the fresher door in awe at what you’ve experienced. Mando’s actual voice–without the helmet.

Shuffling began and ended abruptly. Lost in the awe, you didn’t realize the Mandalorian opened the door and took a step out. In consequence, his chest collided with your torso and sent you tumbling backwards. Backwards into a small puddle of swamp water and peaty mud.

“Di’kutla,” Mando let out a now modulated grunt.

Useless, worthless in Mando’a. Your heart stung a bit at the word. It’s not like you wanted to be covered in swamp gunk.

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to make more of a mess,” you stuttered, nervous at the potential of him being mad at you.

Without a word, he reached down and hauled you to your feet, large hands grasped you at your waist. You became off balance and placed your hands on his chest for leverage. A slight gasp escaped your throat at the sudden movement–and at touching Mando’s bare chest.

His skin was soft, but rough. Thin black hairs littered his sternum and the surrounding skin. A light trail made its way down his soft, yet toned, stomach and disappeared past the waist of his sweatpants. Once you realized where your gaze settled–the soft bulge displayed behind the black fabric–your eyes snapped back up to his visor and your hands returned to your sides. Mando’s hands brushed the insides of your forearms. The skin on his hands was rough and warm, just like the skin on his chest.

The T shape tilted and then shook from side to side, “I’m di’kutla, not you. I’m the one that pushed you over.” 

His head peered downwards and noticed the placement of his hands, he quickly jerked them back to his sides and nodded, “Let’s get cleaning.”

–

The Mandalorian quickly pulled an outfit together, which lacked his usual beskar–the same black sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and a pair of black socks–and you mirrored his actions. Thankfully, he only caused your clothes to get dirty and not the rest of you. Your clean outfit was more revealing, which allowed you to bend and twist to scrub the mud off of the Crest’s interior.

While scrubbing, you would catch Mando out of the corner of your eye as he stole glances at you. An eyebrow of yours raised at his glances. You shot him a quick, “Don’t worry Mando, I’m getting it all,” in a teasing manner.

Looking back at the beskar-less man, he shook his helmet and chuckled, “I’m not worried about you getting it all. You keep the Crest sparkling clean. Was just…seeing if you needed help over there.” His visor returned to focus on the task of removing the mud from the floor of the hull.

–

The cleaning finished after an hour and a half. You were shocked at the efficiency, but you supposed two people cleaning aided in achieving the cleanliness of the Crest. Scrubbing the silver floors and walls tired you out, and Mando certainly felt the same after his hunt and scrubbing.

Sleep permeated throughout the air of the Crest and nestled itself into yours and Mando’s bodies. Fluid motions weaved your bodies past each other throughout the hull. Mando went back to change in his bunk while you used the fresher for your nightly routine. Once you were finished, you closed all the cabinets in the small space, signaling the return of your nightly products to their original places.

Which usually signaled Mando to stand outside of the fresher door.

His footsteps became louder as he strode to his usual spot across from the metal door of the fresher. You weren’t surprised to see Mando leaning against the wall of the hull.

But you were surprised at the bare chest staring back at you. The dark hairs on his chest littered your vision once more. The Mandalorian’s arms were crossed, which displayed every finely tuned muscle in the dim light of the hull.

You wanted to jump his bones. Climb him like a tree. Feel the expanse of his trunk-like arms under your palms.

“Are you all done there?” His modulated bass crackled through your thoughts. Straightening up and snapping out of your daydreams, you stepped to the side and nodded. Mando’s frame became larger as he approached you. Once your bodies were about to pass each other, an ungloved hand settled on your hip and gave you a slight squeeze.

“Thank you,” he said. His visor met your eyes before he closed the door to the fresher. 

You got comfy in your makeshift bed–a nice pillow, a thick sleeping pad, and a cozy blanket–and waited for Mando to finish his nightly routine. You always tried to stay up and say good night to Mando before you drifted off to sleep.

Facing the side of the Crest the fresher was on, your head hit the cushion of your pillow and your thoughts wandered.

Mando looked so fucking good. Deliciously good.

You’ve had thoughts about him before. Perverse thoughts. But they were never this strong. But you’ve also never seen him this bare this many times.

His strong arms could wrap around you and flood your body with his warmth. Broad hands would travel up and down your back, soothing any negative thoughts away. Warm skin against yours could act like a salve for your worries.

You could think of everything vividly. His arms. Hands. Chest. Even his legs.

But the feel and morphology of his lips was blurry in your mind's eye.

Yet, you wanted his lips so bad–wanted him so bad–that you didn’t mind the unfocused image in your brain.

You wanted his lips to chase after yours like they were a bounty with the highest reward he’s seen. You needed to feel the slick of his saliva mixing with yours. The dancing of your two tongues in a battle of lust. Not only did you pine after his kiss, but you sought everything that would accompany it as well.

Mando’s ungloved hands would run up and down the planes of your body. Squeezing and palming your features as he pleased, expressing his want for you. The comfortable weight of him on top of you as your mouths molded together. His shifting muscles underneath your palms as you copied his wandering hands. You’d trail your fingertips over the never-ending expanse of his firm back. The pressure of his hard shaft would grind against your mound.

And the sounds.

The sounds.

You’ve heard him grunt before, in pain, effort, exertion, while he handled his bounties.

But you wanted to cause the sounds instead.

His lips could slide against yours and vibrate as he lets out a soft groan of pleasure. The bare chest on top of yours would rumble, sending shivers of delight up and down your spine. Your fingers would dig into his back in response, which would only increase the intensity of his groans. His breath would hitch as the head of his cock rubbed against the point in your walls that had you reeling.

And finally his voice.

Modulated or not, you hoped he would reciprocate the want you had for him. Your thighs pressed together in an attempt to soothe the ache between them.

“Maker, you feel so good.”

“Need you right now.”

“You like that, baby? Yeah? Good.”

“Fuucckkk, always so good for m-.”

You were cut off by the squeaky hinges of the fresher door, accompanied by Mando’s footsteps. Still shirtless, he came into one side of your vision and slowly walked to the other side. Your face heated up at his presence and the thoughts you just had about him. He stopped in front of his bunk and looked at you. 

The T of his visor became diagonal, “You okay?” He questioned you.

Realizing he caught on, your face heated up even more as you produced a response, “Y-yeah! Yeah. Just…thinking.”

Nice save.

His helmet returned to its natural positioning. “What’re you thinking about?” He questioned once again. His large hands clasped in front of him just below his waist. Maker, he was huge. Mando put the width of the doorframe to shame as he continued to stare at you.

“Just…” You quickly tried to remedy the one sided awkwardness. “Just thinking about a book I’m reading. The plot is getting more complex.” Your shoulders rose and fell in a shrug to make your answer seem nonchalant.

“What book? Is it the cowboy one?” Mando replied. He leaned against the doorframe to get comfortable.

Your heart throbbed at his thoughtfulness. The cowboy-related book was one you brought up to him a couple weeks ago, when he asked what you were reading. Not wanting to lie to him, you shook your head and told the truth, “No, I finished that one a couple days ago. This one is about,” you trailed off, and then lied, “This is a romance book.” Your face became hot once again. At least you weren’t completely lying.

“Romance?” Mando asked, “What’s this book called?” His helmet tilted in interest. You could pick up a teasing tone if you listened closely enough.

“Oh, I don’t think you’d like it,” you returned. He usually asked for book titles when he was interested in reading them as well. 

His bare shoulders shrugged, causing his chest to flex for a moment. “Was just curious what you were reading.” He sounded a bit disappointed. The door frame appeared to widen as he turned to enter his bunk.

Not wanting to leave him hanging, you made up a book title, “Hunter and Prey.” Your eyes widened at the sheer explicitness of the three words that left your lips. Hunter and Prey? Really? It would have been easier just to tell him what you were daydreaming about him railing you. 

Mando’s broad frame filled the entrance to his bunk once again. “Hunter and Prey?” He said in a teasing tone, one much more decipherable. 

You throw his tone right back at him, “Oh c’mon. The book has romance and adventure. Two birds with one stone.” You’ve told him how much you like adventure books, so hopefully your lie stuck.

The beskar helmet slanted in thought. “I guess so,” he settled his playful response and paused. A playful tone arose from his modulator once more, 

“Don’t get too interested in bounty hunters. I think getting caught is only fun in the books.” His chest, dark hairs splaying across the surface, vibrated as he chuckled.

A slight smile spread across your face at his joke, “You never know, some bounty hunters don’t take their job as seriously as you do,” you stuck your tongue out at him in jest. 

Mando shook his head, probably biting back a chuckle, and faced his torso towards you for the final time that night, “Good night.” 

Still smiling, you responded, “Good night.”

The bunk door shut and only a dim light in the hull remained as a light source. Shadows from different cargo boxes cast themselves across the silver wall. It would take too much work to decipher which reflections on the walls belonged to which items. Warm light from a lamp near your living space casted a blanket of relaxation over the area. You couldn’t escape the feeling, and your body slumped into the material of the sleeping pad.

Once you closed your eyes, you realized your body was the only thing that the warm light seemed to calm down. In your mind, one thought took center stage.

Mando.

The way he leaned against the door frame. A broad expanse of dark hair covered his chest and traveled down past his waist, the horizontal and vertical lines of hair mimicking the T of his visor. Crossed arms were decorated with a smooth topography of muscles. His voice, laced with relaxation and ease. How attentiveness was like second nature to him. 

How far did that attentiveness extend?

You thought about how carefully he listened and remembered details from your conversations. Picking up on things you’ve needed without you even realizing they’re necessary. Like the sleeping pad you’re laying on. The warm, cozy blanket he came back with one day. 

Would he do the same in bed?

Your hand traveled down to your mound. Dipping under your waistband, your fingertips found your clit. Slow motions started to stimulate the bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. It wasn’t the first time you masturbated on the Crest, you were human after all. But it was the first time you masturbated without assistance–from a book, video, or picture–and were spurred on by thoughts alone. 

He’d probably listen to your breath hitch as his thick, veiny fingers hooked into a spot on your inner walls just right. And he’d continue, hitting that exact spot over and over. With trained precision. Like it was nothing.

Upper teeth bite down on your lower lip as you thought about his fingers inside of you. How thick they are. How skilled he would be with them. Wet seeped from your slit onto your bottoms. The fingertips from your clit reached down to collect your wetness, and you resumed rubbing your clit at a faster pace.

He’d make you cum like it was his duty, as if it was part of his Creed. With confidence. Pride. Mando’s fingers would be soaked, so soaked that he’d raise them to meet your mouth. “Open.” He’d demand.

You knew you’d get that wet for him because you were already that wet for him. One of your hands continued rubbing your bundle while the other dipped into your entrance. A singular finger eased its way into your hole, but you wanted to feel the stretch. The stretch you knew his fingers would easily provide. Bringing another finger against the original one, you prodded at your entrance once more. You pushed into your wetness with two fingers.

That’s it.

Your eyes closed. Jaw dropped. 

Your thoughts wandered to his fingers once more, syncing your thoughts with the way your body felt. 

You’d take his fingers into your mouth and suck your slick from them. Right before they would retract, you coated the two digits in a layer of saliva. He observed his own fingers and understood your silent plea. “You want more, baby?” You nodded. His fingers returned to your wet hole and filled you once again.

Your own two fingers weren’t as thick as Mando’s, so you got used to the feeling of two. You needed more. The circling at your clit kept a constant pace as a third finger joined your other two. Your thoughts jumped to something that wasn’t his fingers.

His cock.

The soft bulge underneath the black fabric of his sweatpants. It was sizable, even when he was soft–you assumed he was soft–so how big would he be when he’s turned on? If his genetics maintained their pattern, he would be big.

He’d lean over you and line his hips up with yours. Each of your legs rested on one of his sides. A large hand would grip your hip to steady you, as he pushed the thick head of his cock into you. Mando would remain attentive. You knew he’d watch your face and listen to your breaths, your moans. His heavy cock found the same spot inside of you that his fingers did.

Your inner walls clenched around your three fingers. The strokes you took were slow and drawn out, savoring the fullness of your warmth.

Once he saw that you were comfortable, he’d pick up his pace. Your moaning increased, littered with, “please,” and, “Mando,” over and over. He’d groan at his name, fucking into you with more strength. Mando put the weight of his body behind his thrusts. Your body shifted up the mattress from the effort he put in. 

A small, wet sound began to echo across the hull, but you were too close to care. The hand at your clit fell into a perfect rhythm with the thrusts of the fingers entering and leaving your soaking hole. You bit your lip as you quieted a moan that threatened to leak from your mouth.

Mando’s broad palm and thick fingers would lace between yours, holding your conjoined hands above your head while he fucked into you. The head of his cock perfectly brushed against a spot deep within your walls. A place that you couldn’t reach by yourself. The Mandalorian’s hot breath fanned across your neck, he panted and groaned from his exertion. 

Another brush against your walls and you squeezed around him. “Fuucckkk,” he’d moan into your neck. He continued his pace and littered your neck in sloppy kisses. “That’s a good fucking girl.”

Both of your hands worked faster. Three fingers fucked into your hole, curled to try and hit the spot deep inside of you. Your other hand increased the pace of the study rub over your throbbing clit. The bottoms you wore felt soaked against your lower hand, yet you couldn’t care less.

Mando’s thrusts would be relentless. Hard. Fast. The weight of his heavy balls slapped against the tighter hole beneath the one he was fucking. 

Plap. Plap. Plap.

Each thrust would be so final. Conclusive. He fucked you like he knew exactly how this would end. His visor hovered over your face. Your jaw was dropped and your eyebrows were furrowed. The horizontal line of his visor filled your vision. His voice was merely a growl, as he demanded, “Cum for me.”

Your body went stiff as euphoria washed over you in waves. Each wave took you apart and brought you back together. The wetness of your hole only became wetter, the sound echoed a bit louder than before. Despite your attention to staying quiet, your orgasm raged on. Every reassembly from each wave of pleasure calmed your being, and your stiff form slumped into your sleeping pad. Your hands kept moving, but at a slower pace. Another wave followed every thrust of your fingers. You savored the warmth your orgasm brought you. Halting your hands, your mind came-to. 

That was the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had.

–

That hunt kriffing sucked, Mando thought.

Cold water ran down Mando’s body as he rinsed himself off in the fresher. Drops of liquid pattered onto the metal floor, pooling at his feet. Everything in his body felt limp, a result of his exhaustion from the hunt. 

The only thing that wasn’t limp was his dick.

Mando was already on the edge of his perverse thoughts. Seeing you, comfortable and cozy, made his heart swell–and his cock. Providing for you was like breathing. After every hunt he looked forward to meeting your gaze and a soft smile spreading across your face. 

Not only did he get to see you comfortable, but he saw you displaying your attraction to him. A display that included dropping your jaw when he took his shirt off.

He caught you gawking at him in the reflection of his chest plate. Your jaw dropped when he removed his final layers, and Maker, it only made his situation worse. Not only was his body dirty, his thoughts were dirty too. 

Before his brain started to spiral, he quickly completed his rinse-off and turned off the shower in the fresher. Stepping out, he realized he didn’t bring any fresh clothes in with him. 

Shit.

You were in the hull and would probably bring him something if he asked for it. But what does he ask for? A full outfit? He at least needed bottoms. He thought of how complicated it would be to explain where multiple things are in his bunk through the metal door of the fresher, so he opted to just ask for one thing–pants.

“Um. Hey. Would you mind getting me some pants, please?” Mando asked. He was a tad embarrassed. He plans hunts meticulously to save the most amount of time, he’s attentive to every detail in combat, and he forgot to bring pants into the fresher with him.

You brought him the pair and the Mandalorian quickly changed. Pausing before he touched the door handle, Mando became nervous. What if your jaw-dropping was one of disgust and not of attraction?

Only one way to find out.

–

Mando laid on the mattress in his bunk and finally let his thoughts wander. They wandered like a desperate quarry. So desperate to find a discreet place to live, but showing themselves at some point in the end.

He thought of the book you were allegedly reading: Hunter and Prey. You were reading a romance novel. About bounty hunters. 

His hardened cock only made his sweatpants tighter. Hips shifting upwards, he sought relief in adjusting his position. The only thing adjusting did was rub the head of his cock against the fabric of his pants. Black fabric created a heart-stopping friction against his tip. 

Dank farrick.

Finally giving in to his perverse thoughts, he let them wander. Just like how he would let an easy bounty wander around town. At any minute, he could capture them and complete his hunt, but sometimes he enjoyed “playing with his food” first.

His imagination put you on center stage. Your hair. Your eyes. The shape of your body and the planes of it he sought to run his hands over. Warm skin would glide underneath his palms and act like a sedative. Calmness washed over his mind. Then he thought of your lips. So delicately crafted. Your lips framed your gorgeous smile, like they were housing an ancient masterpiece in an art gallery.

The smile you gave him whenever he returned from a hunt made his heart melt. You’d be snuggled up reading, bent over the small stove cooking, or hunched over a mechanical issue. No matter the situation, you would look up and find his gaze behind his visor. Something anyone else could rarely accomplish. He finally felt like he had a purpose hunting, besides survival. 

You.

You’d meet him halfway and wrap your arms around his torso. His arms would snake around your torso and hold you in a tight hug. “I missed you,” he’d say. “I missed you too,” your response would vibrate against his chest. His hands would run up and down your back, relishing the feel of your body in his capable arms. 

He groaned at the thought. In frustration of not being able to have you. The simple image of a hug had him reeling, desperate to meld his being with yours. You were so perfect and lived in his damn ship. You spoke with him as if he were just Din, and not Mando. Images of domesticity juxtaposed images of his bounty hunting profession. It was a blessing and a curse. 

