#dark!mando x reader

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Ni Ceta, Cyar'ika

Dark!Din Djarin x Jedi!Female Reader

Warnings: corruption arc, murder, death of minor character (i don't wanna spoil it but I wanna make sure no one is caught off guard. it's axe woves), possessive behavior, loss and anxiety, light smut, mentions of being intimate

Word Count: 7,842

Summary: Din Djarin is a man who lost everything. His home, his son, his Creed. But at the end of the day, he still had you. He still had you, and he was determined to keep you.

[a/n: if dark fics aren't your forte, don't worry this isn't super dark. well, not as dark as i originally planned to go. more psychological horror than physical]

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"i denied death for you. and i'd die for you again. kill for you. i'd tear the stars down from the heavens to fashion you a crown. you are my heart. my queen. i'd do anything and everything you ask me."

-Jay Kristoff

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Looking back, you had no chance of not falling in love with Din Djarin. Even despite having plenty of reasons not to. You were on the run from the Empire, trying to keep a padawan safe from them. He was hired to collect said padawan as a bounty. He was a Mandalorian. You were a Jedi. Needless to say, the odds had been stacked against you both, but falling for him was the simplest thing in all the worlds.

You had a lot of reason not to, sure, but you also had no chance in avoiding it. Not with the way he put you and Grogu above everything else⏤ even himself. Not with the way he balanced trusting you to hold your own in a fight versus protecting you when you were overwhelmed. Not with the way his hand would softly brush against you as if he wanted so badly to touch you but thought himself unworthy. Not with the way his hoarse voice whispered your name in the softest concern and care.

Never before had you put any belief in the concept of soulmates, it seemed silly, but after meeting Din you weren’t so sure. The two of you seemed made to fit one another. Complement. Make the other stronger, better. The way you both understood one another, the care and love that came so easily… It was as if you loved him in another life. Like the two of you were destined to find one another in every lifetime. Made of the same stardust and shaped by the galaxy itself.

You loved Din Djarin. You loved him so damn much, and it made watching him crumble that much harder.

“Din.” You mumbled. Boba had swooped back to pick the lot of you up after the successful rescue mission. Though calling it successful seemed…bittersweet. Grogu was safe, but Grogu was gone. You wandered closer to where Din sat in a chair. He had isolated himself the moment you all boarded the ship. He was slumped over, elbows on his knees, and head hanging down. You knelt down by his side and squeezed his arm. “Hey. I wanted to check on you.” Din nodded, but stayed silent. His helmet stayed facing down, away from you, and it broke your heart to see him so devastated. “Tell me what you need, baby. I can stay or I can give you some space.”

Again, Din did not respond, but he turned his arm just enough to grasp you by the hand. You gave it a slight squeeze and just stayed there. For the rest of the flight neither of you moved. You knew Din felt like he couldn't complain. Grogu was safe with Skywalker, set to train and harness his gifts. Softly, you reassured him that whatever he was feeling was alright. He stayed silent.

Boba and Fennec’s goal was to reach Tatooine so you and Din tagged along. It wasn’t far. You all got there in a matter of hours and when you parted ways, Boba encouraged you or Din to call him if anything was ever needed. It didn’t take long for you to get a room at an inn. 

That night in bed you held Din close. The room had been darkened so even if you did open your eyes all you could see was his silhouette. He loved you with soft touches and thankful whispers, and when the both of you were spent and exhausted Din collapsed into you. Typically, he liked being the big spoon. Din loved wrapping his body around yours, all encompassing, as if he needed to protect you even in sleep. However, tonight, Din clung to your side⏤ an arm draped over your waist as he laid his head on your bare chest. You held him close, raking a hand through his hair tenderly.

The room was filled with quiet breaths, and when Din spoke his voice was so hushed that you nearly missed it.

“Don’t leave me, cyar'ika.” He seemed to beg. “I can’t lose you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You said firmly. Holding onto him tighter. You continued to whisper promises of staying by his side long after he fell asleep.

Din wanted to find the covert. That was what he told you he needed. You had no qualms with that. You wanted to do whatever you had to in order to help him find some semblance of normal. Coruscant was not one of your favorite places in the galaxy, but you’d walk through hell as long as Din was by your side. As you followed him, his eyes tracking signs and clues you couldn’t see, your own gaze continued to drift to the saber hanging from Din’s belt. His newest acquisition.

Ages ago, when it had been time to build your own lightsaber, the kyber crystal you chose had really chosen you. Everybody had certain strengths, even within the Force, and yours was reading energies. Your kyber crystal seemed to sing to you. The energy it gave was warmth. It was protective. It was loyal. Building your lightsaber had been a time honored tradition you treasured. Having it hang from your hip was something you did not take lightly. It gave you strength.

The energy coming from the darksaber felt…wrong. It was hard to put into words. It was muted to you, as if trying to hide, but still the darksaber seemed to weep a negative energy into the air itself. You didn’t like it, but you had no significant reasoning why other than ‘it feels bad’.

When the two of you reached the covert, Din was adamant about you coming in with him. Even when you told him you thought it was a bad idea, he still tangled his hand in yours and dragged you in. Just as you thought the other two Mandalorians there were unhappy with seeing you. In part because of the lightsaber on your hip, but more so because you were not their kind. You were not Mandalorian. Auretii. That’s what the Armorer called you. An outsider. It wasn’t inaccurate. 

The interaction started bad and only got worse.

Paz Vizsla challenged Din for the darksaber, a man you knew that Din considered to be a brother even despite rough disagreements in the past, and watching Din use the saber sent a chill down your spine. It was too heavy in his hands, and with every swing the blade was more difficult for Din to use. You could see it in his stride. You didn’t know how to explain it⏤ it was always difficult to explain the way an energy felt to you⏤ but the saber was fighting. It was annoyed.

Din won the battle.

“Din Djarin, have you ever removed your helmet?” The silence that followed the question broke your heart. “Have you ever removed your helmet?” You felt useless watching Din endure this pain. It was the same watching Skywalker carry Grogu away. You were a witness to his suffering. “By Creed, you must vow.”

“I have.”

“Then, you are a Mandalorian no more.”

The walk back into the depths of Coruscant was silent and painful. You slipped your hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I’m here. I’m not leaving. You will not lose me. Din returned the squeeze, but the pain was radiating off him in palpable waves. A feeling washed over you and your eyes darted to Din’s hip where the saber rested. Smug. It felt smug. 

The two of you walked into the covert as Mandalorian and Jedi, but left as Apostate and Aruetti.

You had the opinion that Din never got to properly mourn the loss of the Razor Crest. With everything going on at the time, it seemed like the least of the problems you both had. However, it's loss was felt now. Even in the short time you spent with Din and Grogu, the ship had become a place of comfort. For Din, the Crest had been all he had for so long⏤ it was his home. It held all his belongings and in a singular second it was all gone.

That aching wound was constantly festering, but when the two of you were forced to ride in public ships to get from world to world you could tell it stung Din the most. That’s how you’d have to get off Coruscant, but a small victory came in the form of a message from Peli. 

“Din, you’re not gonna believe this.” You grinned as he returned from whatever errand he had to do. “Peli has a possible Razor Crest replacement. She just messaged me. If we can just get to⏤”

“No.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but Din took you by the hand and began to travel the opposite way of the small inn you were staying in. “What?”

“I found a ship. Here. Already purchased it.”

Surprise washed over you. “Wait.” You tried to get him to stop and look at you, but Din seemed like a man on a mission. “You bought it already? Without even asking me?”

“It was my credits.”

The words stung. It was so dismissive. Nothing like the way Din usually spoke to you. He always discussed big decisions with you, just as you did with him. The two of you were a team. Through and through. Din seemed to sense your displeasure and his steps faltered.

“Cyar'ika, ni ceta.” Din murmured. You recognized the apology. He turned and settled a hand on the side of your face. “I…I don’t know what came over me. I suppose I was just excited.”

“It’s…” You lifted a hand to cup the one tenderly caressing your cheek. Din had just lost his Creed. The cornerstone of his existence. Of course, he’d be short. You’d be more worried if he wasn’t showing signs of being upset. You gave him a tight lipped smile. “No, I’m sorry. Are you alright? How do you feel?” Din didn’t respond. “Baby?”

He shook his head, his voice quiet. “I’m just ready to be off world.”

“I understand.” You gave him a smile. “Show us our new home then.”

Din let out a small chuckle and you took that as a victory. He led you to a yard of ships and pointed out a black ship with burgundy accents. It was nothing special. It wasn’t the Razor Crest. However, it had enough space for the both of you.

“This is nice.” You explored the cargo hold. 

“It’ll do.” Din countered.

You jumped when you heard the ramp closing and as Din passed you to get to the cockpit, he set his hand on your lower back to take you with him. As you settled in the passenger seat, you watched as Din familiarized himself with the control panel. When the ship reached the atmosphere, you leaned forward.

“Hey, maybe we should go see Peli anyways. Say hello.” You suggested. “She can look the ship over and tell us if we need anything…” Peli would just rip you off, but she was a familiar face. Boba and Fennec were on Tatooine as well. You thought Din could use more than just you. A reminder that he had more in his life than he thought. “Din?”

“No.” Din replied. He placed in a set of coordinates and you recognized them to be Nevarro. Well, maybe that would work. Karga was there. Cara too. Last you heard, Mayfeld was kicking around the newest establishment. The ship slipped into hyperspace and Din held a hand out to you. When you took it he yanked you toward him and you fell onto his lap. “We’re needed in Nevarro. Karga.”

He said it as if the name was enough. Before you could ask for further clarification, Din was tossing his gloves aside. He hit a button that shaded the windows, dimming the room till it was nearly impossible to see then he whispered to close your eyes. It was natural for you to do just as he asked. His hands grasped at your hips, pulling you down to grind against your core, and a pair of lips began to leave open mouth kisses along your neck.

“Cyar'ika…” Din breathed as he wrestled your shirt off you. Rough and desperate. Yanking your breast band off with it. The moment you were bare to the chilly air of the cockpit, Din’s hot mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and you moaned. Din pulled away and you already missed his mouth. “Need you. Need all of you.”

Din loved you with rough hands and frantic begging. When the two of you were spent, breathless and sweaty, you slumped against his body. Din trailed his hands up and down your spine as if he couldn’t fathom not touching you.

“I can’t lose you.” He murmured in your ear. “Not you, cyar'ika.”

“You won’t.” You reassured him. “You won’t lose me.”

The reason Din stopped in Nevarro, stopped to see Karga, was for bounty pucks. You had never seen him take so many at once and he said less than ten words to the High Magistrate of Nevarro before dragging you back to the ship. 

A distraction. You convinced yourself. It was just a distraction. 

Din needed something to keep his mind busy and what better than bounty hunting? As long as you were there to keep an eye on him, make sure he’s cared for, then everything would be alright. It might take time, but it would be okay. That’s what you told yourself. Over and over and over. You wondered if the reassurance was more for your benefit. 

The first couple of bounties went normal, but slowly things began to feel…different. Wrong. The quarries Din brought in were more often cold than warm these days. He seemed to be favoring the darksaber as well. It had gone from a weapon used as a last resort to one of his regulars. Din got better with the weapon after every quarry, and the saber’s energy felt like it was singing. As wrong as it all felt, Din seemed himself still. In fact, he almost seemed closer to his normal self. The aching sadness and mourning wasn’t so present. 

“Din?” You called out from where you sat at the small table. Rather than staying on the new ship, the two of you had rented a room at a local inn. It put you closer to where the current quarry was hiding. “You in the mood for something specific? For dinner, I mean?” Din had stepped into the bathroom to clean up and still had yet to come out. “Baby?”

Concern began to take root, but the door opened and you felt it slip away only to be replaced by shock. A stranger in familiar armor stood in the doorway. Din. Din was helmetless. You quickly shut your eyes with a curse. Heavy footfalls crossed the room to stand in front of you and you felt Din’s warm hands on your cheeks.

“Cyar'ika, look at me.”

“Din, what are you doing?” You gasped. It had been nearly two months since the covert, but even then he kept his helmet on. Never took it off. You didn’t understand what had suddenly changed now so suddenly. “I⏤”

“I want you to see me.”

“But⏤ But, why now?”

Din’s thumbs were tracing your cheek and he wouldn’t answer your question. He murmured again for you to open your eyes and you hesitantly peeked through your lashes. Din stood towering above you. From where you sat, you had to look up to admire his features. His appearance was never important to you. You fell in love with the soul inside that armor. Din always swore you’d see his face one day, but the context would be different. He’d whisper about a future together as you both laid tangled in bed. 

He was handsome. Strong features, pretty dark brown eyes, scruff along his jaw. And his hair, you were finally able to see the dark slightly loose curls that you’d run your fingers through. You slowly stood and lifted a hand to trace his features.

“Am… Am I okay?” Din asked. 

The phrasing of the question was odd and it took you a moment to garner a guess. You cupped his face with a broad smile. “You’re more than okay. You’re perfect. Maker, it’s kind of not fair how handsome you are.” You kept your tone teasing and Din chuckled. The sight of his smile warmed your chest. “What brought this on?”

“I am an Apostate.” Din said firmly and you felt your own smile falter. His dark brown eyes stayed locked onto yours and though they held the depth and soul you always knew they would there was something else there. “I am no longer Mandalorian. Why should I hide my face any longer?”

“Din…” You mumbled. Concern leaking into your voice. This was quite the huge and sudden leap to make. “You⏤”

He leaned in and pressed a light kiss against your lips. The kiss turned deeper as Din began to devour you. Needy and wanting. Desperate. Soon he had you picked up into his arms so he could slam you against the wall. It always felt like Din craved you⏤ that wasn’t in debate. Right now though, he was like a man starved. As if he had never had never had you before and was worried he’d never have you again.

Din loved you like a man possessed. Pressed between him and the wall he was unrelenting. Still, held tight by the man you were in love with, Din moaned and begged for you to stay with him. He didn’t even pause to let you reassure him. Just praised the way you felt and pleaded for you to be his. 

There was something wrong with Din.

As you sat in the dingy alley, panting heavily from your near death experience, that was the first thought to occur to you. A hunt had gone wrong. One of the quarry’s allies had gotten the jump on you. You had taken a few hits, saw an opening to save yourself, but before you even had a chance the goon was being ripped off of you. Din had saved you, but it didn’t feel like being saved from where you sat.

Din had ripped the man off you and rather than use the darksaber he chose to beat the goon bloody with his hands. Blood splattered in the alley, on his otherwise spotless armor, and you found yourself trembling. The man who had been attacking you was long dead, but Din did not stop. His face was twisted in rage and hate. You called out his name, more than once, and eventually he paused in his onslaught to catch his breath. His chest was heaving from exertion and you could tear your eyes away from the red that stained his silver beskar.

Slowly, Din rose and stalked toward you. For a brief moment, you didn’t recognize Din. You didn’t know the stranger towering over you. He knelt down and reached out to cup the side of your face. The hot blood of the man Din had slaughtered smeared across your cheek. You could feel it and it sent a chill of fear down your spine. The hate began to dissipate from his eyes. There was a softness you recognized now, but for the first time you’d describe Din as hollow.

“Are you okay, cyar'ika?” He breathed. You nodded nervously. Din grabbed you by the arms and pulled you to stand. He let out a sigh of relief and wrapped you into a tight hug. He pressed you against his blood stained armor and laid his head on top of yours. Din shook his head, a shaky breath slipping from his lips, “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you. No one will take you from me. I swear it, cyar'ika.” 

Relief and love radiated from Din, but all you could feel was the humming possessive energy that the darksaber blasted into the air around you both.

The sensation of dropping out of hyperspace woke you up. You blinked and reached out to a cold bed. Din had gotten up and was now dropping you out of hyperspace? You pushed up and slid out of bed. You found Din in the cockpit and the sight of an unfamiliar world hung in view just outside the ship. 

“Where are we?”

“Mandalore.”

You sat down in the passenger seat and grabbed Din by the knee forcing him to set the ship to drift and turn to face you. “What the kriff do you mean Mandalore?” Din didn’t respond. He leaned back in his seat and just stared at you. You were still trying to get used to seeing him without his helmet. Din rarely wore it these days. Even in a fight. “Din.”

“We’re meeting allies here.”

“For what?!”

“We’re recovering our home.”

Din was answering the questions as if you were being ridiculous for even asking them. As if you had been privy to this knowledge. Frustration made your temper flare. “Din, are you serious!?” He didn’t react and somehow that was worse. “We need to talk.”

“Then talk.”

Things had only gotten worse with Din. You were scared of what he was capable, but never in relation to you. No matter how cold his eyes grew, no matter how lost in got in a brutal fight, no matter how bitter the darksaber made the air, you knew Din wouldn’t hurt you. That knowledge was ingrained in your very soul. What worried you⏤ what kept you awake at night⏤ was your worry for Din. He always said he couldn’t lose you, but it felt like you were the one losing him.

“Baby.” You murmured and rose to take a seat in his lap innocently. Just trying to get closer to him. You cupped his face and at your contact the cold, distant look in his eyes briefly cracked. Din stared up at you in adoration and love. “I’m… I’m scared.”

Din furrowed his brow and sat up. His arms wrapped around your waist. “Don’t be. You never have to be scared. I’m never going to let anything hurt you.”

“No, Din, that’s not what I’m scared of.” You replied. “I’m scared for you. I’m worried about you.”

“I’ve never been better, cyar’ika.”

You raked a hand through his hair trying to convey every ounce of passion you felt for him in the simple motion. “Din… I’ve been wanting to say this for some time.” You shook your head. “The darksaber.” There was a flash of something unrecognizable in his gaze, but you pressed onward. “It’s… dangerous. You know when I told you about my lightsaber. It’s energy.” He nodded. “The darksaber gives off an energy too, and I don’t like it.”

“What do you mean?” Din asked.

“It feels like,” You winced and struggled for a description to match, “poison. Din, baby, it feels like poison.” Din shook his head as if he still could not understand what it was you were trying to say. “I think it’s a bad influence.”

Din scoffed but the curl of his lips made it seem like he wasn’t taking your statement seriously. “Cyar’ika, it’s a sword. It can’t influence me.”

“It’s not just a sword, Din. It has a kyber crystal in it and⏤”

“Are you trying to tell me I need to get rid of it?” He pressed. You gave a small nod. “I can’t. I need it.” You opened your mouth to argue, but his arms tightened around you. “If we’re going to take Mandalore back, recover it, then I have to use the darksaber. Be Mandalor.”

Your eyes widened. “Since when did you want that title??”

“But more importantly, I need it to protect you.” He whispered, ignoring your question entirely. Din leaned his forehead against yours and the touch was so soft and reverent that you shuddered. He took in a slow deep breath. “You are my priority. Always. The darksaber grants me the power to keep you safe.”

You pressed a tender kiss to his lips and Din’s breath hitched. As you spoke, you kept your lips close enough to brush against his with every word. “You never needed it before. And I’m not helpless. You know that.” Din closed his eyes and you dragged your fingers through his scruff. “We were fine without the darksaber. We don’t need it.”

Din leaned in to capture your lips with his. For the first time in a very long time, the kiss was slow and patient. He took his time tasting you and he leaned back to allow your hands to travel and explore him. It was so reminiscent of the days before everything fell apart that you almost cried.

Eventually, he pulled back and focused his heavy gaze on you. Din gave you a small smile, a hand tracing your jawline. “No, cyar’ika. The saber stays.” Your own smile faltered and fell. He left one last chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you. I will protect you.”

Your life on Mandalore was odd. Din left you out of the loop of everything. All you knew was that more and more Mandalorians arrived by the day to follow Din Djarin. It didn’t surprise you. The Din you knew and loved was a natural born leader whether he liked it or not. He had a magnetic draw to him. You didn’t see that side to your Din very much anymore. 

The city around you was slowly being rebuilt and you pondered your next move. Two months you had been on this rock seeing Din from a distance. Watching him turn into someone you didn’t recognize. When the palace was reestablished, a sentence you found obnoxious and ridiculous, Din moved you there to stay. He’d work all day, drift into your shared bedroom at night, and you mourned the days where everything was easier. Simple.

“Cyar’ika.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see the Mandalor approaching. The king of this world looked like Din, still stared at you as if you hung the moon and stars, but all you could see was the darksaber. It’s possessive energy clung to the man you loved. Two Mandalorian guards followed behind him, and you briefly admired the thick, fur lined cape that hung off one shoulder.

Din came to a stop in front of you and motioned to himself with a sheepish smile, “What do you think?”

“Very regal, Mandalor.” You teased softly.

Din drifted closer and took your hands in his. “Ni ceta, cyar’ika.” He mumbled. “I know I haven’t been around.”

“You’ve been busy. I get it.” You shrugged and tried to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

“But you come first. You always come first.” Din said firmly. “Things will be better from here on out. We’re stable. We’re established. And… I have a surprise for you.” Nervously, Din lifted your hands to tenderly press a kiss to them. “I have no right to ask, but will you give me your time today.”

It was so sweet. It was so Din. You were too overwhelmed to do anything but nod. Things could always turn around, you told yourself. All your time here, distanced from Din, you had planned. He needed a little exposure to his old life. You were the only person Din kept. Maybe seeing Boba and Fennec, seeing Peli, seeing Karga, seeing anyone would bring him back to the surface more permanently. You had even wanted to get in touch with Skywalker or Ahsoka to plan some kind of visit. If Din could see Grogu, you had no doubt he’d snap back into reality. He’d set aside the darksaber. The issue was, Mandalore still had thick storm clouds that prevented any outside interference or messaging. 

You felt isolated.

Din looped your arm through his and you walked by his side down the long hallway. You weren’t sure where he was taking you quite yet, but he spoke casually about his day and asked about yours with real interest. His smile was so warm and sincere that you could almost ignore the negative energy that damned saber gave off.

“Where are we going?” You asked as Din turned down a hall you knew would lead outside. “If we go out, I’m gonna need to grab my jacket.” Mandalore’s seasons still confused you and it almost seemed like the previous attacks had thrown the natural order out of balance. Lately, it had been rather cold.

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you.” Din chuckled. He paused by the doors and you couldn’t help but glance at the two silent Mandalorian guards still standing near. Movement made you glance back in time to see he had shrugged out of his thick robe. Din settled the heavy article on your shoulders and you were surprised by the warmth it encased you in. “Comfortable?”

You nodded with a small smile. The robe smelled like him. Din captured your face in his gloved hands and you gazed up at him in awe. Din was in a good mood. It had been so long since you saw him like this. Light hearted. Excited. “Are you happy?” The question fell from your lips before you could even think.

“Of course.” Din replied quickly. His tone suggested he was surprised you’d ask. “I have you.”

“You’ve always had me.” You mumbled.

Din’s face faltered, only for a second, before he bowed his head to rest on yours. Forehead to forehead. “Ni ceta.” He breathed the apology out sincerely. “I know things have been hard and…you’ve put up with so much. I’m so thankful for you, cyar’ika, and my greatest regret will always be making you question that.”

“I never questioned it.” You lifted a hand to place on top of his own. “I love you, and I know you love me. I’ve just…been worried about you, baby. I want you to be happy.”

“I am.” Din replied. “You make me happy.” He closed the space to press his lips to yours. Tender. Loving. Passionate. Din’s tongue traced the curve of your lower lip and you allowed him to deepen the kiss. Your hands shifted to tangle in his hair. Din pulled you closer, flush against his body, and it didn’t even matter to you that two other Mandalorians stood off to the side as witness to this scene. Din pulled back, separating the two of you, but he quickly set two more chaste kisses against your lips as if he couldn't bear the thought of being apart. Din whispered a promise under his breath. “For the rest of my life, I will make you happy. I’ll keep you safe.”

You had endured the hell of watching Din suffer and begin to lose himself in sorrow. Perhaps, this was the light at the end of the tunnel. Din had found stable ground, and he was now returning to a man you recognized.

Din turned away to push open the doors, but he kept your arm looped through his. The courtyard which typically sat unused and in a semi state of shambles had been cleaned and polished. Mandalorians as far as you could see stood waiting and as Din walked you down the path you spotted a medium sized platform, nearly a stage, and on it was a chair⏤ no, a throne. That was the only word to describe the heavy, dark metal seat. Standing on the platform, you recognized Bo Katan. She stood on one side of the throne. On the other side stood two others that you recognized, you had seen them with Din often, but you didn’t know their names.

“Din?” You whispered his name.

He shot you a smile but continued on. Suddenly, you found yourself on the platform standing beside Din as he faced the crowd. He lifted one hand, as if in greeting, and you stared at him as he spoke Mando’a. His voice was loud and firm. Powerful. This was a king among men. You never thought Din Djarin of all people would look like he belonged in this setting. You knew he had the attributes that would make a fair and just king, but Din had never enjoyed the spotlight. The future he craved, the future he painted while speaking to you in the dead of night, was a humble one. A home, some land, a family. Peaceful.

A bark of Mando’a, in a voice you vaguely recognized, interrupted Din and you watched as his shoulders stiffened. The crowd parted and a Mandalorin in dark blue armor approached. Axe Woves. That was his name you believed. You didn’t know what he was saying, but you could feel the tension in the air.

Din set his hand on your waist and pushed you back. You only stumbled back a few steps before Bo Katan took you by the elbow and dragged you back further.

“What⏤ What is going on?” You asked.

“Challenge.” Bo Katan said. Din drew the darksaber from his belt and as it came to life you felt your own heart plummet. It’s poison was spewing in the air⏤ suffocating you. Smug. Arrogant. Angry. Insulted. You sucked in a sharp breath. “Axe Woves has challenged Din for the darksaber. For rule.”

The fight started in a clash of weaponry. 

It was a blur of beskar, but all your eyes could focus on was the arc of the darksaber. The burning glow that was now seared into your eyes. Seared into your brain. You wanted nothing more than to take that damned thing and throw it into the darkest pit you could find. Every time you watched Din used it, you hated it all the more. The fight did not last long.

Axe Woves was a good fighter, but he was not Din Djarin.

Soon, the air was silent as Din held the edge of the darksaber just under Axe’s jaw. Close enough that the man had to have felt the heat. Axe was breathing hard, but you couldn’t see his face⏤ his back was to you. Din stood where you could see his face and he looked to be the picture of calm. 

“Cetar.” Din demanded. Bo Katan whispered, her eyes not leaving the scene, as she translated the Mando’a. ‘Kneel’. Din asked him to kneel. You felt a chill run up your spine and it wasn’t from the cold air. The darksaber was singing. Excited. Eager. It craved and craved and craved. Din repeated the command. “Cetar.”

“Nayc.” Axe replied. You didn’t need that word translated. 

At the sound of his refusal, you watched a flash of an emotion you didn’t immediately recognize in Din’s eyes. However, it was clear to see the way his lips briefly curled up into a smirk. You opened your mouth to scream, but all your words caught in your throat. Thick, heavy, and unwilling to be heard. Before you could overcome your hindrance, Din shoved the darksaber through Axe’s chest with not even a singular hiccup of hesitation. Your mouth hung open in shock and disbelief, but the horror didn’t land until Din leaned in and used his vibroblade to slice through the man’s neck in one swift motion. Blood sprayed out and the darksaber was screaming in pleasure.

“He had to make an example.” Bo Katan whispered. “It’s unfortunate, but Woves brought this upon himself.”

Din deactivated the saber and set it back onto his belt. While Axe Woves’ body slumped to the ground, Din tucked the still bloody vibroblade back into his boot’s holster. You stared at him wide eyed and horrified as Din marched back to the platform. He spoke before the crowd again, but it felt like your ears were ringing. The man you fell in love with would never have cut a man down in cold blood. The duel had been over. It didn’t have to end with blood. 

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Din as he crossed the platform to sit on the throne. His legs were spread out in dominance as he lounged in the seat radiating confidence and pride. His eyes snapped to yours and Din held his hand out to you. Bo Katan gave you a small nudge and you stumbled toward the throne with hesitant steps. Din’s cold features melted away as he stared up at you as he always did, loving, but it only made the splattering of blood on his face that much more daunting. 

When you placed your hand in his, your fingers were trembling. Din squeezed your hand in comfort and he carefully pulled you back so you sat in his seat. Bo Katan was addressing the crowd and you stared and stared at Axe Woves’ dead body. Still laying on the courtyard’s ground, the pool of blood around him growing larger and larger.

You felt Din’s breath on your neck. His hands settled on your hips as he sat up to press his chest against your back. His breath was replaced with his lips. Din mumbled about how much he loved you and how important you were to him against your skin. All this time, all the hope you had, was for naught. The man at your back was a stranger.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Din pressed another hot kiss to the back of your neck. "But I just wanted to show you our new throne, my queen. Surprise."

As it turned out, the light at the end of the tunnel had turned out to be just more hellfire.

In the dead of night, you ran. 

You had hoped Din would return to his senses, become the man he once was, on his own accord. You hoped he had only needed time, but this had been proof. You were out of your depth. Din needed more than just time, he needed more than just you. As soon as you got past the thick, stormy atmosphere on Mandalore, you’d call for help. 

The plan had been to take Din’s ship. It was the only one you were familiar with the controls enough to not have to worry about running into any issues. As it turned out, flying was not going to be the biggest problem you faced.

“Cyar’ika.”

Your blood ran cold. Slowly, nervously, you turned around to see Din stood not far away. His shoulders were slumped in disappointment, and the look in his eyes could only be described as absolute and total devastation. He took one step forward and you took one back. Din’s jaw locked.

“Din…”

“What are you doing?” Din murmured. 

You shook your head. “Listen to me⏤”

“Listen??” Din scoffed. He took in a shuddering breath. “How could you⏤ Cyar’ika, I… Why?”

His voice cracked and you felt your heart ache in your chest. Din took another step toward you and you held a hand up which brought him to a sudden halt. You pressed your lips together then tried to explain that you were doing this for him. “Din, you’re not…you’re not yourself. You need help.”

“I need you.” Din replied firmly. “Everything is fine.”

“You murdered a man in cold blood today.”

“Is that what you⏤ You truly think so little of me?” Din asked. “It was a duel, cyar’ika. A challenge on my rule. I had no choice.”

You took a step toward him. “Din, you slaughtered him. And you enjoyed it.”

Din’s eyes darkened and the energy that slammed into you was possessive. For so long, you assumed that was how the darksaber felt. However, seeing the way he stared at you now, you realized the possession went much further than how the saber felt for him. He stormed forward and on pure instinct your hand drew your lightsaber without activating it. A warning. His steps stuttered. You didn’t know it was possible to visually see a person’s heart break, but you were witness to it right now.

“Cyar’ika,” Din whispered, “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?”

That was true for the man you fell in love with. 

Was it still true?

“I…I…” You struggled to find your words.

Din held his hands out, palms up, in surrender. He took slow steps toward you as if you were a skittish animal he was trying to calm. The tenderness in Din’s gaze cracked your resolve. He reached out and let his hands slowly drag down your arms until they reached your hands. You felt your body tremble. It was easy to make the decision to run when you stared at Din’s features covered in blood, but now? His warm, brown eyes reminded you of every soft touch and tender word of love. 

“Just come back with me.” Din whispered. “Talk to me, cyar’ika. I know…I know things haven’t been right.” He squeezed your hands and pushed the one holding the lightsaber back to your hip. “Let me fix this. Let me make this right. Give me a chance.”

Din leaned forward to set his forehead against yours. A familiar motion that brought you comfort. You let out a soft sigh. One more night. You could spend it talking with Din, gauging a better plan, and it wasn’t like you would be able to leave right now anyways. Not with him right in front of you like this. The look in his eyes told you he wasn’t just going to let you walk away and the absolute last thing you wanted to do was fight him. 

“Please?” Din pleased.

“Okay.” You murmured. 

The bright smile of relief that crossed his face made your heart flutter. Din pulled you into a tight hug and he clung to you like a lifeline. This would be alright. This would be okay. You’d make sure of it. Din slipped his hand into yours and carefully tugged you alongside him. The entire walk back to your bedroom was silent. Din’s thumb traced patterns against your skin.

“I love you.” Din said the moment you were back in your shared room together. His words came out as a desperate ache. “I’m sorry…”

“No, Din, I…I love you. I will always love you.” You replied. “I was leaving to help you.” Din’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I just think you’ve lost sight of your path.” You pressed your lips together then settled your hands on his chest. “I think we should leave Mandalore. Not forever, just⏤ I think we should visit Boba or Karga. Peli? Or… Or maybe we can reach out to Skywalker. Try to visit Grogu.”

Din’s eyes widened at the suggestion. 

He wrapped his hands around your wrists then lifted your hands so he could press a soft kiss against one palm then the other. Din nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow. I’ll be better, cyar’ika.” You gave him a small smile and he leaned in to crash his lips against yours. The way his lips moved against yours made you feel like he was trying to physically beg you to stay with him. Din had never been a man of many words, he’d whisper kind sentiments, but he always showed how much he cared by action. “I love you.” Din’s mouth dropped to your neck as his hands began to tear at your clothes. “You are everything to me.”

 Your hands reached out to unlatch Din’s armor. It was muscle memory for you. How many times had you done this exact same action in the dark during your time with him? Too many to count. His besker fell to the ground and the second he was bare of any armor, Din scooped you up and carried you to bed.

In the morning everything would be okay.

You’d make it so.

A familiar hand caressing the side of your face is what you woke to. You forced your eyes open, groggy, to find that Din was sitting on the side of the bed leaning over you. He wore his armor once more. Din leaned down and pressed a feather light kiss to your forehead.

“Ni ceta, cyar’ika.”

“Din?” You questioned.

“I want you to know that everything I do is because I love you.” Din said. “I’ve lost everything, but you.” He cradled the side of your face. “Even this, accepting the title and responsibility of Mandalor, I did with you in mind.”

There was a tone in his voice that was making you nervous. Slowly, you sat up and shook your head, “Din, I never asked you to do that.”

“I know.” He replied. “But this is how I protect you.”

“Din⏤”

“There is nothing in this galaxy that will harm you while I’m around.” Din said firmly. He stood up off the bed and gave you a tight nod. “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you. This won’t last forever, I swear it. But I can’t leave anything to chance. Not when you mean so much to me.”

Din began to walk toward the bedroom door to leave and you stared at him in confusion. Quickly, before he could leave, you threw the blankets off your body and jumped out of bed. There was a heaviness around your left ankle, a coldness, and with every movement came a rattling. You glanced down to see a shiny, silver chain locked around your ankle. It trailed to the wall beside your bed.

“Din.” You breathed. He stopped but said nothing. “Din?” He turned around with sad eyes. Panicked, you began to rush toward him, but a few feet away from him the chain caught your ankle and you nearly fell to the floor. Warm hands caught you by the arms and pulled your back to your feet. Teary eyed, you shook your head. “What have you done?”

“It’s temporary.” Din repeated himself. “Just until I know you won’t hurt yourself by leaving.”

“Hurt myself⏤ Din, I⏤”

“Cyar’ika, I'm doing this for you. To protect you.” Din gave you a tight lipped smile of regret. “Or until I can make you understand.” Din leaned his forehead against yours. The soft action you loved ruined by his words. “You are mine, cyar’ika. You are mine, and I am yours.” That look of possession was in his eyes again. “And because you are mine, I have to take care of you. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

Din was beginning to step back so you quickly cupped his face between your hands. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be. As softly as you could manage, trying to bite back the fear and panic in your voice, you mumbled. “Din, baby, you’re losing yourself. I love you, but you’re losing yourself and it’s breaking my heart. Let me go. Let me help you.”

He turned his head and gently kissed the inside of your palm.

“Maybe I am.” Din murmured. “But if that’s the cost of keeping you, then it’s one I will happily pay.”

Din left without another word and you crumpled to the ground in tears. You mourned for the man you lost and cursed the man who took his place.

mando'a translations

ni ceta: i'm sorry cyar'ika: darling, sweetheart cetar: kneel nayc: no

[weirdfangirly]

The Whore —18+

Dark Fiction

Dark!Mando x Reader // Dark!Joel Miller x Reader

Summery: you are a prostitute in Tattooian and encounter the infamous Mandalorian.

Warnings: mention of Slavery, Forced prostitution, Abuse, Sexual abuse.

A/n: Y’all fuck with Mando? Well now you do ☺️ this was a quick, fun little thing to write. Please let me if you liked it or not and if it’s worth a part 2. Tbh the only reason I’m back is because of you guys feedback on my other stories! So every comment and like means a lot!!

It was a terribly hot day in Tatooine.

Sweat was dripping down your bare back. Your delicate skin was shimmering under the sunlight.

The hot sand burned your feet and the heat was pressing onto your skull. You and your sisters were sitting outside the whore-house. It was even more unpleasant inside than it was outside; no windows, no air conditioning, designed to make the stay quick. There was also the sickening smell of sex lingering inside the rooms.

Having nothing else to do but to wait, your sister Nika was lazily braiding your hair. The other girls sat on the ground, with thin cloths over their heads, to protect them from the merciless heat.

In the early noon hours the rush of men was small. Your usual customers where Traveler's and merchant’s, but the barbaric temperatures didn’t bring many visitors down to the otherwise busy bazaar of Tatooine, leaving you and your sisters redundant.

“What if none will come?”, Nika dared to ask. She spoke out loud what all of you were thinking. No customer meant no credits, no credits meant trouble…

“They’ll come in the later hours.”, you reassured her, not sounding convinced. “Today will be dry, though...”