The pair of you would retreat to his bunk and turn off the lights. Your bodies would press together as the two of you shared the space of the mattress. He would press his helmet into your hair, smelling the faint scent of you through the metal–and the shampoo you recently bought at a market. He’d use his broad hands and thick arms to bring you closer to him, nearly crushing you via cuddling.

Mando’s face heated up at the thought. Feeling the heat of your body against his was something he would be willing to get on his knees and beg for.

Hands would begin to drift and adventure in a bold manner. His palms would glide up and down your body, stopping occasionally to grasp and rub different areas. He thought of the way your ass would feel in his palms. Soft. A cushion. A spectacle he almost didn’t feel deserving of. His hands would wander north and his fingers would tease your nipples through your shirt. You’d gasp in response and squirm against him.

Maker. He almost forgot. The sounds you would make. The Mandalorian groaned and reached down to palm his cock through his sweatpants. Relief flooded his body like how precum flooded from the head of his cock. Rough palms glided up and down the silky skin of his shaft. Once the friction became too much, he reached into a side compartment and produced a small bottle. Squeezing the plastic sides of the bottle, a small dollop of lube was squirted onto his fingers. He quickly returned to his thoughts and his actions. The lube allowed his large grip to seamlessly run along the length of his shaft.

Shit. Would you be this wet?

After exploring the feel of your body, Mando would pull you to sit in his lap. You’d be in between his legs with your back facing him, your legs resting out in front of you. He’d grip the insides of your knees and encourage you to let your legs fall to either side. Once he was pleased with the positioning he asked, “Is it okay if I take these off?” Rough fingertips pinched at the waistband of your pants and underwear. Getting an enthusiastic nod and a small, raspy ‘yes’ in response, the Mandalorian pulled both articles of clothing off of your lower half. 

He focused his strokes near the tip of his cock. The nerves in the head of his shaft sent electric currents through his body. Normally his self-pleasure sessions weren’t this intense, but you did something to him. You were special. Better than any brothel service. Any piece of pornography. You were gorgeous. Beautiful. Mesh’la. 

He thought of dipping his fingers into your slit. Hopefully, that would pull another gasp from you. Every breathy exhale and pleasured sound only increased his need to hear them more frequently. Starting with one finger, his fingertip would push into your entrance. He’d go slow at first, pumping in and out of your wet sex knuckle by knuckle. Mando would give you some time to adjust to the feeling, and then increase his pace. Moans and gasps fell from your lips much more frequently than before. Your pussy was soaked from just a few fast strokes from his thick finger. If you were comfortable with it, he’d slip another finger alongside the singular one. His pace slowly increased to resume the speed that had your back and shaking legs pressed against his. 

“Ohhh, Ma- Mando-o,” would quietly cry from your throat.

“Fucckkk,” Mando said under his helmet.

Wet sounds emanated from the action of stroking his rough grip up and down his thick shaft. Underneath the helmet, he bit his lip in frustration. He already imagined you could feel heavenly around his fingers, but he needed to feel your slick walls around his cock.

First he would make you cum with his fingers. The orgasm would send you reeling back into his hold. You’d be a shaking and stuttering mess, reaching for one of his broad hands and lacing your fingers between his. An effective way to ground yourself.

“Good girl,” he’d praise.

After you came down from your high, his strong arms would bring you to lay down long ways on the mattress. Parting your legs once more, Mando’s broad hips settled between yours. Glistening folds were presented to him at the center of his vision. You looked delicious. He wished to taste you, but his need to fuck you overtook the pleads from his tastebuds.

His thumb rubbed slow circles on the bundle of nerves between your legs. Your sparkling eyes would meet the gaze behind his visor and your brows would furrow in desperation. He’d do anything you wanted. Anything to please you. 

“What do you want, mesh’la?” His gravelly voice echoed throughout the small bunk.

You’d bite your lip, shyness creeping over your face, but you overcame the feeling. He loved it when you were confident in asking for something from him. “I want you to fuck me,” you requested.

Mando let out a strangled groan at his thought of the words. He loved knowing that you wanted him. He loved when you voiced your desires, sexual or not. Your comfort in his presence was the most potent aphrodisiac Mando could consume. The tip of his cock throbbed at the thought, and his thumb reached up to attempt to sooth the sensation. Bare hips bucked into the air at the touch.

He would line his hips up with yours and prod the wide head of his shaft against your wet entrance. Before pushing in, he reached towards a cabinet to produce his bottle of lube. Mando quickly spread a generous amount over the veiny surface of his cock. As much as he wanted to fuck you, your comfort was his upmost priority. Giving himself a few strokes with his large grip–your eyes trained on his hands–he lowered his hips once more. The T of his helmet stared into your face as he slowly pushed into you. 

Your jaw would drop, just like it did in the reflection on his chest plate. The slick walls of your pussy hugged his thick cock, making his jaw drop in unison.

His wide hand tightened around his hardness. Each stroke had him fucking himself into his grip. Mando’s jaw clenched in concentration, the combination of his hand and thoughts of you were furthering him closer and closer to the edge.

The Mandalorian nearly collapsed on top of you, but he caught himself on his elbows, caging you in his hold. Silver beskar making up his helmet hovered over your face, his eyes trained on yours. A whimper escaped from your throat when the head of his cock brushed against a particular spot. He honed into the point and hit it repeatedly, with precision. 

Your fingers dug into his bare back, most likely leaving crescent marks in their wake. He dropped his helmet into the crook of your neck. The action allowed him to hear every sound you made. Sometimes simple breathy moans, interrupted by his slow, yet strong thrusts. Other times, you’d attempt sentences:

“Ma- Mando. Maker, you feel so good.”

“K-kriff you’re b-big.”

“Mm-mm-mm, don’t, stop.”

A knot coiled in the pit of Mando’s stomach. He threw his head back into a plush pillow and focused his grip towards the tip of his cock. Quiet, slick sounds filled the space of the metal-lined bunk. His breath quickened as his imagination delved deeper.

Mando’s thrusts slowed to a near halt as he raised an arm and propped an elbow to hit a switch on the wall. The space went dark. Everything went silent.

Hiss.

Tunk.

In a hurry, he muttered, “can I kiss you, baby?”

Instead of replying in words, you craned your neck to meld your plush lips with his. Delightful needles ran up and down Mando’s body in pleasure. In disbelief. Feeling your lips on his was something he’s only dreamt of, knowing that completing the action would be a risk to his Creed.

But at this moment, Creed be damned, he craved the motions of your mouth against his. Fighting and expressing a bond that he longed for, slick lips slid against each other in a battle of lust-influenced emotions. Mando pushed his tongue into your mouth, and in the same motion, pushed his cock further into your wet heat.

His mouth swallowed your moans as he rutted the head of his cock against the particularly sensitive spot within your walls. The grip you had on his broad back became stronger. Skin against his hips brushed against the skin of your inner thighs, and your legs captured his body closer to yours. Lips tightened against his, shifting into a portrayal of pleasure, leaving you unable to kiss him properly. In response, the Mandalorian buried his head into the crook of your neck and placed sloppy kisses along your skin.

Almost there. Jaw clenched and teeth gritting, Mando fucked into his fist at a brutal pace. Soft pants accompanied the slick sounds in filling the space of his bunk. Maker, he hoped you were asleep. He didn’t know how much louder he’d get, and more importantly, how much control he had over his volume.

Unable to maintain a steady grip on his back any longer, your grasp traveled to the soft, wavy locks of his hair. The Mandalorian groaned. He didn’t realize how much he craved that simple contact, one many took for granted. Your fingertips massaged his scalp, and it was as if you massaged all of his worrisome, negative thoughts away. 

“Oh, kriff Mando, keep going. F-fuck, you make me feel s-so good.”

A few more firm, yet gentle thrusts of his cock made you squeeze your soaking walls around his shaft. His balls felt heavy against your ass. He knew he was close.

“Mando, oh, oh, Mando, I’m gonna cum,” you whined out, the sound filled his ears as he continued his pace and his languid kisses against your neck.

Mando squeezed his eyes shut. Teeth dug into the thin skin of his lower lip, the hairs of his mustache tickled the skin directly below his lip. Large hands maintained the quick pace along the silky skin of his cock. Just a few more strokes and he was done for.

A knot twisted and turned in the pit of his stomach, and he fucked into your glistening seam with more vigor. Your moans became strangled whines. Each escaping gasp climbed octaves until you finally snapped and clamp your pussy around his cock.

“I’m cumming, oh fuck. Oh, Din!”

The Mandalorian snarled as thick streams of cum erupted from the head of his cock. Translucent, white liquid covered his stomach and chest. His head spun as the waves of pleasure washed over him. The sensations dug themselves deep into his bones and he felt like he was floating. A cloud of ecstasy trapped him and he didn’t want to leave. Seeking to draw his orgasm out longer, he continued fucking his hand until the sensations became too much. Mando’s chest dramatically rose and fell in the aftermath. Panting, he looked down at the mess he made on himself.

That was the strongest orgasm he’d ever had.

Reaching towards a different cabinet, he grabbed a soft towel and began wiping up his mess. Thoughts rushed throughout his mind, in contrast from his usual mindset after masturbating. In the chorus of wandering thoughts that still occupied his mind, one made itself bold and prominent.

Maker, he needs to ask you on a date.

–

Mando stood a meter or two in front of you. His hands hung uselessly by his sides. Posture slightly askew, you could sense he was doubting himself. Thick fingers played with the strings on the bracelet while he waited for your response.

Your jaw went slack, eyes widened. So you weren’t crazy. Everything added up. He made caf for you every morning. The small ‘good nights’ he gave you every night. The even smaller ones with an added word in Mando’a, one he never said around you. The things he told you, about his son, about his feelings, that he never said to anyone else. How he was careful around you, trying not to look intimidating. He tried to make you comfortable at all times.

He cared just like you cared.

You placed one foot in front of the other, giving Mando time to back up if he wanted. He remained in place as he waited for your approach. The armored man stood like a statue in the hull. The beskar and the metal of the Crest became one. If you didn’t focus on him too much, he almost looked like a statue erected in the middle of the hull. As the toes of your boots met the toes of his, you snaked your arms around his waist and pressed your head to his chestplate.

Mando instantly wrapped you up in his solid arms. His helmet was buried into the crook of your neck, the cold metal delightfully stung your skin, and he squeezed you. The Mandalorian’s large hands ran up and down your back as his hold refused to let you go.

You didn’t want to let him go either. Your body sought fusion with his warmth, with his being. All of the comfort he provided. All of the safety that he gave you. It seeped through his body to yours. A sense of peace washed over you.

Mando’s helmet shifted towards your head more, the modulator crackling near your ear, “Is it safe to say we feel the same?” His broad hand continued to rub along your back. The warmth from his palm created the most soothing sensation you’ve experienced. Bringing yourself out of the state of bliss to recognize the question he was asking, your brows furrowed. He almost sounded uncertain of himself, voice tinged with hope.

You leaned backwards to look into his visor. A Mandalorian. The Mandalorian. Sworn to a creed of combat and honor. Mando didn’t have a problem taking down a dozen people at a time, but confessing his feelings to you made him nervous. A small chuckle escaped from your chest at the realization.

The corners of your eyes crinkled from your laughter. His helmet tilted in confusion. “Yes, Mando, we feel the same.” You raised a hand to hold the crook of his neck, rubbing your thumb along the fabric of his cowl.

He pulled you into another hug, this one with more space between the two of you, so he could look down and into your eyes. Your hands rested on his chest plate, and his rested on your waist. A rumbling feeling against your hands made your head tilt in confusion this time. Mando continued to clear his throat. His breaths got slightly quicker.

“I feel like I need to explain th-,” the Mandalorian cleared his throat once again, “I need to explain the condoms.”

Your eyes widened. He doesn’t have to explain himself, but if he wasn’t going to the brothel, why did he need them? Mando only expressed interest in you, as far as you know.

Oh.

Oh.

The beskar-clad man’s chest rose and fell with a deep inhale and exhale, preparing himself for explaining the condoms on the receipt from the market.

“I was going to ask you out on a date. Just something simple,” he shrugged and brought his covered eyes to meet yours, “I bought your favorite snacks, got us some takeout, and I was going to give you the bracelet then. I just wanted to be prepared in case anything…escalated.” 

Cheeks burning, you took Mando’s hands into yours. You smirked and gave him a light chuckle. “You would try to fuck me on the first date, Mando?”

He looked down at the floor of the hull and shook his head. “I’d only do what you’re comfortable with,” he said, giving your hands a squeeze. 

“You also don’t even know if I would have said yes to a date,” you teased him.

A low rumble resonated from his chest, he hooked a finger through one of your belt loops to pull you closer. “I think I might have made a fair assumption.”

Hands glided up Mando’s chest, and you clasped them behind his neck. “You’ll never know unless you ask…” Another rumble came from his chest. A hand snaked its way from your waist to your chin. Mando’s index finger and thumb grabbed your chin and made you look at him face-to-face. 

“Well, would you like to go on a date with me?” The beskar helmet tilted and gleamed in the faint lights of the Crest’s hull. 

“Yes, Mando, of course I do.” Your eyes took after Mando’s helmet and they gleamed with joy. The dull silver of the hull starkly contrasted your excitement. Warmth between the two of you radiated and exploded throughout the space. Your energies seeped into the metal of the Crest just as your feelings seeped into each other's consciousness.

Mando’s large hand returned to rub long lines up and down your back. “I got your favorite snacks, some takeout…” He reminded you as his speech trailed off.

“How soon can we go on the date?” You asked eagerly in response. Snacks, takeout, and Mando sounded like the perfect combination. A perfect way to turn around the anxious thoughts that clouded your mind not even an hour ago.

“We can do it now…?” Mando suggested slowly.

“Yes! Yes please!” You bounced in place and threw your arms around the Mandalorian. He reciprocated your hug with an even tighter squeeze and pulled away from you.

“Let me find a good place to park the Crest,” Mando walked away and climbed the ladder to the cockpit. You went to follow him, but he turned and stopped you at the base of the ladder. “You stay down here, it’s going to be a surprise.” Before you could respond he bounded up the ladder and began takeoff.

–

Mando pressed his vambrace and the ramp slowly revealed the market in the distance. Lights flashed and others were lit in different colors. Rolling hills were lit up by the faint glow. The sun was fully set, which allowed the sky to display an array of stars.

“This is beautiful, Mando.” You turned towards the man in silver and he wasn't looking at the sky. Not looking at the gorgeous colors streaking out from the center of the market, onto the landscape. Not even the different lights and colors that lit the small town.

His gaze was focused on you.

“I was hoping you’d like it.” He took a few steps closer to you with the market bag, a blanket, and two pillows in hand. Stepping in front of you, he laid out the blanket where the hull’s floor meets the ramp. Reaching into the market bag, he took out an assortment of snacks and a takeout meal for each of you.

“Mando, you didn’t have to do all of this,” you chuckled in amazement.

“I didn’t have to, yes. But I wanted to,” he bends down to sit on the blanket and he offers a hand to help you down. You took it and plopped down next to him, your thigh brushed his as you reached for different food items. Mando leaned on his arms placed behind him, watching in amusement as you enjoyed yourself.

The assortment he managed to purchase amazed you. Each item was something you’ve mentioned to him before. A shiny bag of one particular food, a box filled with something else, and a steaming takeout container of another dish. Relishing the diversity of it all, thoughts of Mando’s enjoyment prodded your mind.

You turn to him, “Aren’t you going to eat?” 

His helmet turned towards you and he waited a second. The helmet. No kriff, he can’t eat with you.

“I’m sorry, I for-.” Mando stopped you.

“You know I don’t mind when you eat in front of me,” he started.

He was right. You felt bad in the mornings when you sipped on your caf and indulged in your breakfast. He was probably hungry after a night’s rest. The Mandalorian told you at the time, “I’m used to it. Mandalorians never bonded over food or eating.”

Expecting the same reasoning to leave his mouth and filter through the helmet, you were shocked when he chose a different path.

“I’ve been planning this for a while, mesh’la,” he paused and adjusted his positioning on the ground, “I’ve been thinking of ways to eat with you…” He explained, and then trailed off. 

He’s been thinking of ways to eat with you. To eat. With you. Something he’s never done with you before. In the past, you’ve tried to get him to, even saying you’d wear a blindfold, but he never wanted to take that step.

And what does mesh’la mean?

“You don’t have to, I understand if-.” You began to tell him.

“I think I found a way that I would be comfortable with,” Mando said.

“What is–. Oh, Maker!” You squealed as Mando scooped you up and placed you in his lap. Your back to him and your legs tangled with his. As soon as you settled, the Mandalorian took his takeout container and brought it between your back and his stomach. 

“There’s one rule,” his modulator crackles in your ear as he rests the temple of his helmet against your actual temple, “you can’t turn around.”

“I won’t,” you squeaked, heart beating out of your chest, “I swear to you.” 

The cold feeling of the beskar disappeared from the side of your head. What you didn’t expect was the hiss of the helmet breaking its seal around Mando’s head, even though it was implied. What you definitely didn’t expect was for Mando to place the helmet just enough forward that you could see it in your peripheral as you ate.

You forgot Mando was a human. He had a head and a face. And his face was not the one that peaked at you from the corner of your eye. His face is the one directly behind your head.

The popping sounds of the food container being opened snapped you out of your thoughts. Mando’s utensils clinked against the sides of the container as he gathered food to put into his mouth. 

“Mmmm,” he grunts out, his mouth probably full of food. A few more seconds went by, “that’s really good.”

His voice.

His unmodulated voice.

It was like honey dripped over your body. Soaked through your skin and traveled through your veins. Soothed you. The warmth between you two increased yet again. Not just physical warmth, but the warmth you felt when you discovered new things about each other. When you discover new ways to care and new things to remember.

“What’s on your mind?” His large, calloused hand found the crook of your knee and gave it a light squeeze. His other hand set his empty food container to the side. That was fast, you thought. But you suppose he eats for business, not for pleasure.

“What does mesh’la mean?” You asked him as you marveled at the sight of the market again. His knees pressed into yours and the hand not on your knee snaked around your waist as he pulled you closer to him. 

He tucked his face into the crook of your neck. His breath fanned over your ear and he tightened his arm around you as he spoke, “Mesh’la is Mando’a,” he hummed as he pecked a quick kiss onto your neck, “Mesh’la means beautiful.” 

You smiled, face heating up, and hummed another question, “and what does cyar’ika mean?”

Mando buried his face into the back of your hair and left another quick peck on your head. He pulled away to mutter near your ear, “Cyar’ika roughly translates to sweetheart.”

Your torso vibrated against his, that’s really sweet, you thought, but you wanted to tease him a bit, “First date and you’re already calling me beautiful, huh? And you’ve been calling me cyar’ika for a while now.” A smirk splayed across your face.

The Mandalorian went stiff and asked, “For a while?” Confusion radiated from him and his beskar.

Your smirk morphed into a small smile. “Sometimes I wait up for you when you go on hunts, or I happen to be awake when you come back,” your heartbeat picks up at your confession, but you continued, “I like hearing you say good night to me. It’s…comforting. But then you started tacking ‘cyar’ika’ onto the end of it.” You shrugged like it was nothing.

Mando shifted underneath you, realizing he’d been caught red handed. Then he countered with, “One year of being crew partners and you’re already planning matching bracelets, huh?”

He got you there.

Softly giggling, you reach an arm backwards and bat a hand at his chest, playfully tapping him. A chuckle comes from behind your head. His hold around your waist fastens and he brings his wrist donning the bracelet out in front of you. He wraps his large hand around yours, the one with your bracelet on your wrist. You peer down and admire the identical weavings of thread.

Mando’s throat clears behind you and he speaks softly next to your ear, “I think you have good taste. It matches my armor,” his knee comes up to nudge yours. A moment of silence followed, “The green is for my son, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” meekly comes from your throat. The broad grasp covering your own gave your hand a squeeze. Mando rested his chin on your shoulder and faced the crook of your neck. Soft breaths fanned over your exposed skin.

“Did I get his color right?” You questioned. He previously said Grogu was a light green color, and you hoped the color on the bracelets mimicked his color.

The Mandalorian brought your joined hands up to focus on the color of the light green thread weaving from between the silver and brown. When he spoke, his tone sounded strained, “Yeah, yeah that’s probably it.”

When Mando last spoke to you about his son, he said it’s been a year or so since he gave them to the Jedi. A year without his little one, the bundle of joy that Mando cherished. Then the reason for his uncertain answer and strained voice washed over you.

“You,” an exhale steadied your soft speech, “You can’t remember his color that well, can you?”

A shaking breath made the man’s torso shudder against yours, “No, I can’t,” he admitted in a tight voice. His face pressed deeper into the crook of your neck and he held you close to his chest. You rubbed circles along the back of his hand in comfort. Hesitantly, you brought your other hand behind you and ran your fingers through his hair.

The texture of it made your heart melt. It was longer than you thought it’d be, you assumed he would keep it short so it didn’t bother him within the confines of his helmet. Soft waves brushed through your fingers. Your fingertips lightly scratched at the roots of his hair on his scalp.

You thought your heart melted, but Mando melted exponentially more. The large frame that was his body nearly crushed yours with the tension he released. A soft groan left his throat and vibrated against your neck. Mando’s body loosely wrapped around yours in a protective shell.

“I was hoping that the green on the bracelet would make you think of him. It could make you remember,” you explained to him, continuing the scratches against his scalp.

Then it was silent. Sounds of your exhales and the small rustling sounds of your fingers through his waves of hair were the only ones that traveled to your ear drums. The Mandalorian was heavy against you, boneless, acting as a beskar-weighted blanket. His warmth permeated from his body to yours. It was comforting. He was comforting.

Then a sharp inhale from Mando, “I have to thank you,” he began.

You nearly snapped around to respond, but you kept your gaze trained on the twinkling lights of the market. “For what?” You asked.

“For everything,” he added.

Was Mando really giving you a job review right now? On your first date? “Mando,” you chuckled and shook your head, “I’m just doing my job.”

“I’m not talking about the job, cyar’ika.”

Your eyes widened. Oh. No words exited your mouth.

Mando continued, “I need to thank you for making me feel safe. You’re, you ju–,” he sighed in annoyance with himself. “I’m sorry. I’m not too good at this.” His strong arms gave your waist a squeeze. 

Before you could reply, he resumed his train of thought. “You make me feel emotionally safe. I know I can tell you anything. Share whatever is on my mind. And you’ll be there for me,” a deep inhale interrupted his speech, “and I haven’t had that since I had Grogu.” 

His tone was strained once again and he shook his head while it was nestled near your neck. Gaining composure, he explained, “People look at me and see this bloodthirsty Mandalorian. They’re scared of me. Kriff, I’m sure some have mistaken me for some emotionless droid,” his speech snarled at the word.

You smirked at his distaste for the metal beings, but you didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts with a snide remark.

“But you see me as human. As a man with emotions and thoughts. You talk to me like I’m just a guy that happens to be covered in beskar.”

That was where you butted in, “Because that’s what you are Mando. And you’re not just some guy. You’re a Mandalorian, an actual one, the ones that no one seems to recognize today. Mandalorians are bound to a Creed of honor. Mandalorians stick to their word. They rescue. They protect. They care,” you paused to grasp the hand laying on top of yours, “You’ve told me enough about your Creed for me to realize that very little of it is truly about being solely physically and mentally intelligent. It’s about the combination of those strengths with emotional intelligence. Because what is using your head if you aren’t using your heart too?”

Mando was silent behind you. His body was stiff, no longer relaxed. Shit, did you offend him? You weren’t Mandalorian, should you have been interpreting the Creed?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be analyzing your Creed like that. I’m not Ma-”

“No,” he stopped your speech, and resumed his, the baritone of his voice being small within his throat, “You got it all right.” Strong arms squeezed you. Mando held onto you as if someone threatened to take you from him. His face returned to its spot by your neck and he whispered, “Maker, you’re perfect.”

The words sent chills down your spine. Before you could fully relish in the implications of his phrase, small kisses were being planted up and down the curve of your neck. Eyelids closed, you bit your lip at the brushes of his lips against your skin. No longer distracted by the visuals of the market lights, your attention focused on the feeling of his face on your neck. Soft lips meticulously placed pecks up your neck. His face slid against your warm skin, leaving a prickling sensation in its wake.

Prickling…your eyes widened and you straightened up, just slightly.

Mando froze in his tracks, voice laced with concern, “you okay?” 

You cleared your throat and let out a small chuckle, “Yeah, yeah, I just,” your body vibrated against his as you chuckled again, “I just realized you have facial hair,” you explained as your face heated up. Half in embarrassment of not realizing earlier, and half in excitement. You loved facial hair.

“Oh. Yeah,” he hesitated, “do you not like it? I can shave if you-.”

You stopped him before he could finish, “No! No, I mean. I like facial hair,” you explained sheepishly.

A smirk grew on Mando’s face, and you didn’t even have to see him to know it was there. Stubble prickled on the skin of your neck once again. This time, the man rubbed his face across the slope in front of him in an attempt to tickle you.

A giggle bubbled out of your chest and you twisted in his hold. The fanning of his breath over your neck created a delicious warmth on your skin. Warmth that soothed the pin pricks from the man’s stubble. Mando’s trunk-like arms caged you in and kept you tight in his grasp. He stopped after only a few seconds, placing soft kisses on the skin that he just scratched.

The kisses down your neck became more intense. Mando would graze his teeth against your skin and tighten his hold around you. The small marks trailed further down your neckline. Receiving the trail of small marks felt like a dream. Each mark gave you a slight pinch, sending your hips rocking backwards to grind against him. 

A soft moan left Mando’s lips and vibrated against the skin of your neck. His grip tightened near your waist and brought your hips closer to his groin. Soft lips returned to your neck, the other side this time, and began placing small hickeys down your skin. One place in particular, where your jawbone meets your neck beneath your ear, sent your ass grinding down into his lap. 

Then you feel him.

And you kind of freak out.

He’s big.

Were you ready for this? Of course you’ve dreamt about it, you kriffing came to the thought of it, but the opportunity overwhelmed you. Your mind raced. You felt like you didn’t consider all of the factors that went into this. 

Sure, you’ve had sex before, but what if you weren’t good enough for Mando? You’re still clothed and he already has you hot and bothered. You haven’t done anything to him yet. You had to do something or else you’re going to be a dead fish in bed. Were you ready to actually do something with him?

Your hips stilled, and of course Mando noticed.

His actions also paused, “You okay, cyar’ika?” He asks softly. Mando’s words make their home in your heart and you melt. You are okay. You’re with him. But being with him made you anxious. Mando didn’t deserve to put up with shitty sex.

“I just,” you paused and shifted in Mando’s lap, “I think I need to lie down,” you lied to him. He quickly reached for his helmet and sealed it back around his head. The pair of you organized the garbage and the remaining snacks, quickly getting ready for bed.

–

You were almost there. You could’ve done it. You dreamt about it for months and yet you chickened out. His hands were right there, and you got up and went to bed. Dank farrick.

Mulling over your thoughts, you laid on your bed and stared at the ceiling of the Crest’s hull. You could masturbate to the thought of him again, sure, but it just wouldn’t compare. The thoughts of Mando’s hands, his broad chest pressed against your back, the warmth of his legs wrapped around yours haunted your consciousness and refused to allow you to fall asleep. 

It was only amplified by the thought Mando put into the date.

“I’ve been planning this for a while.” He said.

How long? He happened to get your favorite snacks, your favorite takeout, he went back to get the bracelets, and he parked the Crest to get an amazing view of the light-filled market. Mando put all this thought into the date and he made some moves on you.

Your heart and clit were beating at the same loud pace. 

In an attempt to focus on something other than the ghost of Mando’s hard-on on your lower back, you opened a side door and exited the Crest. The door opened and closed quietly with your careful treatment of the doorknob.

The market is still it up beautifully, projecting the colored waves of light onto the surrounding hills. You sat just a few feet away from the Crest, knees tucked up towards your chest, your chin resting on your kneecaps. After a couple minutes of sitting outside, you found that the best way to distract yourself was trying to count all of the different vendors you could see. The lights made it difficult to distinguish one stall from another, and it didn’t help that the market was sizable. 

Forty four, forty five, forty six…

“Do you mind if I join you?” The voice came from the exact man you were trying not to think about. But he was also the exact man you wanted.

You looked back towards him and patted the ground beside you. He accepted your silent invitation and plopped his body down next to yours. A breeze swept through the night landscape and left you covered in goosebumps, slightly shivering. Mando must have noticed, since he draped his long, black cape over your shivering frame. His arm followed the embrace of the cape and pulled you closer towards his heat-radiating body. The other arm snaked under your legs and he barely lifted you, so you settled into the shape of his body. Just like Mando’s cape, silence fell over the both of you. His grip around you remained tight while he did his best to warm you up.

“Why are you sitting out here?” He whispered to you. The helmet crinkled his voice, resulting in the crackling of the syllables. Delicacy laced the syllables that flowed into your ears, despite their choppiness. 

Your shoulders rose and fell and you followed it with a sigh, “I was just thinking too much. Couldn’t fall asleep.”

The shoulder leaning against Mando vibrated when he hummed in understanding.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offered.

Your head fell to his shoulder to rest. The pair of you talked about a good majority of things. Whatever ended up on your or Mando’s mind. You found it to be a great stress reliever and knew that the Mandalorian did as well. If you didn’t get it out, by talking to Mando, the regretful feeling would just ruminate in your brain forever. At this point you highly doubted that this was a conversation topic that could cause Mando’s feelings about you to change.

“I just feel dumb.” You deadpanned.

“Dumb? Why’s that?” He responded immediately.

You paused and considered your choice of words. Being blunt was probably the best course of action. It was Mando after all.

“You wanted to do more with me and I rejected you,” you sighed and pressed your face into his shoulder.

Another quick response followed, “That’s completely okay. You don’t have to do something just because I want to do it. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier. I meant what I said. We’re only going to do what you–.” 

Your head left his shoulder and faced his helmet to look into the depths of the thin black line running horizontally across the beskar. His speech stopped at your action.

“I wanted to do it. I wanted you to do it,” you admit.

Mando’s bones turned to jelly beneath you–you didn’t realize how tense he had gotten–and yet his helmet tilted in confusion.

Before he could ask the question, you answered, “I was nervous. I haven’t done anything like that in a while. Maybe I wasn’t going to be good in bed.” Your face returned to his shoulder to nestle itself into the crook of his neck.

His embrace tightens around you once more. The T shaped gaze dropped to meet yours and he shook his head from side-to-side.

“Cyar’ika,” his chest jumps from a chuckle, “all you have to do to be good in bed is lay on the mattress,” he slowly grits out. His voice is so smooth you’re surprised his speech is still modulated. Still in doubt, the corner of your mouth pinched upward and your brows bunched together.

He noticed the uncertainty of your expression and slowly added, “I also haven’t done anything like this in awhile,” a pause was accompanied by the shaking of his head and a harsh exhale, “and I’m kriffing nervous too.” 

A small smile spread across your face at the confession. It did make you feel better. He was going through the same emotions you were. The somersaults of butterflies that wound your stomach into knots. Lightheadedness that flooded through your bodies at the sight of the other. Your emotions were so strong, these physical responses accompanied them.

The Mandalorian’s actions put you in a state of awe for the trillionth time. He does things that would make you freeze, panic, scream for help, for his help. Physical conflict was like breathing to him. It was involuntary. Completed without thought.

So many nerves bubbled within him. All because of you. All he had to do was confess his feelings to you and his composure shattered into a million pieces.

A million pieces you would pick up and put back together. You would reassemble the puzzle that was Mando over and over again. If it meant spending time with him, you would do it for eternity. Each time finding a new piece, a new feature to treasure and combine with the rest. 

Mando continued to hold your body and your gaze. The combination of him and his cape have warmed you up considerably, and you find yourself being languidly pulled closer into his torso. Your butt settled between his two thick thighs. Both of your thighs settled on top of one of his. The warmth and physical contact was appreciated, and you rested your head on the Mandalorian’s shoulder once more. 

You’re quite literally being cradled by him. One of his toned arms finds its way behind your back to keep your torso against his. The other arm found its way to your knees, holding you closer to him as much as possible. A gloved hand runs up and down your thigh once he’s satisfied with the method of cuddling. 

The friction his leather hand creates on your thigh is delicious. Every bit of heat from the contact is being transported throughout your body. You felt heavy and relaxed. But the heat from his hand turned into a burning need. The strokes up and down your thigh got riskier. His hand made its way farther up your thigh. Thick fingers splayed across your clothed limb, the wide spread covered more surface area, which drove the heat from his touch right to your clit. On some strokes, his thumb would graze the inside of your thigh. Almost there, but not close enough.

Bathing in the warmth of his touch, you didn’t realize your eye contact with Mando was maintained. He must have noticed your expressions morph into ones that you make when deep in thought. His thumb grazed the inside of your thigh once more, and you bit your lip at the tingly sensation on your bundle of nerves.

That’s all he needed to see what was on your mind. Still maintaining eye contact, his hand stopped on your upper thigh. Mando’s grip gently tightened as he spoke. The modulated voice sailed across a smooth sea of honey as he laid out his words.

“Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. Anything, mesh’la.”

You got your do-over. There’s no way you’d reject him now.

The bone of your teeth grazed your lip. Eyes closed, you took a deep breath and gained some composure. Mando’s helmet filled your vision once you opened your eyes. His chest rose and fell in anticipation.

A small smile made its way onto your face. ��Can you pick up where we left off?” You suggested.

Rumbling emanated from his chest, his grips on your back and your thigh tightened in delight. He pulled you closer to him in a hug and buried his modulator near your ear.

“Here or in the Crest?”

“Crest.”

The beskar man helped you onto your feet and led you back inside of the Crest. Once the door was shut and locked, and once Mando triple-checked the security systems, he sauntered over to you. His hands found their way to your waist as he pushed you back in the direction of his bunk. 

His bunk.

Before you could fully process it, you were lying on the long bed watching Mando as he stood, removing his armor from his body piece by piece. Just his flight suit remained on his large frame. He hardly gave you time to admire him before he sat beside you and pulled you into his lap once more. The Mandalorian’s hands–now bare–settled back into their previous positions. 

Feeling more confident than you were before, you leaned into his neck and placed light kisses along the curve. A deep groan rumbled from his chest and his hands ran up and down your body. You playfully bit the skin of his neck and sucked, bringing a hand up to rest on his neck to keep it in place. Your hickey-like kisses trailed upwards towards his jaw. Once you met the juncture where his neck met his jawbone, you sucked on his skin harder and left a light mark. 

He loved that. The grip on your thighs and waist became impossibly tight as he growled. Every noise that escaped from his helmet went straight to your clit. Your hips ground downwards onto his thigh, but to no avail. A look of desire painted your face but a sound of frustration–desperation–left your mouth.

Mando hummed in agreement. The low tone through the modulator questioned you, “Where do you want me to touch you first, mesh’la?”

You turned into a puddle. A horny, wet, puddle.

“I’ll do anything.” He said conclusively. 

Biting your lip, your brows furrowed in delight at the sensation of his grip. The hand on your thigh was higher up your thigh than any time before. Warmth from his palm traveled from the neurons in your quads to the nerves in your clit.