“He will be very angry at us...”, Lala murmured. She was four years younger than you, making her the youngest of the group. She shouldn’t be working at a place like this for a man like him.

They all agreed in silence.

“Maybe we shall wander.”, Nika suggested. “Maybe we will find willing men in the taverns and canteens.”

Each of you were tired and exhausted, walking around the city was the least you wanted to do, but Nika's suggestion was justified. You couldn't just sit around all day and do nothing. Master would be furious if the four of you didn't have enough credits together by the end of the day.

You all nodded and wandered away. Each on their own way. Each with the same goal.

———

The streets where deserted. Your stomach growled, your tongue were dry, your eyelids heavy and sluggish. Food was a reward for you and your sisters at the end of every day. Food was given only if you brought your master enough credits. The owners of the taverns usually didn't like to spot one of you fishing for customers in their locals.They used to chase you away like cattle. Some took pity and let you stay, gave you water. However, this was rare.

Hesitantly you entered a tavern. The smell of strong alcohol and fat crept up your nose. The owner, an old fat man, stood behind the bar and cleaned the counter. He looked incredibly bored. He occasionally whipped the sweat away from his bearded face. There wasn’t many guests present. A few had their heads on the table and slept out their alcohol intoxication.

Your gaze wandered around the tavern, hoping to find someone who wasn't too drunk and looked like he had enough money to pay you for your services. You couldn't be picky. Anyone who could pay was eligible. No matter how old he was, whether he was fat or stank. Your body wasn't yours, your choices weren't yours. You belonged to your master, who saved you from death and gave you and the other girls a home.

“Hey, whore! Out with you!”, Screamed the landlord upset when he spotted you. “Out with you!”

You stood there unable to run out when he stomped towards your direction and roughly grabbed you by your upper arm. “You work for Joel Miller, right?”

“Y-yes, sir.”, you had the attention of the whole tavern now.

“Then out with you!” he breathed angrily. “That son of a bitch owes me 200 credits and I’ll be DAMNED if I let one of his whores search for customers in my tavern!”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”, you whimpered, but the old man only intensified his grip on your arm, looking you up and down. You were only wearing a semi-see through robe bound around your breasts and a little skirt around your hips that only covered so much. There was a shift in his eyes. He licked his lips and came closer to your face. “You should suck my cock in front of everyone while I’m at work to pay off your masters credits, no?”

A round of cheerful applause came from the few customers of the tavern. The idea of a free show seemed appealing to the men, a change of sight in their boring routines. You were terrified at the thought. The old man was digging his long dirty claws into your arm, causing your tender skin to break and draw blood. Salty tears started to form around your eyes.

“Please, sir, I’m sorry for trespassing, please let me go. I’ll talk with my master. He's an honourable man. He'll settle his debts to you.”, you hiccuped, trying to free yourself from his grip.

“Honourable? Ha! He’s a piece of shit.”, the man spat. “Now get down on your knees and give us a show, cunt.”

“Let her go.”, a deep muffled voice cam from behind. The room was suddenly deadly quite, the cheerful laughter had died and only your little sobs were audible.

“This is non of your business, Mandalorian.”, the man informed the stranger. “Me and the cunt have business to attempt.”

“Let her go…or don’t.”, the Mandalorian calmly said. There was a clear warning lingering around his words. A thread.

The old man weighed out his options. You couldn't see the man behind you, because the old man still had you in his grip, but you'd often encountered fantastic stories about the Mandalorians. And if there's even a shred of truth behind these stories, it's best not to mess with them.

The man holding you was old and in bad shape. His stomach was big enough to carry triplet’s and his face was swollen and red. He didn’t look like a fighter. There was no way he’d win a fight against a Mandalorian. The old man looked at the Mandalorian and then back at you, decided that you weren’t worth the trouble and tossed you to the stranger behind you. Your back collided with his hard armour.

You quickly turned around, not even looking up at the Mandalorian, offered him and equally quick “thank you, sir” and rushed out of the tavern. At least that was the plan, but the Mandalorian had grabbed you softly by your wrist.

“Stay.”

———

The Mandalorian led you to a table and made you sit with him. You couldn’t stop staring at him from beneath your long lashes. He was tall, so much taller than you, even sitting down. You were practically naked compared to him. The little robe around you chest left little to nothing to the imagination. And it was hot, you were sweating. You could feel your nipples poking at the scratchy fabric and something told you it didn’t went unnoticed by the Mandalorian.

What did he want from you? Well, you were a whore, so you took a wild guess…

You were nervous and a little terrified, but you tried to remind yourself that he’d saved you from being utterly humiliated in front of everyone. He couldn’t be that bad of a man. And besides, his armour looked expensive. Berska. He must’ve been a rich man. You thought about your Master, and your sisters. You needed to bring money home.

You thought about your Masters lessons. He thought you and your sisters to never be shy around men. You stared at his helmet, swallowing you fear down and let your fingers slowly creep across the table towards his gloved hand. You needed to show him that you were fun and worth every credit. He followed your movement and watched your boney fingers touch his gloved ones.

“Thank you for saving me, Mister.”, you murmured, your voice small but sincere. “I’m in your dept.”

“No, your not.”, he simply stated and leaned back in his seat, taking his hand with him, leaving your fingers untouched. You blushed and immediately pulled your hand back.

“But there’s something you can do for me.”, he added.

You nodded, eager to have your first customer for the day. “I’ll not disappoint, Mister. But…I have to remind you, that I have to charge for my time...”

For some reason you felt shameful reminding him of your nature. He’d just saved you from physical and emotional pain and here you were wanting his credits. Your Masters words we’re back in your mind. Whores don’t feel shame.

“I will pay you.”, he agreed.

You nodded. “I have a room, down the streets. We would’ve more privacy there.”, you suggested.

“No.”, he just said. “I don’t have that kind of business with you.”

“If you don’t find me pretty, maybe you’d wish to see one of my sis-“

He wasn’t declining your body because of your looks. He did find you to be breathtakingly beautiful and he was thankful that he was wearing a helmet so you couldn’t see where his eyes wandered a couple of times.

“Joel Miller.”, he spoke the very familiar name out loud. “Where can I find him?”

Your lips suddenly sealed, you looked at him fearfully. “Are you a bounty hunter?”, you dared to ask.

Mando nodded.

You shook your head, mouth dry. “I can’t help you. I can’t betray my Master like that. Please, Mandalorian, let me go.”, fear was talking out of you. Mando could see the change in your demeanour after he’d mentioned his name.

“You are free to go wherever, after you’ve told me what I need to know.”

“If he finds out that I helped you, he will throw me to the dogs.”, you started to cry. You were intimidated by the Mandalorian, you didn’t want any trouble. But you feared your Master more than anything.

“He won’t get the opportunity to hurt you, after I’m done with him.”, he started. “You will be a free woman afterwards.”

Mando watched your body shiver under your cries. You soft flesh and your bouncing breasts. Mando titled his head. He wondered what your life must’ve been like. He wondered what Joel Miller had done to you to make you so afraid of him.

“You can go.”, Mando finally said. It came surprising, but not purely out of good intentions...

You sniffled, looking at him in disbelief, but his words left no room for hesitation. With tears welling up in your eyes, you stood up abruptly and bolted out of the tavern.

Mando slowly stood up right after. He left some credits and walked out of the tavern into the heat of the day. He knew all he had to do was follow you to get to his destination. Joel Miller.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

I'll take care of you

dark!Din Djarin x gn!reader

originally for Febuwhump 2024 Day 1 - helpless | Febuwhump masterlist

words: 882

summary: Din takes care of you after a head injury leaves you helpless.

warnings: dark, dark!Din, gaslighting, graphic descriptions of injury, restraints, manipulation, violence, no y/n, reader has hair of unspecified length and no other description

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s blurry. Everything, that is. You try to reach to rub your eyes, but the cuff jerks you still. 

Same shit, different day. You wish you’d start remembering faster when you wake up. 

The mornings you do wake up, that is. 

You know you’re missing days. It’s hard, with how the room spins, to keep track of anything. 

“Good morning, cyar’ika. How do you feel?” says the smooth baritone, like fresh caramel dripping onto a sundae. It’s a warm comfort.

Until it grows cold and hardens, that is. His hand shoots out and grips your jaw. “What have I said about answering me when I speak to you?” 

He’s quick to anger today. So you’ll likely be bed-bound again. 

“Sorry, cyare,” you mumble. Using the pet name placates him, and his hand relaxes but doesn’t leave you, gloved thumb brushing your bottom lip. 

You don’t even know if he’s flesh and bone. His cock would lead you to believe so, but the rest of him is cold metal, and they make good synthetics nowadays. 

You don’t want to ask. It’s something you’re sure you should know, and sometimes, the things you’ve forgotten upset him. You guess you’d be upset, too, if your spouse forgot you. 

“It’s okay. I know it’s hard when you’re still all scrambled.” He moves like he’s going to ruffle your hair, but all you feel is the grinding, bruising pain as his hand grips and jostles your head. 

He’s rustling with the restraints, and you try to tamp down any and all emotion. He says it’s okay, that it’s normal for you to have intense feelings, all things considered. 

But sometimes you seem to have the wrong feeling, and he doesn’t like that very much. 

Once your wrists are unhooked, he helps you to stand on trembling legs. Walking makes you so dizzy, so he always makes sure he can support you. 

That’s one thing you can’t deny despite the pain and forgetfulness. He’s so attentive while you’re helpless. He never leaves you to struggle. It’s obvious he’s a good husband—maybe even the romantic type, doting and considerate. 

He lets you use the fresher by yourself but helps you stand up and settle the tunic back down around your body. It’s the only clothing you have on. Other than thick wool socks with rubber grips, that is. He says it’s not safe to walk without them. 

You’re sad to be led back to bed, and it must show. 

“How about I stay for a while, and you can have a break from the cuffs?” he offers. 

It works, and you brighten up a little. “Thank you, Din.”

He still makes you sit in bed, but you can hardly be cross. He’s sitting with you and keeping you safe. 

After all, that’s how you got hurt in the first place, he said. Falling off the bed like a silly little thing and cracking your head. 

Your dreams recall it quite differently. When you do dream, he’s there too. But he’s bigger. Scarier. And so angry. So, so angry. 

You always wake up before your head collides with the wall. 

Here, in the waking world, he holds you against his cold steel body. You’re inclined again to think he’s flesh underneath as warmth radiates from the leather and duraweave between the plates. He’s reading to you softly from a datapad since it still makes your head hurt when you try.

Which means he’s right there against you when it happens. You sit up, clutching your forehead. 

“What’s wrong?” he says.

“I don’t know,” you say through a dry, tacky mouth. Your head is pounding, and when you look at him, so is your heart. Not with love, that is, but with terror.

It must be written across your face because he stiffens.

“Who are you?” you whisper.

“Cyar’ika,” he says carefully, raising both hands as if he means no harm. “You had an accident. You’ve had a severe head injury. Your memories keep coming and going.”

You’ve heard this before. You don’t believe him this time.

“You know me. I’m your husband, Din.”

You shake your head, wincing. “I want the truth.” Because what’s undeniable now is that it wasn’t a dream. This bulking beast of a man had cornered you in an alley behind the cantina after your shift. 

He sighs, but there’s a new placating lilt to his voice when he responds. “Fine,” he murmurs, standing up. He comes around the bed and you back into the wall. Trapped. 

“You want the truth?” he says, voice low and sultry. Smug. His hand comes up to brush your cheek. “You need me, cyar’ika. You were out there all alone and scared. No one to care for you. No one to protect you.”

“You kidnapped me.”

“Hardly,” he scoffs. “You’ve always been mine. You just didn’t know it. But now that we’re together…”

He reaches into the many pouches around his waist and surfaces with a small syringe, the overhead light glinting off the needle’s shiny point. 

“We can do this one of two ways, cyar’ika. You can be good and do as I say. Or,” and he wiggles the needle in the air. “I can make sure you’re good. Either way, I promise I’ll take care of you.”

[the-scandalorian]

like a moth to the flame, part III

Pairing: monster!Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 10.8k Content Warnings: dark!Din, stalking, predatory/obsessive/possessive behavior, body horror/painful physical transformations, violence, gore, blood and hunting and monstery shit, verbal argument turned smut (finger fucking, cum eating, etc.), nightmares

DIN

The dreams started as soon as the kid left.

Angry vermilion dreams, fractured dreams—a flurry of images as sharp as shattered glass—played any time Din so much as dozed. He couldn’t make much sense of them, but the visuals seared into his mind. Pearly white incisors caught in thick, hot viscera. Rent flesh. Deeply gouged burns. The smell of scorched skin.

A war-ravaged planet. An empty gray-washed throne.

A pile of discarded Mandalorian helmets coated in ash.

As soon as they began, Din knew something was wrong with him. These weren’t normal nightmares, not like the quiet, melancholic blue of the dreams he’d always had about his parents, the ones that stayed tucked safely in his sleep. No, these…lingered. They slunk past the edges of his sleep to haunt his daylight hours. He’d wake up and taste blood on his tongue. All day, he ached in strange places: his shoulder blades, his teeth, his hands and feet, a spot behind each of his temples. Every one was a concentrated, bone-deep ache, like the growing pains he remembered vaguely from his teenage years.

The kid was gone, and something was wrong with him.

Din knew loss too intimately to mistake it for grief alone. He knew this was something else too. It was physical. He was ill. He told himself it needed to wait. He had to find the covert. Then, he could deal with whatever was happening to him.

So he put his head down and did what he does best: he hunted.

For two months, he searched. He took jobs for credits and jobs for information. Finally, finally, he tracked them down on Glavis.

He can still remember the fetid reek of the butcher where he went to find the final bounty, Kaba Baiz, the key to the covert’s location within that ringed maze of a city. Even through the filters on his helmet, the smell was an assault—raw flesh and congealed blood, singed bone and burnt marrow. All at once, it made him sick…and, to his own horror, ravenous. He should have been disgusted, but his mouth watered even as his stomach soured. Cold sweat beaded between his shoulder blades. He itched to peel off his armor.

He was most definitely ill.

The last thing he wanted was a fight. The last thing he needed was a fight. He wanted to take the bounty and leave, to find what remained of his covert and be still. But the Klatooinians closed in around him, and he knew he wasn’t going to get what he wanted.

It was the first real fight he’d been in since the dreams had started, and it was…different. He was different.

One of the Klatooinians lunged forward and bit him. The pain was sharp, and as he tried to wrench his wrist out of their grasp, all Din could think about was how much he wanted to sink his teeth into something that bleeds. Behind his beskar, he bared his teeth.

It only devolved from there.

He slipped so far into the flow of the fight that it felt like a fever dream.

He didn’t make an active choice to reach for the saber. It just happened. His blaster had been knocked out of his grasp, and there were too many of them. The beskar spear was strapped to his back, but his hand fell to the saber’s hilt as naturally as it falls to his blaster; his finger flicked the activation as naturally as it finds a trigger.

He lifted the humming blade, and for one short moment, it had sung for him.

The saber slipped through living and dead flesh alike, rending breathing bodies and hanging animal corpses just the same. He felt good. He felt strong. He moved with an ease he hadn’t felt for years, not since he was younger, before he had a tight back and knees that cracked. He felt distant from himself, distant from the fight, as his body fell into a controlled sequence of moves.

Somewhere in the back of his fogged mind he finally asked himself why? Why was it suddenly easy?

Then the saber grew heavy in his hand, and he faltered.

He stabbed one of the Klatooinians straight through the gut, and when he wrenched it back, the flat of the saber sizzled and spat against the flesh of his own thigh. The searing pain pitched him into a red haze, and he dispatched the rest in short order. He cleaved through two, took a hail of blaster fire, and stabbed Kaba Baiz between the ribs with his vibroblade. He lifted his dead weight with one hand on the hilt, and Din knew he was different.

Without thinking, he took up the saber and sliced clean through the Klatooinian, even though he was already dead, and Din knew he was different.

*** He was half delirious with pain and exhaustion by the time he found the Armorer.

“What weapon caused such a wound?”

“Paz Viszla, bring it to me.”

The moment Paz touched the hilt of the saber, Din’s body went cold, every part of him snapping to high alert. His hackles raised.

He knew then there’d be a challenge. A duel.

Sure enough, after he’d given himself enough time to assess Din’s state and skill with the blade, Paz had thrown the gauntlet, and something reared in Din’s chest in response. Something eager. 

The fight passed in a blur of scarlet. Smoke encroached on the edges of Din’s vision as they grappled, and something outside himself took control. By the end of it, by the time he had Paz on his knees with a blade to his throat, Din was barely conscious. He felt far away in his own body.

He heard the Armorer’s dismissal faintly, an echo of words through his hollow ribcage.

“Then you are a Mandalorian no more.”

He could barely stand, let alone process the devastating reality of her words.

He doesn’t know how he made it back to the surface of Glavis and all the way to the public transport. He has no memory of stripping himself of his weapons, signing them over to a droid, and stumbling on board. He has no memory of upgrading to a private room.

He remembers the room, though.

By the time he got there, he knew he was going to be sick, his insides roiling and churning. As soon as the door closed and locked behind him, he ripped his helmet off and paced the tiny space, massaging his temples and willing himself to calm down. His blood pumped hot and furious through his veins as he replayed the duel, as he remembered the Armorer’s words. 

He felt trapped, pent-up and weighed down; he needed to be out of his beskar in a way he hadn’t felt since his first days of wearing armor—back when he was just a kid and the weight was stifling and restrictive and unfamiliar.

And then the real pain came. Like a fever, it took him.

He buckled to the floor of his private room, collapsing to his hands and knees, his thigh guards clattering against the durasteel floor. Against his better judgment, slouched pathetically on the ground, he peeled off each of his layers—his beskar, his soft underarmor, his flight suit. He stripped to his boxers and stretched out in a prone position, face turned to one side. The shock of the cold metal floor felt good on his feverish skin. Din lay there and counted.  

He lay there and tried to compose himself.

Over and over, he watched his hot, panted breath leave a temporary shadow of condensation on the gelid floor and dissipate. Spread and evaporate. Spread and evaporate.

Just when he thought he was starting to get control of himself, it felt as though two hot blades pierced his shoulders, and he reached back reflexively, rolling onto his side as he convulsed in agony, his spine curling and straightening. He shoved his clenched-white knuckles against his teeth to muffle his scream, and he felt something hard protruding from his back.

Paz must have followed.

He writhed and pitched.

The door was locked. The room was empty.

Nothing made sense.

I’m dying.

Two points of white-hot pain sprouted behind his temples, his vision going gray and bile rising in his throat.

Then, blissful darkness.

*** Things are good. Things are calm.

Din has fallen into a routine, a sustainable routine for the foreseeable future. It will get him through the time period between now and whenever you leave—whether that’s a few weeks or a couple months. And that’s all that matters.

He lets himself hunt once a week. He’s finally accepted that concession lends him more control. He’s less on edge after he allows himself to turn and feed. So, once a week, he sheds his armor and changes. It’s just enough freedom to quash the urge to go armor-less when he shouldn’t. Plus, he has a clear purpose for it now. He stalks through the forest, kills a beast, and reinforces his territory.

He’s picking off the pack one by one, just as he planned. They’re onto him now—they’re wary and hyper-vigilant. They move constantly, retreat higher and higher into the hills. They place scouts along their flanks. Din picks off the scouts.

First, it’s a gray female.

Next, a tawny male.

The third, its mate.

And so on.

He hunts. He keeps tabs on you from afar. He trains with the saber.

Yes, everything is good.

You haven’t sought him out again, not since the market. His rejection was enough, apparently. He’s relieved.

He’s miserable.

Truly, he’s sick with it, and his regret is showing up in all sorts of tangible ways. 

All the tiles of his shower, every single white square at his eye-level, where he leans his weight on a clawed hand once a week, are scored now. The deep lacerations don’t bother him anymore though. Each one is a mark on stone instead of flesh, a tally of his self-control.

He breaks things more often, when he’s changed and when he’s not. He feels like some kind of adolescent animal, just learning the limitations of his own strength. It’s ridiculous. He figures it’s the incompatible combination of his new strength, his burning frustration, and the age of the house.

He’s had to repair his headboard, the door frame to the bathroom, and two door knobs. He’s had to fully replace his front door, hinges and all. He came back from a particularly grisly hunt, pent up and brimming with violent energy, and pulled the thing clean off.

It’s been weeks since he’s talked to you. Summer has had enough time to wane into fall, but this unexpected penance he’s enduring for the way he treated you doesn’t seem to be going away.

*** The next time he goes out for a hunt—in the early evening because he can’t seem to make himself wait out the few hours until nightfall—Din can tell you’re out walking in the forest before he’s even a mile from you. The wind shifts, and he can smell you as if you’re standing right next to him.

He could turn for home. He could skirt you completely. He could follow you from a distance until you make it home safely. He could do anything that ensures you have no chance of seeing him like this.

He’s not in the condition to make a rational decision.

Din continues on the same path, until you’re so close that in full daylight you’d be able to see his towering shape moving beyond the lattice of low tree limbs, and he scales the largest tree he can find, pulling himself lithely up into its high branches.

He waits, silent and still, as you wander through the trees far below him. You look so tiny from up here, like something too insignificant to draw his attention on a hunt, the perfect prey for some creature that’s one rung lower on the food chain. 

Possessive longing embeds itself somewhere tender behind his ribs and tugs: You look like something that needs to be protected.

The little fawn is trailing behind you like an obedient duckling. She notices Din’s presence right away, her tiny head craning upward to find him in the murky gloom. She goes skittish and fragile when she sees him, blundering ahead of you on precarious legs.

You look after her with mild concern. “Where are you going?”

If you were to glance up too, you might be able to make out his hulking shape, crouched in the tangle of the canopy, but you wouldn’t be able to discern the details. You wouldn’t see his face. His silhouette would be obscured by the wide, swooping contours of his wings, all detail lost to shadow.

There’s a part of him that wants you to look up, a part of him that wants to leap down and block your path—to make you look at him like this. He needs to know what you’d do.

You’d scream.

And then what?

Would you freeze or fight or flee?

You’re not one to flee on instinct. You’re too smart to fight something more than twice your size. His credits are on freeze.

And when you stood there staring at him, how long would it take you to tear your gaze from his clawed hands and pointed wings and sharp teeth to meet his eyes? How long would it take you to look up from the threatening bulk of his body to his face? Would you put it together? Would you recognize the unzipped flightsuit tied loosely at his waist? 

Would you hate him?

He doesn’t want to think about the possibility of disgust reflected in your features. As hard as he’s tried to convince himself that it would be easier if you feared him, he despises the idea of you seeing him like this and being scared or repulsed.

It would be the final confirmation that he’s a monster.

You’re almost out of sight. You could still look up. All you’d see is a dark void—a space that swallows more light than any of the surrounding shadows.

You don’t look up, though; you wander on. You’re close enough to your home, headed back in that direction, that he’s not worried about you. He’ll be attending to the potential threats elsewhere anyways.

He jumps down when you’re a safe distance away, falling gracefully and with control, and the thick bed of pine needles muffles the thud of his landing. But he’s so heavy like this, so dense with muscle, that the forest floor vibrates just for a moment when his feet touch down.

Din turns for the hills, where he knows the pack is waiting. 

He thinks he’ll kill two tonight. 

When he returns home hours later—sweaty and fed and sticky with blood—he heads right for the shower, reaches for the knob, starts the hot water…and the metal snaps off in his hand. 

Fuck.

*** All the necessary repairs mean that Din is in town more often than he wants to be.

The next evening, fuming, he heads there for the replacement part for the shower. With the newly purchased knob slung in a bag over his shoulder, he starts for home. He’s skirting the main roads in town, sticking to the side streets and alleyways to avoid people, but Din pauses when you step out the door of the cantina. 

Alone.

No, not alone.

A quiet growl escapes the modulator when that boy that bothers you at the market comes stumbling out the door behind you, tripping over his own feet as he calls your name. Din has noticed every time this boy lingers too long by your stall on Saturdays. You always have the same vague, disinterested smile plastered on your face until he leaves. He annoys you, and that annoys Din.

Din waits in the shadow of the alley, out of sight, to ensure this boy doesn’t do anything more than annoy you.

The urge to protect you isn’t a want for him anymore. It’s a physical imperative.

“Wait, wait up,” the boy pants when you turn at the sound of your name. “Let me walk you home.”

You turn and give him a pacifying smile. “I’m good, Terek.” You wave him off amiably and keep walking.

Terek follows.

Din starts forward as soon as Terek reaches for you. He covers the short distance in a few strides, coming up behind both of you. Neither of you hears his approach.

“Don’t,” Din says, his voice low and threatening, just as Terek grasps your wrist.

You and Terek freeze and whip your heads around, surprise apparent on your faces. When you both register Din’s presence, Terek’s surprise melts into fear, yours into…disappointment?

That stings.

In an attempt at chivalry, Terek hesitates for a moment then steps all the way in front of you, putting his body squarely between yours and Din’s, swallowing audibly as he looks up at his visor.

Din sighs.

“What do you want?”

“Release her.”

Terek splutters for a moment, trying and failing to form a sentence that expresses his utter disbelief, but you save him the trouble by wrenching your hand from his and stepping away.

“I’m fine,” you say to no one in particular. Then, to Terek, “Go home.”

“I’m not leaving you with him,” he says, disgusted, eyeing Din warily.

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, adding, “Just go,” when he hesitates.

Terek leaves, his pride sufficiently wounded by the dismissal. He mutters under his breath as he does, disappearing around a corner. Then it’s just you and Din.

You look up at him for a moment then turn abruptly on your heel and stalk away.

You waited to be alone with him just so you could leave first. The pettiness of it almost amuses him.

You’re upset with him. Hurt. For good reason. He doesn’t blame you, and as much as he should be thrilled that you want nothing to do with him, he’s suddenly desperate to fix it. Now that you’re standing in front of him again, he can’t help himself.

“Wait,” he says, following you instinctively. “Let me walk with you.”

As soon as he says it, he regrets it. He sounds just like Terek, who obviously annoys the shit out of you. Sure enough, you reject the offer. 

“No,” you reply, tossing the word carelessly over your shoulder.

Din watches you walk away, disappointment coiling in his chest like thick smoke.

He makes an impulsive decision, overtaking you in a few strides, turning around in front of you to force you to stop walking. “Please.”

You’re surprised, caught off guard by his plea, but you recover quickly. You deliberate for one painful, infinite moment.

“Alright,” you say, your expression softening. “Come on.”

He’s so relieved he sighs audibly. He’s so relieved he doesn’t even let himself think about what a bad idea this is—how it’s going to completely erase the progress he’s made in keeping you away from him. He shoves those thoughts aside and falls into step beside you. 

Din looks down at the reluctant smile pulling at your lips, and he smiles behind the helmet.

In that moment, everything changes. His resolve evaporates. Nothing about this could be wrong, he decides. It feels too good. Even more importantly, you look happy. 

That means he’s doing something right.

YOU

Summer gifts you a final handful of warm days as fall pushes in.

Your weekly harvest shifts from the best of the summer fruits and vegetables to what fall has to offer—pears and apples, squashes and pumpkins, leafy greens and broccoli crowns. A chill slips in at night, first a light breeze, then more insistent until it’s enough to necessitate shut windows and drawn curtains.

In the forest, the deciduous trees are just starting to turn. The tart greens of summer have waned to a muted olive in the heat and the drought, and they’re beginning to give way to the first golden hues of autumn, heralding the oncoming winter months. It’s your stark annual reminder of the transience of the growing season. In a few months, the weekly market will all but close, reduced to a handful of stalls selling preserved and prepared foods. Your part in it will be over for the year. 

You’re even more relieved than usual. You’ll miss the finer weather, of course, but not the work. Or the weekly slog to the market…and the constant reminder of the Mandalorian’s rejection.

The memory tastes like sweet cherry gone sour on your tongue.

You try not to think about it—how stupid you made yourself look, flirting with him when he wasn’t interested. Pursuing him outright and cajoling him to come to your stall when he’d made the choice to avoid you. You’d made some bold moves, and they hadn’t paid off. No, they’d backfired rather spectacularly. 

You’re grateful that the Mandalorian’s constant radius of solitude—the area around him that his intimidation keeps clear—means that no one else witnessed the whole embarrassing scene up close. A small blessing.

The last Saturday markets of the season pass without event. Just like the previous handful, Mando walks by. You see him coming and avoid his gaze; you avoid looking at him altogether in fact—you don’t even sneak a sidelong glance to see if he’s willing to spare you a nod. You don’t want to know.

You both act the part of the strangers you are. Whatever nascent thing flickered between you for a moment has been snuffed out completely.

You pack up your kiosk and head home from that final Saturday, knowing it’s time to get to work on the necessary preparations for winter: some repairs, the work in the orchards and gardens, tending to the chickens. The final push feels extra hard this year.

You’ve never been more ready to leave this planet. 

So naturally, when you head into town a few days later to check on the progress of your ship, you find out that the last few parts are back-ordered. Everything slows down here when the first chilly winds start to pick up the fallen leaves—everything. People hunker down preemptively, incoming shipments of all goods slowing to a trickle. It doesn’t help that your ship is an old model, out of production. It already takes extra time to find the right parts.

The mechanic estimates an early spring completion date.

You’ll have to wait out the cold months patiently. Knowing he’s still out there. A small comfort is that you probably won’t see him at all now that you won’t spend hours at the one place you reliably crossed paths. Maybe you’ll pass each other when you’re visiting the tiny winter market briefly for necessities. Likely not, though, when you know exactly the time he shows up and therefore just how to avoid him.

You wish he’d leave the planet entirely so you could stop thinking about him.

No, you wish he’d seek you out. Just so you could reject him.

Who are you kidding? That’s not how that would go. 

What you really want is for him to seek you out, explain that the whole thing was some kind of misunderstanding, whip his helmet off to reveal his handsome face, and kiss you full on the mouth.

It’ll probably happen. Any second.

*** Right away, you’re proven wrong. It’s not so easy to avoid him. But you don’t run into him at the market—no, you’re in town, coming out of the cantina, when you see him next.

A slightly drunk Terek is trying to talk you into letting him walk you home, and the Mandalorian appears out of nowhere.

Again, the absurd idea that he follows you seems not entirely improbable.

“Release her.”

The protective tone of Mando’s voice makes your stomach clench. Terek is perfectly harmless. You’ve dealt with him for years, and he’s never done more than offer his company, sometimes too insistently. Some deep, vicious part of you wants him to get uncharacteristically angry and brave right now—to escalate the situation by refusing to let you go.

You want to see how effortlessly Mando would put him down. 

Fuck, what is wrong with you?

The man does things to your head. 

You pull your hand out of Terek’s loose, sweaty grasp and step away. He protests when you tell him to leave, but eventually, reluctantly, he listens. And then it’s just you and the Mandalorian. As you wanted.

He got protective over you, and your curiosity is unyielding. You have to know how this is going to play out.

He stands there like a metal statue and says nothing.

So you turn and walk away.

“Wait,” he says belatedly, his footsteps picking up behind you. “Let me walk with you.”

It’s embarrassing how easily the request makes your irritation disappear. The reality of just how much his attention means to you cinches uncomfortably in your gut. You remember your last encounter, and the combination makes you defensive.

So you say the opposite of what you really want, an ugly satisfaction settling in your chest: “No.”

He rounds on you. “Please.”

He sounds well and truly fraught—even though the modulator, the sharp emotion comes through.

The Mandalorian seems to be someone else entirely tonight: you think he’s the man you’ve glimpsed behind the armor, sweet and real, the one he usually tries to keep hidden. It’s intoxicating.

“Alright,” you say, relieved. “Come on.”

He falls into place beside you quickly, a little eagerly.

You pass the entrance to town, and the wind whistles through the dry leaves in the forest, tugging the last few hold-outs from their branches to join the rest. They skitter across the hard-packed dirt road.

As much as you’d rather avoid the topic altogether, it feels necessary to address the awkwardness between you before diving into anything else. It doesn’t feel so daunting at this moment. His energy tonight has changed the dynamic completely. 

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable that day at the market. I didn’t mean—”

He surprises you by stopping abruptly in his tracks and turning toward you. You pause too. He extends a hand like he wants to reach for yours then decides better of it and lets it drop.

“I was rude,” he says. “I’m sorry, it had nothing to do with you.”

You scrunch your nose. That doesn’t seem true. “Really? It seemed like—”

“Forgive me.”

It has the quiet desperation of a plea, and he says it with so much sincerity that you don’t feel any qualms about agreeing.

“Of course,” you say. “It’s forgotten.”

He nods once, decisively, then turns to keep walking. Apparently, the matter is settled. You let him change the subject when he tries.

“How’s the progress on your ship?” he asks.

You let out an annoyed huff. “Delayed. Again.”

You explain the specifics to him.

It feels like a gift to be alone with him for this long, to finally have an uninterrupted, prolonged, one-on-one conversation. You’re learning so much about him, his quirks, already. He has a way of keeping you talking without saying anything. He gives you a look, cocks his helmet, hums. Not talkative but not aloof. He wants you to keep talking, and he communicates that openly.

You like it—like learning him—and at the same time, you can’t help but want to wheedle more out of him. You want the man behind the mask, all of him. You tell yourself to settle for this. This is easy. This is comfortable. You’ll give him time. You’ll let him unravel you a little before you start in on him.

So for now, he goads; you answer.

Ten or so minutes pass like that.

“So, it looks like I’m stuck here through the winter,” you conclude. 

That fact is starting to feel less bleak by the minute.

“Yeah?”

Either there’s a faint glimmer of potential in his question or you want it to be there so badly you’re projecting. It feels real, though—real enough to press a little.

“What about you, Mando? How long are you here for?”

“Still deciding.”

“And what’s informing that decision?”

He looks you over for a long moment. Leaves crunch under his boots, and you feel exposed under his naked attention. 

“Several…factors,” he says finally, perfectly cryptic.

You roll your eyes at him playfully, prompting him to expand with an open hand. 

“I’ll…be here through the winter too.”

It feels like he’s just deciding right now. And you want to believe that—that your timeline is somehow, improbable as it is, affecting his. 

You can’t help but smile at him. “Good.”

You walk in companionable silence for a few minutes—until something howls mournfully into the night.

“You walk this alone at night?” he asks. There’s concern there.

You shrug. “I’ve lived here all my life—long enough that I know what to expect, long enough that nothing on this planet really scares me anymore. I know how to deal with it.”

A grunt of acknowledgement, then he goes thoughtfully quiet.

You’ve reached the turn-off for your house. You expect him to leave you here. He doesn’t. He walks with you all the way down the path, all the way to the stairs that lead up to your front porch.

You turn to him, he turns to you, and you’re painfully aware that in any other situation, walking home with someone you’re interested in might culminate in a kiss. If you wanted it to.

You look up, meeting his visor, feeling shy under his gaze again. “Thanks for walking with me.”

He nods and reaches into a pouch on his belt, fishing out something small. He hands it to you. “In case.”

You look down at the little silver device, closing your fingers around it. A com. A direct link to him, given freely. You’re surprised. And pleased. “I—thank you.”

“Use it if you need it.”

“I will.”

“...if you want to,” he amends, a little hesitantly.

“I definitely will.”

He bids you goodnight with a final nod, but he waits to leave until you let yourself in your front door and lock it behind you.

From the window, you watch him go, watch him turn and melt into the syrupy darkness like he’s always been part of it.

*** The next day, you’re buoyed by the hope of last night’s conversation. He was friendly. He wanted to spend time with you. He was protective. You float through your work mindlessly, daydreaming. 

The little silver com feels heavy and significant in your skirt pocket.

The air smells earthy, and there’s a chilly bite to the morning breeze. Luna follows you as per usual, moseying behind as you graduate from one task to the next. Her ankle is fully healed. She wanders in your vicinity, searching out the best food sources without leaving your sight. 

You replay your conversation with Mando—the questions, the interest, the amiable silence—while you work. 

You pause in the middle of pruning an apple tree, clippers poised over a branch to be cut: you might actually be friends with the Mandalorian.

Of course, what you really want is to be fucked raw by the Mandalorian every day. But being friends is probably a good first step.

When you’re done in the orchard, you move the chickens from their outdoor enclosure inside, counting each feathery butt as they titter their way through the door of the barn. The last one meanders away, pecking at the ground in search of bugs, and you have to herd her back toward the waiting warmth. 

“Come on, silly.”

You usher her inside, check the feed levels, and latch the door behind them. All accounted for. You haven’t lost a chicken in months. 

It’s odd, honestly.

It’s usually a constant battle to keep them from being picked off. You always factor in an expected loss each year. But for the past few months, you haven’t lost a single one, haven’t seen a single offending footprint of a predator—large or small—anywhere on your land. Even the rats have stopped coming for the eggs.

It makes you curious.

You venture into the forest early that evening, slipping under the patchwork of fall colors: amber and olive and burnt orange. Luna follows close at your heel. You’re not sure what you’re looking for until you find it.

A ways into the forest, quite far from the edge of your clearing, you come across a large tree, its trunk wide and thick, and the bark is shredded. It’s cut with long, deep lacerations. And lying at its base is a sizable ladder of vertebrae. Mammalian. Something big. The bones have been picked clean, left almost pristine by the elements and hungry critters.