“Rub my clit? Please?” you asked. Desperation leaked from your mouth at the request. If Mando didn’t put his hands down your bottoms in the next thirty seconds, you were sure you were going to explode.

Mando’s chest vibrated as he chuckled, “Mmmm. I like it when you ask nicely. Good girl.”

Oh. Fuck.

You were molten beskar in his hands, at his forge. You trusted him. His skill. His knowledge of you. His perceived obligation to you. And you were ready to be shaped. Molded. Created into something new. With his support. 

His stare remained on your face as his fingertips found your clothed clit. You tensed at the contact and his motions slowed. 

“That alright?” He asked, concern melded to the grit of the voice that left the modulator.

A confirming hum vibrated from your throat. Your nod accompanied the sound.

“Have to hear you say it.” He responded. At first you thought he was teasing you, but the tone he used and the intense stare that was glued to your face said otherwise. 

“I need to and I want to make sure you’re alright every step of the way, yeah?”

You nodded up at him.

“Good,” he reacted to your body language, “then be a good girl and tell me if this is okay. Tell me how it feels.” His voice dropped incredibly low with his demand. It was gentle, but firm.

A shaky exhale escaped from your mouth as you whispered your reply, “I-I want you to keep going. It feels so good.” Wide eyes looked up at Mando and he continued his motions.

The friction of his fingers on your clothed clit was delicious. Each movement sent sparks up and down your limbs. Your head fell to rest on Mando’s shoulder as he maintained his pace. His gaze remained glued to yours. 

Then you realized he was wearing too many clothes. The friction against your clit was amazing, but you wanted as little friction as possible between your bodies. Reaching down, your fingers tugged on the edge of Mando’s shirt.

“Can I take this off?” You asked.

“Of course,” he replied. Thick fingers deftly undid the buttons at the top of his shirt and you aided him in pulling it over his head. The tight long sleeved layer was removed in the same fashion. Mando’s chest, littered with dark hairs, filled your vision. Broad plains of skin rose and fell, making his pecs stand out on his chest. Strong shoulders that framed his chest only made his body look wider.

While you were gawking at him, Mando slid his hands partially under your shirt and around your waist. His fingertips pinched at the hem of your shirt.

“Can I take this off?” He echoed your previous question.

You nodded and muttered, “yes,” in response, helping him pull the fabric over your head. 

His fingers became more confident and he applied more pressure, quickening the strokes of his fingertips over your clothed bundle. Your jaw dropped in response. As you returned Mando’s stare, your eyelids drifted downwards over your eyes, but not all the way. Your breaths were more audible, bordering on being moans.

Mando seemed to love your reactions, the hand you placed on his neck rumbled as he let out a guttural moan. He picked up his pace in response. The clothing between your bundle of nerves and his fingers created the perfect friction. Wetness pooled in your underwear with the increasing speed of the Mandalorian’s thick fingers.

Then his digits left your clit.

You let out a slight whine, disappointed at the loss of his touch. Before you could question him, his fingers dipped just below your waistband. Not enough to really feel anything. Just enough to make a point.

Making eye contact with Mando, his visor tilted in questioning.

“Can I pull these down?” He asked gruffly.

You nod at him, knowing your gaze is burning into his from behind his beskar. 

“Do it,” you half demand, half plead, “it feels so good when you touch me.”

His helmet drops next to your temple in reaction to your words. A crackle escapes the modulator with his harsh exhale. Without hesitation, his hand slid down past your waistband and brought your bottoms with it. Mando threw them to the side and slipped his hand down your underwear. His fingers easily found the pressure point of pleasure past your mound.

You thought the feeling over your clothes was delicious. The feeling of his bare hands on your bare clit was divine. Nothing could replicate the feeling. Nothing came close to the sensations he willed your body to produce. The sensations he produced with just his fingertips.

Mando resumed the slow pace he set previously. He was testing the waters, seeing if the feeling was just as good before. Your hips bucked up into his hand and another exhale left his helmet, this one quicker.

“Mmmm, okay, okay,” the modulator let out a soft understanding.

His fingers sped up to reach the fast pace he had set over your clothed clit. This time, the feeling was a thousand times more potent. The fibers facilitated most of your pleasure before, but now it was all Mando. Rough skin on his fingertips, created by years of pulling triggers and colliding fists, produced amazing friction. A feeling so electrifying you swore you could feel every ridge and valley of his fingerprints.

Your cunt squeezed around nothing and you mewled in desperation. Mando’s helmet still stung your temple with the cool temperature of the metal. His breathing was heavy, arm stiff, making sure your pleasure was maintained.

One circle around your bundle. Then another. And another. The pleasure was phenomenal, which caused your wetness to leak from your hole.

Mando looked down and groaned at the sight.

“Ffuucckk. So wet for me.” He gritted out, continuing the pace of his fingertips around your nub.

Your hips attempted to follow his motions to make more friction, but to no avail. Mando’s fingers were amazing, but his digits just on your clit weren't how you wanted to cum.

The sentence flowed through your brain: “Have to hear you say it.”

Before when you were sitting in Mando’s lap, his fingers inching towards your waistband, you didn’t know if you were ready. You didn’t know if you would be enough. Hesitation blocked your desire and you worried about taking too much and giving too little.

But now you wanted it all. 

Everything you thought about before. His hands. His fingers. His lips. His unmodulated voice. His cock.

You needed it.

It was as if Mando had a switch to turn you off and on. The motions of his fingers wavered your switch off and on, and your confidence flickered on. No more shyness. You had to be direct, and then you would get what you were desperate for.

“Mando…mmmm…M-Mando,” you attempted your request.

His fingers slowed, his attention divided between your speech and your clit. “Yes, cyar’ika?” His grip on your back tightened, indicating that he was listening.

You bit your lip in nervousness, but mustered up the confidence to finally say what you needed, “I want you to f-finger me,” you said between waves of pleasure.

Mando stopped altogether and dipped his fingers lower, edging his reach towards your hole. One finger prodded at your entrance and that feeling alone made you squirm.

More liquid seeped from your seams and your thoughts returned to the ones you had earlier today. You wanted to kiss him. So badly. 

Biting your lip at the thought, you accidentally stuttered out, “I-I w-want.” You realized your request was ridiculous and buried your face in his shoulder, acting as though nothing ever left your lips.

His fingers trailed upwards along your wetness and then back down, hesitating before he began your request. Confused, you brought your head up to look at him.

“What do you want, baby?”

Baby.

Kriff.

You shook your head, “It’s nothing.”

His helmet tilted in a, “I know you’re lying,” type of way. “It isn’t nothing, and we both know it,” he gently reasoned. A large hand ran up and down your back, the other rested on your sex. 

Shaking your head once again, your eyes widened and the corner of your mouth turned up in matter-of-factness, you whispered, “You wouldn’t do it.”

Immediately, “Try me,” he calmly demanded.

Kriff it. The most he would do is reject you.

“I want you to kiss me.” You confessed.

The T of his visor stared at you blankly. In contrast to the steady gaze of his helmet, his chest heaved and lowered at a faster rhythm. 

Then you were on the mattress, Mando was standing up in his bunk, going for the door. Dread hit you like a brick wall. 

“Mando, Mando I’m sorry. I knew it was ridiculous! I-I shouldn’t have even asked,” you pleaded to him.

Then it was dark. And a large pair of hands were on your waist. 

Hissss.

Your brows furrowed in confusion and your eyes remained wide in a pleading expression. 

“Relax.”

The word dripped from Mando’s lips and traveled to your ears. His tone was like thick, warm honey. A soothing bass resonated throughout the room and into your bones. Once the tone reached the marrow within them, they turned to jelly. Your body slumped into Mando’s broad hands.

A dip in the mattress alerted you to his positioning within the bunk. He sat beside you, hands remained around your waist, and he gave you a slight tug as a request to move closer to him. Once you were close enough, Mando slid you into his lap to resume your previous entanglement. 

Your head relaxed on his shoulder and he pulled your torso closer to his with the tree-trunks he had for arms. Instead of his hand slithering down to find the band of your underwear, it traveled up your arm and towards the crook of your neck. The Mandalorian’s thumb rubbed soothing circles on your jaw, just in front of your ear. He shifted a bit, and then you felt warm air fanning over your face.

His helmet was off. The room was dark. Yet you knew that you were looking him right in the eyes. You knew his face was centimeters away from yours. The series of events amazed you. If the lights were on, his Creed would be broken. You didn’t know if the Creed had a clause about being helmetless in the dark, but you knew this situation was risky.

And yet Mando was willing to put his Creed at risk. Just to kiss you.

As if he was reading your mind, his thumb halted its motions. The air that fanned over your face did so with a higher intensity.

The honied voice washed over you again, “I’m going to kiss you now, mesh’la.”

In shock, you could merely nod and whisper, “Please, Mando.”

You daydreamed–and actually dreamed–about this moment for months. Months. Different visions clouded your mind. Soft, supple kisses could be placed on your lips. Feather lip and hesitant in how they approached. Or the kisses could be rough and demanding. Muscles and embouchures would battle in combat motivated by lust.

In reality, Mando was a mix of both. His lips were soft, yet firm. Intention laced the way he moved his mouth against yours. Saliva soon wet both pairs of lips in your entanglement. Your mouths fell into a synchronized rhythms of pecks, tongues, soft bites, and sloppy kisses.

You were so focused on his lips that you didn’t notice the calloused hand making its way down your underwear. His fingers rubbed your clit once more and your hips bucked into his hand. Teeth clashed together as Mando smiled into your kisses.

He placed shorter, close mouthed kisses on your lips and pulled away to speak. Tension from the waistband of your underwear alerted you to Mando’s gesture.

His warm breath fanned over your face, “Can I take these off, baby?”

You nodded vigorously, realizing he couldn’t see you, you stuttered out, “Y-yes, please.”

In haste, the underwear was peeled from your legs and thrown into the darkness of the man’s bunk. Warm, wet lips crashed onto yours once more. You reached up and tangled your fingers into his hair. Soft waves traveled through your hands as they ran through his locks. 

The Mandalorian let out a low groan at the presence of your fingers in his hair. Firm and demanding lips met your mouth, and small bites pinched your lower lip from time to time. You supposed that this was one of the first times someone carded their fingers through his hair. 

Then you felt a rough finger at your soaking entrance. You clenched your walls around nothing in response. His fingers needed to be inside you. Fantasies have filled your mind’s eye about them for months. They’re thick, and you know the digits would stretch your wet hole. Thoughts of the tasty feeling manifested into words.

“Kriff, plea-please Mando. I want your fingers in my pussy,” you pleaded.

He stopped kissing you, but his breath remained close. The motion that was in his lips translated to his finger. One thick, large digit sunk into your wet heat.

From between the clouds of pleasure that fogged your head, you heard Mando’s syrupy voice in your ear, “You’re going to cum like this.”

Your body melted into his. Reaching up, you grabbed where you thought his face was. After a second of wandering in the darkness, your hand cupped his jaw and kept his face in front of yours.

Soft moans and gentle groans emanated from your chest. Each individual knuckle of his finger rubbed along your walls and left its own unique feeling. Mando pumped his middle finger into you slowly. After you were used to the feeling, it was as if his finger was the one pulling moans from your throat.

Mando picked up his pace and you began to pant, moans mingling between your loud exhales. Gripping his jaw and his neck, you anchored yourself to him. His large arms were easily holding you against him, and his torso was solid, but the deft finger in your wet pussy made you feel like you were levitating off of him.

“Maker, baby. I knew your pussy would get fucking soaked,” he gritted into your ear.

Wet sounds of his finger pushing in and out of your heat filled the darkness of his bunk. Your legs were spread wide in his lap, allowing Mando room to curve his wrist to push his finger along the tight walls of your sex. His fingertip traveled and searched, like a hunter after a bounty, and it finally found its reward.

Your hips jumped into his hand at the euphoric feeling. Awe swept over you. You thought Mando was going to be attentive, but attentive was too light of a word for his focus. 

Groaning, he remarked, “Mmmm. That’s it, huh? That’s my girl.”

The Mandalorian was obsessed. His obsession led him to hit the pressure point on your soaking walls over and over again. Mando’s chest rumbled when your pussy clenched around his fingers. Resistance against his fingers only spurred his actions further.

The grasps of your hands tightened around his face and neck. Every muscle in your body clenched. Your face was screwed together from pleasure. Not only was your body taught, your moans were too.

“Nnnghh, oh fuck. M-Mando, yes.”

All because of one of Mando’s fingers.

Your grasp on his jaw shifted when he inquired, “You want another finger, mesh’la?”

Without thought, you moaned in response, “Yes! Oh Maker, please Mando!” 

An empty feeling in your pussy almost made its way to your brain, but then you felt the stretch. Two of his fingers made you see stars, and the delicious stretch created by his thick digits went right to your clit.

His chest vibrated against your shoulder as he let out a deep, rumble, “That’s my good girl.”

A whimper escaped from your throat and your hips ground onto his fingers.

“I- mmf, I thought about this so many times,” you admitted.

Mando growled, “Fuck. Yeah? Tell me what else you thought about.”

His fingers picked up their pace, hitting that soft spot on your walls repeatedly. The Mandalorian made you a whimpering mess in his arms. More wetness weeped from your seams, dripping out past his thick fingers.

“I-, oh, fuck, I th-thought about y-your cock,” you confessed another fantasy that plagued your thoughts.

“Mmmm. What about my cock, cyar’ika?”

The sounds of your wet pussy and both of your moans filled the small space of Mando’s bunk. 

Shhlkt. Shhlkt. Shhlkt.

“H-how you’d st-stretch my pussy w-with it,” you managed between whimpers and shaky exhales.

Fingers fucked into your messy hole faster and faster. “Is that what you want, mesh’la? Need me to stretch your pretty pussy out?”

“Yes, yes. Oh-oh fu-fuck, please,” you begged him. The hand on his jaw brought his lips down to meet yours. Mando’s tongue immediately dove between your lips, wrestling with yours in vigor. Rough, scarred skin was grounding in your hands. Each pump of his fingers tightened your muscles, curling your figure into his strong hold.

“You want my cock next, baby? Hm?” He cooed at you, never faltering the rhythm of his fingers.

Your mouth fell away from his when your jaw dropped. “Mh-mmm-mhm. Yes, please!” You squealed in reaction.

His face leaned down to hover in front of yours, “Then cum on my fingers, pretty baby,” he growled to you.

Shhlkt. Shhlkt. Shhlkt.

A few more pumps and your wet walls clamped down on Mando’s thick fingers. Broken gasps left your mouth as your body stiffened in his strong arms. Your legs shook and you left crescent marks on the man’s back.

Despite your body-shaking orgasm, the man continued his motions until you placed a hand over his to push it away. Your limp body slumped into his, the waves of pleasure left a warm sensation glowing in your skin. 

No amount of dreaming could have predicted the feeling of Mando beckoning an orgasm from you like he swore to do it. The situation you were in wasn’t exactly what you dreamt of, but the reality was so much better.

A strong hand grazed your back, leaving a trail of heat from its up and down motions. Another hand pulled you in closer to him, and the warm air from his breath made its presence known on your face.

The tone he used starkly contrasted the growls from earlier, “How was that? Are you feeling okay, cyar’ika?” A deep tone, covered in honey, was laced with a small amount of concern.

“Mando…holy shit,” you said breathily. 

Silently chuckling at the state you were in, the Mandalorian peppered light, slow kisses on top of your head and over your face. You relished in the feeling. His lips mimicked the sentiments of the kisses he placed on your wrist earlier in the night. 

“This means everything to me.” 

The phrase echoed in your mind. Of course Mando let you know before that. He didn’t have to say it, but it showed in his actions. Every cup of caf. Every conversation. Every inquisitive response he would give after you told a story. Every small intention behind each action built up within you, and you guided Mando’s lips to meet yours.

Your lips moved in sync and in slow motion. Ridges and valleys imprinted on your lips and in your memory. If Mando was dedicated to his Creed, you would be dedicated to the set of lips pressing against yours. The set of lips that made you laugh. The lips that reassured you. The lips you looked forward to hearing produce words everyday.

You didn’t even know what they looked like.

And you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. They were his lips. Mando’s lips. That’s all that mattered.

After a long stint of sloppy kisses and crescendoing moans, Mando removed his lips from yours. He was panting and en route to placing the same sloppy kisses onto your neck. His plump lips traveled down, leaving saliva marks in their wake, and then they trailed back up, settling next to your ear.

The thin skin of his lips tickled the shell of your ear as he spoke, “Still want me to fuck you, baby?”

Baby.

He’s said it before, but the word still made you squirm a small amount in his arms. Your teeth imprinted on your lips before you let out a meek, “Yes, please.” If the lights were on, Mando would see your wide eyes and your scrunched together brows. As if you had to beg him for it.

Kisses between the two of you resume as the Mandalorian shifted both of your positions on the mattress. His strong arms still clutched your figure as he slowly leaned downwards, until the pair of you were lying on the bed. Both of your hands reached up and weaved your fingers into the soft waves on his head. Mando’s thick hands traversed the planes of your body, randomly grabbing onto you and giving you a slight squeeze where his hands were.

“Uhhhgg, fu-fuck,” left his chest and escaped from his throat when you gave his hair a small tug. One of his firm, capable hands reached down and encouraged you to spread your legs. In the same motion, he shifted upwards to settle between them. 

Your locked mouths never broke. Mando’s lips remained on yours as if he were tethered to them, like they were the only thing keeping him in this universe. His groin pressed against yours and your hips bucked upwards at the feeling. Your mouth watered, like it was somehow conditioned to, after sensing the large curve of his cock covered by black fabric.

One of your hands reached downwards and palmed his shaft through the clothing. Mando’s hips ground down into yours in response, and he let out a low growl.