You’ve never seen something like this so close to your house.

And you haven’t seen any live predators lately. You’ve heard them, far off.  It doesn’t make sense.

You circle the trunk and notice a little way off, there is another tree just like this one—ribboned bark, an offering of bones gathered at its foot. And then, from that tree, you spot another. There’s a series of them, one after another. You follow one to the next, marked tree to marked tree, and find that they form a massive ring around your property. 

A halo of slashed trees hemming you in. 

You can tell they’ve each been marked repeatedly, newer lacerations scored across older ones, newer kills piled atop older ones. There are scattered bones everywhere—husks of shattered skulls and splintered femurs, the pristine skeletal structure of a paw as big as your hand. Some are stripped, but decaying muscle and flesh still cling to others.

Dread has dropped into your stomach like a stone, growing heavier by the minute. Something is…stalking you?

Has been stalking you.

For weeks. Maybe months.

Something that’s large enough to kill the largest predator on this planet.

Something new.

Someone new.

You know.

You’re almost back to where you started; you’ve almost completed the full circuit when you find one spot that’s more disturbing than the rest. The kill that sits at the base of this tree looks fresh, maybe a day or two old. It hasn’t rotted yet, and you can smell the coppery tang of dried blood. You can see it too, dripped like black ink across dead, curled oak leaves.

There’s something else in the air too—something strong and alluring—

You turn abruptly when you realize you haven’t heard the quiet crunch of Luna’s steps in a minute, haven’t felt the gentle press of her nose and the warm chuff of air when she exhales against your leg. Your tiny companion is several steps behind you, completely stricken. She looks as terrified as the day you took her home—trembling legs splayed, eyes huge, ears alert.

She is not pleased with the grisly scene. For good reason.

You scan the area, listening intently. There’s no movement, no immediate threat you can discern. You know this kill is abandoned.

But you’re not going to subject Luna to this fear. You scoop her up, trudge back through the forest to bring her home, and put her inside. And then you head back to the spot.

Something aside from the macabre mystery of it all brings you back.

The smell of blood is overpowering, but there’s that other scent lingering on the still forest air, something warm and pungent and vaguely familiar. You can’t put your finger on what it is, but it smells good. Mouthwateringly good. Not like fresh baked bread, not something benign like a food or flower or early morning. 

It’s something overtly sexual, something personal.

You can’t remember ever being this attracted to a scent, but it conjures images of intense coupling. It smells like tangled limbs, like burying your face against the hollow of a sweaty throat. Like skimming the tip of your nose up the inside of a thigh. Like having two thick fingers thrust into your mouth, pressing in, pressing down on the wet muscle of your tongue until you choke. Like those same spit-wet fingers slipping out of your mouth, streaking a glistening trail down your chin, and closing around your throat.

It’s leather and sex and smoke and salt and…so many more unnameable things.

It has you wet between your legs.

It has you following a faint trail of dripped blood and remnants of dismembered carcasses across the pine-needle strewn ground—a path that leads away from your property. You wander from one trace to the next, a little dazed, searching the forest floor for more signs of the violence that took place here.

Every step you take has you moving a little faster, until you’re all but running through the maze of tree trunks.

You pass cracked ribs, stripped almost completely clean.

The smell is getting stronger, more magnetic. You barely have to seek out the trail of the blood and scattered viscera to find your way; the smell itself is enough. It keeps you on track.

You know it’s crazy. But you need answers.

Halfway there, you’re sure of where the path leads. There’s nothing else this far in the forest. You know who will be waiting at the end of it.

You step over the sharp angle of a jaw bone, shiny teeth lined up like snow-covered mountain peaks.

No wonder the nights have been loud with desolate howling.

You’re vaguely aware that dusk is gathering quickly, spun like silk between the tightly packed trees. It’s dangerous to be out this late, in this part of the forest, in the dark.

You keep moving, fingers clutched tightly around the com in your pocket.

*** The Mandalorian is waiting for you.

He’s standing comfortably, leaning against a tree, as if he’s been expecting you for some time, like he’s known you’ve been on your way. His house lurks somewhere in the blue mist behind him.

How could he possibly have known?

When he straightens, his body language is stiff. Something is off.

He greets you with a gruff, “You shouldn’t be out here.”

You hesitate. “What—why?”

“It isn’t safe.”

“It’s not—”

“Don’t come here again.”

The contrast to how he spoke to you last night is jarring. You’re speechless for a second. He turns on his heel and starts to walk away. He’s gone mercurial on you again—retreated fully behind his armor.

You find your voice before he’s disappeared between the trees. “I told you—I’m not afraid of anything on this planet.”

He stops in his tracks and turns slowly to face you, his silver armor glinting dully in the gloom. 

“I know,” he says, “but you should be.”

You bristle. “Why are you acting this way? Yesterday—just yesterday you gave me a com link.” You pull the thing out of your pocket and hold it up. “And told me to use it. You wanted me to.”

“That…was a mistake.”

“Don’t say that. It wasn’t.”

“I shouldn’t have been so familiar. It won’t happen again.”

He turns and is almost completely lost to darkness, the looming outline of his roof just barely visible beyond the trees.

“Why is there a trail of carcasses leading from my house to yours?”

He stops in his tracks. Silent.

“You owe me an explanation,” you press. “I’m not leaving until I get it.”

He stands there for a long moment.

“Come in,” he growls finally, jerking his helmet toward his front door.

You follow him inside. The house is old but beautiful—hardwood floors and sky blue walls. It’s clean and uncluttered, just as you expect his space to be. He nods toward his kitchen table, offering you a chair, and leans against his kitchen counter, thumbs tucked into his belt.  

“Explain the bodies.”

He’s not looking at you. He chooses his words carefully. “They…were a threat.”

“They were a threat…?”

“So I eliminated them,” he says simply.

Eliminated feels like a generous euphemism for the way the beasts were obliterated, ripped to shreds and scattered. To be honest, though, you’re less concerned with the details than you should be. You care more about the reason. You want to hear him say it. 

“Why?”

“I’m a hunter. It’s what I do.”

“There was a bounty on those creatures?”

He tilts his helmet in a way that feels like an eye-roll.

“They weren’t bothering anyone,” you say. “It wasn’t necessary.”

“They were stalking you.”

The lake. The fight. Here it is, finally: the truth. You’re going to have to drag it out of him.

“And how do you know that?”

He tips his helmet up, his visor finally meeting your eyes, but he says nothing.

“You’ve been following me.”

Again, nothing. He fixes his gaze downward again.

“Why, Mando?” you prompt, some mixture of dread and desire pulsing through your veins. “Tell me. You owe me that.”

“You know,” he says quietly.

Your heartrate kicks up. “I know what?”

He says it begrudgingly, like it’s an ugly reality: “That I want you.”

You laugh. He can’t be fucking serious. “How would I know that? Should I have guessed when you stopped talking to me? Or when you refused to look at me? How could I possibly have known when you can’t seem to decide whether to let me in or push me away?”

“You’ve known,” he says, addressing none of your questions. “You flirted with me.”

“I did,” you admit. “But that had more to do with my feelings than anything I assumed about yours. I didn’t know what you were feeling. I just knew what I wanted.”

“Mmm.”

You’re going to kill him if he doesn’t start giving you more than monosyllables.

“If you want me, why do you keep pushing me away?”

He rolls his helmet to the side, annoyed. As if he has any right to be annoyed. You can hear how tightly his jaw is clenched when he speaks. “Because I can’t have you.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one who gets to decide that?”

“Not in this case.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s…complicated.”

“Fine. Explain it to me.” You make a show of settling back in your chair. “We have all the time in the world.”

He bunches his shoulders, rubs a heavy hand down the back of his neck, uneasy. “You’ll get hurt.”

“What does that even mean? How would I get hurt?”

He ignores that, deflecting. “This isn’t your decision to make,” he spits. “It’s mine.”

“That’s insane—we both want the same thing—”

“I won’t let you get hurt.” His voice is low, his visor pointed at his boots—almost as if he’s talking to himself, trying to convince himself.

You stand, frustrated, your chair squeaking on the hardwood floor when you shove it backwards. “Why would I get hurt, Mando—how? What are you going to do? Or is it me you’re worried about? Is this how you really think of me? As something fragile? Do you just think I’m that fucking weak?”

He breaks.

The sound he makes is brutal and anguished, a dull roar, and you can’t help but flinch when he slams his fist against the counter behind him. The windows shake with the impact. He laughs when you flinch, something low and dark rumbling through his chest, a sound tinged with vindication.

“Good,” he says. “I said you should be scared.”

“That sound startled me,” you say, rolling your eyes. “It doesn’t mean I’m scared of you.”

He moves like a gunshot. 

He shoves your empty chair away, and his massive metal frame forces you backwards with faltering steps. You stop when your back hits the wall, looking up at his visor defiantly. He’s trying to provoke you, to orchestrate a situation that forces you to push him away, that justifies his own worry. 

“What will it take?”

He gets so close that his chest brushes yours, so close that you can feel the cold metal of his armor through your clothes. He looms over you, dropping his helmet toward your ear.

“Hmm?” he prompts. “What will it take to convince you?”

“Of what?”

“To leave this—leave me—alone.”

You open and close your mouth, at a loss for words, overwhelmed by his closeness.

He dips his head again, his helmet nudging your temple, his voice pitching low and dangerous. “You want me to hurt you?”

“You won’t hurt me.” You say it so quickly, with such conviction that it surprises even you.

Mando lets out a quiet sound like a wounded animal and looks away, his visor fixed on the ground as his chest heaves in deep breaths. You’re about to speak again when he looks up and cradles your cheek in his gloved hand.

He’s gentle suddenly. Reverent.

“You’re right, sweet thing. I won’t hurt you. Not on purpose.”

“See?”

“Not on purpose,” he repeats, the words heavy with significance.

“I trust you.”

You reach for his helmet with a tentative hand, waiting for him to stop you—fully expecting it. He doesn’t. You trace the sharp relief with light fingers, running them down what would be his cheek.

“I want you. Let me want you.”

A low growl rumbles through his chest, but this one is different from the others. This one sounds pleased. You’ll take it.

You tuck two fingers into the soft leather of his belt and tug his hips forward those last few inches, guiding him close until his whole body is flush to yours, until you’re caught between his unyielding metal and the wall.

You let your hands wander to the spaces between his armor, let them run up his sides, let one slip under the layered fabric at his neck. Your fingertips find warm skin, and you sigh at the feeling.

He’s real. He’s here. He’s not moving away. 

He’s leaning into your touch, his breath coming thick and fast through the modulator. His hands, though, are hovering by your hips, uncertain.

“Touch me,” you beg, grabbing them and moving them to your sides. 

His fingers tighten against your middle, and he presses the solid length of his body harder against yours. He’s half hard against your hip.

“Please.”

He’s considering. He’s drawing out the longest moment of your life.

You can feel the moment he decides to give in, to let himself have what you both want so badly. He sighs and curls himself around you, dropping his helmet toward your shoulder, slipping his arms around your waist to hold you tight.

It’s achingly tender. Intimate in a way you weren’t expecting.

You breathe together.

And just as suddenly, everything shifts again. He pulls back and fixes you with a hard look. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You need to be sure.”

“I’m sure. Just—please—”

His fingers follow the line of your jaw, his thumb settling on your lower lip. At the merest hint of pressure, you open your mouth.

“Bite,” he whispers, pushing just the tip of his thumb past your lips.

You graze your teeth lightly over his fingertip, catching the seam. The potent taste of leather and blaster residue invades your mouth, sitting heavy like ash on your tongue. You want to taste his skin, not his glove.

You’re desperate to know what sound he’d make if you wrapped your lips around his bare thumb and sucked. But before you have the chance, he eases his hand out of his glove—revealing golden brown skin—and drops it to your side, squeezing your hip so hard it makes you gasp. The leather slaps quietly against the floor when your jaw falls open. He yanks his other hand free and lets that glove fall too.

Your hand slips down his chest plate, skates over his belt, to settle over—

His bare hand covers yours, clamping it in place over his cold metal buckle.

“No.”

You look up at him. “What—?”

“No,” he repeats.

“Why—?”

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks again. “Are you sure you want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “But why can’t—?”

Before you can finish your question, Mando is spinning you around and ushering you backward toward the table. When the edge nudges your back, he turns you again, pushing your shoulders down until you fold forward over the oak top. 

He arranges you to his liking: a boot kicks your feet wider, and rough hands grip your hips to shift them backward so he has enough space to work open the button on your skirt, shove it down, and let it pool at your feet. He takes your underwear with it. 

Your gasp melts into a moan when he fits himself behind you, bent over you with his hips bracketing yours, and drags his warm, dry hands up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You can feel him through his clothes—his cock is hard against the small of your back—and you’re on fire with the thought of trying to fit him inside you.

You’d take it. You want that burn.

But he doesn’t reach for his belt. He stays like that, folded over you, the edge of his helmet sharp on the back of your shoulder, and slides one hand further up into the v of your legs. He grunts and presses his hips harder against your ass at the first feeling of your wet heat on his fingers as he parts you. 

The pad of his finger finds your clit and skims it, applying barely any pressure. Teasing.

He speaks softly, his helmet close to your ear. “Is this what you wanted? Is this what you needed?”

You push your hips back against him, seeking. “Please, Mando—I need—”

“You’ll take what I give you, pretty thing. And you won’t ask for more.”

He goes torturously slow, clearly unconcerned with your urgent need. He’s enjoying the build-up, you think, enjoying feeling you squirm against him. He lets you whine for a couple minutes while he plays with you as he pleases. Until finally, he decides to give you the pressure you need, two fingers rocking gently against your clit, his other hand dipping lower.

Out of all the things that have happened tonight—all the weird, improbable shit—what shocks you the most is this: Mando can be a talker. As soon as he sinks two fingers into the warmth of your pussy, he starts to run his mouth. And he doesn’t stop.

In his sinful voice, he tells you how much he’s wanted this, how good you feel around his fingers.

He groans deep. “I’ve thought about this tight little cunt every night for months.”

With both his hands between your legs and a steady stream of filth murmured in your ear, he takes you apart in minutes. He pauses only to rip your shirt over your head, palming your breasts with a quiet oh fuck, and then resumes.

“I’ve imagined the sounds you’d make—the way you’d cry for me when I make you come.”

He fucks you with two thick fingers, stretching you open in a way that’s making your arousal seep down his palm.

“Fuck, you’re even wetter than I thought you’d be—hngg—you’re dripping on me.”

He flicks your clit with his other hand, a little mean, then soothes the sting with just the right touch, the right rhythm. You come like that, spasming around his fingers, and he growls when he feels it. 

“Oh fuck, come for me, just like that.”

He pulls his hands away too quickly.

“Let me—just let me—”

He guides you into a new position with gentle but hurried movements. There’s a frantic air to them that has you obeying without a second thought. He draws your shoulders up and spins you around; his hands slide down your back and over the curve of your ass, gripping the backs of your thighs to lift you onto the edge of the table.

He presses you backwards until you lie flat for him, and he parts your knees and slides his palms up the insides of your thighs, forcing your legs apart so you’re completely spread for him. You don’t have time to be startled by the depravity of it because he does something you’re not expecting. He drops to his knees with a clank of beskar and lets his helmet fall forward into the v of your thighs.

You gasp at the cold shock of metal, flinching away instinctively, but his hands curl around your thighs and keep you in place.

He presses the front of his helmet against your sex.

There’s no way he can see anything at all with his visor shoved up against your skin, no way there’s enough light to make out the details of your cunt.

Then you realize, he’s smelling you. His fingers are digging into your thighs as he tries to drag you closer to his face—as if he could drag you any closer when you’re already pressed up tight against him, as if he could pull you straight through the mask of beskar if he tries hard enough.

He’s making sharp, animalistic sounds: growls and huffs and desperate inhalations.

You watch in fascination as his shoulder starts to shift and roll, the dim light glinting on his pauldron, and you push yourself up onto your elbows and drop your head to one side to discover he’s palming himself over his pants where he’s kneeling, rubbing the erection straining against his zipper.

He’s touching himself to the smell of you.

It makes you desperate to touch him. You reach for him.

“Mando, please.”

He lets you pull him up, but when you go for his belt, he swats your hand away. Instead, he grips your thighs and yanks you further down the table; you slide easily over the wooden surface until the solid weight of his body stops you—until you can feel the hard bulge of his clothed erection against your core. You must be leaving a gloss of slick arousal on the front of his pants, but something tells you he likes that.

His hands cup your breasts, run roughly down your stomach, and pause at your hips. His helmet snaps up to your face.

“Can I taste you?”

You don’t even know what he means—don’t know how that will be possible with the impediment of the helmet—but you truly don’t care. You’d let him do anything he wants to you. 

“Yes.”

Mando slips a hand between your bodies and teases you open again, easing his fingers inside where you’re hot and leaking for him. He gives them a few leisurely pumps, curling them against you in a way that makes sparks skitter up your spine. And then he pulls them back.

He shoves his hand under the lip of his helmet and lets out the filthiest groan yet, his head tipping back in bliss as he sucks your taste off his fingers.

You brace yourself on your elbows to watch. It’s a deeply erotic sight. It makes you throb for him.

You’re about to reach for him again, to pull his body down over yours when he steps back and suddenly looks…disoriented. Caught off guard. His hands hang loosely by his sides, like he’s… waiting. Something foreign wracks through him—a shiver, no, more violent than that. A tremor shakes his body; he jerks his head to the side sharply and pulls his shoulders up tight, tensing, resisting something. It passes in a moment, and when it does, he leans his weight on slightly bent knees, catching his breath as if he just sprinted up a hill.

What the—?

“Are you alright?”

He shakes his head in a quick jerk. “I’m fine.”

He brushes past it as if nothing unusual has happened.

You don’t have time to question it because he takes his place between your knees again and leans over you, bracing a forearm above your head, the side of his smooth helmet sliding against your cheek. His fingers are still wet with his spit when he slides them home. He presses in close, and you can see the evidence of your slick smeared across his usually pristine visor. You can smell yourself on his helmet.

And you like it, like seeing him undone for you. By you.

He knows it’s there. You’re sure he can see the hazy smudge that extends across the vertical line of his visor.

“Fuck,” he says, breathless, resting his forehead lightly against yours, his hand moving between your tense thighs, “taste it.”

It takes you a moment to understand. His fingers press deeper, the feeling of him curling and stroking radiates outward.

“Lick yourself off my helmet.”

You don’t even think about it. Your mouth falls open obediently, and you drag the flat of your tongue up the glass, cutting through the taste of your own arousal.

He loves it. He lives for it.

You’re not sure if it’s the fact that you’ve just shown him you’re wiling to do whatever he says, without question; or if it’s the idea of you tasting yourself; or if it’s the filthy visual he must have of your mouth, up close and personal—maybe the closest thing he will ever get to a kiss; or if it’s something else entirely.

Whatever the reason, he likes it.

He mutters a string of praise so panted and broken that you can’t follow it. It somehow manages to communicate his meaning even better than if it were intelligible.

Mando shifts the arm braced above your head lower so he can press the pads of two fingers against your lip, a question.

Just what you wanted earlier.

You part your lips, and he coaxes another orgasm out of you. With one hand, he moves two fingers inside you, his thumb slipping over the tender pearl of your clit, and the other is cradling your chin, his fingers pressing down on your tongue as you moan around them.

It takes no time at all to work you back up to that same precipice.

“You’re—fuck—you’re choking my fingers.”

The broken pant of his words is enough to push you over the edge.

And all you can think about while you’re coming on his hand is how impossibly full you’d feel if he was fucking you with his cock instead of his thick fingers. And how much you want to know what that feels like.

You lie there, trying to catch your breath for a few moments, Mando braced over you, his breathing just as labored as yours. Eventually, he straightens.

“Up,” he invites, offering a hand.

You take it, and he pulls you into a sitting position on the table, your spread legs snug around his hips. You both look down between your bodies, and you hope he’s thinking the same thing you are.

This table is the perfect height for him to fuck you.

He could take himself out and sheath himself inside you so easily. Or you could do it for him. You’re hesitant to reach for him again, the echo of his unyielding no still loud in your head.

But you can see the rigid outline of him straining against the dark fabric of his pants. Your mouth waters at the sight. You’re itching to touch him—you can almost feel the weight and heft of him against your palm, hot and hard. He must be riding the edge of painfully aroused by now, absolutely aching for relief. And based on where his gaze is fixed—on the inches of space between your body and his, the meager distance that feels like a gaping chasm—he’s definitely thinking the same thing you are. 

He wants it.

You’re seconds away from throwing caution to the wind and reaching for his zipper when he clears his throat, and you look up to his visor. His tentative fingers brush your cheek, and your filthy thoughts are successfully derailed by the only thing that could possibly derail them: Mando being sweet to you.

“You’ll stay here.”

It’s neither an invitation or a question, just a fact. Stated warmly and firmly.

He finds your discarded clothes for you then leads you to his bed and waits for you to climb in. You settle under the thick quilt at the far end so he has enough space to lie down beside you. Which he does. Awkwardly. On top of the covers. In full armor. He’s even pulled his fucking gloves back on.

You’ll push him on that at some point—the armor thing. Not now, though. You’ve just barely gotten this far with him. You feel like you’ll spook him if you push too hard.

He leaves a gulf of empty space between your bodies when he settles on his back, his hands clasped together over his belt. A safe, respectful distance away. Hands completely to himself. As if he hasn’t just made you come on his fingers twice, buried knuckle-deep inside you as he whispered filthy things in your ear. As if he hasn’t just tasted your cunt.

If it wasn’t already perfectly clear, this drives the point home: He doesn’t know how to do this—how to be close to someone. If you want this to be anything else, anything more, you’ll have to show him.

You close the space between you, shifting toward him, guiding him closer with a hand on his arm, and he makes a quiet, surprised sound as he turns onto his side, into you, his arm instinctively circling your back. The instinct is there—the desire too—just not the how.

You curl into his metal chest, and one of the very good reasons he had for staying so far away from you on the bed becomes immediately apparent.

Ow.

He murmurs what you’re thinking: “I know the armor can’t be comfortable for you either.”

He makes no offer to take it off, extends no apology for its presence, just acknowledges that you’ll want to move away because of it. It’s not that he doesn’t want this; it’s that he’s accepted he isn’t suited for it.

“It’s fine,” you murmur, afraid he’s going to pull away. 

You tighten your fingers in the duraweave at his side. The hard lines of his beskar press into the front of your body, cold and pinching, in all the wrong places. He’s right. It is absolutely uncomfortable. You try to adjust subtly, try to get more comfortable without confirming that you’re really uncomfortable in the first place. You nudge your face further into the fabric bunched around his neck, chasing one of the few soft, warm parts of him that you can reach.

The tip of your nose brushes skin, and he sighs.

That scent. The one that lead you to him. It’s strongest here, heady and potent. You think you could get drunk on it. Live in it. Right now, though, it’s not so urgent. It doesn’t compel you; it’s not the catalyst it was before. It’s simply…comforting. Sweet and soothing, like the cloying edge of a sedative. No, it’s less demanding than that. More of a gentle suggestion, a reassurance.

The warm embrace of safety.

“It’s fine,” you mutter again, and this time you really mean it. “I don’t mind.”

His arm tightens around you, his hand traveling up your back to cup the nape of your neck, holding you in place where you’ve nuzzled in close. The gesture feels protective. Intimate and familiar.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you register how difficult it will be to give this up, but you release the thought as soon as it comes. No good can come from thinking like that. The end is inevitable: neither of you are meant to stay here forever.

You’ll enjoy this while you have it. Enjoy him while you have him. However brief that is.

You start to doze off, tucked comfortably against him, your thoughts spreading out and losing their shape, like ink bleeding across a wet page. It allows several things to click into place at once, settling into a recognizable pattern like puzzle pieces.

The bloody path. The dismembered carcasses. His unwillingness to let you touch him. The trees around your house. His inner conflict—his worries about hurting you. The armor. The odd physical reactions. The scent. Luna’s fear.

You’ve suspected for a while. You’ve known for sure since you saw the bodies, and in the liminal space on the edge of sleep, you finally let the truth surface.

He’s not human.

[lamamasjamas]

NEXUS

Nexus /ˈneksəs/ n 1 a connection or series of connections linking two or more things. 2 a connected group or series. 3 the central and most important point or place.

Chapter Summary: Din just wanted to show you the stars.

Part 2! Part 3!

A/n: I’ve been working on the whole series for two years??? Give or take. This is like the only thing I genuinely wanted to get right in terms of writing so plsss 🙏😭 This first chapter is super tame, very fluffy and very short in comparison to what's coming.

Warnings for the series: Dead Dove Do Not Eat!!!, getting lost in the unknown regions, Death, Gore, cosmic horror, very heavy topics, smut, angst, fluff, dark themes. This is a dark fic; you have been warned!

There’s a constant beeping around you, for a moment you get lost in it, you even start to time it. It takes about four seconds in between; silence and a breath in from Din’s chest before another soft bleep from the console. 

His fingers twitch, helmet roaming over the panels in front of him, his other hand moving quickly to flick a small lever at his side as if wacking a fly from the air. The beeping had begun a couple days ago, and much to his irritation it hasn’t stopped no matter what buttons he pushes, what levers he pulls and how many times he’s checked for repairs. 

A glitch he had said, looking down on you after you had mentioned how frustrated you were with the repetitive sound not letting you sleep well the first day it appeared. A bug, you replied with a small curl of your lips, thinking you were so clever. 

It was insignificant, it was buzzing but it technically didn’t hurt you. You had gotten used to it, it was part of the crew. It had gotten so repetitive that it was practically muted in your ears, the beep melting into the harmony of the creaking of metal, the hum of the engines and your own quiet conversations. 

It was still there but you didn’t even hear it anymore. 

Sitting in the cockpit, you watched as the stars passed by. Mando was setting up the nav comp to a planet for fuel. You figured, before the trip, that if you had a few days until the tank was empty you would be fine with landing on any planet on the outer rims to refuel. 

“What are you looking at?” He rasps as he flicks something else in front of him, his back still turned to you.

You didn’t notice your attention drifting towards the pilot’s seat, if anything you were mesmerized by the stars reflecting off of him, swirling over his armor quickly with rays of blues and grays. You turned down to your lap and pressed your hand over your face, pulling the skin of your cheeks down momentarily, willing the smile on your lips to distort with it.  

“Nothing,” you respond curtly, smiling almost shyly.

He could see you through the reflection of the viewport, your head was down and he could see your eyes flicker up to meet his gaze from the glass before quickly shifting to your lap. His seat swivels to the side, allowing him to rest his elbows on his knees slowly. He stays in that position for a few moments, hands dangling from between his legs, head tilting in inquisition and watching as you fidgeted with the loose leather of the seat, picking at it with your nail. 

He hummed, not quite believing you, but he knew what you were waiting for. 

He slowly unlatched his helmet, the hiss making your breath catch in your throat. You're still avoiding his gaze and looking towards the ground when the beskar meets his thigh in a soft thud.  

Just a few months ago he wouldn’t even think about revealing his face to you. The decisions he had made throughout his journey inevitably gave him clarity to what he truly viewed as important.  He was still a Mandalorian, despite his recent indulgence of taking his helmet off every once in a while around people he trusted, you amongst them. 

It was odd for you. Getting used to his face was odd, but not unwelcome. You have only known him as a featureless man, his helmet was his only descriptor until then. 

At first it was as if you didn’t know him, feeling unpleasant awkwardness whenever he would take it off to eat. He felt like a stranger to you. You would treat him differently when the helmet was covering his face. You would act much more freely . 

It wasn’t his fault or yours, the human psyche was stingy, it took a while until your brain caught up. As he places the helmet on his lap, you think it really shouldn’t have been that hard to get used to him like this. 

He was timid, so were you, but he didn’t know how to control his expressions. Anyone could guess what he was feeling or even thinking by a glance at his face. You could almost laugh now, thinking of all the different ways he must have contorted under his barrier of beskar without anyone knowing.  

You guess you grew an appreciation for Din’s helmetless state after a while. Especially when he pouted, or when you could hear his laugh clearly, or even when he gave you a gravid look. He was more human this way. You learned to like it. 

He watches you now, trying to contain your giddiness in your seat. 

Despite being initially nervous to show you his face, he now knows that in your standards he was considered attractive. He could hide his face forever knowing that you, the only person whose thoughts he takes in exceptionally high regards, thinks of him as extraordinary. 

No one’s opinion mattered except for yours. You made him cocky, and he’s using his newly discovered looks to his advantage. He likes making you stumble over your words. He likes getting you in a daze. It makes his heart race. 

He gets down on his knees in front of you, edging his face closer to your gaze. Your eyes connect with his and the contact makes him smile warmly. 

“Hey…” he tries. 

With two fingers he tilts your chin from your chest, making sure you would look at him without your eyes wandering. 

“Let’s go on vacation.” Your eyes widen, your mouth starting to curve upwards at the strange sentence coming from the mouth of a bounty hunter.. He continues.

“After this bounty I’m pretty sure we can have some free time. We’ll be able to afford it.” 

You're skeptical, he’s not the type to settle down and just relax. You hum, not quite bought on his idea. He pokes your thigh and covers his hands on your own. “Come on, we deserve it, don’t you think?” 

“And what exactly are we going to do in said vacation?” you ask. 

“We’ll sleep.” 

You roll your eyes and raise your brow. He chuckles.

“I want to take you to different planets-” He could already see you start to rebuttal, “The good parts of planets, not the ones filled with organized crime.” He gives you a lopsided grin as a final selling point. 

You pretend to think, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“...I’ll give you a maybe.” 

He leans in close at your words, your eyes flutter and your teasing tone fades. His hand cups your face, the tip of his thumb running under your bottom lashes. 

“That’s all I need.” He finally seals the deal. 

His kisses are inexperienced. At first they were pecks, never on your lips, but the few he would give you felt as if they were everything a real kiss should be. It wasn’t until your lips met the skin of his cheek that he finally realized how nice it felt.  

It was like a mini blessing for someone. A way to show your appreciation for them. He loved giving and receiving kisses to and from you, especially when he noted that you had to stretch in order to reach his face and he had to crane his neck down.  

You would go so far as to go through an inconvenience, even if it was small, to give him a peck on the cheek. You were truly remarkable to him. 

A miscalculated kiss to the corner of his lips had made him turn fully and give you a proper one. At first it felt as if he was just pressing his mouth against you, but gradually as it progressed he was finally able to move his lips with yours in synchrony.  

He was obsessed. Never having a day without a few or more, even going as far as pulling his helmet halfway up just enough to allow you to lean in when in public . 

You developed this relationship without putting any labels on it. To everyone else you were partners, which wasn’t not true. Between each other, saying partners came with much more weight . 

It was nice, you were both safe and content. You thought everything was going well. It was too good to be true.  

You sit up straight and break mid-kiss as alarms blare from the control panel. They screech in your ears, for a moment your heart drops and he sees a twinge of fear in your eyes. He squeezes your hand and your eyes focus back on him, your small bubble of peace reforming wobbly even if just for a second more. 

The pit envelopes in red, a ship is nearby and they don’t seem friendly. He seats himself back on the pilot’s seat, helmet lopsided from how sporadically he pulled it on himself. Spirits were high as if your lips had given him vitality. 

Ships hover on both sides, their windows tinted. For a moment you hold your breath, Din’s hands tighten over the steer and his chest rises more pronounced with each inhale into his lungs. 

You tense as he tenses, already sensing that the interaction would only lead to unnecessary altercations. They refuse to comm through, even as Din’s voice rises in irritation. The metal of their panels was scratched, faulty jobs of less protective material over it as cover. 

They inch closer and Din shakes his head, forgetting the comm button and instead shifting in his seat.

They don’t even try to bargain, already busy forcefully trying to board the ship. As the pirates get closer to boarding the hull, he finally turns to you, his hand hovering the panel, ready to make a move. 

You hear the guns shift between the enemy ships, engaging. You sigh exasperatedly. 

“Get ready.” He almost sounded excited, cocky. 

Giving a nod, you buckle in, prepared for the ship to push you back against the seat with force. He waits until you're ready, pausing for a moment and taking a deep breath in.  

You're being chased through the system. You can barely pay attention to the nav comp as Din makes sharp turns and tilts to avoid being hit by incoming asteroids. You press your head against the headrest, gritting your teeth and closing your eyes tightly as he makes a loop. 

Your eyes meet the blinking dot on the navigator. Your ship was parallel to the thick red line. 

You're nearing the edge. 

“Din, we’re getting a little too close…” you warn, your voice muffled by the plasma cannons from outside. 

He was usually great at this, navigating through the galaxy without having to look through any directionals. He was a Mandalorian, he knew his way through every situation.  

But he didn’t know this region and with an almost exaggerated sigh he had decided that he would use the nav for once, per your request, of course. 

“A little busy right now!” As one of the ships crashes next to you against a piece of rock Din had just evaded, you feel everything shake around you. 

Only one ship was left and Din was gripping the steer tightly in wait.

The Crest was awfully close to the border of the parameter in which the nav comp couldn’t guide you in anymore. It was well known not to go around this region, it was dangerous and only extremely skilled navigators could go out and not get lost.  Nav comps coincidentally stop functioning once you leave, there wasn't enough data gathered to be able to create a map, and it would show blank and crash.  

Dead space, the unknown. 

As Din suddenly shifts downward the ship in front of you passes by quickly.  He takes the chance to finally take his shot.  You watch as the ship in front of you explodes, coloring the inside of the cockpit a warm and sharp orange-yellow. 

You breathe in deeply as you're enveloped in the color, almost as if you were choking on the fire grazing over the front of the ship. Din slows down and cruises. 

He turns towards you, and somehow you know he’s grinning under the helmet just by the way he holds his shoulders. You shake your head at him and cross your arms, obviously not as amused as he was by the chase. You briefly look over the panel, and backtrack again. 

Your heart falls to your stomach as you finally see the computer blanked out, no coordinates, no directions, nothing. 

You were officially in the depths of the Unknown Regions and you didn’t know how to get back.

[beskarinhyperspace]

Moon Dust

Who knew that keeping you safe and free was going to be a challenge? 

More Chapters | MASTERLIST

2. The Cargo

*Mature, Explicit, NSFW*

Din Djarin x fem.readee

Protective Mando, Mean-degrading brother, Violent brother, spouse to be is a bit handsy, Canon typical violence, Mando is obsessed with you, Mando have angst and ptsd, he needs a hug, feelings, you’re scared of the big bad bounty hunter  

A/N: We're diving into emotions, if you have ptsd or trauma proceed with caution.  

Word Count:  3.6k 

The Mandalorian spent his time in the darkness of his ship. Getting out only a couple of hours a day. Just enough to keep his legs moving a bit. He even took the time to do inventory, which was usually something he tried to avoid. Karga kept coming to him. Making sure he was okay and invited him to hang out, but he declined them all. Finding comfort in the gray, silent walls of his ship. It brought him a sense of safety when he felt his mind drifting away.    

Getting ready to fly off nevarro to pick up the girl, he sat into his pilot chair. Just taking a moment before starting the engine. He looked straight in front of him, simply taking in the view.   

It's not that he didn’t want to do the contract. He just couldn’t think about anything other than the empty pit inside him, keeping him awake at night. When going back to nevarro, he wasn't expecting to spend a whole week and a half with someone else. 

It’s only a week, right?   

Without waiting furthermore, he puts his hands on the wheel. Starting the ship before taking off slowly off the ground.   

A week, almost two. I can do that. Pick and drop, pick and drop, easy enough.   

__   

In the meantime, your house was a mess. People running left and right for preparations and you couldn't hide in the high walls of this mansion. A dressmaker was sent to tailor you for your announcement ball. “The wedding of the century!” Your father kept calling it.   

If you could talk, you would scream... Your father was walking around, keeping an eye on things. Making sure some of the preparations were appropriately taken care of. The ball was tomorrow, and it was planned in your new house. The one your father already bought even though you weren't married to the man yet.    

A rich, arrogant man. Entitled by his success and status. You remembered the first time your father introduced him to you; 

He was smiling at you like he was shopping for a horse. “Beautiful face, with nice hips!” Turning to your father, he exclaimed with a grin, “She will bear my many children. Hopefully, I will be luckier than you were.”   

Facing him, your father spoke, “Mine gave me a son, that’s all a man could wish for.” Your father glanced at you with a serious face, then back to him. “Hopefully she will give you many of them.”   

You were looking outside the window as you remembered the details of it.  “Ouch!” you exclaimed as you looked down. Seeing a dot of red on the fabric over your thigh.    

“I'm so sorry Miss!” the seamstress stressed out.   

You simply gave her a smile and a nod. Raising your head back up, blowing some air out.   

Soon, all of this will be over.   

As the day was coming to an end with the sun finally settling down. You couldn’t wait to finally be free from this hell. Your transport will be there tomorrow, you tried to calm yourself. He will take you far away from here and all of this will be over.   

Your transport, the Mandalorian.   

You knew that you’d never be able to fight off a Mandalorian. You feared him, but it scared you even more knowing you will have to spend time traveling with him. What is a man like that anyway? He must be cold to the world to do such a job willingly.   

As you're pondering, your mother came to you from the opposite end of the hallway. “Finally! I was looking everywhere for you!” she said, moving her arms up to greet you.    