Your fingertips found the elastic waistband of his sweatpants and tugged on it in suggestion. Before you could even ask the question, the Mandalorian sat up, leaving your upper body to feel the cold air of the bunk. 

Shuffling came from in front of you. Then a soft, muted, plop.

The man was back onto you like it pained him to be away. Moans and rumbling exuded from his chest as he kissed you. Firm muscle of his tongue lapped against yours, challenging you to lustful combat. You accepted and the volume of your pleasure joined his. A couple kisses felt like forever, but it was the best eternity that you could be stuck in.

Mando’s body shifted lower to grind his hips against you once more. His thick shaft slid through your folds. A whimper came from your mouth as the head of his cock grazed your clit. Moans from the man only became more gravely, animalistic. The grit of the vibrations could have convinced you that he put the helmet back on–if his mouth wasn’t sealed to yours.

Swollen lips broke the seal from yours and Mando’s head fell into the space between your head and your neck. Heavy breathing flooded the audio in your brain. Rough hands ran up and down your inner thighs, intermittently squeezing the flesh there. 

A chaste kiss met the side of your head, above your ear You could feel the slick on his lips against your ear as he gently demanded, “Tell me what you want.”

Without hesitation you replied in a whining whisper, “Please put your cock in my pussy.”

The side of your head vibrated when he let out a blissful groan into your hair. His broad chest left yours as he sat up and pulled some items from a nearby drawer. Your face heated in anticipation.

Sounds were the only thing available to you to figure out what he retrieved. A crinkling and then a tear echoed through the bunk.

The condom.

Rubber noises made their way to your ears as Mando rolled the condom onto his shaft. Maker, you wish you could see him. Those large hands forming a strong grip. The thick head of his cock leaking before he puts the contraceptive on.

You thought you’d feel him shift back towards you, but then a short pop echoed through the bunk. Like he just opened a bottle of shampoo. 

Silence. 

Then the slick sounds of his large grip stroking his shaft filled the air.

Your heart swelled at his thoughtfulness. You were definitely wet enough, but the consideration for your comfort made liquid seep from your pussy.

The mattress shifted around you as he lowered his torso towards yours. One side dipped much more and the slick head of his cock teased your entrance. A small moan left your throat at the contact.

Mando paused when he was lined up with your wet hole. A wet kiss was placed on your forehead before he asked, voice strained, “Are you ready for me, my cyare?”

“Yes,” breathy and quick, passed through your swollen lips.

Maker. His cock was thick. The feeling of him pushing into you was fucking amazing.

The walls of your pussy wrapped around him. A delightful stretch pricked at your soaking entrance and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Mando was slow and careful as he pressed his wide shaft into you. Movement ceased once his balls laid flat against the flesh of your ass.

You were so lost in the new sensations that Mando’s heavy breaths suddenly made their way into the foreground of your mind. Warm air fanned against your face and his strangled moans vibrated against your chest. Head heavy, his face found its way to the crook of your neck.

“Oh, f-fuckkk. Kriff, cyar’ika, you put my dreams to shame.”

Your arms weaved around his torso and your fingers ran down his back. His face only pressed further into you, and your walls were straining against the thickness of his cock.

“Mmm-Mando. Please. Fuck me, please.”

Another rumble from his chest vibrated against you. His hips shifted backwards, and the thick head of his cock dragged against your walls. The pair of you moaned in unison, amazed by the feel of the other.

His torso rose up and slipped from your hold and you involuntarily whined. A small, gravely chuckle left Mando’s lips, “You want me back down there, baby?”

Your hands reached into the darkness and collided with the man’s chest. Hairs brushed against your fingers as you attempted a grip to pull him back down. Before you could adjust your hands to pull his shoulders down instead, he lowered himself once more and nestled his head in the space above your shoulder.

“I-I-, nngghhh,” you tried to justify your desire, but the ridges of his cock grazed against the warmth of your pussy just right. But then you tried again. “M-makes me f-feel safe,” you let out a whimper.

“Aghhh, fuck baby.” The speed of his thrusts picked up, but his strokes were still long and languid. “Want you to feel safe with me,” he grunted as his breath fanned over your neck.

You always felt safe with him. Without question. In populated cities with shoulder-to-shoulder crowds. Out in the wilderness, the forest canopy darkening the forest floor. At a run down market with nasty glares being sent your way.

“I always have,” you manage to clearly respond.

Another deep groan resonated in your ear drums. A large, calloused hand found your arm and dragged its grip towards your hand. Thick digits intertwined with yours, and the pace of his hips picked up once more.

The hair above his shaft created mind-numbing friction on your clit. Each stroke sent a shockwave of bliss through your body. The bliss made its way back down to your pussy. Wetness dripped out from around his thick cock. Soft, wet sounds filled the space of Mando’s bunk.

“Kriff, cyar’ika. Maker, you’re fucking soaked for me,” he gritted out into your ear. His mouth found yours and weak, distracted kisses were placed on your lips. 

Fingertips dug into the skin on his back. You reeled into his touch. His thick cock still left a tinge of stretching throughout your walls. Each thrust of his hips soothed and invigorated the sensation in your pussy. You thought back to your fantasies and masturbation sessions. Squeezing three fingers into your soaking hole just to get a taste of how he’d feel. Now you have the real thing. And it’s so much better than your fingers buried deep in your cunt.

“What’re you thinking about, mesh’la?” The smooth baritone filled the air around you.

You bit your lip. How the hell did he know you were thinking? Small gasps left your lips, releasing the skin from the hold of your teeth. You knew he wanted you to say it, but your cheeks became hot in embarrassment.

You probably waited too long, because Mando grunted out, “I can tell you what I’ve been thinking, baby,” a soft grumble came from his chest, “been thinking abou- fuck. About how much of a good girl you are for me.”

Mewling left your throat and you tightened your wet pussy around his hard length. Mando growled and quickened his pace in response. A combination of moans and exhales from your chest were punctuated from each of his thrusts. Thick fingers splayed across the underside of your thigh and shifted your hips slightly upwards.

 He found the spot. The same one his fingers came familiar with.

Brows furrowed and eyes scrunched, you moaned out a whiny, “O-oh-oh, Maker. Mando!” 

“Tell me what you’re thinking about, my cyar’ika,” Mando repeated.

“Y-your cock, oh k-kriff, your cock, Mando,” you let out a shaky breath to conclude, “I’ve been thinking about your cock.”

A low hum came from the man, “What about it, mesh’la?”

You let out a keening noise when Mando reached down and grazed your clit with his thumb, drawing circles on your sensitive nub. Strong fingers splayed across your lower stomach as he rested them there. He listened to your moans and shaky breaths and concentrated on a technique. The Mandalorian figured out your body and had it down to a science. Every movement and sound that resonated from your body was a signal to him. Sound waves from you were like signals, and he replied to your every call.

His hips remained flush against yours as he gave your cunt shallow thrusts, repeatedly brushing the firm head of his cock over the most sensitive point deep within you. The combination of stimulations made your pussy clench around his shaft. A guttural moan emanated from Mando in response.

Your fingertips dug into the broad expanse of his back when you confessed with a whine, “Th-thinking…fuck…you’re so-o bi-ig.”

The thumb rubbing your clit sped up, and Mando’s other hand tightened its grip around yours. You let out a breathy sigh, your cunt only became tighter around him. The Mandalorian’s bunk was filled with the sound of your combined moans, heavy breaths, and light plaps of skin against skin.

Visions of what he looked like fucking you flashed through your mind. His huge shoulders, strong arms, veiny forearms, thick fingers. The delectable tree-thunk thighs accenting his toned waist.

You pictured a man with dark hair, probably brown eyes, with the softest lips your pair have ever met, framed by dark stubble. The man would be focused, brow furrowing in concentration. His eyes rolled back into his head and his jaw fell open when you tightened around him. Just like Mando, he’d growl in response to your wet heat, and bring his jaw back up to tighten it while he focused on you.

His hands. His cock. His voice. His lips. Kriff even the feel of his hair and skin. Each component came together to melt you into a puddle of pleasure. Moans escaped from your throat in higher and higher octaves. Sentences didn’t exist anymore, as you could barely form them.

“Think, oh shit, Ma-Mando. Think I-I’m gonna cum,” your voice sounded desperate as you alerted him.

Harsh breaths blew onto your face from Mando’s focused exertion. Your lip was captured under your teeth for the umpteenth time. Only tight whines left your throat. Pussy squeezing around Mando, your body followed suit. Thighs wrapped around his waist and the embrace of your arms held him close.

The Mandalorian left lazy kisses across your face and muttered endless praises.

“Such a good girl.”

“You’re so perfect, mesh’la.”

“Not going to last long after you, my pretty baby.”

Then his kisses paused from being placed on your face. “Hey,” Mando said to get your attention, “listen to me, cyar’ika.”

You whimpered in acknowledgement, but Mando wasn’t having it, “Have to say yes for me,” he let out between strokes.

“Yes-yes I’m listening,” you quickly blurted. 

Almost lost in your pleasure, you realized you had to actually listen to him. To comprehend and process his words. Not that you weren’t listening to him, but the motions he pressed into you made your mind blur together. Your mind snapped to attention at his words.

Mando spoke in a gentle, yet commanding, tone. The grip sealing your conjoined hands together tightened.

“My name is Din.”

Din.

It was simple and to the point, just like how Mando was. No wasting any time. No frills. No banthashit. Just Din.

Then the tight knot in the pit of your stomach snapped. Sounds that once poured from your body ceased as your figure curled into his. The pleasure was something you couldn’t have fathomed before this. Every cell in your body ignited in a passion filled radiance.

“Din! Din, oh fuckkkk, Diiiin!”

Your wet heat clamped onto Mando’s thick cock, sending him into a frenzy of growls and grunts. His calloused thumb remained on your clit until the spasms of your orgasm fizzled out. Then you were left empty handed, but your body lifted up slightly off of the mattress. The Mandalorian snaked his arms behind your shoulders, his hands under the pillow cushioning your head.

Sloppy kisses met your mouth. Tongues pushed into mouths to wrestle with their counterparts. It was like Mando wanted to memorize every ridge of your lips and tongue. To add them to his Creed. Worship them forever.

His head dropped next to yours and your ears were filled with breathy grunts.

Plap. Plap. Plap.

Softly bounced around the metal walls of the bunk.

“Wanted this for so long, baby.”

“Always thought about you, fuck, I think about you all the time.”

The intensity of his grunts increased and you could feel his cock swelling inside you. Soft lips brushed against the shell of your ear, hastily whispering out, “Where do you want me?”

Digging your fingers into the waves of his soft hair, you eagerly responded, “In the condom, Din.”

“Fuucckkk,” he groaned.

His cock started to twitch within your warm walls. The speed and depth of his thrusts no longer followed a formula. Your head raised slightly when large fists balled the bedsheets into his hands. One of your hands drifted up and down his back, soothing him through his release. He was shaking with every excess thrust he gave your wet heat.

Then his heavy body slumped against yours. Mando’s breath was still heaving, sending strong winds across your neck. Open mouthed kisses were gently placed onto the skin there. Your fingers massaged his scalp and he let out a satisfied sigh. Silence filled the space of the bunk.

What if he regretted this? Was this just a one time thing?

“Mand-,” he cut you off with both his voice and the motions he put the pair of you through.

Suddenly you were on top of him. Your head found the plush meat of his relaxed pecs and you laid your head on them. A firm grip from Mando came to wrap around you. His strong arms held you against him like someone threatened to take you away. Mando’s fingertips traced languid shapes across your back. The tip of his nose dug into your scalp as he pressed a couple soft kisses in your hair.

“Din. Call me Din, cyar’ika.”

Your cheeks rose in temperature at his insistence. Fighting your nerves, you asked, “Is this a one time thing?”

The Mandalorian stiffened underneath you. Here it goes. You’ll have to crawl off his body and resort to the sleeping pad in the hull.

“No. Mesh’la, of course not,” a low baritone soothed your worries. Your head slumped onto his chest even more. Feeling nervous, yet confident–even though you literally just fucked him–you brought a hand up to feel his face.

His hand resumed its drawings of small shapes on your back. Humming came from beneath you when your hand made contact with his stubble. Your thumb grazed the short hairs and your fingers followed the curve of his jaw.

His lips felt as soft as they did when they were on yours. Your fingertips reached upwards a bit more. Longer hairs tickled at your digits and you let out a small giggle.

“Mmf, what, pretty girl?” His tone was laced with sleep and curiosity.

You smiled at him in the dark, “You have a mustache,” you told him in a whisper, as if he didn’t already know. A smile from him creeped up under your touch.

“Mmm. Yes, I do,” he replied matter-of-factly. 

In a teasing tone, you inquired, “Who’s that for?”

A low chuckle from Din’s chest made your head rumble. The hand on your back ceased its movements. His nose dipped down to find yours, aiding him in lining up his mouth to kiss you. A gentle kiss was placed onto your lips, and you were acutely aware of the hairs that made up his mustache.

He sighed in content and murmured, “At first it was for me. I don’t know. I just liked it,” his shoulders went up and down in a shrug, he continued with a hum, “but you like it. So now it’s for you.”

Your face became hot at his words. Slightly embarrassed, you nestled your face into his chest. The thin hairs there wisped at your face. 

Sleep quickly caught up to you and your whole body relaxed against Din’s. His large frame made for a comfortable bed. Muscles, none of them tense, gave you a plush surface to melt into.

Din’s strong arms wrapped around you. He continued to press soft kisses into your hair. Right before you slipped out of consciousness he whispered to you.

“I meant what I said,” he paused to wait for a response. You didn’t register him speaking until it was too late, but he continued his sentence nonetheless.

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Supply Run - Review (part four) (Coming soon)

[neo-nomatrix]

She’s a princess, and you’re a Mandalorian

That’s something no amount of potion will ever change

Din Djarin x reader

summary: A princess has fallen in love with a mandalorian, and he can’t seem to figure out why

a/n: reader is from the made up kingdom of Avana

word count: 824

Mandalorians do not love, it’s simply a fact. If someone so happens to fall in love with one it would never be a princess.

You met Din Djarin when he crashed outside of the grounds of your kingdom. Villagers who lived near the gates of Avana soon started to talk about the mysterious ship that landed in the forest.

“Princess! Have you heard?” One of your mothers advisors asked.

“Heard what?”

“The ship that crashed outside, near the forest,” she said.

“Is anyone going to help?” You wonder.

“Technically, it’s not our grounds, so we don’t have to,” she finished before getting back to her papers.

How could they do that? Just leave someone, presumably helpless all on their own? You honestly thought it was horrible how they decided to just look the other way. You decided to take the matter and do something about it.

You packed a small bag with food, water, first aid, and a small dagger just in case. As you approach the ship you can tell it’s been through a lot of damage. Half of it is lodged into the ground with plenty of scratches and marks to prove its been through hell and back.

You enter through the small opening on the side of the ship, prying open the metal.

“Maker,” you whisper to yourself as you take in your surroundings.

“Hello!” Your voice echoes through the ship, yet no response.

You search through each room until you reach the cockpit. You glide your hands on the panels and intricate details of the room. Your hand grazes over a leaver that’s clearly had the top screwed off, wondering how that would even happen.

You halt in your steps as you feel the front of a blaster pressed against your head. Your shaky hands are lifted in the air as you slowly turn around.

“Who are you?” A gruff, muffled voice says, less of a question and more of a demand.

“I just want to help you,” You say, slightly scared.

“Answer the question.”

“I’m the princess of the kingdom who’s gates you’ve crashed in front of,” You say slightly aggressively.

“We have mechanics, we can fix your ship,” you mention.

“They sent a princess to look at a shipwreck? Without backup? I’m doubtful,” He says, finally putting down his blaster.

Dank Farrick, he’s got a hot voice.

“You can trust me okay? If you do, you're more than welcome to stay in the castle. Have a bed, a warm meal,” you offer.

“What’s the catch?” He wonders.

“You have to talk to me. Have dinner with me, I swear you’ll enjoy it,” you promise.

He starts to wonder why you’re acting like this. Why you’re treating a stranger with such kindness.

“Fine,” he relents.

_

You send mechanics out to the wreck and you bring the man to your castle.

“It’s breathtaking don’t you think?” You ask him as you sit down at the table, pointing out the paintings on the ceiling.

“Quite,” he murmurs.

“What are you?” You ask, taking a spoonful of soup.

“I’m a mandalorian. I’m afraid I can’t take off my helmet to eat,” he admits.

“Oh that’s alright, I don’t mind.”

“Why are you doing this? I haven’t done anything to spark your kindness, so why?” He asks.

“I don’t know why, but I seem to have taken a liking to you. One that I cannot explain. But it’s a feeling I've had since we first met,” you smile.

Love. That feeling is love. You and the mandalorian both know it.

“What will it take for me to see your face?”

“We would need to be bonded by blood.” He says.

“Hm, interesting,” you say, eating more of your soup.

“I still don’t understand. You’re a princess, I am not the kind of person you should be taking a liking to.”

“Are you saying you don’t like me?” You wonder.

“No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying you shouldn’t like me.” He says.

“But I do! I really do. And, once your ship is fixed, I’d like to go with you wherever you’re going. I know that’s a lot to say but I think it would be nice.”

“It’s dangerous. It’s not the kind of place for someone like you. There would be a point that I won’t be able to protect you. And that’s something I'm not willing to do,” he admits.

“I know you might not believe it but I don’t need protection. I do just fine on my own,” You say, but you know he’s still not convinced.

The back and forth goes on between the two of you before he reaches a decision.

“If I take, and I mean if, you do whatever I say, when I say it. No questions, you just do it. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” you respond.

Din still doesn’t understand why you like, maybe even love him so much, but he definitely isn’t complaining.