You embraced her tightly before replying. “Sorry I was kept by the seamstress. Didn’t thought it would be this long..”   

She rolled her eyes, “well, your father took the best of the best from the city. Her work is out of this world, but she is meticulous.” She said as she walked with you. She opened the door to your room, letting you in first before going in herself. “Are you all ready for tomorrow?” She turned to you, asking quickly.   

“Yes mother, the bag is in its place. I will also have my blaster and knife on me. I'm getting out of here, don’t worry.” you said, taking her hands into yours trying to reassure her.   

She looked into your eyes, all wet from unshed tears. “You’re so strong. I wish I could do more. Hopefully the Mandalorian will be able to finish what I can’t.” Kissing your forehead, “I will miss you, be sure to use your strengths and weakness to your advantage my brave girl.” She stopped to cup your cheek and began to cry. 

You raised your hand to pet her head, knowing you will also miss her deeply. “I'll be fine. I'll write to you, I promise.”   

__   

After your mom finally left. You were left alone in your room, who had nothing much going on. Since you just moved in, half of your belongings had been on the floor and the rest of them were still in boxes.   

You sighed, bending to your ankle to get your knife and holster off. Placing the blade under your pillow as usual. You paced around the room before moving towards the bathroom. You needed a bath. something, on the water tap from the bath. You needed something, anything to keep your mind occupied. Plus, you didn't know the next time you'd have this kind of luxury, why not take advantage now? You put all the stuff the maid brought in yesterday, salt, bubbles, dried whatever. It was all in there now.  

As you were getting undressed and entered the water. You couldn’t stop thinking about what was coming. You were scared for the escape plan tomorrow. Even if you were prepared and armed for it, you knew it could all go south.   

You let out a big puff of air, as you sinked deeper in the water.    

Traveling with a Mandalorian... It’s only for a short time, right? Everything will be just fine. Just need to stay focus.. 

__   

Evasion Day   

Morning came faster than you would’ve wished. Still in bed sleeping, your maid entered inside your chambers. Waking you up in the process. She placed the dress you were trying on yesterday on an armchair. She turned to you, bowing and looking down. “Good morning, Miss, your father wishes to see you before the festivities. Asking you to meet in his office.” She bowed again and left. 

You grunted, shifting on your back and spread your arms. What does he want now...   

__   

You entered his study, glancing at your father. His face hidden from the newspaper he was reading, sitting comfortably in his seat. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed you,  

“I would’ve thought you’d be more enthusiastic this morning. Knowing you will be announcing your big news tonight, no?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you over the paper.   

You stayed still, trying not to enter the game he was obliviously putting down. Looking over to him with a forced smile. “I am father, everything is ready on my side. Tonight, will be a great night. Finally joining forces with one of the most influential families.” You frowned your eyebrows, giving him a more serious look. “You trained me my whole life for this. It will be a privilege to bring honor to our clan.”   

He stared at you, putting his paper down as he was through your words. “I always thought that training you with your brother would make you a great warrior. I was right, but this, this is bigger than you and I. I can’t refuse this proposition. This union will change all our futures. Your mother’s, your brother’s. You are the key to our legacy.” He followed looking back at his journal. “That is why your brother will be escorting and keep an eye on you tonight.”   

“What? Why? I’m in no danger, I can take care of myself!” You stood from your seat, starting to panic. That wasn’t part of the plan.   

He looked back at you squinting his eyes. “Your brother will be close to you. I cannot have other men roaming around you. Thinking you’re free before we make the announcement and that is final.”    

__   

You searched for your mother, but she was nowhere to be found. What will I do, what should I do?? Time was moving quicker than you realized. Having no choice but to start getting ready for the night on your own.  

You sat on the edge of your bed. Feeling half defeated, my brother... Urghh, he always thought he was better than you in some way. 

Right now, at this moment, you felt alone. Shedding one single tear while staring at the dress you didn't even want to wear. You got out of bed, with a hand going under your pillow. Taking your knife out, putting it in its holster before strapping it to your ankle. You do the same with your blaster, strapping it on your thigh on the other side. You put the dress over your body and made sure your weapons didn't show through. While looking in the mirror, you felt sad but also driven.  

This is not my life.  

__   

As you walked down the stairs, your leg was peeking out the slit on the side of the dress. The color of it was this gorgeous emerald green. Long to the floor, accentuating your silhouette and moving fluidly with every step.    

The end of the staircase brought you to the back of the house in front of already opened double doors. The mansion was incredibly well decorated for the event. Flowers and fairy lights everywhere. You could see towers of drinking glass filled to the brim. Waiters and servants moved all around to assist guests with food and drinks. Everyone was dressed for the occasion. Suits, ball gowns and feathered hair. If you weren’t so eager to leave, you might've enjoyed it.   

And still, no matter where you looked, you couldn’t find your mother. While your eyes glanced outside, your brother came to you, stepping on your side. “How does it feel to finally bring honor to your clan?” he smirked.   

You refuse to look at him as you answered, “I didn’t choose this, Rylan.” 

He chuckled, “It doesn’t matter, you're still fucking your way to daddy’s little heart like the good little slut that you are.”   

You looked at him, straight in the eyes with a fierce look. “And you’re not doing anything to stop it. As a matter of fact, you’re protecting me tonight for him. Aren't you not? Always father’s little lap dog.” 

He grabs your wrist with pressure, dragging you to a corner. As he hovered over you, he puts a hand to your throat. Squeezing tighter as he spoke. “You're over, father will never put you as clan leader now that you’re going to get married off. I, will be its true ruler.”   

“Unless I bear a son.” Trying to breathe through it.    

He dropped his hand instantly. Almost as if your skin was burning him. “What do you mean!?”    

Passing your hand on your throat, you tried to swallow. “That is why you killed our younger brother, is it not?”   

He looked at you in shock from your accusation.   

You tilted your face up to him, still bent over as you tried to catch your breath. “I know for Yusa. I was there that night.” You pulled yourself up before continuing. “You would do anything for a secure place in the clan.” You took a step forward before speaking again. “But you’re not only a bad brother, you’re also a terrible warrior. Letting your ambitions and your avaricious appetite blind you.” You followed, frowning your brows. “The truth is, father would much prefer to put me, a girl, at the head of the clan instead of you.”   

Before you could say another word, he reached out, grabbing your wrist.   

“There you guys are! Come sweetheart, I have people I want you to meet.” Your father said while you yanked your hand out of your brother's grip. Walking towards him as he took an arm out to invite you closer.    

__   

While you were introduced to people you didn’t care about. The Mandalorian was landing to one of the stations. He kept grinding his teeth before standing down. Opening the ramp to be greeted by Eyla.   

“Your travels weren’t too difficult?” she asked with a bright smile.   

“Went through the security like a piece of cake. There were so many people, they didn’t check twice. Almost as if you invited half the rim.”   

“Almost, is the word.” Before asking more out of him. “You will forgive me for this last-minute information, you see my husband made my son her chaperon this evening. I’m afraid it might complicate things.”   

Without hesitating he nodded. “I will keep an eye on things. I will also retrieve the bag that was mentioned.”   

“Yes, the bag” She turned around, before leaving. “Thank you again for your help. My daughter has the payment with her. Keep her safe.” She bowed before going.   

While watching her leave he gets a piece of paper out of his pocket with the location of the bag. Better get it now, telling himself as he glanced at his watch. 

After securing the bag onto the ship. He realized that you were five minutes late. He waited another five just to make sure. As time passed, he began to feel anxious, now looking in the direction of the house. Tapping with his finger on the edge of the open ramp. He sighed as he walked out of his ship why can't anything be simple?  

He tried to hide himself. Even at night, his beskar could be reflective.  Crouching behind trees and bushes. He looked around from a distance but couldn’t seem to find you. 

__   

Meanwhile, you were bored at the ball. Done with the chit chats and false caring. People were starting to all look the same, blending in one. As you looked at your watch, you noticed that you had little time before meeting with your new travel buddy. You walked towards the bathroom to get ready to leave as you bumped into your future husband turning the corner.    

“You’re here!” he said smiling, “I’ve been looking for you.” as he caresses the back of your hand.   

You pulled it back, not looking in his eyes as you answered. “I’m sorry, I was kept by our guests. The announcement will be made shortly. In the meantime, you will have to exc..” You didn’t have time to finish before he took your arm, moving to the first room on his left. 

Closing the door, he turned around and began walking towards you. “Have you no shame to push aside your husband.” He came closer. So close you could smell the alcohol and cigar smoke in his breath.    

You tried to keep calm, “We are not married yet. I will not tarnish my name.” Saying with a straight face.   

He chuckled as he looked at you. Taking his hand to caress your cheek with his knuckles. “My sweet flower. How can you be tarnished, when I'm the one touching you?”  

He grunted, pushing you back to the desk behind you before moving his hips in between your legs. You quickly moved your leg up, grabbing the knife on your ankle. With a single movement, you pass the tip of blade on his cheek quickly. Taken aback, he brought his fingertips where blood was now slowly dripping.    

He looked at you horrified. “Look at what you've done! Savage! You’re a savage!”   

While he was still panicking. Your brother entered the room, joining you. Having one look at you and your spouse to be. “We’ve been looking all around for you both... What in the maker’s name?”   

You looked Rylan in the eyes as you tried to speak. “He tried to touch me.”   

“Well, he’s going to be your husband, you stupid girl. Of course, he wants to fuck you.” He replied as if it was obvious.   

You rolled your eyes back to him. Your fiancé grabbed your wrist, squeezing, “You’re mine, you will have to accept your duties to me.” Saying as he turned the door handle. “I’ll be right back.”   

__   

The Mandalorian was still on the lookout when he saw a man with a fresh cut on his face, still dripping with blood. He tilted his helmet as he got closer. Still hiding, behind the corner of a wall. Looking at the man going into what seemed to be a bathroom.   

Coming out, the man was going back to the same room he previously came out of. While the door was open, Mando saw you through the small opening of it. Knife still in hand, looking trapped. Without hesitation he went to another corner to his right.  

Moving closer to the door. He could hear a man yelling at you. “Like it or not, your father gave you to me...”    

Not waiting any further, he opened the door in a single movement. Looking to the same man with the red bloody cut, still inflamed on his cheek. Who had both of his hands on your arms, anchoring you in place.   

The two men in front of him were not only surprised but also confused. Rylan began to speak first, “Who are you? Get out, this is a private event!”   

Tilting his helmet, “I was invited. I’m here for her.” He said, finger pointing at you.   

While your fiancé removed his hands from you, he panics. “She’s going to be my wife, your ignorant fool. This, this is her brother.” He says, pointing at Rylan. He follows, “You can go. you are dismissed. Go, now!”   

The stoic man walked towards him. Only stopping a few inches away, “No.” He replied firmly to him before turning to face you. Lifting his arm as he showd you to the door.   

You start to move forward, towards the exit.  While your fiancé gets his blaster out, pointing at the Mandalorian before shooting.   

Like a reflex, second nature, the man in beskar blocked him with his forearm. Pulling his own blaster out with his other hand and shoots the man straight in the chest.    

Your brother doing the same thing, fires at the Mandalorian while yelling, “Intruder! Intruder!”   

Crouching to cover you. The Man in beskar pushed you to the door. “Go, let's go!”    

Without hesitating you moved through the door. Taking your blaster out of its holster as well. He pointed you in the direction of the ship while you heard your father yelling behind you. “My daughter is getting kidnapped! Kill the man!” Pointing to the chrome man.   

You began to panic. There were a lot of warriors from the clan tonight. All getting their blasters out, starting to shoot at you both.    

You tried to shoot back but suddenly, you could only see silver metal in front of you. Feeling an arm grabbing your waist as he tells you through a modulated voice “Hold on.” While keeping you in front of him, he took off with his jetpack. Feet no longer touching ground, you hold him as hard as you could, closing your eyes.    

This is it; I’m going to die...   

__   

Getting further from the mansion, you tried not to look down. His grip was tight around you as if he was afraid to drop you. Arriving at the ship, he let go of you to lower the ramp. Getting you both inside as quickly as possible.  

You turned to him, “My clan will come after us. That was a bad idea you had coming in like that.”   

He smiled under his helmet, “Yeah? Well, they’ve never met a Mandalorian before.” While sitting quickly in his pilot chair. “Can they fly?”   

With a stressed voice, you replied, “Yes, yes they can!” as you sat in a chair close to the door, strapping yourself in.   

Without waiting furthermore, he starts the engine. Motors taking you off the docking station. While lifting off, you could see at least a few ships already coming in your direction. “Euuh... Mandalorian?”   

“Yes, I saw them.” Knowing exactly what you were about to say. Going faster and pushing the ship upwards as they were firing at you. 

“Mandalorian??” You let out, panic rising in your voice.   

Without blinking, he dropped the ship backwards. “Hang on!” He said, falling back behind the two closest ships to you. Firing back and taking them down while the others were still shooting, moving back up in a swirling motion, making you feel uneasy. Moving out of the planet's atmosphere he slowed down a moment. You could see him entering numbers into the board.    

Time was limited and while he was going to turn the keys on his board, the ship got hit again, before he went back to press it, moving into hyperspace.   

Finally... You let out a sigh of relief. Trying to ground yourself as you looked up. Seeing the blue and white strikes of light passing all over the ship. There were no sounds other than the beeping and ambient noise of the ship. You looked over to him, the man frozen in place.   

“Are you alright?” You asked, confused.    

Keeping still, without moving to look at you, he nodded, “Yes, but we might have a problem. I think your brother hit our tank. We will fall back from hyperspace soon and we need to land quick.”   

Eyes wide open and lips slightly parted. “Then what are we doing?”   

Calmly he went on, “I’m thinking of how we’re going to do this...”    

--

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[theidiotwhowritesthings]

I Love You, Cyar'ika

Dark!Din Djarin x Jedi!Female Reader

Warnings: corruption arc, violent murder but not described in depth, possessive behavior, obsession, loss and anxiety, light smut, manhandling of the reader by Din

Word Count: 4,500

Summary: Din Djarin is a man who lost everything. His home, his son, his Creed. But at the end of the day, he still had you. He still had you, and he was determined to keep you. Sequel to 'Ni Ceta, Cyar'ika'

.

"i am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me."

.

It wasn’t until the second half of your first hour trapped that you realized the chain around your ankle wasn’t just metal. It was beskar. The links branched together were long enough to allow you to walk to the neighboring bathroom, but not long enough to reach the door out. The horror of your situation was truly settling into your very soul. Din had locked you away. Din. The man you loved. And the worst part, as if any of this could possibly be worse, was the fact that he only knew you had tried to run away hours ago.

When exactly did he have this chain made?

You spent the rest of your morning trying to rip the chain out of the wall where it was connected to no avail, and when that didn’t work you somehow tried to pull your ankle out of the clasp. It was impossible. The clasp was just tight enough on your skin that you would not be slipping it unless you started considering something much more dramatic, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. You tugged and screamed until your ankle was discolored and your throat was raw.

Then you broke. Quite some time ago, before your extensive Jedi training, you had quite the temper. It took years for you to get a handle on controlling it, but these last few months the frustration and worry had slowly whittled down your very being. So, for the first time in a very long time, you threw a tantrum. You knocked over the nightstand by your bed, hurling every single item you could reach, and destroyed everything that was in your path. 

When you were spent, exhausted from the emotional and physical turmoil, you slumped against the wall panting for breath. Your legs splayed out in front of you so you could glare at the beskar that wrapped around your ankle. You felt so pathetic and vulnerable. It didn’t help that you only wore your undergarments and one of Din’s shirts. It had been what you fell asleep in last night while curled up to the man who chained you to a wall.

The bedroom door opened and Din froze in the doorway. You watched his eyes scan the room in shock before they landed on you. He let out a breath of disbelief, “Cyar’ika.”

“I don’t think I want you to call me that right now.” You said.

Din’s shoulders slumped and he had the audacity to look hurt at your words. As if he hadn’t chained you to a fucking wall. He stepped into the room and shrugged out of his robe⏤ tossing it onto the bed as he neared. Din’s eyes landed on your ankle and his eyes widened. “Me’bana!?” He knelt down to take hold of your ankle, but you tried to pull your legs in to avoid his touch. Din, refusing your refusal, grabbed you by the calf and dragged you toward him.

“Get off!” You barked and kicked out at him. 

Din pinned you to the floor using his weight to keep your hips down and a hand to pin your wrists above your head. The emotion on his face as he stared down at you was not one of anger or even frustration. It was desperate. “Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself. Dank farrik, you already have. Don’t make it worse.”

“You think I care?” You spat your words at him, squirming. “I don’t! I’ll do what I have to if it means⏤”

Din’s other hand snapped up to grab you by the jaw. His fingers pressed into your cheek, not painful but firm, and his face darkened. Anger finally seeped into his features. “I said, stop. I know you’re upset, I know you’re angry with me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you hurt yourself.” You sucked in a sharp breath when he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours. Hand still on your jaw. Din’s eyes closed as he spoke. “You are going to sit still while I take care of you. Understand? This is not up for debate, cyar’ika.”

You didn’t respond. Refused to. Din let out a soft sigh before releasing your jaw and wrists. He sat up and pulled his weight off of you. Slowly, you sat up and chose to just sit there. He pulled his gloves off, tossing them aside in the mess you had already made of the room, and with a tender touch he pulled your leg into his lap. Din’s warm fingers shifted the beskar so he could peer at the skin beneath it. He hissed at the sight of your already forming bruises⏤ the discoloration would be worse tomorrow.

“Cyar’ika⏤”

“I said don’t call me that.”

Din shook his head. “Why would you do this to yourself?”

“Myself?” You scoffed. “You’re the one who put me in chains, Din!”

“To keep you⏤”

“Safe?” You finished for him, but you spat the word bitterly. Din wilted and continued to carefully trace your sore skin. It bothered you that his touch brought you comfort, but that wasn’t something you could just turn off. “When did you have this chain made, Din?” He didn’t reply. “It’s made of beskar. You didn’t just swing out and pick it up. You had it made. When did you⏤”

“Three weeks ago.” Din kept his eyes downcast, glued to your ankle. You took in a sharp breath. It would have been less painful, less shocking, if Din had just reached out and slapped you. Three weeks ago? How long did he have this planned? His warm brown eyes met yours⏤ a gaze you had always been weak to. Your face must have shown your betrayal because Din squeezed your calf softly. “I never planned to use it. I never wanted to use it.”

“But you did.” You mumbled the words out.

Din winced. “I know, cyar’ika. I know. I’m sorry. You will never understand how sorry I am⏤ I will spend the rest of my life trying to remind you. I⏤” He sighed and his thumb traced lazy circles against your skin where it sat. “More than anything though, my love, I need to protect you. I cannot lose you. I wouldn’t survive that.”

“You’re losing me right now, baby.” You shook your head. Tears springing up. “You’re breaking my heart, you’re losing my trust⏤” Din squeezed his eyes shut. Pained and devastated. “How do you think this will end?”

“You will understand. One day.” Din said firmly. He spoke like he was trying to convince himself of this. “Until then, I am just doing what is necessary.” Din rose to find the first aid kit and when he returned you just stared at him. He knelt down once more and wrapped padding around your ankle so the metal wasn’t touching bare skin anymore. When he was satisfied with how it looked, he carefully held your arms and pulled you up to stand. Din cupped your face with his hands, setting a tender kiss on the top of your head before choosing to rest his forehead against yours. “I love you, cyar’ika.”

This wasn’t love, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that.

The only times you were unchained from the wall was when you were with Din. He’d take your hand in his and the two of you would wander down the halls or outside of the castle. Always two Mandalorian guards lingering behind you both. You had one arm looped through Din’s. His thick robe draped over your shoulders once more. 

“Bo thinks offering an olive branch would make us seem weak. I’m inclined to agree with her.” Din thought aloud. Most of these walks were him talking to you about his day. You didn’t offer much more than the occasional hum or a snide comment if he pressed too hard. That’s what two weeks of being chained like an animal could do to you. “We have more power than them. It wouldn’t be too difficult to overtake them.”

You hummed. Din glanced down at you and his arm squeezed around yours. There was hope shining in his eyes as if he was eager to hear you offer any sort of commentary. You focused your gaze forward. “The Din I fell in love with wouldn’t jump head first into a war.” His steps stuttered. “He’d try for peace.”

“Cyar’ika.” Din came to a slow stop and turned to face you. His other hand lifted to rest on yours. It trapped your hand against his forearm. “I am the man you fell in love with. That has not changed.” Your eyes darted down to the darksaber hanging from his belt. Din sighed. “This is still about the saber?”

You shook your head. “It always will be. That damned saber has changed you.”

“It hasn’t⏤”

“It has!” You yanked your arm away from his and took a step back. Anger flaring once more. “I keep telling you. It’s poison.” The energy that surrounded it felt suffocating, but it had only gotten worse these last few days. The possession was still there and now it’s tendrils seemed to be trying to seep out into your very soul. As if it could convince you that it had good intentions. “It’s me or the darksaber, Din.” 

He shook his head and you shoved him once in the chest. He barely stumbled back. The Mandalorian guards leapt forward, hands on their weapons in preparation to take out the threat against their King, but Din threw his arm out to stop them. The glare he leveled in their direction was deadly. They both took sheepish steps away. Din focused back on you and the anger in his eyes dissipated back into despair. “You can’t make me choose.” He sighed. “We’ve talked about this. I need the darksaber to keep you safe.”

“We’re just going to argue in circles forever, aren’t we?” You sighed.

Din stepped closer and caressed your face. He leaned in to capture you in a kiss, but you turned at the last second so his lips pressed against your cheek instead. Since the morning you woke up with a beskar anklet, you hadn’t let Din touch you. The first night he slipped into bed behind you, just to sleep, and you had lost your mind. Now, he slept on the small couch that was pushed against the wall in your living space. He pulled back enough that his lips were no longer touching you, but he didn’t stray far.

“I love you, cyar’ika.”

He truly believed it, but obsession⏤ possession⏤ was not love.

At the month mark, you knew things needed to change. Din was too stubborn to concede. He’d keep you chained to that fucking wall forever. So, you started small. You had to play this smart. It began with little things like thanking him when he brought you food or new gifts. Choosing to participate in conversations when the two of you went on walks around the palace. A lingering touch here and there when you were able, and you never shied away from his own touch.

Still, a sudden change in demeanor would give you away. Din, as blinded as he was by the darksaber, was not an idiot. He’d see through your act in seconds, and the fate of his and your life depended on deceiving him. You had to get off this rock. You had to get to help. After thinking about it long and hard, you decided you needed to get to Skywalker. The other Jedi were your best bet. It was just a matter of getting there.

Oddly, your saving grace came in the form of an attack.

Because Din never kept you fully in the loop of the things happening in Mandalore, you weren’t entirely sure what was happening. Being chained to the wall when the explosions started did not help either. For the first fifteen minutes of the disaster all you could do was stand in place, frozen, while straining to listen. Eventually, the explosions stopped, but it was replaced with yelling and thundering footsteps. Not a good sign. As it got closer and closer you searched the room for a weapon or hiding the place. You wouldn’t fit under the bed and even if you hid in the bathroom there would be a chain lying on the floor leading straight to you.

The yelling came right out the door and you didn’t even have time to register the language or tone before the door itself was kicked open. Pirates. That was your best guess. Three men dressed for a fight stepped into your space. Two humans and one Trandoshan. They spoke a language you didn’t recognize, something from the Outer Rims, but even when addressing you they never swapped to Basic. One of the humans took a step closer, smirking, and you shifted to a ready stance. The last time you had felt so ill prepared for a fight was back when you first began your Jedi training. 

Even on a good day, back before Din spiraled into his current state, you were not good at using the Force. Reading energies was your strength, but healing and telekinesis was never your forte. Now? Being as stressed and buried in negative energy as you were, it was nearly non-existent. Every day you spent around the  darksaber you felt further from the Force for some Maker forsaken reason. The Force you recognized, at least.

The Trandoshan began to rummage through the room scavenging, but the two human men were still approaching you. They laughed and motioned to the chain around your ankle as they spoke to one another. Cautiously, you took a few steps back so the chain’s tension wouldn’t accidentally catch you. When the first man lunged you met him halfway with an uppercut into his throat. It was a blur of muscle memory and desperation from then. You weren’t doing well, you were surviving, but when one of the men got their hands on the chain they were able to pull your legs out from under you. 

You roughly landed on your back with a grunt, but the other man was quick to pin you down. You thrashed and screamed trying to get loose, but the other just piled on. Their voices were grating, their laughs sent chills down your spine, and their touch made you nauseous. It all boiled into an uncontrollable rage that slipped from your body with a roar. Suddenly, both men were blown clear across the room. You sat up, breathing hard, and glanced down at your hands. Had you just…? There was no time to puzzle through the power that just flowed from you because the Trandoshan leapt across the room to tackle and pin you back to the floor. 

He didn’t have a firm grip on you, and you were able to flip over on him. The victory was short lived when he threw his elbow back, crushing your nose, and you cried out in pain before falling back. The other two men had risen once more, but all of you froze at the terrible roar that echoed down the hall and filled the room with a suffocating tension. It called out your name. You recognized that voice. 

In that one moment, a feral pleasure gripped your soul and allowed your anger to roam free. You grinned up at the men, teeth bloody from your broken nose, “You’re fucked.”

Din stalked into the room, seconds later, and he was possessed by his own rage. The darksaber glowed in his hands, as bright as a burning flame, and it cast terrifying shadows across his face which was twisted in hatred⏤ in bloodlust. With the first swing of the saber, the men knew they were not going to bode well and they began to plead, but their words fell on deaf ears. You watched as Din tore them to shreds, a force to be reckoned with, and a sick grin flickered across your features before you could reign it back. Din was leaving the men in literal pieces, brutal in his attack and inflicting the most terror and pain he could manage before taking a life, and you felt a bubbling pleasure building in your chest.

It was only when his warpath was finished, when he deactivated the saber, that your smile fell. The tendrils of pleasure that had seeped into your very soul with watching the love of your life murder on your behalf slipped away. You took in a sharp breath. What the fuck was that? Why the fuck had you⏤ Your hands began to tremble followed quickly by the rest of your body.

“Cyar’ika.” Din gasped and crossed through the carnage to pull you off the ground and into his arms. His panicked words all came out in a rush of Mando’a before he was calm enough to ask once more in Basic. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” His gloves wiped away the blood as he examined your nose. “Are you⏤”

“I’m fine.” You replied shakily, but you felt far from it. Physically, there was nothing wrong. Not really. Your nose would heal, the bruises you garnered in the fight would fade. But mentally, spiritually, emotionally… Your eyes drifted down to the darksaber on his belt. What was it doing to you? It took a moment to realize Din was still talking. You shook your head. “What?”

“I said that was the last of them. They came for revenge, but most of the damage was external. Only a few small groups got into the palace.” Din’s hands were petting your hair. Between every word of comfort he’d lean forward and press his lips to your face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Focus. Focus. Back to the plan. Back to your mission.

“No.” You swallowed roughly. “I need the chain off.” Din didn’t respond. He just stared at you with wide eyes filled with the fear of a man who had nearly lost the person he swore to protect. You lifted your hands to cup his face and you shook your head. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re not losing me. I’m not losing you. You were right.” You pushed the words out and the tears that fell from your eyes were painfully real. You cried for how lost you felt. It was like you were stuck in quicksand and the more you struggled the deeper you were pulled to it’s dark depths. “I was so scared. I couldn’t fight back. Din⏤”

Din didn’t hesitate. He knelt down and pulled a key from the pouch in his belt to unclasp the metal around your ankle. Hearing it clatter to the ground, feeling the weight drop off, had you sucking in a breath of shock and relief. Din slowly rose once more and you found yourself lost in his eyes⏤ those pretty brown eyes that made you forget every single worry you had. The warm brown eyes that brought you comfort in your lowest moments. The loving brown eyes that gazed at you in worship. 

“Stay with me.” You mumbled and cupped his face again.

Din turned his head to press a kiss against your hand. “I’m not going anywhere, cyar’ika.”

Your fingers tightened around him and a shuddering sob left your lips. “Do you love me?” Din looked affronted by the question. His mouth fell open, but you cut him off. “Baby, just listen, if you love me you’ll put the saber away for tonight.” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and a hiccup left your lips. “Please, baby, just tonight. I just want you. I want only you.”

Din took a slow breath and then took a step out from your grasp. Fear struck you at first, but Din simply crossed the room to his locked chest which sat in the corner. Slowly, he unlatched each piece of his armor and set it carefully into the chest. When he was left with only his flight suit, Din grasped the darksaber and held it in his bare hand for a moment. Finally, he set it into the chest and closed it. The cursed item was just tucked away, out of sight, but it still made a difference. The unrecognizable dark energy that had been plaguing you seemed to disperse and a familiar sensation filled your chest. It was the Force you recognized. For the first time in a month, you felt like you could breathe.

He walked back to where you stood and settled a soft and hesitant hand on the side of your face, “I do love you, cyar’ika. I know this has been difficult and you haven’t been happy.” Din looked heartbroken as he stared down at you. “But you are everything to me.”

This may have started as just a plan to ease him into a lull of security, but that had been forgotten as you stared up at him. For this one second you felt like yourself, and Din felt like himself. A swell of love overwhelmed you and you pushed closer to capture his lips with yours. Din sighed into the kiss, but before you could deepen it he pulled back. “Din?”

“We don’t have to do this, cyar’ika.” Din whispered. “You were just attacked, stressed, and⏤ This⏤ This isn’t… I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“I don’t.” You shook your head and it was the absolute truth. Right now, Din felt like the man you loved. Maybe it was weak of you to cave, weak of you to seek out his comfort, but you missed him. You craved him. “I want you, and as long as you want me⏤”

Din brought his lips back to yours, his hand cupping the back of your neck, as he softly kissed you. Every minute movement filled with adoration. You wrapped your arms around his neck to draw yourself closer to him. Pulling back to catch a breath, he left a trail of kisses up your jaw to your ear. “Cyar’ika, I always want you.” His hands settled on your hips to bring you flush against him. “I always need you.”

Your hands grew frantic wanting nothing more than to feel his skin against yours. Just like in a fight, you didn’t need to think. Loving him was muscle memory. You peeled the upper half of his flight suit off his body and he took gasping breaths as you broke away from his kiss to caress the scarred skin of his torso. Your nails lightly raked over the skin overlying his ribs as you leaned in to press soft kisses against every scar you could find. Din trembled at your touch, a breathless gasp tearing ragged from his lips. 

His own hands lifted to tilt your face up so he could lean down and start a tender kiss. Every slow, languid motion was one born of love rather than lust. There was an innocence to the brushes of skin against skin, and for this one moment nothing existed but you and Din. Not the poisonous darksaber buried in a chest or the corpses of the men that meant you harm. As Din picked you up and pinned you into the bed, his weight pressing into you, all that mattered was Din Djarin.

“I love you, cyar’ika.” Din murmured into the skin of your neck⏤ his face buried there as his hands roamed your body with a familiarity born of routine. “I love you so much, cyar’ika.”

Your heart felt so full, and you wondered if you were the one confused on the extent of what the word love could mean.

Din laughed and you lightly shoved him in the side.

“It’s not funny. Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you, cyar’ika.” He replied as you grinned. “I’m laughing with you.”

“Yeah, I’m not laughing, you ass.”

He continued to chuckle and you shook your head before looping your arm back through his and leaning against him. Mandalore had been relatively calm since the attack two weeks ago, and you had never felt closer to Din. What had you been so worried about? The two of you were safe and had one another. That was all that mattered at the end of the day. You had misjudged the darksaber’s energy. That possession was just another form of loyalty. It brought you and Din the strength to protect one another. A bond. That’s all it was.

“My Mand’alor.”

Din’s feet paused, bringing you to a stop as well, and you both turned to face a Mandalorian who now knelt before the both of you. The woman held a hand across her chest in pledge. Din didn’t motion for the woman to rise, but hummed for her to continue. 

“Our allies who have settled on Concordia are requesting aid currently. Raiders have been plaguing them the last few weeks, but now they are beginning to edge in on the main settlement.”

“Concordia has the means to defend itself...” Din replied.

You squeezed his arm and he glanced down at you. You shook your head. “Concordia is not Mandalore, they’re just allies that⏤ like you said⏤ have their own resources.” Nonchalantly, you shrugged. “We have to protect our own. Any aid we offer to them is taken from our own walls. Our city should come first, Din.”

Din lifted your hand to plant a kiss on the back of it. “Could not have said it better myself, cyar’ika.” He motioned for the Mandalorian to be on her way before the two of you continued down the hall. Only a few yards later, Din chuckled. “I have a gift for you.”

“Oh, do you?” You asked with a smirk.

He pulled you to a stop once more “Close your eyes.” 

“Really?”

Din raised an eyebrow at you and you playfully rolled your eyes before closing them and holding your hands out. You heard the sound of shuffling as Din moved. A beat later something warm settled in your palms and you sucked in a sharp breath at the overwhelming flood of emotions that bared down on you. Your eyes opened to first see Din’s excited and loving smile, but then your gaze drifted down to the lightsaber in your open hands. 

“I figure it’s about time you’re reunited.” Din chuckled. It had been nearly two months since it had been taken from you. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple. Your fingers slowly closed around the hilt you had built with love so long ago, and waves of warmth radiated down your arms and into your chest. “I⏤” A different voice called out and Din sighed in irritation. “One moment.”

Din stepped around you to address whoever had called out for him and you just stared and stared at the lightsaber. Possession and obsession was not love. It was not the same as loyalty and protection. You blinked in shock as the clear thoughts cut through the fog you hadn't even realized you were living in. You had been yourself, but for some reason your priorities had changed starkly. Not for some reason. One reason. That fucking saber.

"Hey." Din returned to your side and you heard panic in his voice. Those dark tendrils from the saber surrounded you, but could not sink in. He set his hand on your face and his thumb caressed your cheek. "You're crying."

"I...I'm happy." You lied. "Thank you, Din."

"Of course." Din replied though he looked hesitant to believe you. He leaned in to press a kiss between your eyes. "I love you, cyar'ika."

You loved him, and you almost lost yourself.

But, not again.

[absurdthirst]

Riduur in Training {Mando x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.3k

Warnings: Sexual training/grooming, mentions of creeds and honor, cults, playing fast and loose with Mandalorian traditions, removing helmets, forced weddings, nudity, masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), loss of virginity, fingering, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, humiliation, dishonor, pregnancy

Comments: You arrive with the Armorer to take your place as Din Djarin's riduur, one that he had no warning of. Trained to be the spouse of the next leader of the covert - you will be dar'manda if he rejects you. And Din is horrified to learn that you have been trained for his pleasure.

A/N: We leaned into the cult-like mindset for this fic. Beware.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || The Mandalorian MasterList ||

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

“It is your duty to wed Din Djarin.” You have heard these words for weeks now, nerves settling in your belly even though nothing of your anxiety is reflected in the dark visor of the beskar helmet covering your face. You swallow as the ship bringing you to Nevarro starts its descent into the atmosphere and you hear the comm tower direct the Armorer to a docking bay near the town, but she ignores that and turns to the north of the city. Making you chew your lip as the lava flats pass underneath and you see the rockiness of the desert starts to appear. This will be your home, where you will make your family. With Din Djarin, as his riduur, only he doesn’t know it yet. 

Another day in Nevarro and Din is settling down to clean his weapons when there’s a knock at his door. Grogu is at school and he is immediately on edge. Working fast to put his blaster together, he stands up and slowly makes his way to the door, pressing the button to open it just as he aims the weapon. “Din Djarin.” The Armorer greets him and he lowers his blaster but keeps it in his hand. His eyes flick beneath the visor between the Armorer and the mysterious Mandalorian beside her. “Can I help you?” He asks, a little perturbed at being disturbed in his solitude.

The mandalorian in front of you does not seem to be expecting you. Your stomach bottoms out and the Armorer speaks again. “We have some business with you.” She doesn’t wait for an invitation, stepping inside the house and you reluctantly follow. You’ve heard of him, seen him from afar but his beskar is impressive upclose. Taller and broader than you imagined, you feel your cunt clench as you imagine this warrior bedding you. He steps back and you look around the little house that he has been living in since the retaking of Mandalore. It’s suitable, but you can tell that he’s not frivolous or used to creature comforts. You can change that for him. 

Din is tense, his shoulders back and his legs spread evenly in case this is some kind of trap. He trusts the Armorer to an extent but his upbringing means he doesn’t trust anyone, not even himself. “The business?” He asks, not offering a refreshment like his fellow Nevarrians would. He is a Mandalorian through and through.

“It is time that you take a riduur.” The Armorer tells Din with a hint of irony in her clear voice. You can tell that he’s shocked by the way he rears back and you know that he had no clue what the covert and Mandalore had planned for him. “I have brought you the woman you will enter a riduurok with, create warriors. She is fertile.” 

Din can’t help it. He lets out a shocked chuckle and he shakes his helmet, “I do not want a riduur. I have said this many times.” 

Your helmet tilts towards the Armorer who shakes her head, “you have avoided the responsibility long enough. As a Mandalorian, it is your duty, your creed, to protect the covert and that includes breeding to add to our numbers. This one is made for you. She will do as you say. You simply have to breed her after your riduurok.” 

Din’s fingers flex against the side of his blaster, “I am not ready.”

Still, you don’t speak, even though your head turns towards the Armorer when you are so obviously being rejected by the man you have been raised to marry. “You are ready.” She insists, motioning towards the other rooms where the child that Din has taken under his wing is obviously napping. “Your young charge would do well with having brothers and sisters to help him.”

Din sees you step forward and he shakes his head, “she’s not staying. I do not want a riduur. You need to take her back to the covert.” He demands and shakes his head. “I am not suitable for a riduur. I never will be.”

“If you do not take her as your riduur, you will be dar’manda once more.” She insists. “Part of your creed was to the covert and the covert requires this of you. Mandalore requires this.” The Armorer tells him and you feel ashamed that you are obviously lacking whatever quality that Din requires in a riduur. 

“I will be a good riduur.” You tell him. “Trained vigorously for one day giving life to the next generation of Mandalorians.”

Din recoils, not wanting a bride who hand picked for him, reared for him. It is a practice he knew of back when the Mandalorian fled Mandalore and had to recoup their numbers. He doesn’t want to be dar’manda again. He had to find the waters to redeem himself before and it’s not a journey he wishes to repeat. He swallows harshly and takes a moment, “fine. Join us now.” He demands, wanting to get this over with.

The Armorer nods in approval but you almost wish to protest. He does not seem happy. However, you do not say a word, being trained that this is your fulfillment of the Creed. Your duty to Mandalore is to marry Din and have his ad. Your gloved hand reaches out to join with his, only to be ignored by the bounty hunter. You drop your hand, happy that you have not removed your helmet yet due to your embarrassment. “Repeat your vows.” The Armorer insists, turning her head towards you to start. 

Taking a deep breath, you begin to speak. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” You recite softly, hoping that Din just needs some time to adjust to the idea of a riduur.

Din inhales deeply as you recite your vows and he isn’t sure what he could say to prevent this. All he can do is take you as his riduur, offer you shelter and make sure you’re well kept. He won’t touch you to consummate the riduurok. He sighs and looks at you. Wondering what you look like beneath the helmet. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” He repeats, back stiff.

Once the vows are repeated, you reach for the locks on your helmet. The Armorer had warned you that Din was also a part of her sect, he did not remove his helmet as you might, in front of others. You only hope that he might remove it once she leaves and you are alone. Slowly slipping the Beskar off your head, you look up into the visor of your now riduur. “Hello, Din.” You greet him softly with your name, since that hadn’t even been exchanged.

His eyes widen under the helmet. You’re gorgeous. He is taken back by your beautiful face and it is a few moments until he recovers. “Hello.” He says your name but doesn’t take off his helmet. “Is that all?” He turns to look at the armorer.

“I will leave you to become better acquainted.” The armorer seems pleased as she clasps her hands together. “She has never had a man, so take care her first time.” 

You bite your lip, embarrassed that she would be so casual with that information, although he is now your riduur. “Thank you for bringing me here, safe journey back to Mandalore.” 

The Armorer nods. “This is the way.” You repeat the phrase and soon she has disappeared out of the house to leave you alone with Din.

Din sighs as he makes his way back to the table, disassembling his blaster so he can continue with the work he was doing before he was interrupted. “If you have things…you can take the spare room.” He jerks his helmet towards the door across the cabin, opposite of his room and Grogu’s. He doesn’t plan to consummate the riduurok. He plans to leave you untouched. He did as the Armorer asked and he has fulfilled the requirement of his creed.

Tilting your head, you stare at the Mandalorian that both the Armorer and Bo-Katan have talked about with pride. He is uninterested in you. “Do you wish that I had a cock instead of a cunt?” You ask bluntly, wondering if he preferred male companionship. “I know that we must have sex to breed and if you prefer, you can take me from behind.” You offer. “I can use my mouth to arouse you?”

Din snorts, he can’t help it. “No. I don’t wish you had a cock. I don’t wish - I do not wish to take you without us - I don’t know. We don’t know each other and now you’re my riduur. I am not consummating this riduurok. You are welcome to live here but I will not touch you.” He says with finality.

You stare at him in shock. “But we have to.” You insist. “Part of our vows are to create warriors.” You are panicking slightly since this is what you’ve been trained to do. Be a Mandalorian spouse and to bear his children. “We cannot have warriors if you don’t fuck me.”

“I do not desire warriors. I have a foundling. I don’t want ads.” He tells you and you appear gobsmacked. “I’m sorry, riduur. I did not ask for this. I was perfectly happy on my own in my cabin here. The Armorer wishes for more than I can give.” He says, grabbing the cloths to start cleaning his blaster.

It’s clear when he doesn’t speak again and refuses to look your way that he is ignoring you. Speechless, you turn and walk towards the door that he had motioned to. The spare room where you were supposed to sleep. Your pack with all your belongings was still on your shoulder and you felt like giving him some time might be best.

Din diligently cleans his weapons, taking more time than necessary to do so. He sighs when he hears the door open and he looks up after putting his last blaster together to find you standing before him. “Why- dank ferrik what are you- why are you naked?” He demands to know, turning his helmet to avoid looking at you to give you some dignity.

You are used to your own nudity, spending hours naked in the covert while other Mandalorians barely undress for their showers, or don’t undress at all if they use a sonic shower. “So you can breed me.” You answer, moving closer to him. “I wish for you to breed your warrior into my belly. I can provide great satisfaction and pleasure to you.”

Din recoils, confused by your desire for him to get you pregnant, for you to pleasure him. “Riduur. Why…you act like you’ve been raised for this?” He offhandedly comments. “I don’t want to fuck you, to breed you. Please. Get dressed.” He pleads, unable to look at you.

“This is my purpose.” You are so confused and distressed by his attitude. Has he not been taught that for breeders to keep to the Creed, they must exhaust all efforts to bear warriors? “I have no wish to be dar’manda.” You shake your head. “I will learn however you wish to receive pleasure and make sure that you are satisfied every time.”

Din can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I don’t - that isn’t what you are here for. Your creed…it’s not to be my baby machine, riduur. I will not breed you. You will not pleasure me. I will not touch you. Please get dressed.” He says coldly, deciding that acting like he’s indifferent to you would make you do what he says.

You start shaking, terrified of breaking your creed and you can’t help the tears that start falling. “I’ve - I’m going to be- I can’t- I’ve failed.” You sob, turning around and rushing back into the room that you had undressed in. The Armorer had assured you that Din would breed you and now you are being rejected.

Din sighs, closing his eyes beneath the helmet, and he knows he has hurt you but he cannot breed. His life has only just settled and he has the kid. He doesn’t need another one, or several, distracting him from doing what is needed to keep Grogu safe and healthy. That’s his creed. He hears you sobbing and decides to give you some space, heading out to pick the kid up.

It takes you some time to stop crying, but you know that you cannot force a warrior like Din Djarin to bend to your will just because of your creed. He must want this as much as you do, so you set about to make sure that he understands how you will improve his life. Your armor laid aside, you do not need to wear it inside your home with your riduur and you put on some of the outfits you had worn while you were in training for comfort. Leaving your room and making your way to the small galley style kitchen to fix him and his foundling a proper meal to enjoy when they return. 

When Din returns home with Grogu, the kid coos in surprise at the smell, always hungry, and Din can’t deny that his own stomach rumbles as the scent wafts through his filter. He opens the door and finds you in the small kitchen, wearing tight pants that cling to your ass and he muffles his groan. Din has always been an ass man when he picks his holos and Maker, yours is gorgeous. He can’t let you know that. “This, uh, this is Grogu. My foundling.” He introduces you to Grogu who tilts his head and offers you a smile.

“Hello, Grogu.” You tell the child your name and smile in delight when he waves his arms for you to pick him up. “I hope you are hungry.” Din scoffs. “The kid is always hungry.”

Din watches as you pick up the child and his back straightens a little defensively as you hold the kid he’s fought so hard and sacrificed so much to protect. You notice but don’t say anything as Din watches you. Grogu lifts his hand to your cheek, cooing, and Din watches the awestruck look on your face and he can’t help but think about how pretty you look.

The kid has some powers, the Armorer had warned you about it. The kid was a Jedi. But you didn’t realize he could show you things. You see Din, saving him, protecting him.

Din wonders what Grogu is showing you but your awed face makes his stomach twist and he sighs, “come on kid. Let’s sit you down for dinner.” He says and takes the child from you to put him in the high chair so he can have his food. He won’t eat in front of you. Even if you are his riduur.

“You are allowed to take off your helmet in front of me to eat.” You remind him softly, fixing Grogu a plate and then one for Din. “But I can go into the bedroom if you wish to have some privacy.” He might eat in front of the child but you want to show him that you can bend to some of his ways like a good riduur should. Perhaps it will help him become more comfortable about the situation.

Din shakes his head, “I will eat after. Sit. Enjoy the meal you cooked.” He orders and you set the plate down in front of Grogu. He doesn’t want you to miss out on enjoying the meal you spent time cooking.

You feel bad, knowing the food is better when it’s hot, but you listen to him. Using the plate you had fixed for him and sitting down at the small table. “I will be quick.” You promise.

Din doesn’t argue, he sits down and watches you and Grogu eat. It’s unusual, having another Mandalorian around him, but you don’t seem to have the edge that most Mandos have. You are softer, less hardened by war and survival. “You have known the Armorer for a while?” He asks, wondering how long this has been planned.

Nodding, you look up at his visor and then back down to your plate. “I was a foundling, like you.” You explain. “But I was raised by a sect that removed their helmets. When I was of age, I was sent to your Armorer for training.”

Din frowns under his helmet, watching you eat. It's strange to see someone eating in front of him that isn't the kid. He never sits down to eat with others. "Training? For - for battle?" He asks, glad you can't see the confusion on his face.

“No.” You shake your head. “I was training to be a proper riduur to a leader.” You tell him quietly. “To be able to pleasure you and stand by your side as you guide our people into the light.”

Din is half glad you can’t see the horrified look on his face beneath the helmet. “You mean you…you’ve been trained to be mine?” He asks, “or for - for a leader in general. I’m not - I gave up being Mandalor. I don’t understand why you’re mine. If you’re mine.”

“Yours.” You clarify. “The Armorer had chosen me for you when you were still bounty hunting for the covert here on Nevarro. Actually….” You wipe your mouth and set down the napkin. “I was supposed to be joined with you three years ago. Before the covert fell.”

To say he’s shocked is an understatement. Din inhales sharply at the news and he doesn’t know how to react, grateful once more that you can’t see his face. You’re meant for him. You’ve been trained to be his. “Why me? Why- why not give you to another Mando?” He asks, confused now he’s no longer the Mandalor.

“I don’t know.” You shrug slightly. “The armorer made her decision and that was enough for me.” You know that the armorer would not give you to someone who wasn’t worthy. You were trained to be a good riduur, you cannot be a good riduur to a bad one. “Do you wish that I had been given to another Mandalorian?” You ask, looking up at him under your lashes. His broad frame nearly overwhelms you as you sit while he stands and you wish you could show him some of the pleasure you can provide.

He doesn’t know how to react. Any way he reacts will hurt you or him and he doesn’t want to do that to you. You deserve more than him placating you. He sighs and shakes his helmet, “I never asked for a riduur. I never asked for you.” He confesses, “I don’t know how to feel. We are bound now so I will do my best by you. You will stay here. Fed and clothed and you’ll have whatever you want but I cannot give you me. I’m- I can’t do that when you are only performing a duty.”

You frown, unhappy with his answer. You gesture to the child who is smearing his food over his face. “You do your duty towards your foundling, do you not?” You ask softly, standing up. “You did not love him when you first found him, yet you would seemingly break your creed to save him.” Din stiffens and you quickly shake your head. “He did not show me your face. He keeps that for himself.” You assure him, knowing that it would upset him to know you know what he looks like, even if you are his riduur. “Your fondness for the child grew.” You collect your plate and sigh. “I hope that can be the same for us.”

Din decides to not continue talking with you. He sighs and watches you as you clean the dishes. Grogu coos and tilts his head at him and he raises his eyebrows at the kid despite him not knowing his facial expression. “Don’t.” He murmurs before he looks over at you. “I have a duty to you but that duty does not include taking sexual pleasure from you without cause.”

“Cause?” You snort and set the plate of Din’s food on the table after you finish cleaning up. “I didn’t think there needed to be a cause beyond wanting to give and receive pleasure.” You hum, moving over to the child and picking up the foundling. “Eat your meal, Din Djarin. I will make sure that Grogu is cleaned up.”

He doesn’t say anything else as you leave the room and he is tense when Grogu looks back at him but he doesn’t comment, wanting you to feel like he trusts in your riduurok even though he hasn’t trusted anyone for a long time until he met the kid. He listens for several moments as you take Grogu into his room until he decides to unlatch his helmet and he sets it down on the table. He scratches his cheek and picks up the fork, digging into the meal you made. He groans softly at the taste. Maker, you’re a good cook.

Cleaning up the kid, it’s cute how easily he settles into your arms. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I was tasked with raising warriors.” You murmur to yourself and to the heavy eyed little one. “But I hope that I help, rather than be a burden. Your dad doesn’t want me here.”

Din finishes his meal and washes up his plate, setting it on the side to dry. He secures his helmet just as you knock on the hallway to come back into the kitchen. “I’m covered.” He declares and you walk in. “The kid asleep?” He asks and you nod, sitting down on the chair opposite him. “The meal was good. Thank you for cooking. I don’t remember the last time I had a meal cooked like that.” He confesses, “maybe my mother.” He winces at the unlocked memory.

“I’m glad you liked it.” You tilt your head, watching his body language and realize he must not like to talk about his past. “If you don’t mind, I will take over cooking.”

Din chuckles, “I won’t argue that, cyar’ika.” He promises and clears his throat as he watches you. You are beautiful. In and out of beskar. He wouldn’t tell you that though. You’re here because of the Armorer and he needs to remember that.

“Well….I have a feeling you won’t be comfortable removing your armor if I am awake, and you probably need some time out of it.” You are guessing he’s like a lot of the Mandalorians from the Nevarro covert. “Let your skin breath.” With that, you stand and give him a small smile. “Good night, riduur.”

“Good night.” He murmurs, watching you go and when the door to your room closes, he sighs and rubs his helmet. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s bound to you now but to know that you’ve been bred for him makes him anxious and uncomfortable. He’s never been “in love” or anything close to it. Never allowed himself to get close to anyone. Emotionally or physically. He has seen holovids of sex but he is painfully inexperienced in that department. He has paid for oral, has had a few women he’s fingered behind a cantina, but he’s never experienced penetration.

In your room, you strip down naked, comfortable with your form and lay down. The fullness of Din’s shoulders and his trim waist has you dripping and it should be a sin for his voice to be so sexy through the vocoder of his helmet. Raspy and shooting straight through you. Your fingers slide down your stomach and you moan quietly, imagining that they are his fingers, even with the gloves on. They slide down, circling your mound before delving into your slit and whimpering quietly when you rub your clit.

Din swallows harshly, walking into his room to strip out of his beskar, and he is annoyed with himself that he’s half hard at the thought of you in the other room. You’re beautiful and he hasn’t been around a woman this much since Omera and he isn’t sure if what he felt was attraction to her or protective. He sits down on the edge of his bed, torn until he grips his now hard cock in his hand.

“Oh Maker.” You moan softly, slowly rubbing your bundle of nerves and letting your legs spread apart as you massage your breast. “Fuck.” You hiss, feeling your nipple harden and you slide your fingers down to dip into your slick cunt. Imagining what Din would look like under his armor.

Din grunts as he fists his cock, now hard and aching. It’s been so long since he touched himself, too preoccupied with the events that happened before he settled on Nevarro. He imagines your lips wrapping around his cock. It’s so wrong but you’re beautiful and meant for him. It’s hard to stay away. He will but for tonight, he will indulge in the thought of having you.

With your hand between your thighs, you imagine all the ways you would pleasure your riduur. All the ways you could learn to share pleasure. You’ve never taken a man before but you are well acquainted with a cock, wondering how impressive he is beneath the flight suit he wears. “Din.” You moan softly, enjoying the way his name rolls off your lips.

His hand pauses and he thinks he heard his name. He shakes his head, knowing he's imagining things, and he continues pumping his cock. He imagines pushing into you, seeing your face as you take his cock. He groans as he imagines filling you with his cum, watching it drip out of you.

Your fingers dip inside your cunt again, making you moan louder and brace your feet on the bed as you push them deeper. Wishing that you were sealing your vows with your riduur instead of fingering yourself. Even being in the training room was preferable. “Fuuuuck.” You hiss in frustration, not feeling as good as you know you could.

Din grunts as he fists his cock, getting closer and closer. He hisses as he squeezes his cock and he can't hold back anymore. He cums, spurting onto his chest and hand, groaning your name softly as he imagines taking you as his riduur but he can't do that. He closes his eyes as he rides his orgasm until the guilt hits him. You're innocent and pure. He isn't. He doesn't deserve you.

Sighing when you finally find that spot that feels so good, you rub your clit. Pinching your nipple and moaning as you imagine it’s Din. He’s a warrior, one that can also be tender and you imagine him taking you apart with his cock and his fingers, his helmet on in your imagination. “Din, Din.” You moan softly, getting closer to that peak and your thighs start to shake.

Din soon settles into bed after cleaning himself up and he swears he heard his name again. Sighing, he closes his eyes and allows himself to sleep without his helmet, the door is locked and he needs to process the day. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do but he’s bound to you now so he needs to care for you but he won’t touch you. He can’t. Not when you are doing it out of duty, of obligation.

Your peak is satisfying, but you know would be so much better if it were with Din. You had been trained to want sex, to crave it and yet now that you could have a man, he was rejecting you. Getting under the covers, you wonder if it is just a matter of him getting to know you before he gives in and touches you. You hope so.

The next morning, Din is dressed and feeding the kid by the time you wake up. "Good morning." He greets you softly and the kid coos at you before he digs back into his porridge. "I could've done that. You should've woken me up." You huff and Din shakes his head, "you are not here to serve us."

Your shoulders slump and you can’t help but feel like a failure. “I don’t know what to do.” You whisper quietly. “I- my creed- my purpose- you don’t want me here.” This is nothing like the armorer had told you it would be, and you feel like a failure. “I will no longer be mandalorian.”

“You are my riduur. You’re not failing. I - I don’t mind you here but-” He says your name, “you aren’t my servant. You’re my equal and I can make our foundling breakfast.” He declares and your beautiful face turns down.

You frown slightly and sigh. “Even if I am your equal, you would have me do nothing, contribute nothing.” You are stubborn in some ways and now you are clawing to find your place here. “I cannot share your bed, I cannot care for you and your foundling, I cannot share your burden.” You turn away and shake your head. “I am not allowed to share your life.” You walk back to your room quietly to put your armor back on.

Din sighs, looking at the kid who clicks his tongue at him in reprimand. “I know.” Din sighs and Grogu finishes his food. After he’s finished eating, Din cleans up and takes Grogu to school, wanting to give you some space.

Once you have your armor on, you pull your weapons out, intent on cleaning them. Knowing that Din would be happier if you weren’t here, you decide to leave your bag packed. Bringing your weapons out to the table to start disassembling them.

Din returns home without Grogu to find you sitting at the kitchen counter, back in Beskar and even wearing your helmet. That disappoints Din a little, already missing seeing your beautiful face. He can still imagine you naked. Wants to even if his conscience won’t allow it. He sighs and makes his way onto the porch, deciding to look through his holos to see if anything new has come in

You finish cleaning your weapons, reassembling them and sliding them into the holster on your hip. Your helmet tilts slightly when Din comes back into the room. "I am going into town." You tell your riduur, giving him more consideration than he had given you when he left.

Din nods, not wanting to show you that he’s a little bothered by you leaving but he grunts softly, “be careful.” Despite knowing you’re more than capable as a Mandalorian to look after yourself.

You nod, turning and walking away from the small dwelling and checking your map that is pulled up on your bracer. You try not to take his warning to heart, it doesn’t mean that he cares, probably that he would just prefer not to have to provide any backup. 

**** 

It’s been a week since you arrived and Din has tried to keep his distance. It’s clear to him that you’re not happy to not be fulfilling your duty but he doesn’t try to rectify that. He needs to keep away. It’s hard though. Every day he’s spent around you is making it harder to not touch you. You are beautiful. Inside and out he’s discovered. He spends his nights touching himself, jerking himself off to thoughts of you.

It is probably the longest time that you have spent in your armor in years. When you were training, you had kept to fitted clothes, with your helmet on as you moved through the tunnels, but when you were in your training room, you didn’t have it on. It wasn’t needed. Now, in deference to your riduur, you were wearing your armor and helmet unless you were sleeping and it’s driving you insane. Chaffing and making you feel too encapsulated. You had been eyeing the hot spring that was behind the living quarters, knowing that a soak would go a long way to restoring your spirits. 

Din just dropped Grogu off at school when he is walking across the sand and sees you. He knows it’s you. His visor zooming in to see you getting into the hot spring. Naked. He should look away. He should go inside. He can’t. His cock twitches and he changes direction to hide away from your line of sight so he can watch you. It’s so wrong, but fuck, his hand is sore from jerking himself off. To know you’re his in name, in creed, has him hard and aching for you. Especially now he knows what you’re like. You’re sweet and kind, gentle with Grogu and he knows he is getting more and more lenient with his strict vow to stay away from you.

Moaning at the heat and how good it feels on your skin, you settle down onto a little rock ledge inside the spring that acts as a natural seat. You wonder if Din has ever soaked in the spring, but figure that he is so ridged, he would not for fear of someone coming up on him. Throwing your arms back, you close your eyes, sighing at the freedom and sense of pleasure you get from being out of your armor.

Maker. He is aching in his flight suit, watching you as you arch your back to expose your breasts over the swell of the water and he groans at the way your nipples harden. He moves closer to watch you, knowing this is wrong but he wants to see you.

You had reached out the armorer to talk to her, only getting the advice to stay firm and not let Din drive you away. So here you are. Right now, the problems that you have with Din feel minute, the sun isn’t too hot today and there is a nice breeze coming from the city that seems to temper the weather. 

Din watches you from the shadows. He feels guilty for watching you but he can’t help it. He groans softly, reaching down to squeeze himself through his flight suit, his eyes drinking in your form as you relax.

The steam rises around you and it strikes you that this is a really romantic spot. It would be very sensual and you decide to push off the wall and submerge yourself completely, going under the water. Imagining being here with Din and having him naked in the water beside you. 

When you get out of the spring, Din inhales sharply, and he loves the way the water slides along your skin as you stand up. He groans softly, squeezing his cock through his pants and he watches you, caught under your spell as you stand there naked and glistening under the sun.

You don’t want to get dressed again. You don’t want to go back into the little house where you don’t fit into any role. Instead, you sit on a stone on the edge of the hot springs and stretch out, letting the sun bake your skin dry. 

Din knows he shouldn’t be watching you like this. He swallows harshly and closes his eyes, making his way back into the cabin, working fast to pull his aching cock out of his flight suit. He sits down on the edge of his bed and forgets to shut the door as he grips his cock and starts to pump himself.

The door closes and your eyes open, lifting your head to look around. “Din?” You ask, sitting up and standing quickly. If he is back home, you should go back in the house with your armor on, but you don’t. Quickly walking inside nude and calling his name again. “Din? Are you here, riduur?” 

Din pants as he gathers the pre-cum from the tip of his cock, working his length as the sight of your figure burned into his retinas. He will never forget it. He groans and doesn’t notice you coming into the cabin, calling his name. His usually razor sharp senses are dulled by the pleasure and lust racing through his veins.

“Din?” You can hear him grunt in his room, pausing near his door. You shouldn’t go inside, you’ve never been in his room. Respecting his privacy - but what if he’s hurt? You bite your lip, reaching for the button to open the door and rush in as soon as the door slides open. “Din, are you-” You stop in shock, seeing him grip his cock. A thick, long cock that has you instantly dripping wet. “I-”

His eyes widen as you enter his room and he gasps your name under the helmet. “I- riduur. I didn’t - I’m sorry.” He lets go of his cock and starts to tuck himself away from your sight, you shake your head, moving fast to kneel before him and take his cock in your hand and then within seconds, you’re taking his cock into your mouth. “Dank Ferrik.” He hisses, “you don’t- you don’t have to do this.” He chokes out, not wanting you to do this if you feel obligated.

You swallow around him before you pull off with a small pop. “I want to, Maker, I want to.” You promise, squeezing the base of his cock as you look up at him with a lustful smile. “I’ve found you sexy from the first moment I saw you. Even in your old armor. I want to touch you.” You repeat before you duck your head again to take him deep into your mouth. Loving how thick he is and the way his vein throbs on your tongue. 

He can’t argue, not when your lips are wrapping around his cock and taking him deeper. Maker, you’re gorgeous. Your eyes look up at him and he reaches out to caress your cheek with his gloved hand. “Riduur. You - fuck - your mouth.” He pants, refusing to close his eyes as you take him into your mouth.

You wish you could see his eyes. To mark how he looks when he cums rather than the expressionless visor. Instead of focusing on it, you decide you want to pull moans out of him. Swirling your tongue around the head and bobbing up and down until you are taking him deep into your throat and the fabric of his flight suit is against your nose. 

“Fuck. Cyar’ika. I- shit. You’re so good. So good.” He rambles slightly as you take him deep enough to push him down your throat. “Fuck.” He chokes, unused to this. You are taking him without issue and it’s pushing him closer to orgasm quicker than he’d care to. “Riduur. You’re - I’m going to-” He grunts as he twitches in your mouth.

You want him to cum. Want him to spill down your throat to taste him. To milk him dry. You hum around his length and start swallowing, knowing that he will enjoy the pressure and buck into your mouth if he wants to be deeper.

He lets out something between a cry and a moan as he starts to cum. Spilling down your throat as you swallow around him and he clenches his fists beside his thighs as you work him dry. It’s more than he’s ever experienced and it’s intoxicating.

You don’t let up, not pulling off until he stops throbbing. Swallowing every gloriously salty drop of his release and listening to the laborious pants that slip from underneath his helmet. You slowly start to pull off his cock, humming as you rock back and look up at him innocently. “Good, riduur?”

Din gulps, trying to catch his breath as you look at him with wide eyes and he swears his heart is about to beat out of his chest. “Maker, riduur. I- fuck. You need to get on the bed. I want to touch you.” He says as he tucks his cock away and he reaches for his gloves, “I want to see how wet you are.”

You are thrilled that he wants to touch you. Watching him strip off his gloves as you move to the bed and spread out. There’s no shame as you spread your thighs to reveal your dripping cunt. You had leaked onto the floor when you were sucking his cock. “Dripping, riduur.”

He groans at the sight of your folds. Maker, you are beautiful. “Mesh’la.” He murmurs, reaching out to slide his fingers through your folds. Fuck, you are dripping. He groans and moves his fingers up to rub your clit.

You bite your lip, moaning in pleasure as your nipples hard in desire. Finally feeling your riduur touch you has your cunt throbbing. “Din.” You whimper, rolling your hips down, greedy for his touch. “Please, Riduur.”

He loves the way you moan his name. So sweet and so needy. He slides his fingers down to push two thick digits inside of you. He groans as your walls surround his fingers, wet and tight, and he imagines how you’d feel around his cock. “Fuck. You’re so wet.” He rasps, voice modulated but you can hear the lust.

“For you.” Your fingers dig into his flight suit as you hold onto him. Rocking your hips up and clenching down around him when he strikes something gorgeous inside. “Wet for you. I want- I want you to fill me.” You beg quietly. “I want to experience it- you. Your cock inside me.”

Din groans at the way you beg, "cyar'ika. I've never - you'd be the first. I don't want to disappoint you." He confesses as he works his fingers inside of you. "I've done this. That's it." He reveals, working his fingers and his thumb presses against your clit.

“I- I’ve never- you would be my first.” You remind him, whimpering and jerking your hips up to his touch. “I have no- no expectations. We would learn together.”

"Maker." He hisses as you reveal you're a virgin too. He had tried so hard to forget that. "You'll be mine. All mine." He growls and works his fingers a little faster. You are made for him. You are his riduur and that makes him feral.

“All yours.” You moan, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. “Fuck, Din, please. I- oh fuck.” You cry out when he pushes against that spot again and your entire body lights up. “It’s so good, please, cyar’ika.”

He wants to watch you fall apart around his digits. "That's it, mesh’la. Cum for me." He demands, pushing his fingers against that spot that makes you gush around him. "That's it baby. Cum for your riduur."

Whimpering, his words flash through you and make your body light up in pleasure. Pushing you over the edge and your walls clamp down around his fingers. Body shaking as you cry out.

Din groans as you soak his fingers, working you through it, and his cock is hardening again at the thought of you being his, completely his. Something switched in him when he saw you in that spring and his previous qualms and morality have gone out of the window. He’s spent too long alone and he wants you. He craves you.

Your whines finally give out to breathy pants and you close your eyes. Expecting your riduur to pull away now that you’ve both been satisfied. “Riduur…” you murmur quietly. “That was- was so good. Your fingers are so good.” You praise quietly.

"I want to taste you." Din declares, knowing he can remove his helmet in front of you as your riduur. He is nervous, hands shaking as his damp fingers unlock the seal of his helmet and your eyes carefully watch him as he removes the last barrier between you. He's still in full beskar but the helmet is his most precious protection against the galaxy - not just physically, but emotionally.

Your eyes widen when he actually lifts the helmet up. So sure that he would never break that barrier with you. Watching as a strong jaw, sharp now and soft brown eyes are revealed to you. “Maker.” You whimper softly. “My riduur is the most handsome man in the galaxy.”

Din blushes, actually blushes as his emotions are on clear display without his helmet. Unused to censoring his facial expressions. “Riduur. You don’t - we are already bound.” He mutters, setting his helmet down on the side.

“And I am lucky.” You smile, biting your lip at how demure he is being. It’s very appealing since he looks so intimidating with the helmet on. “Only I get to see you.”

His heart skips a beat in his chest, making it feel like he can hardly breathe as you look at him like he’s the only one in the galaxy. He swallows and nods, reaching out to caress your thighs. “Wanna taste you, cyar’ika.” He murmurs, shifting you down the bed until he’s lying between your spread thighs.

You know that he’s never tried something like this, so you nod. “Whatever you want, riduur.” You promise, Reaching down and running your fingers through his hair and scratching his scalp. He groans and you know it’s a good sound. You always want to scratch your head when your own helmet comes off.

He groans as he leans closer, breathing you in, and he tentatively slides his tongue through your folds. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s seen this in holovids he’s watched late at night but he’s never done it. The tangy taste makes him smack his lips and he does it again, sliding his tongue through your folds until he’s flicking your clit.

“Oh!” You gasp, shivering at the contact and you want to close your thighs together. You can’t because of the broad shoulders and armor between them. Looking down at him is the sexiest sight and your cunt bottoms out around nothing, making you fling your head back against his pillow. “Maker, oh fuck, how- it’s- keep going.” You beg.

Din doesn’t want to stop. The breathless cries coming from you have him ravenous. He doesn’t know what he’s doing so it’s sloppy and uncoordinated but what he lacks in skill, he makes up for with enthusiasm.

You love how eager he is, devoting himself to the task with a singular determination. “Din!” You cry out and roll your hips down to meet his eager tongue. “So good! Fuck, you’re so good.”

He groans at your praise, sliding his tongue through your folds again until he sucks your clit into his mouth. His hands squeeze your flesh, pushing your legs back so he can access more of your flesh.

You keen at the way he devours you. Completely gorging himself and not being shy about it. Greedily sucking and licking at you like it’s his only task. “Oh fuck, right there!” You gasp out.

He follows your gasped demand, repeating the motion that makes your thighs tighten around his head and his cock is aching against his flight suit. He grinds into the bed as you thrash and he throws his armored arm across your stomach to keep you still

It doesn't take you long, just a few more minutes of his tongue swiping through your folds, until you are flying. Crying out a loud "Din!" before your entire body locks up and you clench down on his fingers to soak them with your release.

Din groans as you clench around on his fingers and he sucks on your clit until you’re pushing his face away from you. He kisses your mound and rests his chin there, mustache glistening with your cum as he offers you a small smile.

“I can’t- that was so good.” You admit breathlessly. “I could be addicted to that, to you.” You admit, reaching down and caressing his cheek. He flinches but doesn’t pull away, leaning into your hand and letting you touch him. “I want you to claim me.” You tell him. “Make me your riduur completely. Let me give you what no one else has experienced.” 

Din nods, shifting off of the bed to work on removing his armor. If you are to be his, he will reveal all of himself to you. He swallows harshly as nerves threaten to grip him and he works methodically to remove the beskar until he is shrugging out of his flight suit.

“Mesh’la.” You whisper, looking at the scars and imperfect skin that makes up the body of your riduur. A warrior who has survived every battle he has faced. He is a Mandalorian, and you are proud to be his. “Come to me.” You beg him.

He can’t deny you. Shifting onto his hands and knees, he crawls over your body and leans down to caress your waist, his hand grabbing your tit as he leans down to kiss you for the first time. The first time he’s kissed anyone. It’s messy and he hits your nose with his at first. “Sorry.” He murmurs, feeling unsure.

You giggle and cup both of his cheeks with your hands, cradling them and try again. “It’s okay.” You promise, moaning softly when his lips land like they are supposed to on yours. Closing your eyes and sinking into the sensation. You love it, could live with his lips pressed to yours. 

Din groans, pecking your lips several times, and he slides his hand along your leg, "tell me if it hurts." He murmurs, unsure and lacking confidence as he grips his cock and squeezes, positioning himself at your entrance. "Are you ready for me, riduur?" He asks softly, nudging his nose against your jaw.

“Yes, Din.” You moan softly. “I am ready for you.” It’s on the tip of your tongue to tell him that you’ve been waiting for him your entire life. You don’t think that he would believe you, but you have been waiting for him and now that he’s here, you are eager to have him inside you. 

He nods, shifting closer and he locks eyes with you as he starts to push into you. This moment - it’s one that Din never imagined having. Naked in bed with his riduur. It’s almost enough to make him cum. He groans as he pushes into your tight, wet heat and he swears he sees stars.

You whimper, the thick length of him stretching you out in ways that you could have never imagined. So much bigger than the fingers you had earlier, your eyes roll back. You can feel his body tense and from your training, you know that he will cum before you do. “So good.” you coo, caressing his back. “Move, riduur, please.” 

He grunts, clenching his jaw to control himself as he starts to move inside of you. You’re his dream. The woman he’s always imagined when he jerked his cock was faceless but now he knows who she is. It’s you. You belong to him. He groans and leans down to kiss your neck, biting down on the flesh like he’s wanted to do since he saw your face as he starts to move inside of you.

Whining, you can’t help but tighten down around him. Loving how he had sunk his teeth into your skin. “Din!” You cry out, holding onto him desperately while your entire body rocks up on the bed. 

He loves the way you moan his name, rocking into you over and over and it’s too much. “I - fuck. Mesh’la. I- Maker.” He pants and grunts as he pushes his cock deep inside of you and within seconds he’s painting your walls with his hot seed.

You moan, loving how hot it feels inside you. How full you feel as you roll your hips down. You caress his back and sigh happily, kissing along his shoulder as he rides out his pleasure.

Din groans at the way you take all of him. "Fuck." He pants, coming to a stop as his cock twitches inside of you, turning his head to press his lips to yours. "Riduur." He murmurs, "thank you."

Din gathers his senses and his eyes widen as he looks down at you, “I- riduur. You didn’t - I’ve failed you.” He chokes, feeling guilty and he doesn’t know how to handle the fact that he took your innocence and you never got to climax from it.

Frowning, you shake your head, unsure of what he means. “Failed me?” You huff. “You didn’t- I didn’t make you cum.” Din chokes out and you are astonished. “Riduur, I will not cum every time we have sex. I know that. It’s okay. You made me cum before and it was better than any pleasure I’ve ever had in training.”

Din frowns, carefully pulling out of you and he looks at you as you offer him a doe eyed look that has his stomach twisting with confusion and guilt. “Training? As in - as in fighting?” He asks, his brow furrowed and he’s not used to his emotions being on full display.

You tile your head in confusion, sure that he was aware of what was involved in your training. “I was trained in fighting when I was younger, but I am talking about the training for pleasure.” You correct him.

Din’s eyes widen and he shuffles away from you in shock. “Plea-pleasure? But I thought - you said you were-” His brow furrows once more, “you said you were a virgin and I- shit. I’m confused.”

“I was.” Sitting up, you ignore your nudity and look into his eyes. “While in training, since I could remove my helmet, oral sex was the focus of my lessons.” You explain. “No one was allowed to penetrate me. Not even fingering me. They could rub my clit, but most just wanted their own release.�� You smile at him. “You are not a selfish partner.”

Din doesn’t know how to feel. You’ve been trained to be his riduur, even trained to please him sexually. He feels sick. Not because of you, but because of what you’ve been through. For him. Because of him. “You- oral sex? With who?” He asks, unsure of what to do other than ask questions.

You shrug casually, swinging your feet over the edge of the bed and standing. You need to clean up since his cum is starting to drip out of you. “Whoever came into the training rooms.” You say simply. “Sometimes the armorer would turn away some, but there was always someone willing to let me train with them.”