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

"Have you ever loved me?" Obi-Wan Kenobi x F! Reader

Summary: Long ago you loved a Jedi, he broke your heart when you were ready to give up everything for him but he was not. Now years later, the galaxy is at war, and you might be the only one to pull him back from the edge. But can you forgive him?

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x F! Reader

Warnings: Angst, language, second-chance romance, slight ooc.

Cross Posted on AO3

The Past

“Master Yoda,” you bow your head, “I have made the decision to leave the Jedi Order.” 

“A difficult decision made you have, padawan. Changed the course of your entire life you have.” 

“Yes,” you nod, “but I must. I’ve broken one of the sacred vows and I would rather leave on my own accord than be tossed out once I was discovered.” 

“Wise,” he nods sadly, “seeing you leave, brings a great sadness to my heart. You are a skilled Jedi Healer and a brave warrior. Tell me,” he urges, “what sacred vows did you break hmm?” 

“I fell in love,” a single tear streams down your cheek, and you blink to hold back the rest. 

“And did they feel the same?” 

“I thought they did,” you sniff, “but I was wrong. They love another. One I will never be able to compete with.” 

“But still wish to leave you do?” You nod, silently, the tears pouring down your cheeks. He sighs, “then I will let you go. What now will you do?” 

“I still wish to be a healer, Master Yoda. Even if I’m not a Jedi, I can still use my gifts to heal the sick and injured.” 

“A calling most noble,” he stands, grabbing his cane. “I will miss seeing your smile light up the halls of the temple. But I understand why go you must.” 

“Thank you,” you bow, “Master Yoda.” You turn to leave when he says your name, giving you pause as you turn to look at the Master. 

“I will not tell a soul what you have shared with me this evening. No one will ever know the reason you chose to leave the order. Not even young Master Kenobi.” 

“I-I” you stutter, shocked, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

He chuckles, walking past you with a grin, “old I may be, but blind I am not.” 

The news of your departure spread like wildfire throughout the temple. Several other Palawan’s and friends stopping by as you packed with small tokens and a kind word. All but one. 

You grab your bags, feeling a heaviness in your heart at leaving your room. So many firsts happened here; your first time living alone, first time you burnt bantha noodles, first kiss. Your eyes shutter closed and you resist the urge to cry when the door slides open. 

“So it’s true,” Obi-Wan stands in the doorway, the door hissing as it slides shut behind him. “You’ve left the Jedi Order.” 

“Yes,” you swallow down the tears at seeing him again. “I think it’s for the best. I can’t keep going day by day hiding how I feel.”

“Instead you’re leaving me,” his voice sounds broken, and he walks over to the window glancing out at the busy streets of Courasant. “You’re leaving everything you’ve ever worked for.” 

“Yes,” you whisper, “I’m going home back to Naboo. I’m going to be a healer, treat the sick and injured.” 

“Fall in love and marry someone,” he turns, his arms crossed over his chest. “Give him children, and live happily ever after.” 

“I can’t stay here."

He’s silent, “I don’t want you to go,” he lowers his arm, taking a step towards you, “we don’t have to continue, we can be friends. You don’t have to leave.” 

Obi-Wan grabs your hands and you see the glisten in his eyes, mirrored in your own. “Have you ever loved me?” your voice breaks when he remains silent, the one thing he’s never been able to say back. “Goodbye Obi-Wan,” you pull your hands out of his grasp, his grip tightening before you let go, grabbing your bags and leaving your life behind. 

The Present 

“Doc!” Minnie, your assistant shouts from across the room, “you got a call!” 

“Dank Farrick,” you whisper, pressing a hand to your eyes before shouting, “I’m coming!” 

The figure on the holo gives you pause and you slow your steps, a furrow to your brow. “Master Yoda?” 

“Ah,” he smiles saying your name, “seeing you again brings me great joy.” 

“Thank you, Master. It’s good to see you as well.” You nod, waiting for him to speak, but the silence stretches on, “uhm,” you rub the back of your head, “is there something I can help you with, Master?”

“There is,” he grins, “know you do, that at war we are with the separatists. The loss of life is great, and we are in need of assistance desperately. I’ve heard from your former master that you’ve become a great healer and I am upon you calling to come heal our troops.” 

You sit down, your legs feeling like jelly beneath you. “Master, I’m honored. But my place is here on Naboo.” 

“Thought you say that, I did.” A figure steps behind him and you jump to your feet seeing the woman. 

“Senator Amidala,” you bow.

She says your name and you straighten up, “I am calling upon you to join the war effort as a representative of Naboo. Your practice will be well looked after in your absence. The Queen is sending the royal physician to look after it while you’re gone.” 

“Senator,” you glare at the little green man, “I am honored. But my place is here with my patients.” 

A moment passes between the two, Master Yoda and Senator Amidala sharing a look. He sighs, “there is reason more, wish for you to join we do.” 

You look between the two before taking a step back, “no.” 

“Help, he needs,” Yoda puts both hands on his cane, “his troops are dying, and with each loss,” he shakes his head, “for the toll of loss is great, I worry.” 

“I can’t,” you whisper, “I’m not strong enough.” 

“You are,” Senator Amidala encourages, “you’ve become the most sought after healer on the planet.” 

Yes, you think, the only one I could never heal was me.

“Needs you, he does,” Master Yoda looks into your eyes, his voice echoing in your head, need him, you do. 

Minnie comes through the door, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the Royal physician has arrived Doc. He says he’s here to take your place for awhile.” 

You turn from her and back to Master Yoda sending your thoughts through the force. Will I ever come back? 

Only decide that, you can. 

“Tell me what you need me to do.”

“Doctor,” the clone trooper with golden markings shouts reaching a hand out to help you from the hovercraft. “Good to have you aboard ma’am.” 

“I’m glad to be here,” the ship powers down behind you. 

“I’m Commander Cody,” he removes his helmet, shaking your hand, “second in command.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, Commander,” you give his hand a solid squeeze before letting go to grab your bags. 

He grabs the other duffle, “let me get that for you ma’am, I’m going to take you to your quarters and then up to the bridge to see the General.” 

“Perfect,” you fall into step beside him, your stomach churning. 

“I understand that you’re a doctor on Naboo. From what I’ve been told, it’s a beautiful planet.” His words make you smile, thinking of home. 

“It is, I love it very much.” 

“What made you join the war then?”

“Call it a favor to an old friend. And one very nosey little bastard,” you mumble the last part but he bursts out laughing anyways. 

“Seems like a story there,” he chuckles, arriving at a door. “This is your quarters, if you need anything the barracks are two levels below and the General is just down the hall.” 

“Thank you, Commander,” you look around the room, quietly surveying the space before you drop your bag on the bed. “This shall do quite nicely.” 

“Would you like some time to freshen up or would you like to go meet the General?” 

“Lead the way,” you hold out a hand, your heart pounding so loud you’re almost sure he can hear it. 

Commander Cody plays tour guide as you make your way to the bridge. And you can see why the men chose him for Commander he is thorough in making sure you know the ship and where everything goes. “This is the bridge,” he leads you onto the ledge, several troopers on computers look your way giving you a nod. 

“You need to sleep!” A man shouts at the end of the aisle and Commander Cody slows down as we approach. “You’ve been up for nearly three days working on this plan. You know it inside and out!” 

“It’s not perfect yet,” your eyes sting when you hear his voice again. “I need it to be perfect, we’ve lost to many men.” 

He sounds almost delirious and you look at the young man quickly recalling the name, Anakin Skywalker. He’d just become his padawan maybe a year before you left. “Talk to him,” he tosses out his hands exasperated, “if you won’t listen to me, Master at least listen to the doctor.” 

“I don’t need a doctor,” Obi-Wan throws over his shoulder, “I’m fine.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you speak up. His hands freeze on the papers, his posture rigid and he drops his head to his chest. 

“Maybe you’re right Anakin,” he sounds defeated, heaving a great sigh. “I do need to sleep. I’m hearing ghosts in my head.” 

“If I recall,” you step around Commander Cody and past Anakin, “you never believed in ghosts.” 

“Leave me be,” he groans, pressing his palms into his eyes, “why do you insist on tormenting me?” 

The room is silent and you look around and notice the room has been vacated. “How am I torturing you? Explain that to me.” 

“I let you go,” he whispers, dropping into a chair, his eyes covered. “I should have told you the truth and you never would have left.” 

“And what truth is that,” you reach out a hand and press it to his shoulder. He turns quickly grabbing your hand and running his fingers over your palm. 

“You’re real,” he states, looking up at you with wide eyes. “How are you here?” 

You ignore him, “what truth did you fail to tell me?” 

Obi-Wan sighs your name, his hand pulling until you’re sitting in his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist as he inhales deep breathes at your neck. “You still wear the same perfume,” he closes his eyes, forehead pressed to your shoulder. 

“Of course,” you whisper, running your fingers through his long hair, “you gave it to me.” 

“Do you remember the last thing you asked me,” he raises his head, meeting your eyes. 

“Yes,” you tremble, your hands pressed together to prevent the shaking, “I asked if you ever loved me.” 

He lifts one finger and puts it under your chin, his voice clear when he says, “ask me again.” 

“Obi-Wan,” you feel the tears stream down your cheek, “I can’t do this again.” 

“Ask me,” he commands, before softening, “please, darling.” 

The air around you swirls with the force, his emotions clearly displayed as he awaits if you’ll ask, if you’ll let him right a past wrong. “Have you ever loved me, Obi-Wan?” 

This time he does not hesitate, “oh stars, yes.”

"What about the Order? You'd never give that up and I won't ask you to. That's why I left the first time. I never wanted you to have to choose."

He bowed his head, "It took me a long time and several meditations to realize that was why you left."

"Why did you think?"

He lifts his head, "I thought you didn't love me. That you were sparing yourself the heartache when the temple realized what a lovesick fool I was. Even my Master knew." You stay silent, watching the emotions flicker, "and then Qui Gon died, and I became Master to Anakin. It changed everything."

"I can't be your dirty secret, Obi-Wan," you stand, going over to the viewing station, seeing the far reaches of space before you. "I came here to do a duty and I will fulfill that obligation."

"So there is someone else," he stands beside you, his hands tucked inside his robes, "you fell in love with another. Did you marry him? Stars, do you have children?"

You turn to him, hands crossed over your chest, "for being one of the wisest Jedi, you're an idiot." He turns to you, a wide eyed stare on his face. "I love," your voice cracks on a sob, "you, Obi-Wan. There is no other, it's always been you."

"I didn't dare hope," he presses a hand to your cheek. "Why didn't you move on? Live your life?"

"Could you have?" you grab his wrists, "if you were given the choice. If I had stayed and you had left, would you have fallen in love with another?"

"No," he shakes his head, "never. I just wanted you to be happy." His eyes soften, as he brushes the tears off your cheeks.

"You make me happy," you press your forehead to his own.

"What are we going to do?" he closes his eyes, pulling you into his chest, and running his hands up and down your back. You fit perfectly together, like two puzzle pieces finding their way back to one another. "I can't leave the war," he shakes his head with a sigh, "my men need a strong leader, and Anakin still has much to learn."

"I understand. And I will stand beside you. We can fight this war and you can finish his training. But when it's done, we leave, go to my home on Naboo, or start a new life somewhere else. Put away the lightsaber and live in peace."

He's quiet, contemplating everything you've said before he nods. "Okay, let's do that."

You pull away from him, "do you mean that?" His eyes study yours before his lips turn up in a smile, exhaustion lining his eyes.

"Ask me again," he urges.

You swallow, "have you ever loved me?"

"Yes," he nods, leaning forward to kiss you softly, a piece of your heart sliding back into place, "now and all the lifetimes after."

On the other side of the galaxy, Master Yoda feels his heart warm in his chest, pressing a hand to it with a smile. "Knew they would figure it out one day, I always did."

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

Find Five Lines Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @queeenpersephone 💛

Rules: find any lines in your WIP or fics that fit each parameter given by the person who tagged you. Then change one of the parameters and tag five or more people.

My lines: a line about desire, a line expressing grief, a line expressing pain, a line expressing anger, a line that makes you incredibly happy

Desire…

The smile splintered and she bowed her head low, holding herself tighter, breath shuddering.

“I haven’t met another Mandalorian since the Purge,” she admitted, corners of her mouth pulling in pain she could hide but never heal. “Tell you the truth, I’ve been keeping away. But then you came along and I—I thought I could help you find the tribe. I thought it would fix everything if I could just see them, our people, alive and well… I just… I wanted to go home.”

—from chapter 42 of “Anchors”

Grief…

With no conscious intent, he grabbed the empty carry bag and bunched it up near his head as he laid himself down. There would be no little body curled up in the makeshift nest tonight, no false snores covering a plot to sneak closer, no need to adjust his head to make a perfect sleeping nook between his neck and shoulder... no sense of warmth and contentment as the little one found his greatest safety with his guardian.

Furled up on his less injured side, pain throbbing in an ugly, undefined mass from his head to the soles of his feet, he hardly adjusted his position before he lost all strength to care.

Feeling adrift and unanchored, he fell asleep in a bed not his, in a ship not his, clutching onto broken pieces of his family.

—from chapter 3 of “Head Above Water”

Pain…

He took a few breaths, deepening them and then holding. Planting his hands on the floor, he pushed, and he succeeded, he lifted his head and torso and—

And pain ripped through him: shooting in through his side and flashing outwards in cold flames.

His body reacted to the self-inflicted assault, forcing him back down and arching rigidly, weakly, trying to get away from the pain. He made some involuntary noise, a choked off cry, and the hands were back: catching him, steadying him, holding him down.

—from chapter 5 of “Echoes”

Anger…

“You’d be okay. You know that, right? Someone would take care of you. Sabine or Cara or… someone. We’ve got plenty of friends; good people who do… who would make sure you’re looked after if I—”

Snapping towards him, Grogu made a sharp, shrill noise, cutting him off right there.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

The big watery eyes narrowed with intense meaning.

“You… don’t want to go with them?”

The way the kid just glared at him told him he had hopelessly missed the mark. When he didn’t offer any more interpretations just a lifted brow and a confused shake of the head, the little one let out an almighty sigh and rolled his eyes.

—from chapter 19 of “Anchors”

A line that makes me happy…

“Dank farrick, you’re dramatic,” Dinar mumbled but Ezra caught his little laugh and decided, quietly, privately, that his new mission in life was to pull that laugh from his brother at any opportunity.

—from the as-of-yet-unfinished chapter 32 of “The Lighthouse Keeper”

. . . . .

No pressure tags: @the-kittylorian-writes @seleneisrising @sytortuga @desertbeskar @sotvtaughtmehowtofeel (of course anyone is welcome to join in! Just go right ahead!)

And your lines are: a line about desire, a line expressing grief, a line expressing pain, a line that makes you incredibly happy, a line expressing acceptance

[ecmlol]

The batch doesn't go back to pabu but heads to coresant (sp?) to get in touch with rex. It's been three standard days . By this time Phee has no clue what's going on until her com goes off and it's tech . He explain that he he stuck in a dragon like bird nest and he's badly hurt. She didn't have a clue how to get in touch with anyone that could help her so she gots to cid . She doesn't tell her that tech is alive but she doe find out that cid called the empire. They argue and Phee winds up killing cid and cleaning her out with the help of the two patrons she was telling the story to that one time . She dumps her body in the tunnel and goes off to find tech she was able to hitch a ride on a empire ship and land close by . She has to hike and then climb a tree to get to tech. She almost falls a fell time and then she lowers a bad hurt tech to the ground maybe they almost get catch but they are about to shot their way out and get back to her ship which she hid because her ship has small pods she load tech in and leave the planet . They don't say much because tech keeps going in and out of being unconscious. She takes him back to pabu where she takes care of him.until the bad batch comes back with crosshair . There relationship progresses and tech finally get the strength to tell her that he appreciates her. When the batch gets back with a mental damaged crosshair of the first thing he say dank farrick when he sees a hurt tech and Phee walking towards the ship . Phee is helping tech walk . His arm is around her and he is shuffling along to the ship as it lands. He's actually smiling. Omega is crying and so is wrecker. Echo is helping crosshair off the ship and omega and wrecker rush off toward tech and hunter just stands there looking exhausted.

[burnwater13]

Grogu understood that some words explained themselves. Told on themselves. They were words that you didn’t use everyday, but if you used them, well, boy howdy, would you get people’s attention and if you were Grogu, you’d probably get some scolding after using any one of them. So why did Din Djarin get to say ‘Dank farrick’ and no one cared? Huh?

It didn’t seem fair to Grogu. Not fair at all. 

First, it’s important to note, Grogu doesn’t use that word every single day. Contrary to what Peli Motto said after watching for a week when his dad, the Mandalorian, was off doing something with Daimyo Fett and Administrator Shand. Grogu may have grumbled, ‘Womp rats’ more than once, but not the big DF. Nope. Not him. 

Second, it is also important to note that same Mandalorian dad, Din Djarin, used Dank Farrick as if it were some how going out of style and he needed to use it before it lost all of its magic. For example, spills caf on the floor of the cabin - ‘Dank Farrick’. Misplaces his last can of armor polish - ‘Dank Farrick’. Finds Grogu’s muddy foot prints all over his armor when he wakes up after a long hard day of doing nothing but whittling, ‘Dank Farrik’.  Honestly, you’d think he’d be happy he had something to do, but that had just turned into not finding that last can of armor polish. 

Finally, Grogu had an excellent reason to express his frustration when his plan didn’t work out. That is what expletives and other similar words were for, as you know. To express high emotion in a manner that is accessible to almost anyone. Grogu had felt more than a little entitled to use that expression on that day. 

The day had started out nice enough. Frogs and broth for breakfast. Running around the pond playing catch the butterfly. Taking a nap under the scrub tree. Having lunch with his dad at the table that was still covered with all the art drawings he’d completed the night before. A typical day with Din Djarin and Din Grogu. Right? 