He feels violated on your behalf. The armorer essentially forcing you to train in oral sex for his pleasure. “Maker.” Din shuffles off of the bed, immediately reaching for his flight suit to pull it on. “Because of me. You went through that because of me.” He chokes and stumbles out of the room.

You frown as he rushes out of the room, wondering why he is so upset that you would be trained. Cleaning up quickly, you realize you are in his room and have none of your clothes so you walk out to find your riduur.

Din is panicking. He’s just taken your innocence, given you his, and he’s found out that you were trained to be his by members of the covert. Men he knows. Men who would know you. He is fuming at the thought of those men knowing what his riduur is like, what her body looks like. He stalks through the cabin back to his room to find you gone and he takes his Beskar to put it back on.

Upset that he has left, you put your armor back on. Wanting the comfort of the physical shielding between you. It’s like you’ve been rejected all over again and it’s even more painful now that you know what he looks like, what he feels like.

Din doesn’t know how to handle the knowledge, deciding to take his blaster outside to do some target practice before he picks up the kid. Not that he needs target practice but it will take his mind off of things.

Waiting is the worst part. Sitting around and not knowing what is happening. You hear blaster fire in the distance and sigh. Deciding to send a message to the armorer, hoping she will know what to do.

Din tries to process what just happened. He had sex with his riduur who has been groomed to be his. It makes him sick. You’re a beautiful woman, inside and out, and if he’d known you in the covert, he would’ve liked you naturally, but to know you’ve been raised to be his has him on edge. Grogu senses it when Din picks him up and when the duo arrive back at the cabin, Grogu toddles over to you and coos.

“Hey.” You choke out the word, grateful for your helmet so you don’t show your tear stained face. Bending down, you pick up the little one. His presence and obvious adoration makes you feel a bit better and you concentrate on that instead of the man behind him. “How was your day?”

Grogu coos again, lifting his hand up to press to your helmet, showing you his day including Din picking him up and bringing him home. He had picked up the distress in his father and Din is just as tense now as he watches you and Grogu interact.

You manage to grin, bolstered by the child’s antics, including sneaking a cookie from another kid and you chuckle. “You had a good day then.” You hum. “Do you want to go chase frogs while I make you some dinner?” You aren’t asking Din if you can, knowing he would have some objection to it.

Grogu waddles off after you set him down and Din calls after him, "don't go too far." He is glad Grogu keeps the door open so he can keep an eye on him and he sighs as he turns towards you. "So...how was your day?" He asks, knowing that he took your innocence today but he's trying to make some kind of conversation.

You don’t look at him, but your visor is turned towards him. Instead of answering him, you just turn and walk towards the galley kitchen to start making a meal for the young foundling. He had been upset by your training, so you don’t think that having a conversation is a good idea. 

Din suppresses the sigh that works its way up his throat and he heads outside to sit down on the porch to watch Grogu chase the frogs, floating them up in the air. “Don’t torture them, kid.” He shouts out and Grogu trills as he lets the frog drop into the water. Din fiddles with the edge of his beskar, unsure of what to say to you. It’s him, he’s the one who has made this awkward and he doesn’t regret that. He doesn’t know if you’re doing this out of obligation and duty. He doesn’t want you to want him because of duty or creed.

You move around the kitchen quietly, heartbroken that Din doesn’t want you anymore. You had done everything that you had been taught. Tried to please him and be the partner, the riduur, that he deserved. And still he doesn’t want you. The armorer told you that no one could come for another three weeks. Until then, you are stuck on Nevarro, with a man who doesn’t want you.

**** 

It's been four weeks since you arrived on Nevarro and Din has kept his distance, sleeping in his own bed, and he hasn't touched you. You've mainly avoided him, taking over caring for Grogu and spending time in your room. He feels guilty, for you being bound to him and him not fulfilling his duty as your riduur but how can he when you were trained to be his? Groomed to be his? It's too much to handle and he has kept away.

Today is the day. The armorer sent you a halo message, telling you that Kledo, another mandalorian from the new covert on Mandalore, will be here by the time the sun is setting. After Din leaves to take Grogu to school, you pull out your bags to start packing your things. Over the week before you had slept with Din, you had spread your things out, so now you methodically pack them away. 

Din drops Grogu off and comes back to the cabin, entering with a sigh as he expects to see you in the kitchen preparing lunch but you’re not there. He calls out your name, frowning under the helmet. He calls your name again, a little more frantic, and he rushes through the cabin to try and find you. He enters your room and finds it empty of your things. “Dank Ferrik.” He curses, grabbing his blaster and he tries to figure out if you've gone to the transporter station. He makes his way there and looks around, trying to find you but you’re gone.

When you break atmo, you start to cry under your helmet. Silent tears that stream down your cheek and gather at your chin. Dripping down onto the fabric of your flight suit and absorbed into the fabric. If Kledo had questions about why he was picking up Din Djarin’s riduur and bringing her to Mandalore, he never voices them, just concentrates on your trip there. 

Din interrogates the ticket staff who tell him no Mandalorians have come through the ticket hall and he growls, stalking off to the cabin and he immediately calls the Armorer. "Din Djarin." Her cool voice makes him vibrate with annoyance. "Where is my riduur?" He demands and she shakes her helmet, "you rejected her. She is returning to the covert with Kledo." She declares and Din doesn't waste another second. He hangs up and rushes to the school to collect Grogu, getting into his ship to make his way to a place he swore he'd never return to: Mandalore.

You sleep for most of the journey, after you cry yourself out. Waking when you feel the engines change, approaching Mandalore. “We are here.” Kledo tells you, preparing for landing. “The armorer is waiting for you.”

"You've returned." The Armorer declares as you enter the welding room. She stands tall and you shrink into yourself. "You failed. You have failed your mission as a riduur to the Mandalor." She says without sympathy.

“Yes.” You swallow under your helmet and try not to cry. “Din Djarin rejected me, but not before taking my innocence. I was not good enough.” You tell her. “I have come to ask that you break the riduurok. He should not be bound to someone who is dar’manda.”

The Armorer shakes her head, "you have failed and he has not succeeded in getting you with child?" She asks, wanting to confirm this before you are made dar'manda.

“I-“ you frown slightly, faltering because you don’t know if he had planted his seed in your womb. “I have not bled.” You admit quietly, “but it has only been three weeks since I shared his bed.”

"You will not be dar'manda until we confirm. If you are indeed pregnant, you shall remain with the covert until you give birth...then you will be sent away. The babe would remain." She declares and you nod, despite screaming inside. Din has never traveled faster in his life through the galaxy until he is landing on Mandalore. Many of his kin greet him by bowing their helmets but he doesn't pay attention, rushing into the lower sects of the covert to find you.

Your hands shake as you start to strip your armor and flight suit. Feeling shame for the first time as the armorer had ordered you to prepare to be examined. You have become used to being covered in your time with Din, feeling exposed as you reveal your skin and sink down to your knees to await the covert doctor with nothing but your helmet on.

Din is rushing through the halls, demanding to know where you are. His heart pounding as Grogu swings from the satchel he’s in at Din’s side. Din pushes people out of the way, some shouting at his back as he rushes through the halls to find you and eventually, he discovers you and the Armorer in her quarters. “Riduur.” He rushes over to you, your helmet on and your body covered in a blanket. “What is going on here?” He demands to know.

The Armorer looks at Din and then back down at the piece of steel she was crafting into a cuff. “We are waiting to see if she will be dar’manda now,” She intones. “Or if carrying your child will delay her exile.” Your head lowers even further, shamed that you have failed and unsure why Din is here, unless it is to demand the shuk’la riduurok himself. 

Din's eyes widen beneath the helmet, horrified at what you are going through and all because of him. "Is this necessary?" He demands and the Armorer nods, "this will be the next leader of Mandalore, we need to see if she is with child." Din shakes his head, "with an audience?" He hisses as you are naked and he wants to cover your body with his. "This is the way." The Armorer declares and Din's upper lip curls in disgust even if no one can see it. "She will not be dar'manda."

There is a hushed silence and your head lifts slightly. “Then you claim her as your riduur?” The Armorer asks loudly, and there is shuffling behind you, other mandalorians filing into the chamber to witness your shame. “She is under the impression that you wish to break your riduurok. That you regret taking her innocence.” 

Din is horrified, shaking his helmet. “I do not regret taking her innocence because of her. I regret - she was groomed. Forced to be what I need and I- she should have freedom of choice. To not be forced to be my riduur because she’s been trained to be so. To find out she has given oral sex to most of the men here…she’s been violated and I feel guilty that I was the cause.” He confesses, “it’s my fault.”

“How is this your fault?” The Armorer tilts her head curiously. “This is her path, she could have chosen not to walk it.” She informs him. “She chose to take the oath and to train, it is just as honorable as the path you have walked.” 

Din stutters, “she didn’t - I didn’t ask for my riduur to be trained for me. She deserves freedom of choice. To be allowed to be who she is and love who she wants. She - I don’t want a riduur who is ordered to want me. I want her to want me because she wants me.” He explains, his hands sweaty in his gloves.

“She does love you.” The Armorer tells Din, motioning to you as you kneel on the ground in front of her forge. “If she did not, she would have stayed. Keeping you bound to vows you didn’t not wish.” There is a smug sense of rightness in her tone and you wonder if you are so obvious in your motives. “Shuk’la riduurok would not affect you. You would continue to be as you have always been.” She tilts her head and hums. “Perhaps you have your heart on the line as well, because why are you here, Din Djarin? If not to fight for your riduur.” 

Din rears back as the emotional impact of the past month hits him. He is here to fight for you, the same way he'd fight for anyone he loves. He fights for the people that mean the most to him and suddenly that includes you. Between the distance and the closest he's ever been with another, blurred in those lines, Din Djarin has fallen in love with you. He swallows harshly, "I am here to claim my riduur...and my ad...if that is the situation." He adds and Grogu coos from his satchel, gesturing to you.

Your helmet slowly lifts, shocked to hear that coming out of Din’s mouth and you swear you are imagining things. He wants to claim you? “You claim your riduur?” The Armorer demands once more, finishing with your name. “I do.” Din nods, untwisting his cape from around his cowl and draping it over your shoulders to cover your body. “She is mine by vow and creed.” He adds.

Your helmet tilts up towards his and he shifts to kneel, Grogu jumping out of his satchel and Din leans in to press his helmet to yours. “She is mine and I am hers.” He promises and the Armorer nods. “Very well. Let us see if she is with Ad.” She demands and Din shakes his head. “No. Not like this. Let me take her to her room and we will find out in private.” He says and helps you stand up with his cloak still wrapped around you.

Still in shock that he’s here, you let Din lead you out of the forge room and off to a secluded hall. “Din?” You whisper, reaching out to touch his cloak, wondering if you are imagining this. If you are living inside a little fantasy. “Are you- you claimed me?” 

Din doesn’t answer you as he looks down the hall, Grogu following his steps. “Where is your room here, cyar’ika?” He asks, wanting to get you somewhere private before he talks to you.

Your heart sinks, sure that he is just getting you alone so that he can reject you. Keep it private and publicly have the illusion of claiming you. “Through here.” You motion down the hall to a door next to the training room. 

Din swallows harshly, guiding you into the room and Grogu follows at your feet. Once you're inside, he takes a breath and turns to face you. "Why did you leave?" He demands, wanting to know why you left him without even saying goodbye.

“You did not want me there.” You remind him. “You left me after- after we had sex.” You pull the edges of the cape around you and bite your lip under the helmet. “I did what was needed to give you back your freedom.” Shaking your head, you shrug. “What else was I supposed to do?”

Din's stomach twists, guilty for being so scared that he ran as soon as he touched you. For ignoring you after the event until today. "I- riduur. I have been alone my entire life until Grogu came along. He was my only purpose and I never imagined finding someone. I accepted being alone and then you came along and you - you changed everything. You took care of us - of me. You loved me. It was more than I could handle especially when you were doing it because you were groomed to be mine. I hate that you never had a choice."

“I did have a choice.” You tilt your head and frown under your helmet. “I - Din…the Armorer told me who I would be joined with if I took the Creed.” You explain. Maybe you had messed up by not clarifying before. “She had already chosen you to be the next leader of our covert after her. I knew this. I want this, I wanted you.” You bite your lip. “You were the one who didn’t have a choice, I guess.” 

Din shakes his head, "maybe I didn't have a choice but I do now and I- I claim you, riduur. I want you. I - I love you. If you want me, I am yours. If you want me to leave, I will go. I won't force you. You pick your path, you choose your destiny."

Letting go of the cape, you reach up and unlock your helmet. Slipping it off your head so you can look your riduur in his eyes. “I want to go back to Nevarro with you.” You confess softly. “If I am not carrying your ad, I would like to. Soon. I want to raise warriors with you. Not just because of my creed but because I want to have children with my riduur.” 

Din looks into those beautiful eyes and doesn’t hesitate to reach up to remove his own helmet, setting it down before he cups your cheeks so he can look into your eyes without the visor. “Mesh’la. I want you to come home with me.” He declares, leaning in to kiss you softly.

Your lips melt against his and you sigh in relief. Tears started pouring out of your eyes again even though you had sworn you couldn’t cry anymore. “I want to come home with you.”

He caresses your cheek and rests his forehead against yours, “good. Let’s go home, riduur.” He is so pleased that you want to be with him. “Are you- do you want to find out if you’re carrying our ad?”

As if to answer his question, there is a knock on the door to your room. “That would be the covert doctor.” You tell Din. “You should put your helmet back on.”

Din nods, placing the helmet back on his head. Just because he loves you, doesn’t mean his habits will die. He locks the latches just as the doctor comes in and Din stands straighter, suddenly defensive of you.

“I hear you might be expecting.” The tone of the mandalorian doctor is chipper and you’ve always liked her. The chipper purple armor of her Beskar makes you smile. “I am hoping you can tell us that.” You admit, gesturing to Din. “My riduur.”

Din nods, his stomach twisting with nerves as the doctor pulls out the holopad and what looks like a scanner from her satchel. “Din Djarin.” Din introduces himself and the doctor nods, “Mand’alor.” She bows her head in respect and Din shakes his head, “please. Just Din.”

You bite your lip, knowing that it’s futile to argue that while most of the Mandalorians follow Bo-Katan, they view Din as the real Mand’alor. Even Bo has wished Din would come back to the planet to help her lead. “Will you be able to tell? It’s only been three weeks.”

“We have advantaged technology to be able to tell.” She promises, “please lay down.” She says and you shift to lay down on the bed. Din follows, hovering over you and the doctor asks you to remove your cloak, “just so we can get close enough.” She explains and Din is tense as she pushes buttons on the holopad before the scanner whooshes to life and she hovers it over your lower stomach.

You reach for Din’s hand, hoping that will help him relax. You are used to the doctor, so you are comfortable with her and bite your lip as you look for any indication from the doctor’s helmet. She hums and moves it around, making you shiver at the slightly energetic feel of the scanner above your skin.

Din squeezes your hand, anxious and feeling a little nauseous until the doctor smiles, pointing out the small dot on the screen. “There they are. It’s - it’s very early but you are with ad.” She declares and Din inhales sharply. He’s terrified. He’s nervous but he’s happy. So happy. “Our ad.” He murmurs, a little in shock.

“Our ad.” You repeat in wonder, feeling more tears welling up in your eyes. “We are going to be buirs.” You whimper, squeezing his hand. “The very first time you touched me.”

Din leans in to press his forehead against yours, wishing you could see the wonder on his face, but that will have to wait for later. Grogu coos and Din turns to look at him. "Big brother." Din tells his foundling who straightens up as if ready to take on the role.

You choke out a happy giggle when you see the little foundling’s happy stance and look back at Din. Reaching up to caress his helmet. “I want to go home, riduur.” You tell him quietly. “Tomorrow. For now….i want to rest and celebrate.” Your eyes widen as you realize what this pregnancy means. “The first child born after retaking Mandalore.”

Din smiles under his helmet, “our first child.” He says and rests his forehead against yours. A Mandalorian you know, Ele, comes in about ten minutes later after the doctor leaves to ask if you want anything to eat or drink. “She will eat. And so must Grogu.” Din says and Ele nods, “I will take him for food and will bring him back with some for you. I am certain you wish to celebrate the news.” She says and your eyes widen at the fact that the news has spread so fast. Din hesitates, anxious to be separated from the kid but you know this woman so he will trust her. Grogu coos as he is willingly escorted to where the food is and Din wastes no time unlatching his helmet, throwing it down so he can lean in to press his lips to yours.

“We are having a baby.” You whisper against his lips, giggling. “I cannot believe it.” You are amazed that it happened so quickly. His seed is potent apparently.

Din nudges his nose against yours and kisses your forehead. “We are having a baby.” He murmurs, grinning as his hand caresses your stomach. “I love you, riduur.” He murmurs, “want to show you.”

“You do?” Your brows lift in surprise and you bite your lip. “How? How do you want to show me?” You don’t want to assume that he wants to touch you, although you have been told that men love to show their affection through sex.

Din slides his hand a little lower until he’s cupping your bare cunt, “I want to make you cum. I want to cum inside of you.” He murmurs, “claim you again. I want - I want you to ride me. Ride your riduur.” He murmurs, kissing along your neck.

You whimper quietly and tilt your head. This is a very different side of your riduur than you’ve previously experienced and you like it. “Ride you? You’ve imagined that?”

“Yes.” He confesses, his hand sliding lower until his fingers slide between your bare folds. “I want you to take your pleasure from me.” He murmurs, rubbing your clit with his fingers.

You moan softly, arching your hips up to his touch. “You will pleasure me.” You decide with a groan. “Strip your armor off, riduur.”

He nods, pulling his hand away from you to work diligently to remove his beskar until he’s in his flight suit. “I’ll look after you, riduur.” He promises and moves to remove the flight suit, his hard cock bouncing as he kicks it aside after removing his boots.

“You are- excited….” You murmur, sitting up and reaching out to wrap your hand around his hard cock. “What has you so worked up, riduur? Do you like your baby in my belly?”

He nods, a grunt escaping his lips. He never imagined he'd be so turned on by the idea of you round with his ad but he is. He pants when you start to pump him and he leans in to press his lips to yours, "yes, mesh'la."

“Then lay down.” You order softly. “I’ll show you how you planted your ad in me by riding your cock until you fill me up again.” You squeeze him gently before you let him go.

He groans and nods, quickly shifting to lay down on the bed beside you and his hands caressing your sides as you shift to straddle him. “Mesh’la riduur. My riduur.” He murmurs, proud of his claim over you. His hands slide up to gently squeeze your tits.

You moan quietly, closing your eyes as you shift to letting him lay down. Straddling his waist and grinding down onto his hard cock.

Din groans as you grind onto him. “That’s it baby. Keep - keep going. Want you to fuck me.” He murmurs, his dark eyes flicking up towards you. “Take what you need, cyar’ika.” He tells you, wanting you to be pleasured.

It’s different, keeping the control instead of giving it up to your riduur. It might be intoxicating because of how much it turns you on. Having your riduur submit to you and want you to take your pleasure from him. Reaching down, you line up with his thick length and slowly sink down onto him with a moan of his name.

Din watches you in rapture as you take his cock inside of you. He’s groaning your name and watching his length disappear inside of you. “You’re so right, mesh’la.” He murmurs, his eyes flicking up towards you and he reaches up to caress your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, riduur.” You whisper back, leaning over once he’s fully seated inside you and kissing him softly. Gazing into his eyes and watching him with wonder. He's here, he’s claiming you and you’re going to have his ad.

His hands slide down to caress your body, taking in your beauty and he loves you. “You’re mine. I will protect you with my life.” He promises, thrusting up into you as you grind down onto him. “After this, we will return home.” He promises and you nod, “home.”

He wants to return to Nevarro with you. To have you in the little home he has on the edge of the desert. You have fallen in love with it, with him and his foundling. Even the strange friends he has with the people there. “I love you, riduur.” You promise, having to kiss him again and caresses his cheek softly. “My riduur.”

Din smiles against your lips and he slides his hands along your back. “Baby, you - you are so good to me.” He murmurs against your chin and he kisses along your jaw. “My riduur.” He sighs, his hands sliding down to your hips and he helps you rock on his cock.

This time is just as sweet as the first. Just as awe inspiring. Even if you are slightly stiff as you find what position is best for you to ride him. Finding that you love it when you are pressed against his chest most of all.

He caresses your back and down to your ass, squeezing and smacking your cheeks playfully to get you to move on his cock. “That’s it baby. Ride my cock. Wanna feel you cum.” He says, groaning at the new position. It’s more than he could ever imagine. He’s clenching his jaw to try to hold off his orgasm, wanting you to cum for him.

“Rub my- oh rub my clit.” You beg, grabbing his hand and moving it between you to the sensitive little bundle of nerves. “Oh fuck, Din.” You hiss when he presses and starts to quickly rub tight circles.

He follows your order, rubbing your clit a little faster and he loves the way you flutter around his cock. “That’s it, riduur. Maker, your cunt is so tight.” He groans and thrusts up into you, his feet flat on the bed and you’re pushed up his body as he works to make you cum.

Your chants of his name start to get loud, filtering out of your room and you know that anyone nearby would hear it. Making you gasp as you realize everyone in the covert, everyone on Mandalore would know that you are his. It throws you over the edge and you cry out in pleasure when your cunt clamps down on his cock.

He loved the way you cry out. It’s intoxicating and he knows that you are going to keep him on his toes. His eyes squeeze shut as you clamp down around his cock and he leans in to press his lips to yours, smothering the rest of the cry of his name and he squeezes your hips. “Baby. I- I’m going to - shit.” He hisses, “I’m going to cum.” He chokes and thrusts up into you three more times before he twitches inside of you, filling you with his hot seed.

Your eyes close and you smile as you lean down to burrow your face into his neck. “Fuck, that feels so good.” You whimper. “I hope you want many ads. Because I feel like you are going to keep me pregnant.”

Din chuckles, “we have nine months to make you feel good while you grow this one.” He says as he caresses your back. “Then we will make another. And another. And another.” He says as he kisses your neck over and over. “I love you, riduur. We were made for each other.” He murmurs, leaning back so he can cup your cheek. “Now, let’s get dressed and get you home.”

You reluctantly pull off his cock, dressing in the clothes that had somehow been brought back to your room after being stripped in the forge room. Reaching for your helmet and turning to look at your riduur one more time before his own helmet goes back on. “Let’s go home, Din.”

After you both redress, Din finds Grogu and escorts you to the dock where his ship awaits. The Armorer stands there, hands behind her back. “You will be back Mand’alor. The covert needs you. We shall see you when you are ready to return.” She says and Din stares at her for a second before he nods. After settling his family in the ship, he gets in and begins the journey to Nevarro. He isn’t sure what the future holds, if he is going to return to Mandalore. One thing is for certain, he will be spending his days with his riduur, raised his ads, his foundling, and he will protect them with his life. That is his creed. This is the way.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

whoops I wrote 200+ words of virgin!stalker!din already 🤪

the rest has a loose outline; it'll probably be a mid-size oneshot (someday! no promises on when! march the earliest maybe probably)

just for fun:

He’s already yours, of course. No matter if there haven't been more than five words spoken between you. He stops by your little shop each week when he goes into the market with some wild excuse or desperate need for your wares. But it’s always the same. You say hello, and he nods. When he pays, he says thank you, and you say, “my pleasure.”  He loves that. “My pleasure.” He plays it on repeat, rolling the words around his mind and tongue and cock. Literally on repeat. He recorded it once. Cut his own awkwardness out and savored the blessing of your words. “My pleasure.” Oh, what he’d give to be your pleasure. It just isn’t the right time yet.  Soon, though.

[decembermidnight]

Beskar and Pearls

Summary: Wearing the luxurious gift the Mandalorian gave you while accompanying him on a business trip turns out to be a pleasurable torture.

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ MDNI, teasing in public, Dom!Din, sub!reader, possessive!Din, lots of dirty talk, Din being a sexy arrogant asshole, glove kink, masculinity kink, humiliation kink, hair pulling, unprotected rough sex, mentions of exhibitionism kink, multiple orgasms, multiple creampies (wtf is a refractory period), a hint of overstimulation

A/N: the most coherent thoughts I have while ovulating. I have no excuse. This is FILTHYYYY I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!! Also a big thank you to @thefrogdalorian for making sure it's written in decent English and to @saradika-graphics for the perfect divider 💕

Masterlist - Read on Ao3

The Mandalorian has just landed his ship on Nevarro after spending an entire month catching quarries in the outer rim. He has been away most of the time, but he made sure he'd make up for it every time he came back, too proud and stubborn to admit with words that he missed you, but demonstrating it by spoiling you with luxurious gifts and his body.

You look at him in reverential adoration as he dresses in his armour – a blend of his Mandalorian heritage and the many trophies he acquired from his victims, dark red in colour and dented after many close encounters with death.

He's just finished strapping weapons everywhere on his marvellous body when he addresses you.

“Hey. Got this for you. Wear it. We’re going to the market, I have some business to attend to,” Mando says as he hands you a small drawstring pouch he was hiding in his utility belt.

You immediately open it and its content leaves you speechless. It’s the sexiest piece of underwear you’ve ever seen – an expensive-looking black lace thong with just a string of pearls meant to go between your pussy lips.

If he wants you to wear it while in Nevarro, a lawless planet full of dangerous bounty hunters, you will wear it under the shortest skirt you have. The mere thought of his eyes glued to your ass, hoping to get a glimpse of it while being vigilant of other men at the same time, makes your head spin. You let out an aroused sigh and look at him, impassive as always behind the dark visor.

“That should keep you busy,” Mando chuckles and tilts his helmet.

You immediately wear it along with that short, flowy dress that also happens to be his favourite one on you.

“Let me see it,” he says as his hands grab you by the waist. He brings you closer to him and immediately lifts your skirt. He kneels before you and lets out a satisfied hum when he sees the tempting way the pearls disappear into your slit. The Mandalorian lingers there, dark visor trained on that heavenly view as his gloved hands caress your thighs. The sharp contrast between the coarse leather and your delicate, soft skin gives you a thrill of pleasure. You guess – you hope – the trip won’t take long.

His chestplate rises and falls as he struggles to catch his breath and maintain his composure at the sight of your perfect cunt dressed in pearls. It’s incredible to see how something so dainty could turn out to be so perverse and sinful.

“Come on. Let’s go now,” he says as he stands up. Now at his full height, his imposing figure resumes towering over yours. You admire him in awe, taking in the broadness of his body and the way his armour magnificently highlights it.

He offers you his hand to descend the ramp and as soon as you start walking, you understand why he said that it would keep you busy. With every step that you take, the pearls pleasurably rub against your clit. You can feel yourself getting wet already. There's an aroused expression on your face that Mando does not miss.

"Are you enjoying it?" he asks teasingly.

"Yes," you answer and bite your lip.

"Good,” you can hear how pleased he is seeing you like that after you’ve barely taken a few steps out of the ship. You know the thought of you being so aroused in public while having to control yourself is making him hard. You decide to play his game, see where this leads.

Mando is walking right behind you, strutting proudly as he stalks you like a hunter follows its prey. You feel his gaze trained on your butt, so you accentuate the swaying of your hips to get more friction from the pearls and to seduce him even further, hoping to get a reaction from him.

"Shake your ass as much as you want, you're not getting anything until I'm done here. You're only getting this scum to see how pretty you are. I like it," he slaps your ass and chuckles. You bite your lip to muffle a whimper.

"See the way they're looking at you? If they dare even think of touching you, their dead body will touch the ground before they lay one finger on you," he whispers in your ear as he grabs your hand and positions it over his blaster.

"You are mine," he growls in your ear as he wraps his other hand around your waist. He pulls you close, until the flustered, naked skin of your back touches his cold beskar chest plate. A thrill of excitement traverses your whole body and goes straight between your legs.

No one would be so stupid to touch you, not when a Mandalorian is claiming you as his, not when you can feel his erection against your ass. The whole thing is making you light-headed with arousal, so much that you start to shamelessly rub your ass against his cock. His hand tightens its grasp around your waist as your head rolls back to rest on his shoulder. You sigh in his neck and his hand trails up and wraps around your throat.

"Behave now," the Mandalorian growls as you feel his fingers tightening their grasp, trying to restrain himself from giving into lust already.

“I want you,” you whisper in his neck.

“I know,” he replies confidently before releasing you. What an arrogant motherfucker. You want to make him so hard he’ll want to bring you back to the ship and fuck your brains out, putting his desire for you before his stupid pride and his business. You want him to surrender to his carnal instinct.

The more steps you take, the more desperate you become for relief from this agonising, yet pleasurable torture. The pearls are stimulating your clit mercilessly, without ever getting you close to an orgasm. Your cunt spasms and clenches and what's worse is that he knows. Mando has spent so long quietly studying his bounties that he can tell by the irregular way you're breathing that you're struggling with the sensation. You bet he's enjoying every second of it, smirking under the helmet.

Just before entering the market area, he pulls you closer to him one more time, making you gasp.

"Now be quiet. You wouldn't want to fuck up my business. Be a good girl," he whispers softly in your ear as you feel his hand on your lower belly—close, so close to where you want him the most. Maker, he’s rock hard. You can feel it. You can’t think of anything else when his erection is pressing against your ass and his arm is tightly wrapped around your waist. He lets you go and you enter the market area together.

You try to divert your attention on whatever item they’re selling in the stands but it’s mostly weapons and things for bounty hunters that you couldn’t care less about. You can feel your arousal starting to drip down your legs, making your inner thighs slippery. Your swollen clit is pulsing and begging for attention, but Mando has been clear - you’ll get nothing until I'm done here, and you know nothing could make him change your mind, unless you play your cards right.

He grabs a seat in a beat-up wooden booth, his legs spread wide due to the massive erection trapped in his pants. There is an undeniable air of confidence and arrogance to him when he sits like this, looking so imposing and authoritative. You wish you could just drop to your knees and please him in any way he wants.

"Be my good pretty whore and sit here," Mando invites you to sit on his thigh and you immediately comply. You're so damn wet, you can't keep your legs closed.

"Hmm? Sitting here like this with your legs spread open? Do you want everyone to see your pretty cunt? Better let them know to whom this belongs, don't you think?" he coos in your ear with his husky voice. He knows you're both perfectly concealed and no one could see what's going on under that table. He's doing that just to prove a point—that you belong to him.

You nod mindlessly as his hand cups your cunt and stays there, still, without moving.

"Mando. Mando I need–" you whisper in his neck in a trembling voice.

"Oh. I know," he says, pleased when he sees how flustered you're getting. "Not yet," he growls as one of his gloved fingers trails your slit. He stops right before your clit, making you whimper and grip his arm tight in response. You dig your nails in his flightsuit as he feels how unbelievably wet you are.

"Hey. Behave now," he whispers as a Rodian approaches the booth and takes a seat, greeting him with a nod of his head. He immediately hands Mando a puck.

You have no idea what they’re talking about – you can't focus on anything else apart from the way Mando’s gloved hand holds the puck. You look at his fingers with pure lust, thinking of them touching your clit, pumping inside your cunt, the coarse leather caressing your skin. 

You let your hand trail on his inner thigh and he stays surprisingly calm, not flinching one bit as your fingertips slowly slide higher, until they finally meet his cock. He is so unbelievably hard, you feel him throbbing underneath your fingers as you trail them all over his length. The Mandalorian won't betray any emotion, which turns you on even more. He's perfectly calm and collected on the outside, but you bet he'd love to throw you on that table and bury himself in you.

As soon as the Rodian hands Mando a handful of credits as an advance, he leaves.

"Please. Please, I need you," you whisper in his neck.

"I'm not done here. Be patient."

The throbbing need between your legs causes you to ache so badly that you don’t notice another man has approached and taken a seat until he begins speaking with the Mandalorian.

They're speaking in a foreign language, and Mando’s interlocutor does not seem happy. Judging by their tones of voice and gestures, they appear to be negotiating the fee for Mando collecting a certain bounty that the man needs capturing and he is displeased that Mando commands a high price. You’ve learnt over the time you’ve spent with the Mandalorian that there's not much room for negotiation with him. He has leverage since he's regarded as being the best bounty hunter in the outer rim. The way he speaks is so confident, it makes you even wetter how he does not lose composure while the other man is basically yelling at him. 

He starts running his thumb on the string of pearls digging in your slit, feeling how wet you are for him as he keeps talking to his client while you're sitting in his lap, doing nothing but looking pretty. You're his slut and he wants everyone to know it, but you have to act cool even as he teases you under the table. You have to control the way you breathe, you can't let even the smallest whimper out. Why is this so hot? Why is he so hot?

In the end, the man hands him a hefty amount of credits and rises from the table with a huff, muttering and cursing as he goes.

"Please, take me back to the ship and fuck me. I won't ask for anything else, please," you whisper sensually in the crook of his neck.

"I'm not done here," he tries to appear impassive, but as soon as you resume your touching between his legs, he jerks slightly. You smirk, satisfied.

"Mando…" you trace the outline of his cock with your fingers, feeling how hard his erection is while purring in his neck. His pants are thick, but as you stop right at the tip, drawing circles on it with your fingertips, you can feel the fabric getting slightly damp.

“You’re so hard…” you sigh sensually as you keep rubbing his cock. You hear a choked grunt from him, now that he can’t focus on his job anymore, now that he’s at the mercy of your teasing. You’re so tempting, acting so shameless in public, the thrill of someone noticing the two of you drives him insane and you know it. You’re finally getting your revenge. You can bet he's close to losing control. Mando is twitching in his pants, his breathing getting heavier and heavier...

"Fuck it." He grabs you by the arm and you rush out of the market and back to the ship.

The Mandalorian doesn't even wait for the ramp to close behind him to bend you over the first crate he finds, kicking your legs open with his feet and freeing his throbbing erection. His gloved hands run up your skirt and position themselves around your hips, keeping you steady for him as he slams into you all at once. He meets no resistance from your drenched cunt whatsoever, leaving you breathless as you exhale in a loud moan. You're crushed between the crate and his beskar body, pleasurably forced to take his thick cock. You're only able to let out ragged groans and clamp tightly around him as he finally gives it to you just like you wanted.

"You. Fucking whore. Couldn't wait for me to finish my business. Wanted this dick so much, hm? Are you happy now?!" his thrusts are furious and relentless, his hips crushing your body against the crate with a devastating force. The angle at which he's hitting you is deep, so deep that you can't even prop yourself up on your shaky elbows. You're just getting brutally fucked without dignity.

"You get so disobedient when you want this cock. Maybe I should just tie you up and gag you?"

You can't even mumble words, too absorbed by the feeling of his cock thrusting inside of you, so aroused at the idea of him using your body for his pleasure.

"You're so wet. Damn. It must have been such a torture, right? To be so wet and turned on? Hearing you beg like that made me so fucking hard. Feel it. Feel what you do to me," he rasps as he rails you deep and hard.

The way the pearls are rubbing against your clit and the perfect rhythm of his thrusts are driving you close to the edge already.

"Mando, Mando, I'm–" you can barely mumble as you helplessly drag your hands against the crate.

"Yeah. Come. Seems like it's the only thing that will make you obedient. You wanted it so much, you can have as many as you want today."

'Thank you, thank you, tha–" your blissful chant is abruptly cut as the orgasm takes control over your body. Your cunt clenches hard around his thick cock and your legs jerk uncontrollably, barely touching the ground as he keeps you still and never stops drilling into you as you ride your high. The pleasure is so intense, it leaves you breathless as your cunt keeps involuntarily spasming around him in aftershock. You're panting against the metal crate beneath you, overwhelmed and reduced to a trembling, feeble mess, the coldness of it is a relief against the hot, flustered skin of your body that won't stop begging for him.

"Is this what you wanted, hm? For me to stop everything I was doing to come here and take care of you? Needy girl. You desperately wanted attention, hm?"

You can only mumble in assent, feeling the way he takes out his rage on you.

"Bet you would've let me fuck you in a dirty fucking alley if I wanted to."

"Y-yes–" you reply in a breathy groan, drenching yourself at the mere thought.

"What a slut. What if someone heard you screaming like that? What if someone heard how wet this pussy is when I fuck it? Fuck, you're dripping!"

For a man who barely speaks in normal circumstances, he sure does like to run his mouth when he's buried deep inside of you.

"Yeah. I bet you'd like it if someone saw me fucking you like the slut that you are," he pants and you start whimpering and clamping around him at the idea.

"I knew it. You're such a whore. But you are mine, and I won't let anyone hear these pretty moans and see this perfect cunt. They belong to me. To me," he growls.

"Yes – yes. I fuck–ing b-belong to you," you repeat mindlessly.

"Does it get this much to get you this wet? Just a string of pretty pearls? Looking so fucking good. So fucking good. Are you enjoying it?"

"Yes, Mando!"

"Shit, you're so tight. You're making me come," he says in a broken voice. His thrusts get erratic, as does his breathing "This cunt is so perfect, so fucking perfect," he emphasises the very last word before bursting, spilling hot and wet inside of you in a ragged groan, whining at how good it feels. His muscles tense and he gets rigid behind you, his head rolling back in pleasure.

"Oh, fuck! You're so hot. Spill all of your cum inside of me. Like this, yes!" you cry and start touching your clit, so turned on at the sight and feeling of his orgasm.

The sounds he makes as he comes are the hottest ones you have ever heard. The infamous Mandalorian – stoic, imposing and menacing – is getting lost in the overwhelming pleasure you’re offering him. Your drenched, tight pussy is making that dangerous warrior crumble. You’re so aroused, you need more.

"Please, please don't stop fucking me!" you dare asking him.

"I won't," he grunts as he keeps burying his dick deep, so deep inside of you.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Oh, fuck, I need you to fuck me harder, please!" you plead as you feel his cum starting to drip down your hole. "Maker, please!" you say as you start frantically slapping and rubbing your clit as you hear the obscene, sloppy sounds of his cock thrusting in and out of you, of his hips slamming against your ass.

"I won't stop. Fuck, I want more. I can't stop. You drive me fucking insane!" he growls, resembling a wild beast, completely overwhelmed by lust. You feel his cock still pulsing inside of you as you get even wetter.

"Look at this perfect cunt. You're so full of my cum, damn, you can't ever get enough of it, can you? Fucking cum slut. Look what you make me do. Just came inside of you but I can't stop fucking this perfect cunt. You want to drain me. Are you proud of yourself, hm? Making me so fucking hard in public and teasing me like the whore that you are."

"Fuck, yes, I'm your whore. Your slave. I'm so close, please–" you mutter deliriously while your fingers and the pearls are rubbing against your clit in a wet, nasty mess of your fluids and his cum. You come hard around him once again, strangling his spent, sensitive cock in your tight grasp and hear him grunting, his grip on your hips tightens and his whole body jerks, but he really can’t have enough.

"Yeah. Yeah. Come on my fucking cock, whore. Let me feel it." he encourages you, gritting those words between his teeth, fighting his own oversensitivity, so addicted to the way you feel around him.

He doesn't stop fucking you, not even after your orgasm. He keeps railing you relentlessly. You bring your hand to your mouth and suck your fingers, tasting the bitterness of his cum blended with the slightly salty taste of your fluids on your tongue. Its taste is addicting, the scent heady and intoxicating in the best way possible.

"You taste so good, Mando. We taste so good together," you drawl, overwhelmed by pleasure.

"Yeah, I bet we do," he grabs a handful of your hair and pulls it to lift your head up, giving it to you even harder, making your eyes roll back in your head. You are screaming, completely entranced by the way his cock is still pumping hard inside of you.

"So damn loud. You like being fucked like this, hm?"

He hits even harder from this angle, keeping you nice and still for him to use as he pleases. You're so busy screaming that you can't even reply to him.

"Yeah. Scream as loud as you want. Let me hear how much you want it. I like it."

You can feel his cum dripping down your legs with every thrust, hearing the sloppy, squelching sounds your bodies make. Mando can't even restrain himself anymore, he’s moaning and sighing at how much he's enjoying it. Your cunt is spasming around him, turned on at the way he sounds.

"You like it, hm? To reduce me like this?" he says in between thrusts.

The truth is that yes, you do. You love making the Mandalorian falter with your teasing, making him so desperate and boiling with lust, he has to leave business to fuck you hard, so hard that any coherent thought leaves your mind. You love it when you can feel the man under all that beskar, when he makes you feel like the most important and beautiful thing in the galaxy.

"Yeah, you do," he answers himself as he slows his rhythm, slipping out of you completely only to slowly bury himself inside of you to the hilt, enjoying the view and feeling of his cock entering into your cunt dripping with his cum.

You bite your lip to muffle your screams just to hear him moaning and sighing as he feels the welcoming warmth of your cunt.

“Mando. Mando, please,” you beg as you feel your legs impatiently shaking as his shaft rubs that perfect spot inside of you with each thrust.

“What?”

“Harder. Please?” you beg, subjugated by that perfect teasing.

He slams into you so deeply that you feel it pulsing against your cervix.

“What? Like this? Hm?” he says as he starts to jackhammer you.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you chant as you resume touching your clit.

“Greedy whore. Ready for another one? I'm not stopping.”

“Mmmm,” you can only reply as you feel another wave of overwhelming pleasure approaching.

You hear him panting as he gives you a few more violent, deep thrusts, driving you over the edge one more time.

“Yeah. Take it – fucking t-take–” he grunts when he feels your walls clenching around his cock, your orgasm pushing him over the edge, too.

A loud, violent snarl rips through his lips as he comes, filling you with his white, thick load once again. The grip of his hands around your hips turns to steel, your eyes roll up so high all you can see is pitch black as he keeps pumping his cock into you as you both ride your high. The feeling completely obliterates you, turning your body and mind into a helpless, exhausted mess.

A huge, satisfied grin forms on your face as you feel him slowly slip out of you and his cum starts dripping down your cunt and legs.

“Good work," he pants "now be a good girl and wait for me while I go back there. Don’t move one muscle and maybe we will pick up where we left off,” he says as he tucks his spent cock in his cum stained pants, not giving a shit about it, looking at the mess he made of you, disrupted and leaking with his seed. Wrecked, used, marked. His.

[sscieloz]

sub!giselle begging to eat reader out and being left pussydrunk ‼️ love your work siss

Pretty please

Aeri Uchinaga x 5thmember!reader

Warnings: smut.

Word count: 2.1k

Notes: te amo laroca <3 obrigada por me apoiar nas minhas esquisitices mais malucas e sempre sempre me fazer rir. vc nem deve ver isso mas esse smut meia boca (daquele jeito vc sabe😭) vai pra vc. e tbm eu fiz dom!giselle pq n é vc que manda eu q mando.

ps: I’ve kinda combined those two asks together so I hope you don’t mind, anon ^^

“Hey Aeri, do you want to watch some movies?” You ask, just as Aeri is headed to the kitchen. She smiles at you, nodding as she approaches the massive sofa.

“Sure, baby.” Her eyes travel to the dark corridor before pulling you into her lap, making sure none of the girls would stop by and ruin the moment.

Instead of the so-promised vacation, your group was stuck with full days of schedules and oversea fan meetings, on top of each girl’s solo projects. With that, it’s been the first time in weeks you and Giselle managed to be alone, in peace for the dark hours of the night before being busy all over again.

“Can I pick?” You both know it’s not an actual question— your hands are already reaching out for the remote, but Aeri hums anyway, content on having you so close by.

You smile as your favorite movie shows up on the massive TV screen, happy to watch your comfort animation after a tiring week. Snuggling beside your girlfriend, you feel cozy and safe, embraced by her strong her arms. You’re nearly falling asleep when you feel Aeri’s hands inside your shirt, caressing your waist with a look you know too well.

“Aeri…” You whine, nudging her faintly— even though she barely moves, much stronger than you are. “Come on, stop. I want to pay attention to the movie.”

She blocks your view from the screen completely, hands still on your waist and an adorable pout on her face. You look away, well aware your girlfriend can get you to do anything with that look.

“Please, Y/n. You know how stressful this week has been.” She pleads, pecking your lips. You keep them shut, but it doesn’t take long for you to melt under Aeri’s touch. “I need you, baby… pretty please?”

You sigh, trying to hide your smirk once you allow your girlfriend to kiss you deeply, licking and tugging on your lips like she’s never had a taste of you before. Her hands reach for the hem of your sweatpants, but you stop her fingers from wandering further.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, the girls might see us if we stay here…” You grab her wrist, biting your lip. You’d be too ashamed to ever face your bandmates’ faces if that ever happened.

Aeri brushes her nose against your neck, giggling when she feels you shiver under her. Her smile deepens, and her voice sounds proud as she answers you. “But don’t you want to watch the movie, baby? They won’t barge in, don’t worry.” Her hands squeeze your thighs, then, petty to not have you agree to her wishes without complaints. “You just have to be quiet. Can you do that? Be quiet for me?”

She’s able to get you to do everything with that tone, and she makes good use of that. With a subtle move, she places her body over yours, one hand setting up the volume of the movie with the remote while the other one begins to lift up your shirt, letting out a satisfied hum once you quickly finish the job yourself, now naked under your girlfriend’s touch.

Aeri’s clothes are off in a second, too, and her hands assault your body once again. Her long nails scratch down your hips, hands groping everywhere, making their way to reach out for your boobs. By then, you’re a whimpering mess, struggling to stay still in the cushions as she pinches and twists your nipples rather harshly —just how you like it, making your mission of staying quiet nearly impossible.

“I knew you wouldn’t make it.” Giselle laughs, hands on your thighs to bring your pussy closer to hers. “You’re too loud, baby. I love it.”

She stays still for a moment, brushing her hair out of her face to admire your body. Her eyes, ever so greedy, go all the way from your skin— slightly reddened by the work she had done with her nails, to your pussy, already glistening with the thought of being touched by the Uchinaga.

You don’t look away, too proud of having her look at you with such desire. She lowers her head, then, and _spits_, her saliva coating your wet pussy. Aeri spreads it generously with her thumb, making a show of fingering your pussy in a slow, deep rhythm. You no longer care about the movie, biting your hand in attempts of keeping your breathless moans to yourself. In fact, you're so focused you barely register how your girlfriend takes one of your legs against herself, positioning your cunts together until she lowers her body and your pussy touches hers.

“Aeri— oh _fuck_” You grasp, reaching out for her bare back. Your long nails scratch her skin relentlessly, mind long lost in the sea of sensations she was making you feel.

She rolls her hips, voice echoing loud through the room as your clits touch. You’ve now realized how touch-starved for your girlfriend you were. Aeri she holds you by the waist, placing wet kisses on your neck while her cunt pulsates on top of yours, and the friction is more than enough to radiate that insatiable feeling from your lower abdomen through all your body, making you nearly come in the spot. Your girlfriend’s own moans are loud, nothing short of pornographic; she rolls her eyes, breathless and lost in her own pleasure, too.

Once again, your pussy slides onto hers, in a faster rhythm. It’s enough to drive you crazy, mumbling and whining for her to not stop, to go even faster, to not let go of you…

Aeri revels in seeing you fall apart under her touch. Eager to get those unholy sounds out of you, her fingers reach out for your clit, still focused on brushing her dripping cunt in yours. It’s a mere presence, barely circling your numb bud at all— yet it’s enough to send a wave of shock to your body.

“A-Aeri, oh fuck!” You arch your back, doing everything possible to get your pussy closer to hers. Your pleasure is strong, building up in the pitch of your stomach too quickly, but Aeri stops her movements as soon as she registers the way you tense: a clear sign you’re about to cum. “Hm? Baby? Why’d you stop?” You ask, voice small and uncertain, even though you’ve just had your orgasm ruined. You can’t act defiant towards her, not when her weight is pressing you under her body, and her strong muscles are doing all the work. The only thing you feel is how upset you are, unable to talk back or scold the Uchinaga, deep in your headspace.

She knows your body with the palm of her hand. As soon as your breathing had become quick, and you had your eyebrows furrowed, Aeri knew you were close. Laughing at your confusion, she purposefully alternates between masturbating your pussy then hers, without rush.

“Do you see this, Y/n?” She asks, caressing your neck to guide your head downward, towards the sight of both of your pussies, red and puffy from the friction. “My oh my, how pretty we are.” One of her hands squeezes your breasts hard, before giving both of them light slaps.

In a swift motion, her hands circle your waist, switching positions so you’re half-seated on top of her abdomen, instead. You look at her with a confused frown, tilting your head a bit to the side.

“Sit on my face, please?” She pleads, cupping your ass to reaffirm her words. You do as told, resting your hands on top of the sofa before nodding. You’d do anything to cum, head clouded by the thought of relief— and Aeri knows it. It’s what makes her smile, breath hot under you, as she hovers her mouth through all of your cunt. “God, I’ve missed your taste so much.”

You lean your head back, movements led by Aeri’s strong hands on your thighs as you bite your lip so strongly you feel the metallic taste going down your throat.

“You could’ve just… said so…” You’re breathless, yet your tone still holds a certain grudge to it. “I’ve been dying to touch you, do anything with you all week.” You roll your eyes, then, swirling your hips on her tongue rather harshly. She deserved it, for not paying enough attention to you during so many days. “If you only looked at me at all…”

An uninvited scream leaves your lips once you feel your ass being spanked. Aeri growls, satisfied with your reaction, and slaps your ass once, twice again.

“Shut up and cum.” She demanded, groping your skin so tightly it would certainly bruise.

You should’ve complained; Aeri’s harsh tone and impatient words were not like familiar to you at all. Yet, all you could do was moan loudly, going crazy by your girlfriend’s tongue lapping on your entrance as her nose hit your clit repeatedly. You find yourself desperate, shoving your face onto her without a care about your girlfriend. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind; if anything, she was truly starved, taking you in.

You could also feel it— from the way she held you by the hips, to the satisfied moans she let out every couple of seconds, too. This was as much for your pleasure as it was for hers, you both knew so.

It was all too good. Aeri’s tongue was all over your pussy, making a true show of gathering all of your sex to herself— letting her mouth be used for your pleasure only. As moments passed, you could no longer fight the pleasure building up in your abdomen, eager for release.

“M’ gonna c—“ You had no time to warn your girlfriend, falling apart in her mouth. She held you once your body began to shake, lewd sounds coming out of your mouth along with incoherent mumbles.

Aeri happily collected all of your juices, careful to not suck on your clit. She had no plans of overstimulating you; she’d save it for someday you were able to truly enjoy yourselves, taking her time to prepare your body.

Although seeing you drunk on your orgasm, crying like a little bitch was a heavenly sight, one she deeply missed.

“I’ll never get tired of your taste.” She smiled, pulling you into her lap once you’d calmed down. You hummed, trying not to pay her much attention while her sultry mouth placed kisses on your chest. “I missed you too much, baby… come on, don’t be difficult. You’ve been busy, too.”

Her words are truthful enough to make you sigh, grabbing her face with both hands. Her mouth is glistening, still filled with your arousal, and her bangs are messy, as if the wind had blown it up— you’ve never seen a prettier sight.

You wish you could have her all to yourself, forever.

“I love you.” It’s all you answer. Your thumb travels her lips— now rosy and slightly swollen, and you spread your arousal even more before giving Aeri another kiss; slow and passionate, just like she had done to you earlier on.

She smiles back, motioning to the movie playing on the TV. “And I love you more, baby. Now, let’s watch the movie? No funny business this time, I promise.”

You smile back, nodding. “Sure. Movie it is.”

Soon enough, your clothes were back on, and you were once again curled up with your girlfriend, now feeling much more relaxed and happy.

“Fucking finally! I’ve been wanting to get water for ages.” You hear Minjeong mumble, passing through the living room with her hands half-covering her eyes, afraid of seeing too much.

Before Aeri speaks up, Karina and Ningning’s screams are heard too, complaining from their rooms about how the two of you were gross and would have to do a massive cleaning session at the dorm, later.

Mortified, all you do is hide your face in the crook of Aeri’s neck, jokingly slapping her arm because she keeps laughing, content with how her day went.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Do You Want Me, Cyar'ika [happy]

Dark!Din Djarin x Jedi!Female Reader

Warnings: HEY THIS IS DARK WATCH OUT, stalking, manhandling, slight choking if you kind of squint, dubcon (reader is willing, but is def under the influence of the darksaber), smut, hand job, mentions of blood and injury, mentions of permanent scarring of the reader

Word Count: 6,717

Summary: Din Djarin is a man who lost everything. His home, his son, his Creed. But at the end of the day, he still had you. He still had you, and he was determined to keep you. Part One: Ni Ceta, Cyar'ika Part Two: I Love You, Cyar'ika

[a/n: THIS IS THE HAPPY ENDING TO THIS TRILOGY. My suggestion is to read the version you really want first b/c the beginning half is the exact same. It's only the end that differs.]

.

"sometimes, you just need a fresh start. a new beginning. a clean slate. just get rid of everything going wrong and make it go right." -the importance of starting over

.

The echoing of your footsteps bounced off the walls and the quick pace seemed to match the racing of your heart. No looking back. You needed to get to the tarmac. Din was supposed to be in the war room with Bo Katan and the others in his council discussing something or another. This morning he had told you that he wouldn’t be able to meet you for lunch until a bit later in the afternoon. Half an hour after he had told you this, you grabbed your stuff and started running. 

You had the right idea months ago when you first tried to leave. This was going to be your last chance. If he caught you this time you don’t know that you’d ever get the chance to run away again. Memories of that beskar chain and anklet hung heavy in your mind as you picked up your pace. A terrifying thought occurred to you. Would he stop there? How far would Din go to keep you by his side? You truly believed, deep down, that Din wouldn’t hurt you, but… were you just being delusional? At some point, he’d consider the line to be crossed.

The tarmac was mostly empty. The few Mandalorians that were in the area gave you curious looks, but nobody dared stop you. That was a side effect of being ‘owned’ by the Mand’alor and though you found it disturbing previously it was truly working in your favor now. Everybody on this rock, save for a few people like Bo Katan, were too terrified of Din to even look in your direction for longer than a few seconds. As you sprinted to the closest ship you knew how to pilot, the Mandalorians began to disperse. You had a suffocating suspicion that they were in the process of calling Din.

You made it further than you had last time. You were on the ship, ramp closing behind you, and you clambered into the cockpit and got things running. As the ship slowly began to rise, you saw him. Din stood at the edge of the tarmac with his hands on his hips. The wind tunneling through the ship’s exhaust and down onto the ground below caused Din’s thick cape and hair to whip around. Even from this distance, you could feel Din’s gaze burning straight through you. The look on his face was haunting⏤ a mix of devastation and unbridled rage. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away. Even after the ship was in the atmosphere and Din was far out of view, you stared down at Mandalore in pain. Your chest ached as your heart already begun to miss the man you were running from.

Before allowing yourself to wallow, you input the coordinates to Tatooine and let the ship slip into hyperdrive. The second those all too familiar lines of blurred space cast a blue glow in the cockpit, you pulled your knees up into your chest to bury your face there. If somebody were to ask you the exact reason why tears streamed down your face you would not be able to give them an answer.

You just knew, everything was wrong.

You agonized over who to send a message to. As you drew ever near to Tatooine, doubts began to plague your mind. Should you reach out to Boba and Fennec? They were obvious choices because they cared about Din and they knew how to hold their own in a fight. However, you had a nagging fear at the back of your mind that would not silence. It blared like a ghostly siren. Din was not himself right now, and though you knew without a doubt that he would not hurt you, could the same be said for Boba and Fennec? Especially if they stood in the way of Din getting to you?

You hated that you were unsure of that.

You hated that a part of you honestly thought Din might hurt his friends or worse.

There was no changing course though. The best solution you had was to get in touch with Luke Skywalker. He might have answers about this. Even if he didn’t, having him and Ahsoka by your side would help. Three Jedi surely could get that cursed saber away from Din. Granted, there was no assurance that separating the saber from the love of your life would actually work, but it was all you had. It was the last bit of hope you could cling to. 

Upon your arrival to Tatooine, you immediately slunk away to a crowded cantina. You were not a fool. You knew Din was not just going to let you wander away and you knew he was one of the deadliest bounty hunters in the galaxy. He was very good at what he did⏤ especially when passionate about the mission. That didn’t leave you very much time to get the information you needed. 

You sent out a decoded distress message to the number Skywalker had left you when he took Grogu. He left it strictly for emergencies and this obviously classified as one. After it was out in the universe, all you could do was wait. So you saddled up to the bar, sat on a stool, and ordered a drink. It was all you could think to do. This was the first time in ages that you were in a space not clouded by Din’s presence. You hadn’t realized until now how suffocating it had been.

Being with Din, watching his slow descent, you had gotten accustomed to that cloud of darkness that hung over his head. To the point where you didn’t notice it worsening and worsening. It felt as if your body had acclimated to living under the ocean. Your body grew used to the crushing depths. Your lungs shriveled from the lack of oxygen. Your eyes grew blind from the absence of light. Now? Sitting at this dingy, dirty bar, it was as if someone had forced you up from the ocean floor and dragged you quickly up to the surface. It was jarring. The fresh air was painful as it filled your lungs, your eyes burned from the disappearance of darkness, and suddenly it was freedom that felt wrong. 

A sudden beeping made you glance down at the communicator. Eyes wide, you answered it, “Hello? Luke Skywalker?” Your name was spoken over the line in concern. “Thank the Maker. I⏤ Din and I are in trouble.”

“What has happened?”

“It’s…” You took in a slow breath and began to walk him through what was going on. You started with the moment he took Grogu and described every single downward step the two of you had taken with the saber in his possession. When you finished, your throat felt thick with emotion. “I got away, but he’ll be after me soon. I know it. Luke, I… I don’t know what to do. I just know I need help, and I’m too afraid to go to anybody other than you.”

“You were right to reach out to me.” Luke sighed. “This needs to be handled by us. No need to risk anyone else.”

The thought flickered through your head without warning. You were okay with putting Luke Skywalker and Ahsoka in danger. It came quickly and you swatted it away just as fast, but it felt like poison. Obviously, Boba and Fennec meant more to you than Luke and Ahsoka. You were closer to the first two. However, it still didn’t make risking the lives of the latter two okay. The fact that the belief attempted to nestle in your head reminded you of the dark saber. Your hand wrapped around your own lightsaber⏤ seeking comfort in the energy it radiated.

“You believe he’ll follow you, correct?” Luke questioned.

“Absolutely.” You answered without an ounce of hesitation.

Luke hummed on the other end of the line in thought. “I will send you coordinates. Come to us. The Mandalorian will follow and we will handle this from there. You just need to get here. Can you do that?”

“Yeah.” You nodded your head, trying to convince yourself. “I can. I’ll leave as soon as you send me those coordinates.”

“Of course. Call us again if you have trouble.”

“Thank you.”

The call ended and you threw back the remainder of the drink before rushing for the door. It would take fifteen minutes to get to the tarmac and you assumed you’d get the coordinates by then to use. The crowded Tatooine streets made you anxious. Shoulders clipped into yours as people rushed past you in the opposite direction. It felt like there were eyes burning into your skin, but every scan of the crowd told you it had to just be your paranoia. 

Your communicator beeped again and a quick glance down revealed the coordinates you’d be heading to. Good. You quickened your pace to turn a corner to the last leg of the path that would take you to the public tarmac when you spotted him. A flash of glinting silver under the hot Tatooine suns. Your feet came to a screeching halt, and for a moment the two of you stood stock still. Din was down the road. Closer to the tarmac’s entrance than to you. His hands rested on his hips, and he was helmetless. Even from this distance the darkness swimming in his brown eyes sent a chill down your spine. He had been a sight to behold in his full armor, a faceless figure of intimidation. However, you knew now that it was worse without the helmet. Actually seeing those burning eyes, rather than just feel them, made your stomach flip.

The crowd ebbed and flowed, a small group passing between the two of you, and when they passed fully Din was gone. You couldn’t see him. Without a second more of hesitation, you spun on your heel and sprinted in the opposite direction of where he had been standing. The public tarmac was a bust. You’d never be able to successfully route yourself back around, but you still needed a ship.

Peli’s shop. As soon as it came to mind, you altered course to head in that direction. You prayed that Peli wasn’t home. Hopefully she’d be out losing credits to a group of jawas in sabbac or conning some poor sap at the market. Your chest burned in the effort it took to keep your quick pace, your heart pounded painfully, and you could still feel Din’s eyes on you. Every time you glanced over your shoulder or down alleys there was no sign of silver, but you knew⏤ you just knew⏤ that he was hot on your heels somehow. 

You finally reached Peli’s shop and the garage was closed which meant she was not home, but you remembered the way in through the back. Peli had shown it to you and Din ages ago. Even if she didn’t have a client’s ship sitting in the bay, you could steal her land speeder and come up with a different plan from there. Once in, your eyes landed on a small ship parked in the main bay and your lips curled up into a relieved smile. Find the FOB, get the ship open and started. You rushed to Peli’s office and cursed the wrecked state it was in. Her baseline was chaotic and it showed in her organization choices. You dug through the mess until you found a FOB that seemed to match the ship waiting for you.

Victorious, you sprinted out of the office back down to the bay, but the second your feet stepped into the open area something hard slammed into you. The air was knocked from your lungs as you landed on the ground. Din’s features stared down at you as his body straddled yours. One of his gloved hands pinned down your dominant hand while the other clamped down on your throat⏤ not enough to restrict air, but just enough to convey his warning. You could see your fearful eyes reflected in the beskar covering him as he towered over you. Din’s face didn’t look angry or worried. He didn’t look scared or confused. Din looked cold. Emotionless. Somehow that was worse.

“Din⏤”

“Don’t.” Din said sharply. The fingers on your neck flexed once. “Don’t speak, cyar’ika.”

More suffocating than his demeanor and broad figure was the poisonous energy seeping out of the saber hung on his belt. You were drowning in it, struggling to keep your head above it’s dark waters, and Din was pushing you beneath the waves. He held you under. Din was a man drowning and in your attempt to rescue him he was dragging you to the depths as well. 

“How could you do this to me?” Din asked. His voice cracked⏤ the only sign of his pain. “Cyar’ika, you…” Din swallowed. A flash of heartbreak filled his expressive brown eyes and the degree of his hurt briefly made you feel guilty. Like you had been the one to betray him. “I love you. You are my everything. I would burn the world for you. How could⏤ How could you leave?”

“I never asked for you to burn the world for me, Din.” You whispered. “That’s not what I want.”

Din shifted and leaned down so he could rest his forehead against yours. His hand hung loosely around your throat, forearm pressed against your chest, and it was a position your body was familiar with. If you closed your eyes and gave into the darkness trying to claw its way down your throat and into your lungs, then you’d simply feel like you were sharing a private moment of intimacy with your love. Din’s lips suddenly ghosted against yours and you felt your body tremble.

“What is it you want?” Din begged. “I will give you anything. I just want you safe by my side.”

“I told you what I want, Din…”

Din sighed, his hot breath fanning across your lower face, “I can’t do that.” His voice was strained as if her were in agony. “The saber is how I protect you, cyar’ika.”

“You’re losing me because of that saber, baby.”

For the longest moment, Din remained silent. His eyes were closed and you could see him ruminating over something. After a second, he opened his eyes and Din’s eyebrows furrowed in defeat. A flicker of hope burned in your chest until he opened his mouth and spoke. 

“Things were okay. We just need to start from scratch again. I know you hated that chain, cyar’ika, but it’s for the best.” Din said softly and your eyes widened at how serious his words were. How much he believed that to truly be the best path. “It won’t be forever, I swear it. Just until I trust you again.”

“Din⏤”

“No.” Din snapped. His soft despair turning to a firm demand. “There will be no argument. I’m taking you home.” You opened your mouth once more, but Din’s fingers began to tighten around your throat marginally. “You’re already in trouble, cyar’ika. Don’t make it worse.”

Panic began to make your heart race. You were sinking fast and the light was beginning to disappear from your sight⏤ your freedom with it. In a poor attempt at a final chance of survival, you spoke up despite his order to stay silent. “I just wanted to say sorry.”

Din scoffed. “You understand why I find it hard to believe you.”

“I know.” You nodded. “Please, baby. I’m sorry. Please believe me. You know I love you.”

You could feel Din’s thumb around your neck tracing the skin under it as he stared down at you. He took in a deep breath and leaned in to press his forehead against yours once more. Din brushed his lips lightly against yours. “You’re always so pretty when you beg, cyar’ika.” That was the one thing you had working in your favor. Din always had a hard time telling you ‘no’ when your bodies were folded together like this. “I’ll hear you out, but let’s get to our ship first.”

“Why not now? Let me tell you how sorry I am, Din.” You begged and he let out a soft sigh as his eyes closed. Your eyes darted to the saber on his belt. If you ended up back on Mandalore it would be over. There would be no second chance. Determined, you rolled your hips up and just as you suspected you were met with the firmness of his half hard cock. Din groaned. “Let me show you how sorry I am.” Your non-dominant hand had been clutching at the hand he had at your throat, but you very slowly let it travel up his arm to bury in his soft hair. “Please, baby.”

You tilted your head up as much as you could with Din’s hand clamped around your neck. Carefully, in fear that too quick or sudden a movement would break the spell, you began to pull Din down closer. Din hesitated against the slight force of your hand only for a second before he slotted his lips against yours. As always, Din’s touch set you aflame. He released the wrist he had pinned and hooked that hand under your thigh to spread your legs so he could settle between them rather than straddle you. You should be focused on escape alone, but the taste of him made you hungry for more. You weren’t sure how much was your love for Din and how much was the saber twisting it into something recognizable. 

Din’s teeth caught your lower lip, and he pulled back a breath, “You’re supposed to be showing me how sorry you are, cyar’ika.” He leaned back down to lick into your mouth, his kiss crushing and near painful as Din’s hips pressed firmly against yours. He left his lips close enough that you felt every word he spoke. “Yet here I am…” Din gave a sharp thrust and even with layers of clothes between the two of you he was able to snap the bulge of his erection right where your clit was hidden. You gasped at the pleasure that rocketed up your spine as hot pangs arousal pooled in your lower belly. “...doing all the damn work.”

At his words, you closed the space to press your lips against his again, deepening the kiss, as your hands traveled to his belt. You undid his belt with practiced ease, and while one hand slipped under the waistband of his flight suit to find the base of his cock the other went to grasp the saber.

Your fingers brushed against the thrumming metal of the saber for only a second before Din’s hand slapped on top of yours pinning it to the saber. Everything froze. Din and you were both panting, breathless from your kiss. You had one hand stuffed into his pants with your hand pressed against his skin on the space above the base of his cock and the other on the saber. Din had one hand tightening around your neck while his other crushed your fingers against the darksaber. He chuckled and the sound sent chills throughout your body.

“Let go, Cyar’ika.” Din’s voice was gruff and seemed to rumble out from his chest. You began to try and pull both hands back, but Din grunted. “Not both. Just the saber.” You sucked in a sharp breath and remained frozen. “What? You don’t want to finish what you started?” He shoved one hand down his pants to roughly grab yours and force your hand to wrap around the entirety of his throbbing cock. It was like this tense moment was spurning him onwards⏤ filling him with a thrill you had never seen before. “I thought you were sorry.”

You hated how his words made your own core ache with want. 

Din snapped the saber off his belt tossed it off to the side. Too far for you too reach, but close enough that its influence weighed heavy on you still. He did the same to your own weapon which was hooked in its usual place on your belt. Din threw that one further, more carelessly, before lowering his face back down toward yours. His hand was still wrapped around yours, and Din thrusted into your dry grip. It couldn't be comfortable you thought, but Din moaned in your ear as if it were already drunk in pleasure.

“Din…” You murmured.

His hot mouth enveloped yours, tongue licking into you, as he thrusted twice more. Din’s teeth caught your lower lip again, but this time he bit down hard enough that the taste of metallic blood flashed across your taste buds. You yelped, he thrusted into your grip, and then Din pulled back just enough that you could see his lips painted with the red of your own blood.

“Are you going to make me take you?” He asked in a harsh whisper. “Or will you come willingly?” Din pressed his bloodstained lips against the side of your face, dragging, and you shuddered as a cold, but tempting, chill filled your body. “I’ll spend eternity chasing you, cyar’ika, but it will be more enjoyable if you just agree to be mine again.”

His lips found yours once more, and for one second you weren’t in your body. Your mind clouded with a sort of vision. You saw Din sitting on Mandalore’s throne splattered with blood he had drawn from others and his features masked in a cold indifference. The saber was not on his belt, but any confusion you had on it’s location faded as a different version of you came into view. She wore an elegant and revealing gown that was as dark as a starless night, and the inactive saber was held tight in her grip as blood covered her hands and left a trail of red petals as she passed. While Din’s face held a cold indifference this version of you looked feral with enjoyment. 

She settled herself on Din’s lap and the mask he wore cracked to reveal adoration as he stared up at this other you in awe. Without wasting a beat, this unrecognizable version of yourself pulled Din into a firm kiss. The blood on the hands that resembled yours smeared against his stainless beskar, and the blood on his face left smears along features you spent your entire life staring at in a mirror. Suddenly, the other you broke away to turn and it seemed she was glaring directly at you.

The saber in her hand activated and burned with a soul sucking energy that seemed to draw you in.

“Be mine.” Din’s voice snapped you back into the moment. “Be my queen, cyar’ika. I want no else.” He pressed his lips to yours again but in a way that was too soft to match the rest of this situation. The tip of his tongue dragged through the torn tissue of your lower lip and you shivered. “Let me protect you as you rule by my side.”

And you wanted it. It was like your body had finally reached the lowest depths and your lungs were filling with the dark water you were drowning in. It was almost peaceful allowing yourself to settle into the cold⏤ allowing it to swallow you whole. Distantly, you could feel the crystal in your lightsaber desperately calling out to you, but you were certain no light could reach you where you were. Cold turned to pleasure as Din’s hands began to map the familiar planes of your body. 

“I’ve always been yours.” You whispered. Din molded his lips to yours and he pulled your hand out from where it was hidden under his waistband so he could have to room and access to begin frantically undoing your own belt. You lifted your hips so he could tug your pants down past your ass and off entirely. He didn’t bother with his own pants, deciding to just tug them down enough to be useful, and  Din settled between your legs. As he worked himself out of his pants he planted his lips against the hollow of your neck.

You tilted your chin up, panting, as you gave him more room to work his tongue against the skin there. Every atom of your being was throbbing and aching for the man on top of you, but briefly a glimmer of pain lanced through your heart. A reminder. You thought you were too deep in for the light to reach you, but your lightsaber’s call managed one faint echo. A weak lifeline back to the surface. Without thinking, your hand reached reached out to where the sabers were cast aside and for the first time in your life you felt the Force do more than just read an energy. It enveloped the space around you and seconds later something firm was in the palm of your hand.

You cried out, managing to roll Din and yourself over so you now straddled him. The saber activated in your hand and rather than the warm familiar glow you wanted, you were greeted by the soul sucking, burning energy of the darksaber lighting up in your hands. Your eyes widened in alarm. The power that washed over you was overwhelming. It rocketed up your arm and pierced your very soul. Din laid on the ground under you as you stared at the cold glow of the saber burning in your hands, and you heard him begin to laugh in amusement. 

“Maker, you’ve never looked prettier, cyar’ika.” Din grinned⏤ the look in his dark eyes was wild with desire. “How does it feel?”

Your skin was crawling as if someone was holding a live wire to it. A tremor shook your body and it took you a moment to detangle your mind away from the raw pleasure that screamed out to you. The darksaber was sinking it’s cold claws into every aspect of who you were and you could feel your reality slipping away from you. You tightened your hand around the hilt and began to squeeze. It was hard to focus the Force to bend to your will with the darksaber’s influence pressing down on you, but you clenched your teeth and squeezed harder. The crack of bending metal filled the air.

“No.” Din growled and his hands roughly pawed at you, to try and take the saber from your grip, but you raised your hands up above your head and continued to squeeze until you felt actual pain began to seep into your body. “Stop! Don’t!” 

The metal cracked further, heat began to lick out of the hilt as the saber’s burning energy flickered and grew wild. It was burning your hands, leaving the flesh it touched raw. Din screamed out at you to stop again, but you couldn’t hear him over the high pitched ringing the darksaber’s kyber crystal seemed to emit. The saber was angry⏤ the saber was scared. You focused every bit of your body’s energy to channel the Force. You screamed in agony as the saber was crushed under your grip. The crystal cracked and the energy stored in it grew volatile and unstable. With one final push of power, the crystal shattered into pieces within the crushed hilt of the saber and the release of energy blew you backwards into the dirt. 

Your ears from ringing from the blast. Your head ached painfully, you could feel blood matted in your hair from where the back of your head had slammed into the ground, but it was hard to focus on anything other than the miserable and excruciating pain that was radiating up your arms. Shakily, you lifted your hands up to try and examine them. Even though your sight was growing blurry, you could still make out the state of your hands. Scorched flesh, raw and torn, greeted you and warm blood was dripping from the spots where jagged bits of kyber crystal embedded in your skin. It rained down on you.

“No, no, no, no.”

Din was suddenly in your line of vision as he cupped the side of your face in fear and disbelief. Your hands, heavy with exhaustion, fell limp and they didn’t even hurt much anymore. You were having trouble feeling anything actually. “Please, Maker, no.” Din gasped. His voice was ragged and hoarse. Tears were swimming in his eyes and for the first time in ages, you recognized the clarity. “Cyar’ika, no, please…”

Your lips twitched up in a smile as you gazed up at him. You sighed in relief, “It’s you.” Din’s face crumpled as the tears streaked down his cheeks as he tried to pull you closer. “You’re back, baby.”

His voice seemed far away. As your eyelids grew heavy, you still felt content. If these were to be your last moments you were more than happy to share them with Din Djarin. Your Din Djarin. Pure and kind hearted. Loving and soft. Darkness seemed to envelope you, but it was not the cold darkness the saber used to force you into. This was warm and tender. You felt enveloped in love and your own kyber crystal, loyal and strong, whispered a lullaby as you relaxed into sleep.

.

[three months later]

.

It took you ages to find Din. After waking up in Boba’s palace, post bacta tank infusion, you realized he had slipped away without a word. Boba and Fennec had comforted you, but the only message Din left you was a soft apology passed down along friends. The fact that he hid from you was proof enough that the darksaber’s influence was gone from him. You felt it no longer either. Occasionally, you’d wake from a nightmare and a lingering darkness would cloud your thoughts, but it always dissipated with the morning light. 