Well, that’s how it started. But just have lunch, Marshal IG-11-M (the dash M signifies Marshal, because of course it does) stopped by the cabin and asked to talk to the Mandalorian. Privately. What? Why would a droid want to have a private conversation with his dad? There was nothing that Din Djarin should know that Grogu shouldn’t know. They were master and apprentice now. Father and son. A clan of two. But that didn’t matter. His dad told to go play by the pond for a while so he could talk to the Marshal. 

Grogu had reluctantly complied with that directive, order, unwelcome communication. He shuffled his feet and walked as slow as he could and was even more put out when his dad lifted him up, put him on the other side of the cabin door and closed it. Womp rats!

Grogu had to consider whether or not to have a temper tantrum right then and there or to save that up for another time and figure out what the droid was telling his dad. He opted for reconnaissance instead of revenge. He felt that was the more balanced choice when considering how the Force would look at his behavior. 

So his first option was to just drop down and listen at the small gap between the door and the floor (ha, ha, door and floor). He heard a few words but unfortunately IG-11-M stepped back as it was saying something to Din Djarin and stepped right on the tip of Grogu’s ear, which had poked past the threshold at the door. Ouch! That really hurt!

Grogu had rolled away from the door and in walked in little furious circles because he still didn’t want his dad to realize that he hadn’t gone down to the pond. Now he just had to deal with the pain, which was a lot of pain because those flat metal feet that IG-11-M had were solid and heavy, as if they were designed to squish ears. Maybe they had been. 

As soon as Grogu had dealt with the immediate aftermath of his injury he was even more determined to find out what they were talking about. He looked up at the door so he could shake his fist at it (there was some residual pain left to work out) and noticed the window. He didn’t often noticed windows because they were never set for his height, but this one was perfect. He could hop up onto the sill and listen from behind the curtains that one of the bartenders at the tavern had made for them. Apparently his dad had compelled a number of the bar’s patrons to pay their tabs and the bartender was grateful. 

Anyway, Grogu put his plan into action and hopped up on the sill and hid behind the yellow/green fabric with the tiny heart shapes on it. He made sure that he didn’t let either ear scoot into he room itself because he sure didn’t want to give himself away or somehow have another ear related mishap. One was more than enough for any day, ever. 

“Yes. High Magistrate Karga has demanded that attend the event. As his guardian it would be inappropriate to do otherwise.” The Marshal’s tone was serious and dreadful. 

Oh no! What sort of trouble had Grogu managed to get into this time? He thought he and the high Magistrate had an understanding… what happened in that office while Grogu was just eating the snacks and spinning in the chair stayed in that office! Was he gonna tell his dad about the time he spilled paint all over the floor when he making up the new signage for the High Magistrate? Or was he gonna tell him about the time he took the protocol droid apart using the Force but then couldn’t put it back together completely? He’d told the High Magistrate that certain parts weren’t essential for all droids. It’s true! Look it up. 

Grogu had become so consumed with all the possible little, bitty, tiny infractions that he had committed, he forgot how wide the window sill was. He took that one step backwards and found himself looking up at the ceiling while his dad and IG-11-M were looking down at him. At least he’d fallen on top of the table. But now he had landed on the dishes left over from lunch. 

He knew his dad didn’t understand what had really happened when he yelled out ‘Dank Farrick’ at the top of his lungs. How could he? The fork thing was under Grogu, piercing him in a most unkind way, but Din couldn’t see it at all. He had no idea. He just shook his head and said, “Grogu, maybe next time, use the door.”

Dank farrick!

[justalittletomato]

“Oh I could never be a Jedi.” Cress Oppress muses.

The Zabrak lays back upon the flat rocks, mind slightly fuzzy from the drink he had brought along.

“Hey just because Maul is your Dad…” Ezra starts.

“It’s not because of him.” The zabrak mutters.

“Well your Buir is a Mandalorian, but then again she married a force user…so im confused.” Ezra rambles.

“Confused and slightly tipsy, careful with that stuff,” Cress tugs the bottle away from him.

“I can handle it,” Ezra grumbles.

—-

Leta has fallen asleep against Cress. Cress hummed softly as he held her.

“It is because you’re in love?” Ezra tried. “If that’s the case then we are all doomed buddy.”

Cress didn’t laugh.

“Dank farrick.” Muttered Ezra. “It’s love right?”

Cress shook his head for a moment then nodded. “It’s love but selfish love. Ever since I was little. Ever since her.” He holds Leta closer to him.

Memories of chasing after the last plumes of a ship, a forest cleared in utter despair. At a whole 8 years old Cress couldn’t let go of love even if he tried.

He did not recall being carried home in his fathers arms and his buir wiping away tears from his sleeping face. He didn’t recall being laid to bed and his parents worried over him.

“He is too much like me.” Maul says angerly. A wave of guilt threatening to pull him down. Clinging to whatever affection in a vice grip, begging for it to stay. As if it kept him afloat.

Starlight sighed, “ Cress is your son, he is like you. He is like me.”

“I’d prefer he were more like you.”

The Mandalorian brushed a kiss to his cheek, “ No, our child is perfect as is. A stubborn Mandolorian Zabrak who loves so much, and tommorow and many days after he will need us both…”

—-

Letting go.

Not being afraid to lose love. To lose.

He couldn’t.

He clung to love like a lifeline…

—-

“You can be a Jedi , Ezra Bridger, not me.” Cress held Leta close.

[hunnythebee]

Stow Away

Chapter 4: The Bounty

Din Djarin went to Tatooine with a simple purpose, to capture his bounty. Things don't go as planned, and now... He's in danger.

Warnings: Canon typical violence and threats, pining, possessive ex!Bane, NSFW, NSFT, masturbation, caught

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 | Masterlist

A/N: This chapter is a flashback written entirely from Din's perspective. He is referred to by name, but Jo still does not know his in the regular story. I just really wanted to show how things went from his perspective, back on Tatooine.

Also, I'm starting to consider cross-posting onto AO3 but Idk yet. Maybe when I get to chapter 5... We will see.

Enjoy and I will see you all next week!

Din was in agony, locked away in his bunk. She was dangerous. The very thing he needed to avoid and the very thing he desperately craved. He had thought she was beautiful when he had received her puck, but he had no idea the effect she’d have on him in person. 

He had been on Tatooine to capture her. Her voice was the first thing he heard when he had disembarked. It had been a shock to his system, like he had been struck by lightning, hitting him square in the chest and knocking the wind out of him. Then he saw her face, and realized she was his bounty. A cold sweat had broken out across his skin upon seeing her, and for the first time since the kid, he wasn't sure he would be able to deliver. He left Grogu with Peli, avoiding the beautiful girl in the shipyard, and went to walk off his thoughts. He couldn’t bear to stay in the docking bay a moment longer. He spent the day wandering the streets of Mos Eisley, hoping she would be inside when he got back, or at the very least he could slip past without any interaction.

He was never so wrong.

She was not only out in the shipyard when he returned, but upon his return she approached him. He was frozen to the spot. She wanted to come with him, and he desperately wanted to say yes. To throw her over his shoulder and carry her onto his ship where he could protect her forever. 

“...I was ditched by my– well what they were is unimportant. But what I was for them was everything. See, I was their mechanic, pilot, medic, cook, whatever they needed, I supplied. I couldn't help but notice–"

He cut her off mid-sentence, “No.”

When she mentioned her old partner he remembered why he was there in the first place. Cad Bane had issued a bounty on her. He wanted her back, and Din could honestly see why. What he couldn’t fathom was how Bane had abandoned her in the first place, but no amount of credits could convince him to bring her in. He needed to leave immediately. He boarded the Crest and climbed up to the cockpit. He was in such a state that he didn’t notice the call coming in on his communicator.

Karga’s face materialized and it startled Din. 

“How’s the hunting?”

“Fine.” Din said through gritted teeth.

“I’ll cut to the chase. Mando, a message came in for you. Cad Bane is on Tatooine. He’s at the cantina in town, he has information on Jomira Barellos. He wants to meet you tonight.”

Dank Farrick.

“Alright, I’ll head there now.” Din ended the transmission and headed down the ladder. He was not going to let anything happen to her. If that meant having to meet with Bane at the cantina, so be it. So long as he doesn’t come here. Din left without a word to her, quickly telling Peli he had a meeting in town.

When he arrived at the cantina it was packed, but he could see Bane’s wide brim sitting off in the corner booth. He steeled himself, his usual Mandalorian bounty hunter persona coming into full frame. He stalked over to the table and sat across from the Duros. Cad Bane skipped all pleasantries and cut to the chase.

“You need to be warned. Jo isn’t one to underestimate  She's dangerous.”

Din grinded his teeth. He didn’t want to listen to what this hunter had to say about her, he was certain it was all lies.

Bane continued, “She will say or do anything to get what she wants. Don’t give in to her.”

Din clenched his hand into a fist. His voice came out sharp and cold, “That all?”

“One last thing, and this is the reason I brought you in here. C’mere.” He leaned across the table and Din followed. Bane grabbed him by the cloth of his flight suit, his grip threatening. “You so much as lay a finger on her, and I will gut you, understood Mandalorian?”

Din pulled out of his grasp, and stood. “I don't fuck my bounties Bane.”

Bane laughed darkly, “Good, 'cause if you do...” he patted the blaster on his hip. "It'll be your head."

Din turned and left the cantina. He immediately recognized that one of Bane’s associates was tailing him. He took a detour, ditching the tail in a thick crowd. Din still took his time returning to the dock just to be certain he was not followed. He wasn’t going to risk her safety. He collected Grogu from Peli, thanking her for watching him. He quickly boarded his ship and took off. A weight lifted from his shoulders as he exited the atmosphere.

“She’s safe,” he whispered to himself before throttling the ship into hyperspace. An alert flashed on the dash and he groaned. The alert was installed in the bounty storage, to tell him if a heat signature was detected in the unlikely event that the carbonite unfreezes mid flight. He unholstered his blaster and opened the chamber door. He immediately locked onto a heat signature.

“Come out,” he commanded. No movement.

Fine.

He walked up to the hiding spot and yanked them out. He wasn’t sure which bounty he had been expecting, but it definitely hadn’t been her. His eyes were wide behind his mask. He held her to the wall with his blaster instinctively tucked beneath her jaw. His mind was racing.

“You have 10 seconds.” He was desperately trying to keep his voice steady.

She was staring at him. He could’ve sworn she was staring directly into his eyes, but he knew that was impossible. He wanted to hear her voice, hear her answer, her explanation. He began to countdown, hoping to spur her on.

It worked.

She explained herself, but she was shouting. Probably terrified, given that he still had the blaster against her neck. He was also scared and he snapped at her.

"I could have killed you and still could, do you understand that? You know who I am? What I am, yes?"

She nodded and he lowered the gun, exasperated. As he lowered it, his gaze caught the glimmer of the blaster on her hip. He removed the blaster from the holster, his heart raced as he grazed her hip. She started to explain how she wasn’t planning to use it, but he didn’t care. He covered her mouth with his hand, wishing it could be his mouth. He took in her body, the close proximity causing him to pulse. Her breasts were beautiful, rising and falling with every deep breath she was taking. His resolve was crumbling. He wanted to feel her so badly, but he knew it would mean abandoning everything. That’s when he caught it, the glint of a vibroblade tucked against her sternum. 

Do it.

Without giving himself a chance to second guess he reached his free hand into her shirt, clasping around the vibroblade and brushing against her breast. He had hoped it would calm the storm brewing in him but it just worsened it. He released her and quickly left the room, knowing if he stayed any longer he would break.

A day later he had forced himself into a quarantine. He fucked his fist, praying to the Maker it would help.

It didn’t. Nothing would be enough. Nothing, except…

“Jomira…” he moaned out as he climaxed into his hand. Doubling over from the release. It felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. Din leaned his head back against the durasteel wall, trying to slow his heart and steady his breathing. 

After a few moments he finally came back to reality. He looked down at his hand, glove still on and an absolute mess. Din discarded the gloves, cursing himself for not removing them before he started, but he couldn't wait. Jerking off was merely a patch on a severely cracked wall, his wall.

Jomira had been chiseling away at the wall he had so carefully constructed around his life. The most dangerous thing about the intrusion was that he wanted it. He wanted her. He would do anything for her, and that thought terrified him. She wanted to see his face? He would take off the helmet without a second thought. She wanted to know his name? He would tell her in a heartbeat. She needed someone dead? Done, no questions asked.

He stood from his bunk and sighed, putting the helmet back on. At that moment he realized he had no other gloves. He would have to be bare handed till he could either get new ones or clean off those other ones. He swallowed hard at the notion of truly feeling her skin.

Din wasn't tired, so he decided to leave his bunk and resume control in the cockpit. He opened the door, and caught something moving. It was her. She was in her bed, and to anyone else she would have looked like she was deep asleep. Anyone without a Mandalorian helmet that was. 

He could see perfectly, her body temperature was skyrocketing between her legs. Bright red, like a beacon, beckoning him to it. His cock twitched against his trousers and he held back a groan. 

Dank Farrik.

His fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles were turning white. He wanted nothing more in this galaxy than to go to her. To tear off that blanket and make the hull echo with her cries of pleasure. He took an involuntary step forward, licking his lips.

Just once, just to get her out of my head.

He caught himself, shaking his head and turning to the ladder. He hastily climbed it and closed the cockpit behind him. He was hard again. He sighed and slumped down in the pilot's chair. Realizing that his method of restraint may not hold out forever. She needed to go, before his restraint faltered completely.

Kriffing Cad Bane… he was right about one thing. She is dangerous.

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 | Masterlist

[ruusaanrambles]

mom has started saying "Hey! watch your language" when i say dank farrick and i think she's serious so that's over i suppose

and i ramble enough about mando'a to the family that sheb shab shabuir mirsheb and osik are probably off the table too

[elfan22]

Broken Soul sneakpeek - Chapter Thirty-Four

(credit to gif creator)

A/N: I just posted an update to the story, but here's something from a couple months ago

~~~

The dragon's high-pitched scream echoes through the canyon, calling out a warning to anyone nearby. It rears its head from the sand, exposing its enormous fangs as its scream grows louder.

"STAY IN POSITION!" you scream as the people around you start to shift nervously in their places, raising your free hand to signal to the Tuskens operating the spear cannon. "HOLD IT!" you stare at the beast, watching its every movement. "READY..." The beast roars louder, starting to creep further out of its resting place. "AND..."

Now.

"FIRE!"

Spears were fired at the dragon, digging into its tough flesh, and making it scream in anger and pain. One of the raiders running back to the group trips and falls, and you charge forward to help them as the dragon barrels forward.

"ALORA!" Din darts forward from his position in the rocky ledges above, but Cobb's arm stops him. "Move!" he growls at the marshal, desperate to get to you.

"She's gonna be fine," Cobb hisses.

Your efforts to get to the Tusken before the dragon did were in vain, and you let out a cry of desperation as you watch the poor man get captured in the jaws of the beast, with one hand reaching out to you for help.

"NO!"

The dragon starts to retreat back into the cave with its prize, hissing with satisfaction as it moves.

"Shit!" you hiss, pausing for a moment as you watch it back away.

"Dank farrick, it's going back in," Din growls. "It's retreating."

The ropes that were attached to the spears are starting to pull taut as the dragon pulls away, and the Sand People run to grab them, pulling them back with all their might. But they're yanked into the air along with the rope, dragged in after the beast. People start running forward to offer their assistance, but it all seems to be in vain.

"Oh no, you don't," you growl, raising your blaster.

"I'm gonna hit it," Cobb mutters, hovering his thumb over the trigger for the explosives.

"No! Wait! Alora is there!" Din urges, shoving his hand away from the trigger. "And we only have one shot. We've gotta get it out." His eyes narrow behind his visor as he watches you charge forward. "What is she doing?"

You let out a cry of anger as you shoot at the beast. The rest of the Tuskens and townspeople start to shoot and throw things at the krayt dragon to anger it.

"COME ON, YOU GIANT PIECE OF SHIT AND SCALES," you shriek, holding your ground and continuing fire.

The krayt dragon charges forward once again, barreling straight towards you while you continue to shoot. Your eyes narrow as the size of the beast starts to engulf your vision.

"FALL BACK!" You turn and wave your arms, screaming at people to leave as you stumble away from the charging beast. "RETREAT!" The dragon nearly snags you with its teeth when you slip over the shifting sand, but a Tusken yanks you away from harm as the beast slams its mouth shut with a deafening boom.

"ALORA!" Din's voice echoes through the canyon, and you glance up at the ledge where he's hidden when you hear it.

"NOT YET. DON'T HIT IT. NOT YET. IT'S NOT IN POSITION."

"Dammit, Alora," Din hisses, clenching his hand into a fist. "Why must you always be so focused on others and not yourself?"

"Gotta say, Mando," Cobb says through gritted teeth. "I admire your partner. She's got guts."

"That she does," Din mutters, watching as you drag someone away from the collapsing sand.

More spears are shot at the beast, and Tuskens swarm to grab onto the ropes connected to them, trying to haul the creature farther out of its cave.

"Come on!" You grab one of the ropes, helping the Tuskens in holding the dragon in position, but stumble back when the krayt dragon suddenly lifts its head into the air. The people holding the ropes are thrown into the air as you hit the sand with widened eyes in horror.

The dragon lets out a bellowed shriek, shaking the walls of the canyon and shifting the sand as it rears its head with opening jaws.

"Holy shit-"

A sickly green acid spews from its mouth and you cower in the sand, curling up into a ball to try to make yourself as small as you possibly can. Screaming fills the air as Tuskens and townspeople alike are hit with the acid, and you look up and scream in horror when you see them crumble and dissipate into nothing.

"ALORA!" Din charges forward once again, and Cobb moves to stop him again. "I need to get her. I need-"

"If you want to help her, then we need to kill the thing," Cobb says desperately, his eyes widening with the horror of what he had just witnessed.

"I need to get her away-"

"You need to focus, Mando! We are her only hope!"

"Okay... okay..." Din raises his binocs, watching as the dragon moves further into the open. You're splayed out on your back, looking up at the ginormous beast in terror.

"Oh Maker, this is not how my life was gonna end," you whisper to yourself. At least the kid is safe with Din.

"Now!" Din yells at Cobb.

You let out a scream when the bombs planted in the sand explode under the krayt dragon, and you turn to scramble away when it sends a ripple through the earth. The beast's roar nearly bursts your eardrums, and you clap your hands over your ears as you crumble to your knees. People were cowering just as you were, dropping to their knees and covering their heads as the explosion rocks the canyon.

The dragon dives into the sand, burrowing deep into the earth, and disappearing into the Dune Sea. The ground trembles from the movement, and you stay in your momentary state of shock as you watch it disappear.

~~~

Continue on Wattpad and AO3 ❤️

[disasterantilles]

Dank farrick, that's a lot of troopers!

@swsource​ star wars week: day 5 – don't make me nickname you clones & chosen names

no guarantee or ambition for absolute completeness

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

I Need a Mechanic

A/N: Let me know if you’re interested in a smutty part 2! 

Pairing: Pre-Grogu Din Djarin x Female OC Grace Rayrunner 

Warnings: 18+ only for language, canon typical violence, broken bones, and jealous exes with an affinity for knives. This is young Din before Grogu back when he ran with a different crew. 

Word Count: 3,179 

“Do you work here?” she turns from the engine she’s welding to look at the voice behind her. Her hands flex from the pressure and the heat, and she pulls up the mask over her face giving him a glare; black tresses from her ponytail fall into her eyes, and she pushes them back. 

“You can’t park the hunk of junk here,” he looks behind him at the Razor Crest and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“That’s not a hunk of junk; that’s my ship.” 

She rolls her eyes, “well, this is my place, and I’m kriffing telling you, you can’t park it here.” She rises from her knees and is shocked at how broad the man before her is as he towers over her, leaving her half in shadow. 

“What are you wearing?” he scoffs, looking down at her outfit. A dark green button-up, unbuttoned halfway down to show off a white lace bralette, and black shorts with lots of pockets for all sorts of tools. “Nevermind,” he sighs, “do you work here?” 

“Yes, I do, and if you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of the desert, and it’s hot as hell here, so hence the clothes.” 

“Yeah, I hadn’t noticed,” he replies slowly, his helmet moving down over her body. 

“Little slow there, aren’t ya?” she sasses back, pushing around him to get back to the office and, tosses the helmet and welding gun down. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to get your...shit, I can’t think of a better word besides junk. Out of my shipyard, I’d be happy as can be.” 

He follows her close and blocks the doorway when she goes to exit, “are you a mechanic?” 

“Kriff,” she puts a hand to her head and sighs, “yes.” 

“Then I’ll pay you to fix up my ship,” he pauses when she barks out a laugh, bowling over with force and trying to catch her breath. 

“Ah, ha, ha, that is hilarious! You don’t have that kind of credit, honey; you are better off buying a new ship. It’s a HUNK. OF. JUNK.” She says each word slowly, so he understands the full effect of her words. But instead of leaving with a huff, he stands there, helmet pointed down, she can feel the heat of his eyes on her, and she flinches, taking a step back. 

“How much?” his voice is low, dangerous. 

She crosses her arms and glares at him, calculating some numbers in her head. “Okay, I’ll do a basic tune-up, make sure it’s running fine. It’ll be five hundred credits.” 

“What’s your name?” he takes a step closer, and she subconsciously takes a step back. 

“Grace Rayrunner. Now, that’s five hundred credits, half now and a half when it’s done. I won’t do it otherwise.” He pulls out a bundle of credits hanging from his dingy armor, littered with scratches and dents, and drops it into her outstretched palm. 

“Done, and absolutely no droids,” he nods, “I got a job to do on planet, so I’ll be back for my ship tomorrow night.” He turns towards the exit out into Mos Eisley, and she yells back for him. 

“Hey! Mando! What?! No droids, but how…This hunk of…” she stops when he reaches a hand towards his blaster, “ship won’t be done for a couple of days. Even longer without using the droids!” 

“Tomorrow night,” he replies like granite, hard and unwavering, before walking out the door and into the night. 

It takes her all night and most of the day to get the piece of shit even to turn over, and she curses that she should have charged him way more money, especially with a condensed timeline and lack of resources.

Grace curses as the panel spark, and she shimmies back underneath. “Dank Farrick,” she mumbles, putting down her helmet again to try another connection, “stupid, Mandalorian.” 

She screams when the board she’s lying on is pulled out and comes face to face with said Mandalorian. “Kriff,” she mumbles, pulling up the mask, “I’m not done yet.” 

“Now, who's the slow one,” he bends down, and she sits up, eyes level with one another. “I need to get out of here; when will you be done?” 

“Why? Got a hot date?” she snorts before lying back and pushing back under the panel. 

“I have a prior engagement,” she can almost feel the snark in his reply, making her stomach churn. “Don’t want to be late.” She ignores him, continuing to rewire the panel. “I got lots of credits on this last job; I was wondering if you might toss in a little something extra.” 

“What’d you have in mind?” His gloved palm stroking up and down the length of her thigh is a rude awakening, and she kicks at him, rolling out from beneath the ship. “Get the hell out of here!”

He chuckles, quickly taking a step back, “come on, honey, you’re not finding any action on this planet, and you could use the credits.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the wall, smug as can be. 

“I would rather eat bantha dung than ever consider sleeping with you. Since you’ve come here, you’ve done nothing but piss me off; you’re arrogant and selfish. If your hunk of junk ship wasn’t enough to see how well you take care of your things, that dingy armor would! I am not a whore; this is my shop; you can keep the rest of your credits and clear out! I kriffing hope you fall out of the sky!” 

“Is it done then?” he asks, ignoring everything else she’d said and walking towards the ramp to the Crest. 

She throws up her arms, exasperated, “I guess! And if I ever see you again, Mandalorian, it will be too soon.” He ignores her, walking up the ramp and closing the hatch behind him, a clink of coins hitting the sand as the ship powers up. With a scream, she grabs the bag of credits and hurls it toward the ship, watching as they explode against the side before splattering across the sand, “Kriffing Mandalorian!” 

The ship takes off through the atmosphere and she stews for a moment before collecting the credits, counting them as she goes. It doesn’t escape her notice that there are significantly more credits than should be, but she writes it off as him being unable to do simple calculations, what with being a nerf herder, hoping she never sees him and his stupid broad shoulders again. 

But unfortunately, life is never fair, and the Mandalorian does return not once or twice but almost monthly. No matter the number of screwdrivers she’s tossed at his helmet, he keeps coming back. The Razor Crest always comes in hot, nearly crashing into the shop and crushing whatever she’s working on most of the time. Her protests fall on deaf ears as he just tosses a bag of credits, far more than she needs, and leaves to the Cantina for work. 

But something had begun to shift in the last few months; he still came in hot and tosses her the credits, but he always came back early, and during those times between scathing comments, insults, and general displeasure (usually from her), he was almost…pleasant. 

And she couldn’t deny that he was attractive, those broad shoulders, and the deep husk of his voice through the moderator. He’d been the star of more than one of her nighttime fantasies. His armor pinning her down to the bed, hands tied up in those binders he has snapped to his belt, and then he would go to remove his mask, and she’d wake up, panting and alone, hand buried deep in her pussy, aching for him to come and take away the ache. 

“What are you thinking about?” he comes out of the shadows, watching as she furiously blinks away the images. 

“Nothing,” she snaps, tightening the bolt on the panel. “You know, I’m starting to think you should just invest in a new ship.” 

“Why is that?” he sighs, putting his hands on his hips and looming over her. 

“Because by the time you’ve got her into some semblance of working order, the number of credits you’ve paid me could buy you a new ship.” She stands, brushing off her hands on her shorts, wincing at the small cut on the nip of her finger, “kriff.” 

He stands there silent, a wall of armor and leather, before taking her wrist in his hand; she goes to protest before he’s slipped her finger beneath the mask. She can’t breathe, his warm wet mouth wrapped around her finger, his tongue flicking back and forth over the small cut. She can feel her panties dripping, and despite not seeing his eyes, she knows they are fixed on her. The T-shape visor stares down at her as he takes a step closer, “how does that feel?” he whispers, voice hoarse. 

Grace is speechless for the first time in her life, and when he slowly releases her hand, the whimper that slips out is far from silent. “I have to go,” he closes the last inch of distance, cupping her cheek with his glove, the leather coarse and rough from years of use. “I won’t be back for several months; I got a big job coming up.” 

“Why are you telling me?” she whispers, biting her tongue so hard to suppress the moan when he runs his hand from her cheek, down her side, just grazing the side of her breast, before wrapping an arm tight around her waist, pinning her body to his own. 

Neither of them mentions how she doesn’t push his away, how she leans closer, the helmet pressing to her forehead. “Because, little mechanic, when I return, I’m going to repeat my original offer, only this time it won’t be for credits. It’ll be because you want me to fuck you, want me to bring you so much pleasure you won’t be able to remember your own name when I’m done with you.” 

She pulls her head back, a playful scowl across her lips, “Is that a threat, Mandalorian?” 

“No,” he shakes his head, sliding his hands lower to take two handfuls of her ass and squeeze tightly, leaving her gasping. He leans close to her ear and whispers, “It’s a promise.” His hands retreat before returning to give a sharp slap to her ass, and she moans, falling forward to dig her fingers into the thick cowl at his neck, nearly falling over when he steps backward and turns to the ship, pulling the ramp up behind him. The heat from the engine is nothing compared to the one swirling in her body, threatening to erupt like a volcano from a mere brush of his hands on her body. How the hell would she last if there was nothing between them? In a few months, she promised she would find out. 

Over the next three months, Grace tried to convince herself that every sound of an engine landing in the bay wasn’t him. But her body didn’t seem to get the memo, her heart pounding, lungs constricting with the anticipation that he’d returned. It was a foreign feeling, to be sure, but not unwanted as she lay in bed and recalled the past year of interactions with the Mandalorian. Yes, he was cocky, and at times his silence was infuriating, but there was something about him that made her feel safe around him; comfortable. 

The sound of an engine rumbling into the bay sent her heart into a tizzy as she stood from the droid she’d been working on, wiping the oil off her hands. “Can I help you?” Grace asks, coming from the office and taking in the sleek one-person cruiser, a purple-skinned Twi'lek coming down the ramp, spinning something silver and sharp around her index finger. 

“I don’t know,” she giggles, almost unhinged, and a chill creeps down Grace’s spine. “That depends,” she takes a step closer, invading her space; the knife comes down swift and splits her cheek before pressing sharply against her neck. “Does a Mandalorian ever come through here?” 

Her voice shakes, “no, I don’t know any Mandalorians; I thought the Empire killed them all?” 

The Twi’lek laughs, pressing the knife harder into her neck, “you’re not a very good liar, darling.” 

“I’m not-” Grace is cut off as the Twi’lek bares her fangs, hissing in her face. 

“You’re all he talks about, you know? His little mechanic…it makes me SICK!” She steps back, swinging the knife around, Grace barely moving out of the way before it slices her stomach. “He won’t let me even touch him anymore,” she rambles, her voice growing more distressed with each passing second. “He’s MINE!” 

Grace quickly glances around for something to use as a weapon, picking up an old plasma shield to use as a barrier between her and the angry Twi’lek. “If I can’t have him, nobody can!” One by one, she flicks the sharp blades at her, trying to block every attack; Grace almost falters when the Twi’lek screams in frustration. She doesn’t notice how the next knife blinks before the force of the blast envelopes the space in a blur of flame and she’s thrown back into the wall, hitting her head before the world goes black. 

When she finally comes to the Twi’lek is gone, part of the wall suspended over her, hiding her from view. She lets out a shuddering breath, lucky to be alive. Her head is pounding, and her leg is definitely broken, but she crawls through the smoldering remains of her shop, glass embedding in her palms as she claws her way out. “Grace!” she lifts her head to see Peli Motto, another mechanic bursting through the door, “you dead?!” 

“Not yet,” she groans, rolling over onto her back, “but they gave a good try.” 

“Kriff kid,” she stands over you, “what the hell happened?” She helps Grace, supporting her weight on one side and complaining loudly the whole time. “Jeez, who’d you piss off this time?” 

“It’s a long story,” Grace sighs, hobbling to the workbench and sitting down, “can you get me, Doc? I don’t think I will be able to walk that far.” 

“Yeah,” Peli puts her hands on her hips with a shake of her head, “your leg isn’t supposed to be bent in that direction.” 

“I didn’t notice,” she fails miserably at keeping the sarcasm from her tone, “please, Peli.” With a scoff, she walks off in the direction of the doctor, leaving you in the rubble of your life. 

Several hours later, Grace is tucked up in bed, her leg set and a couple of medications on the counter. Tomorrow she would need to go through the garage and pick out what’s left of her life before moving it over to Peli’s place; the older woman suggested combining the business, and Grace couldn’t think of a valid reason to say no. 

Given the situation, it was a smooth transition, and she fit into Peli’s shipyard as if she’d always been there. Healing was slow, but each day her leg was stronger, the cuts and bruises beginning to fade, although she would always have a long scar down her cheek from the Twi’lek’s blade. It was three weeks to the day since her life had literally collapsed around her when she finally heard his voice again. 

“Where the hell is she?!” he shouts at Peli, his voice frantic, “the entire shipyard is burned to a crisp; it’s like she was never there!” 

“How much does it mean to ya?” she hears Peli snark, always out to make a credit. He huffs before placing a handful of credits in her outstretched hand. “Why do you want her?” 

“She’s…” he hesitates before dropping his head in a sigh, lowering his voice, “she’s important to me. Please,” he all but begs, “just tell me if she’s alive.” 

Grace can’t stand it; the longing she’d felt since he last left her aching on the landing pad flares up, and she takes a hesitant step out of the shadows. His blaster is drawn and pointed at her before she can whisper hello. Both of them are frozen as they take the other in. She can almost feel his eyes trail over her body, taking in the bruises, cuts, and the cane gripped tightly in her left hand. He reholsters the blaster, taking a hesitant step closer, Peli makes herself scarce, counting her credits as she walks back into the shop. 

The Mandalorian closes the distance between them, his steps slow as though he’s scared to startle her, his hand moving to caress her cheek. Grace’s breath catches in her throat at the feeling of his skin warm against her own, his fingers tracing over the scar on her cheek. His voice is quiet, but its venom is crystal clear, “tell me who did this to you.” 

She closes her eyes, trying to collect herself before replaying the horrible affair, “it was some purple-skinned Twi’lek,” his other hand tightens into a fist. “She asked if I knew you, and I told her I didn’t, but she didn’t believe me. She…she told me that you were her’s and if she couldn’t have you, no one could.” 

“Xi’an,” the name comes out with a growl, and he lowers his hand and takes a step back. Grace steps forward, the cane dropping as she all but falls forward, bracing against his chest, his strong arms coming around to hold her up. “What did she do to you?” he whispers, keeping you upright. 

“Blew up the shop,” Grace mumbles, focusing on a scuff on his armor, “the wall came down, crushed my leg, and knocked me out. I think she thought I was dead.” His arms around her waist tighten, and she slowly raises her eyes to look at the T-shape of his visor, “she said you spoke about me.” He stays silent, “Is that true?” 

“Yes.” His hands run up and down her back, “It was reckless of me,” he sighs, “I know how possessive Xi’an can be. But she wouldn’t back down, she kept trying to get me alone, and once I started talking about you…kriff, I couldn’t stop.” 

“Why?” she asks, begging to know if he burns the same for her as she for him. 

“You know why,” he presses the helmet to her forehead. 

“Tell me,” Grace lifts her hands to tighten the cowl at his neck, fingers grasping to the fabric. 

“I’m not good with words,” she feels the disappointment bloom in her chest, but all the air leaves her lungs as he picks her up, “let me show you.” He cradles her like she’s made of glass, passing a smirking Peli, who loudly reminds them to use protection and keep it down. The door to her room opens as she silently directs him where to put her down, his knees hitting the ground hard as he kneels at her feet.

Let me know if you’d like a smutty part 2 :)

[newpathwrites]

Just a couple parts left to write. Hoping to have this posted by next weekend. Enjoy more excerpts from the next chapter of How to Build a Clan (A New Creed universe). The first excerpt references a scene from chapter 1.

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Omera was in over her head here, and she knew it. She couldn’t fathom personally what Jai described. It wasn’t typical… but it also didn’t seem like a pathology…. Jai was different, certainly, but not abnormal.

And throughout this conversation something nudged at the edge of her consciousness - a memory… a similarity… a nighttime conversation on the porch… a first kiss…

Din.

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The teenager met her eyes, shaking their head in disagreement. “No, I can’t… I talk to Din about many things… but not stuff like this… I think he’ll combust if I even bring it up.”

Omera couldn’t help but chuckle. “You don’t have to get into the uncomfortable details - just explain your experience to him. You two have so much in common, I’m sure he’ll be more helpful than I have been.”

“You really think I should?”

Omera nodded kindly, reaching a hand over to tuck a stray dash of hair back over Jai’s ear. “I really do, sweetheart.”

Jai sighed loudly, huffing a bit at the end. “Dank farrick… alright…”

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[pkatesss]

The first minute legit had me crying, Din is such a good dad