You walked slowly toward the bench where he sat armorless. Din wasn’t wearing a shred of beskar, had not a single weapon on him, as he rested his elbows on his knees and stared into the distance where rolling hills and mountains sat. What made him hard to track was he stayed constantly on the move, but you were surprised that this was where he allowed you to catch up with him. You stopped by his side, Din didn’t turn to look at you, and you followed his gaze to see Grogu far in the distance sitting with Luke Skywalker on the crest of a small mountain.

“I don’t know why I came here.” Din mumbled quietly. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Din⏤”

“I don’t deserve to be here.” He added. Din hung his head down and lifted his hands to rub at his face in exhaustion. He shook his head once. “I was supposed to leave before your ship ever entered the atmosphere, but I… I got stuck.”

That made more sense. In a moment of weakness, he stopped to see his son and he hadn’t been able to tear himself away to flee you like he usually did. You reached out to touch his shoulder, but your fingers only managed to graze his shirt before he pushed to stand began to stalk away.

“Din!” You cried out and followed his brisk pace. He walked back to where his small ship at waiting. “Din, please, wait.”

“Leave, cyar’ika.” Din replied firmly.

“No.” You snapped and raced up the ramp into his ship’s tiny cargo hold to slide into his path to stop him. You expected to see anger in his eyes from your disruption, but the only emotion his large brown eyes conveyed was pain and desperation. You felt your heart ache at the way he stared down at you in misery. You shook your head. “Din, will you please talk to me?”

Din swallowed, his voice was hoarse, “There is nothing to talk about.” 

You reached out to rest your hands on his chest, and he glanced down to stare at them. The bacta tank had saved your hands and left you with full use of them, but the scarring remained. The skin was discolored with burn scars and jagged lines where kyber crystals had pierced your skin and left their mark. 

“This wasn’t your fault, baby.” You whispered as you noticed how intently he was staring at your hands. Din shook his head and tried to pull away from your touch but you tightened your hands into fists⏤ clutching his shirt like a lifeline. “Din, I don’t blame you.”

“You should!” Din suddenly yelled and your eyes widened. His hands wrapped around your wrists as he held your gaze. His voice shook. “You should blame me.” Din took in a sharp gasp. “This was all my fault. I was weak.”

“Din.”

“I remember it all.” Din closed his eyes in agony. “Maker, I⏤ I was manhandled you. I chained you to the fucking wall. Held you hostage.”

“Din⏤”

“Hunted you down like a bounty. Forced you into the position where you had to use your body just to distract me so you⏤ I⏤ Maker. Even if you don’t blame me, cyar’ika, I do. I don’t deserve access to my weapons. I don’t deserve the armor of a Mandalorian. I don’t deserve you.”

You held onto him tighter as he tried to pull your hands away from him. “I love you, Din.” He scoffed. “I do. I love you. The darksaber was to blame for all of that and I stayed by your side because I knew that and I refused to lose you to it. I stayed knowing the risk.” Din’s eyes were still shut tightly, but you could see tears collect in his eyelashes. “And I can’t lose you now.”

“Cyar’ika…” He mumbled.

“Open your eyes.” You demanded. You released his shirt but only so you could cup his face with your hands. Din’s entire body trembled under your touch and his hands squeezed your wrists. “Baby, open your eyes and look at me.” Finally, after an agonizing moment, Din opened his eyes and you offered him a small smile. “I love you.” He let out a shaky gasp. “And I can’t sit idly by while you punish yourself for sins that you shouldn’t have to bear. Please don’t run from me. Please let me stay. I’ll keep following you all over the galaxy if I have to or⏤ or if you don’t want me then I’ll… I’ll stop. If that’s what you really want, then I won’t follow.” Din leaned into your touch. “I’m not trying to control or torture you with my presence, I just… I miss you, baby.”

Din closed his eyes again and loosened his grip on your wrists so he could trace them up and lay them over your smaller hands resting on his jaw. He sighed. “I hurt you.” His thumbs traced the scarred skin on the back of your hands. “I did this to you.”

“No, you didn’t. The darksaber did, and I chose to fight that damned thing.”

“If I had been stronger against it then you never would’ve had to.”

“You had no way of knowing, Din.” You shook your head. “It even took me a while to realize how dangerous that saber was and I’m Force sensitive. Nobody in the galaxy would have been able to resist the influence of that kyber crystal even if they knew what it could do. You were blindsided by it.”

Din opened his eyes. “You resisted against it.”

You pressed your lips together then pulled his face toward yours so his forehead was resting against yours. “I knew what it was doing, and it was still the hardest thing I have ever done.” You admitted. “Even now I still feel that darkness crawling across my skin in the dead of the night. Like a ghost haunting me.” You tightened your grip on his jaw. “But you know how I did it?” Din didn’t respond, but you pressed onward. “I did it because I wasn’t going to let anything take you from me. I was not going to let it keep your soul⏤ I was not going to lose you.” Quickly, you pushed forward a pressed a chaste lip to his lips. “Not then. Not now. I will always fight for you. Even if it’s your own guilt I have to fight.”

“Do you want me, cyar’ika?” Din whispered⏤ his voice so soft and faint you almost thought you imagined it. 

You caressed your thumbs against his cheekbones. “I will always want you, baby. Always.”

To prove your point, you tenderly slotted your lips against his. You stayed motionless, just holding him to you, and you could feel a tear trace the outline of your thumb before reaching his lips. It was as if the taste of his salty tear awakened something in him. Din’s mouth began to move against yours desperately. You shifted your hands down and around his neck to cling to him. Din’s own arms wrapped tightly around your torso so he could pull you flush against his body. 

His lips suddenly left your lips to press sloppy, desperate kisses against your jawline then down your neck. Between every touch of his lips against your skin he whispered an apology or an exclamation of love. You tried to drag his lips back up to yours, but he surprised you by falling to his knees. You gasped and stared down at him. Din rested on his heels as his hands hugged the back of your thighs. He stared up at you in adoration, but you could still see agony there as well.

“I am so sorry.” He pleaded like a man begging in prayer at an altar. “I love you, and I am so sorry. I could spend an eternity reminding you of that and it still would not be enough to express how I feel.” Din leaned forward and rest his forehead against your hip. “Ni cuy’ nass ures gar. Ni cuy’ osi’yaim. Ni cuy’ hut’uun.”

You slowly peeled his forehead away from your hip and his hands off your thighs so you could kneel in front of him as well. You held his face once more and wiped away the lingering tears that stained his cheeks. “Cin vhetin.” Din’s eyes widened at the words. A phrase you had Boba teach you. “That’s what I want.”

“Cyar’ika…”

“I hate seeing you speak so poorly of yourself.” Your bottom lip quivered and your throat felt thick. “It pains me to watch you hate yourself⏤ when I love you so much.” Din sucked in a sharp breath. “So, if you love me still, Din, that’s what you’ll give me. Cin vhetin.”

Din paused before he gave you a curt nod. You pulled him into a tight hug, arms clinging to his shoulders, and you were relieved to feel Din hold you just as securely. As if you were both terrified to feel the other slip away again.

.

[three months later]

.

You woke with a start, eyes snapping open in the dark of your bedroom, and the cold, cruel ghost of the darksaber gripped your spine. It crawled up slowly as you tried to push away the lingering nightmare and piece together your reality. The bed under you shifted as someone climbed in beside you. A heavy hand slipped over your abdomen as Din shifted his closer. His bare chest pressed tightly against your back as he held you close.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” Din whispered in your ear, voice heavy with sleep. “Grogu woke up wanting a glass of water.” That was your reality. You had the love of your life back, and the green boy you and Din both adopted as your own was back in your lives. You, and the ones you loved, were nestled in your cozy home on Nevarro. Din’s lips pressed against your neck. “Riduur?” The new nickname a reminder of the peace that came with your reality. “Are you alright?”

The warmth of his skin against yours cast away the chill the memory of the darksaber brought. One of his bare, thick thighs slid between your legs until every part of you was tangled with every part of him. You let out a soft sigh of content and nodded. “I’ve never been better, baby.”

Din peppered soft kisses against your shoulders and you fell asleep safe in his arms.

.

mando'a translations:

Ni cuy’ nass ures gar: I am nothing without you. Ni cuy’ osi’yaim: I am a despicable person. Ni cuy’ hut’uun: I am a coward. Cin Vhetin: fresh start, clean slate (term indicating the erasing of a person's past when they become Mandalorian, and that they will only be judged by what they do from that point onwards)

.

[here is the dark ending]

[absurdthirst]

The Summoning {Frankie Morales x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.8k

Warnings: Single parenthood. mentions of sexual awakenings, trick or treating, jealousy, possessiveness, disgusting behavior, horrible exes, confessions, making out, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, vaginal sex, praise, soft dom Frankie, cream pie.

Comments: After both of your ex's left, you and Frankie become back up for each other as you navigate single parenthood. Trick or treating together with your boys leads to horrific things - the return of the monster exes. You only have each other to help you survive.

A/N: Reader's costume is Leia Organa's white dress, but no mention of race or ethnicity is mentioned.

Co-written by @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Frankie Morales MasterList ||

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

“Alex, hurry up!” You call out to your son. “We need to get started trick or treating before it gets too dark!” You know that normally it’s the kids hassling the parents to go out and gather up pillowcases full of candy, but you are excited for this year. You don’t have to pull a wagon, or push a stroller, your son is old enough to want to go up to the doors alone to pick out his little treat and you had thought that your costume of Han Solo for him and Leia for you was particularly inspired. Glancing out the window, you see your neighbor, Frankie, setting out his bowl of candy on the porch. “Shit! The candy!” You hiss, having forgotten about your own bowl for the trick or treaters to grab while you are gone. 

Frankie makes sure his porch light is on as he sets the plastic pumpkin full of candy on the doorstep with a sign that says ‘take one only’. He doesn't want to be a Karen, but the bars are full sized. He wanted to be a cool dad for his son by getting the big bars. His son who is practically vibrating with excitement to get out of the house. Dressed as Grogu, the five year old is excited to trick or treat. "Hurry up, Papa!" He demands by the garage door and Frankie chuckles, reaching for his helmet after he shuts the front door. "You got your bucket, little man?" He asks his son, "yeah!" He cheers and Frankie places the helmet on his head before he ushers his son onto the driveway so he can shut the garage door. He turns towards your house, his next door neighbor that has him jerking off every damn day. You moved in around the same time he did. Your boyfriend left you around the same time his wife asked for a divorce and you have helped each other out. Babysitting and school drop offs. You've been his angel, his unbelievably beautiful angel that he has sex dreams about. Tonight, you are his wet dream come true. "Fuck." He hisses, glad for the helmet on his head as you walk down the sidewalk to his driveway, dressed as Leia Organa. Most men would be turned on by the outfit Leia wore when she was captured by Jabba the Hutt but Frankie...his fantasy was the white dress with the blaster in her hand. Capable. Feisty. Sexy. And here you are, dressed in that outfit.

“Hi!” The boys rush towards each other, throwing their arms around each other like it has been five years instead of about an hour since they had seen each other. You normally pick the kids up from school, getting Frankie’s son as well since he got off work later than you did. You bite your lip and grin at the two before trying to hide how sexy you think Frankie looks in the Mando uniform. You waggle your brows as he struts up to you confidently, that blank visor almost as sexy as you had imagined it when you watched The Mandalorian. “Well, Mando.” You greet him with a grin. “They say that armor makes the man.” You whistle playfully. “I don’t know if I need to be walking around you. You’ll be beating the women off with a stick.” Frankie is your perfect version of a man. Strong, kind, a good father. He’s the type that will mow the grass and cut your yard too and yet he apologizes when he needs to ask if you can watch his son while he takes another flight. His sexiness is only increased by a thousand percent knowing he’s a pilot. It’s hard to imagine him dating one day and you hate that it won’t be you. 

He chuckles, wiping his gloved hands on his pants, and shakes his head. He is glad he's used to wearing something on his face so he doesn't fog it up. "Yeah, while you are dressed as every guy's fantasy since 1977. You look amazing." He says and tilts his helmet, "this costume...it looks okay?" He asks while the boys tell each other how cool the other looks.

“Yeah, it is.” You admit, glancing up and down the costume. He got a really good one, it definitely wasn’t one of those cheap costumes he bought at Spirit. It was more of a cosplay costume and it makes you think of riding him while he’s wearing it. “It looks great.” You promise. “And Grogu is adorable.” You shift your attention back to the boys so you don’t embarrass yourself by drooling. “Are you guys going now? Do you want to trick or treat together?”

"Together!" Alejandro says and Frankie chuckles, reaching out to tug on the costume ears. "You good going together?" Frankie asks, knowing he'd be grateful to have company while Ale gets his candy. He will need a distraction from watching you walk in that damn costume but the kids will keep you occupied.

“Of course.” You scoff playfully and bat your lashes at him. “Help me, Mando.” You plead in the same tone Carrie Fisher had used as Leia. “You’re my only hope.” You know the night will be better in the company of your handsome neighbor and once you get your son to sleep, you will touch yourself thinking about the way he walks in that suit, how it seems to be natural on him.

Frankie bites his lip to smother the hiss that threatens to escape. His cock twitches under the suit and he inhales deeply to calm down. This is going to be a long night and he knows he will be jerking off in the shower after Ale is asleep. "This is the way." He deepens his voice and the boys cheer, gripping their bags as you set down the street to the first house.

You turn to check out the Halloween decorations in the yards, not wanting to have Frankie see how badly that change of tone affected you. You haven’t noticed how much his voice sounds like Mando’s. That’s just more fuel for the lust that is already out of control. “Okay, here’s the first house.” You call out cheerful, watching as the boys race up the walkway. “Remember your manners!”

The boys rush up to the door, ringing the doorbell, and Frankie chuckles when they shout "trick or treat!" at old man Jenkins. "How pissed off do you think he's gonna be by the end of the night?" He asks you as he turns his head, wishing he could see better in the damn helmet.

“He turns his light off in about thirty minutes.” You snort, glancing over at the helmet and it’s honestly disappointing not to look into those wonderful brown eyes he has. As soon as they get their candy, they are thundering back down the steps of the front porch and racing back over to the two of you. You lift a hand and wave at the old man. “Happy Halloween!” You call out. “And May the Force be with you!”

The old man waves back, “have fun kids.” He mutters as he closes his door, “he better make a move if she’s wearing that outfit. Every man’s fantasy.” The boys are already dragging you to the next house and you giggle, “we are gonna have to ration the candy.” Frankie nods, “they will be bouncing off the walls till Christmas.” The boys rush off down the walk of the next house and Frankie adjusts the belt of his costume, “so, uh, how was work today?”

“Work was long.” You admit with a shrug. “I would have rather been home with the boys, doing Halloween things.” Since your ex left, it seems like you have less time to really spend with your son on the fun projects but you haven’t been getting any money from him and child support enforcement is slow. “I wanted to make spooky pizzas for dinner but we didn’t get time.” You glance over at him. “Any flights today?”

Frankie sighs under his helmet, knowing that you’ve been struggling since your ex left. He wants to help out as much as possible and you are too proud to take money so he helps by looking after your son when he can. Ale loves it and he is happy to help. “Yeah. A few. One couple - either they are goths or really like Halloween - came dressed in all black and the guy proposed. It was romantic in its own way.” He chuckles, “they were happy and it kinda made me miss having a partner.” He confesses, “not that I miss Maria. She can go, well, you know, but I miss having someone there for the small things.”

“Yeah.” You snort. “I don’t miss He Who Shall Not Be Named, but I miss not being a single parent. I never thought he would quit being a father too.”

“He’s a - a barstool.” Frankie edits his curse when the kids rush back towards you both. “Yeah. A real barstool.” You scoff and you continue down the sidewalk to the next house. “Momma, look! I got Kit Kat!” Your son cheers as he holds up his treat and you smile, “that’s awesome, baby.” Frankie watches you with a smile concealed by the helmet. You’re such a good mother and you work hard for what you have. “I haven’t heard from Maria in so long. She just left town and - well, both of us deserved better.”

“I could never imagine just leaving Alejandro.” You murmur. You wouldn’t imagine leaving Frankie either, but that’s different. He is innocent and her child. You look at your son and could never leave him, no matter what. “Next house?” You ask the boys, who cheer happily, eager to get more candy.

Frankie walks alongside you as the boys chatter about their candy and he wishes again that this was his family. That he was with you and the boys were brothers. It’s impossible to make it a reality. He doesn’t want to ruin this great friendship he has with you. You’ve shared many nights together while the boys played. Watching movies as a group, having dinner, going bowling. It’s easy to imagine this being real. It’s too easy to love you and that terrifies him. He doesn’t want to get hurt again.

You enjoy listening to Frankie as he talks about his work and life. It’s easy and comfortable with him, almost scary how seamlessly he fits into your day to day life. Honestly, you don’t know how you would have survived your ex leaving you without Frankie’s help and his shoulder to cry on. You didn’t want the asshole back, he was right, you deserved better. But your son deserved his father and you can only thank Frankie for being a positive male influence for him now.

Frankie chuckles when the boys come rushing down the path towards you, buckets nearly overflowing. “I think we got enough candy.” He smirks just as Tony and his daughter appear. He’s dressed as Woody from Toy Story while his little girl, Sally, is dressed like Barbie. He’s a single parent but he has shared custody with his ex wife. He gets Sally on weekends. “Hey neighbors. You all look amazing. I freaking love Star Wars.” Tony grins and the kids start to compare candy while Tony drags his eyes along your form, “Leia was like my sexual awakening as a teenager.” He confesses with a chuckle, his eyes finally meeting yours.

You chuckle and shrug. “Wasn’t she everyone’s?” You ask, although you had definitely had a thing for Harrison Ford, you just wanted to be Leia. You look at Laurie and grin. “She’s a cute Barbie.” You compliment, although you don’t comment on his costume. “You had much luck tonight?”

Tony nods, “she’s gonna be bouncing off the walls for the entire weekend but I guess I can give her some candy and I’ll get to watch the game tomorrow. You watch football, Morales?” Tony asks Frankie, who shakes his helmet, “not really my thing.” He confesses, and Tony snorts, “probably more a Call of Duty kind of guy.” Frankie shakes his head, “I don’t really like to play games. Especially ones that remind me of combat.” He says and Tony doesn’t recognize the tone of his voice as his attention turns back to you, “listen, I, uh, I don’t have Sally on Friday. She’s having dinner with the ex bitch’s new boyfriend and he only has that night off. He’s a doctor.” He shakes his hands sarcastically, “and I wondered if you wanted to get dinner. Maybe Morales can watch your kid.”

You have to give him points for having the audacity to ask you out and proposition Frankie to watch your kid all in the same sentence, but it’s for all the wrong reasons. And the way Tony talks about his ex is disgusting, especially within earshot of Sally. You might have talked about your ex with Frankie, but you and Tony don’t have that kind of friendship. “Sorry.” You wince and try to look like you are sorry. “I’ve already made plans for the weekend.”

Frankie clenches his jaw under his helmet, wanting to grab Tony and tell him to fuck off but he isn’t that kind of guy. Instead, he reaches out to wrap his arm around your waist, dragging you against him. “Yeah. She has plans.” He says coolly to the other man whose eyes widen in understanding. “Good for you, man. Finally made a move.” He compliments, revealing how flippant he is, and Sally rushes over, “daddy! All the good candy is gonna go!” She whines and Tony sighs, “okay, honey. Come on. See you round, lovebirds.” He chuckles and walks off with his daughter. Frankie drops his hand from your waist, clearing his throat. “Sorry. I just - I figured you weren’t interested in him.”

“Don’t be.” You snort, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. “I’d rather he believe I’m unavailable - forever.” You huff, wishing that you were off the market for that reason, but you don’t want to make Frankie think the only reason you’ve been helping him is so that you could get close to him. He has complained about some obvious moms at some do the school functions before. “Thank you, Francisco.”

Hearing you say his full name has his cock twitching but he pushes that aside, rubbing his gloved hands on his pants. “You ready to get the kids back? I have some snacks ready and we can watch a movie before they go to bed?” He suggests, having already agreed to watch the boys tonight so you can have some alone time.

“That would be good.” You agree, smiling at him through his helmet. “Something scary. I miss watching horror movies.” You admit. “I don’t like watching them all the time when I’m sleeping alone, but I’m going to do it tonight.” You laugh. “It’s Halloween after all.”

Frankie chuckles, “you’ll be fine. You pick the movie. I’ll handle our monsters.” He jokes as he calls out for the boys. “Time to head home. I’ll eat the unwanted candy.” He announces and Alejandro pouts, “papa. I want it all.” Frankie looks in his bag, “even the Almond Joy?” He raises his eyebrows even though no one can see. “Yeah.” Ale pouts and Frankie chuckles, “who the hell gives out Almond Joy on Halloween?” He scoffs as you make your way back to his house.

You giggle quietly. “I like Almond Joy.” You admit, grinning when he gives you a look of horror. “Not an almond fan or coconut fan?” You ask, remembering how much he had raved over your Italian crème cake you had made for spring. It definitely had coconut in it. You wonder if he had just been polite about it.

"I like the flavors but not almond joy. It's like the flax seed of candy. Doesn't taste naughty enough." He smirks but you can't see it. He reaches for his helmet, taking it off when you walk up his driveway and he punches the code in the pad to open the garage door.

You hum as the boys both race towards the interior garage door to go into the house. Gasping when the door opens before they get to it, and your entire body jolts in shock when you see Frankie’s ex standing in the doorway, smiling widely at Alejandro. “Baby boy!” She cries, crouching down and opening her arms wide for a hug.

Frankie freezes, almost dropping the helmet in his hand as he stares at Maria kneeling in the doorway, hugging the son she left behind. He swallows harshly, glancing at you, and he straightens his back. "Maria. What - what are you doing here?" He asks and she kisses Alejandro's hair while your son comes to your side. "I'm here to see my baby boy." She coos as she cuddles her son. "I, uh, I didn't know - you didn't call. You've been gone for eighteen months." He says with a bite to his tone.

“Well I’m back now.” She replies breezily, as if she had just been late getting home from the store. Your stomach twists, knowing how broken up Frankie had been when she left and now she’s back. You call your son over to your side. “Come on, buddy.” You murmur quietly, knowing the plans have changed. “We need to get home.”

Frankie turns to look at you, "can you take Ale? I need to talk to her." He asks and you nod, "of course." Alejandro steps back from his mom. She left him and he asked where she was every damn day for a month so now, Frankie is pissed at her. "Wait. I want to see my son." Maria pouts and Frankie shakes his head, "we need to talk." He tells Alejandro to go eat some candy at your house and he is eager to go, rushing off with you and your son to inspect their loot. Frankie closes the garage door and ushers a pouting Maria into the house. "What are you doing here?" He asks, setting the helmet down on the counter.

“I live here.” Maria tells Frankie, who scoffs and shakes his head. “You haven’t lived here for eighteen fucking months.” He reminds her. Sighing, she sends him a puppy dog look that used to melt any resistance he had towards her. “I missed you,” she pouts softly, stepping closer and running her hand down the armor plate on his chest. “This is shiny.” She coos, hoping to seduce him and put him in a better mood. Frankie is always pliable after cumming.

Frankie takes her hand and pushes it away, she can’t melt him with that face any more. “You left. Without a word. Ale asked about you for a fucking month and I didn’t even have an answer for him. I heard you were seen with his pediatrician. I took him for his check up and the man had the fucking audacity to smirk when he fake asked me where you were. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. It’s over, Maria. I don’t wanna hear your excuses. I don’t want to listen to you beg and plead to come back. We are doing fine without you. I packed up your things. They are in the guest room. Get your shit and get out of my house. I’ll see you in court for custody.” He says with as much calm as he can muster but his eyes are piercing.

Maria frowns and bites her lip. “But that was a mistake, baby.” She whines softly. “I- I was being foolish. I didn’t realize what I had.” The plain truth was that he had dumped her. Told her that he was bored and it was time to move on. The trade up that she had been expecting lasted a short time and then she had been sent packing. “I realize that now and we can be a family again.”

Frankie scoffs, “you cheated on me, left me and our son without even a note, and you expect me to take you back? I’ve fought in the most dangerous places on the planet and I’d sooner be dropped back there than get back together with you. We are done. Go back to wherever you crawled out from. My lawyer will be serving divorce papers and I want majority if not full custody of our son.” He says with a clenched jaw, ready for her to be out of his house. All that time he thought he had driven her away but she is the reason she left, not him. She was greedy and wanted more. “Leave now before I call the police.”

This time, Maria’s face twists into an angry scowl. “You can’t do this, Francisco.” She sneers. “This is my house too. And there’s no way a court would give you custody with your record.” She taunts, smirking viciously. “Drug charges aren’t good for custody battles.”

“You left. You left without a word and I’m clean. I go to meetings. I go to therapy. Damn sure had to do more of it after you left. I’ve been here for our son. I provide for our son. I own this house. You moved in with me, remember? Leave now. You can’t intimidate me.” He promises, crossing his arms.

Gritting her teeth, Maria fumes that he’s not falling at her feet, happy that she’s giving him another chance. “This isn’t the end of this, Francisco.” She hisses, pushing past him to the door. “You’re gonna regret this.”

Frankie watches her go, exhaling in relief when the door shuts. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want his wife back but he hates that she hurt him so much. He’s been in battles, taken bullets, taken lives, and nothing affected him more than being left by his wife. He knows he fucked up when he got into coke. A mistake he made when Alejandro got really sick. He was in hospital with an infection and they weren’t sure if he was gonna make it. Frankie went off the deep end but he crawled his way back to be the husband and father he should’ve been. Maria repaid him by leaving and cheating on him. He gathers his thoughts and decides to make his way over to your place. He needs a drink and someone to talk to.

You’ve been trying not to think about what is happening next door since you shuffled the kids into your house. You’ve had them dump their buckets and helped them go through the candy, throwing out any that had been opened and explaining why it was necessary. Hating how your stomach is churning and you want to look over there, but you don’t. Finally allowing them to pick out three pieces of candy to eat before bed, you laugh when both boys choose the full sized candy bars they had gotten from Frankie’s candy bowl. “Alright, but you will only have that one.” You warn. 

Frankie comes over, knocking on your door despite him having the code. He doesn’t want to intrude after he has spent ten minutes calming down. You answer the door and he inhales deeply, his dark eyes soft as he looks at you with worry on your face. “She’s gone.” He murmurs, “I sent her away.”

“That was a surprise.” It’s an understatement but you don’t want to insult her if he’s going to get back together with her. “Alejandro keeps asking about her.” You glance back at the boys as they sit at the table. “She coming back tomorrow?”

Frankie shakes his head, "I told her to get her shit from the garage and leave. I am not getting back together with her. She cheated on me in my darkest moment. She was supposed to stand by my side. I cannot - we are done. I don't love her and I will fight to keep Ale from her. You can't pick and choose when you can be a parent." He curls his upper lip in disgust and looks over at the boys, "am I doing the right thing? Sending her away from him?"

“You are.” You assure him, feeling guilty for it, but you are relieved. You don’t want him to get back together with a woman who is so selfish to leave her son. “Think about how upset Ale will be when she disappears again.”

Frankie nods, "I - I can't let her hurt him again. When she left the first time, he was so upset." He murmurs as the boys look over at him and Alejandro rushes over to him. "Papa! Where's mama?" He asks and Frankie swallows, kneeling down to talk to his son. "Mama had to leave. She - she lives in another house. She will talk to you soon." He vaguely promises and sighs when Ale pouts in disappointment but it's better this way. "She left again?" He asks and Frankie nods, "yeah. It's okay though. Show me what candy you got." He distracts the little boy who grins and grabs his hand to drag him over to the table to show him his loot.

You watch the two of them, your heart aching for the little boy, although you know he will be better for this. His mother drifting in and out of his life would do him no good. “They really raked in the candy.” You walk over and ruffle your son’s hair affectionately.

Frankie chuckles, “we will have to ration them. Are you okay having them tonight? We can put them to bed and watch that scary movie but I doubt anything is gonna be as scary as Maria showing up.” He chuckles sarcastically as he watches the boys.

“No, you deserve to get drunk.” You snort, it’s a change from him having the kids, but that’s okay. “Maybe go out and have some fun.”

He shakes his head, “nah. I’d rather be here watching a movie with you unless you wanna be alone?” He asks, tilting his head towards you in case you want to be on your own.

“No.” You shake your head. “I’d rather watch a movie with you than be alone.” You bite your lip, watching him sigh softly and look back towards Alejandro again. “It will be okay.” You promise, putting your hand on his costumed arm.

He sighs and glances down at his outfit, “good thing there’s sweats under the armor.” he chuckles and ruffles his son’s hair, “come on mijo. Time for bed.” He orders and Alejandro pouts, “but I want to have another piece of candy.” Frankie shakes his head, “you can have some candy tomorrow. Come on, we can put an episode of Mandalorian on for you.”

You also usher your son to bed through the protests, although they are fewer now that he knows Alejandro will be spending the night. You keep a toothbrush for the other boy and soon their teeth are brushed and you’ve promised they can sleep in the core of their costumes, without any of the ties and toys.

The boys snuggle into the sheets as you kneel on the bed to put on an episode of The Mandalorian. “One episode. The TV is on a timer and I have the remote so sleep as soon as it’s over, okay?” You say and they nod, “yes mommy.” Your son says and Frankie comes in to say goodnight to his son after he’s gotten comfortable taking his shoes and costume off.

You kind of hate that he has taken off the costume, it was hot. You step back and wonder if you should change out of the Leia outfit, since he was dressing down. But before you can decide, you hear the doorbell and a chorus of “trick or treat!” Coming from the front porch. “Oh, I’ll get them.” You had forgotten to turn off the light and the candy bowl was empty.

Frankie watches you head to the front door, older kids standing there with buckets and you hold your finger up. “Hold on, kids. I have another bag.” You promise and rush into the kitchen. Frankie makes his way to the front door to see the kids, “you’ve got some cool costumes.” He smiles, looking at the excited teenagers. He remembers those days. So eager to grow up and now, he’d give anything to regain that kind of innocence.

“Thanks.” Happy to just not be hassled for being “too old to trick or treat”, the kids stand patiently while you rush over with a bag of candy and start handing it out. “Happy Halloween!” They thunder back down the stairs and out into the dark night, laughing and chattering happily about their candy haul.

Frankie chuckles, "I miss those days sometimes until I remember how awkward I was and I couldn't even talk to a girl." He admits after you close the door.

“You?” You scoff, sending him a dubious look. “I doubt that. I’ve seen pictures of you from boot camp, you were so cute. There’s no way you didn’t have a girlfriend or several in high school.”

Frankie blushes a little at your compliment, “I was super awkward. I could barely say hi to a woman. It wasn’t until boot camp that I lost my virginity to this girl who worked at the local bar and I was kinda a late bloomer.” He admits and watches you for a moment. “You got any popcorn, sweetheart? I can get the movie set up.”

You know that he’s a little uncomfortable, but you nod, giving him a minute. “Sure. Kettle corn alright?” You know it is, it’s his favorite. He nods and you go into the kitchen to get the popcorn started, putting together a little tray of food to go along with the snack. Knowing Frankie, he hasn’t eaten dinner and he should.

He turns on the TV and finds the app to open for the scary movie and he calls out “what do you wanna watch?” just as the doorbell rings and Frankie frowns, knowing it’s too late for trick or treaters now.

“Who the hell could that be?” You had turned off the light and frown as you come out of the kitchen. Frankie stands up but you wave him off. “I’ll get it.” You promise, opening the door and your eyes widen in shock at the sight of your ex boyfriend standing in the doorway.

Frankie frowns when he hears your gasp and he stands up, “what’s going on? Who is that?” He asks with concern lacing his voice. He walks over to the door and his frown deepens when he sees your ex standing there.

“What are you doing here?” You demand and he holds up his key ring. “Why the fuck doesn’t my key work?” He answers, making you scoff. “I changed the locks when you decided you were leaving.” You tell him. “You don’t get to just walk back into my house whenever you want.”

Frankie clenches his jaw, pissed that your asshole ex is back on the scene. Tonight really is a demonic event. He steps back, heart aching because he knows you might want to get back together with him. You’d mentioned how lonely you are and how you miss having a partner.

His eyes shift to Frankie behind you. Narrowing slightly in recognition. “What the fuck is he doing here?” Your ex puffs up, like he’s trying to be intimidating, but he just manages to look like a fool. “Frankie is here because I want him to be.” You snap. “Unlike you. So I’ll ask again, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Frankie doesn’t like his tone and he hovers. “I am here to see my son. I want to come home.” Your ex demands, “this is my house. I want to come back.” He says with his jaw clenched, “and you should let me come home now. It’s been long enough.”

“Not a fucking chance.” You roll your eyes and shake your head. “It’s too late to wake him up and you haven’t seen him in a year and a half. A YEAR AND A HALF!” You hiss angrily. “You aren’t coming back home. Your home is with whatever slut you were sleeping with.”

Frankie puffs his chest, angry for you, and he shakes his head at the audacity. “You can’t keep him from me.” Your ex growls and you shake your head, “you left. You left him. And me. For some slut that works at the shop.” Your ex scoffs, “she was good for sucking cock, that’s all.”

“And yet you threw away our relationship and didn’t see your son this entire time.” He must have gotten dumped. “He’s asleep and I’m watching a movie, so you need to leave.”

Your ex exhales through his nose, “this ain’t over. I’ll be back. He’s my son. You are mine. I won’t just give that up.” He growls and spins on his heel, stalking down the path to his truck.

“When you come back, why don’t you bring me a check for the last year and a half of child support!” You call after him, slamming the door and throwing the lock for good measure, unable to believe the audacity of that asshole. “Fucking prick!” You hiss to yourself.

Frankie clenches his jaw and flexes his fingers, tempted to head outside to find that prick. “I’m so sorry. I guess tonight if truly the fucking night of demonic appearances.” He scoffs and reaches for your hand, “do you wanna talk about?”

“We need a fucking drink.” You decide, turning back towards the kitchen to change the hot chocolate you were going to make for something stronger. “You think they planned this shit together?” You ask him, yanking a bottle of wine out of the fridge.

Frankie sighs, following you, “I don’t know. I think - I think they both had a feeling that we were finally happy without them and they decided to show up and fuck with us.” He snorts, walking over to you as you pour out the wine. “You sure you’re okay? I know he hurt you.”

“I’m mad for Alex.” It had always amused you that the boys had such similar names, especially since you and Frankie were the ones to pick them out. They always claimed there were twins and a few times, you wished that was true. So you could be with Frankie. “He just decides when he gets to be a father? He was a shit boyfriend, but I thought he loved his son.”

Frankie can’t help it. He reaches for you to pull you into his arms. “Come here, sweetheart. He’s an asshole. Don’t let him get under your skin. You have custody of Alex and there’s nothing he can do about it. Except pay his fucking child support.”

You lean into his hug, wrapping your arms around his waist and sighing. Breathing in the warm and safe scent of your neighbor. Hating how it instantly relaxes you and turns you on at the same time. “I fucking hate it.” You huff. “You don’t even know how many times I’ve wished you were Alex’s dad.”

Frankie kisses your hair, “me too. I wish - so many times I’ve imagined us as a family. You’re such a good mother. Exactly what Ale deserves and he loves you so much. I- I love you so much.” He reveals against your hair, closing his eyes as he prepares for your rejection.

“Oh Francisco….” You murmur softly, hugging him tighter before you pull away to look him in the eyes. “I love you too.” You confess, smiling at the way his eyes widen slightly in surprise. “I have been crushing on you since you moved in, but I really started falling for you once we were single parents together, helping each other out.”

Your loving gaze makes his heart pound in his chest and he knows this is real. You’ve both turned down your exes tonight and he can’t help himself. He cups your cheek and surges forward to press his lips to yours. Every emotion he’s felt for you comes out in full force as he pours himself into the kiss.

It’s passionate, hot, and even sweet all mingled together. You moan in relief, feeling the emotion course through you as you wind your arms around his neck and pull him closer. Waiting for this moment for so long has made you ravenous for him.

He groans into your mouth as you cling to him, making him realize that this is real. He’s kissing you. You love him. His fantasy is coming true and that makes him growl into your mouth, tongue sliding between your lips while his hands slide down to squeeze your ass.

You shiver, always suspecting that Frankie is a very physical man and it’s thrilling to find out how right you are. He might claim to have been shy as a boy, but the man he is now has no problem touching you. Your hands slide down his back and you roll your hips against a hardness that is rapidly growing and making you drip in anticipation.

Frankie groans into your mouth as he walks you backwards towards your sofa. Netflix is still on the TV and he sits down, dragging you into his lap. When you straddle him and press down onto his bulge, he groans your name and grabs your ass again. “Fucking love this costume.” He admits, “was gonna jerk off thinking about you wearing it.”

You giggle, pressing your lips to his jaw and scraping your teeth over his skin. He’s got a lovely little five o’clock shadow of hair and you know it will feel so good against your skin. “Me too.” You hum. “Disappointed you took your costume off. Mando could have fucked Leia.”

“Shit. I could go back to the house but I don’t think I can. I - I want you, baby. If you wanna eat popcorn and watch a movie and make out I’m happy for that but if you want, I wanna spread you out and lick at your pussy like I’ve dreamed of doing so many goddamn times before I make you cum on my cock.”

You groan, nodding breathlessly. “Take me to bed, Francisco.” You order, leaning in and kissing him hard on the mouth before pulling away. “I’ve been tested, had to after finding out he was cheating. I’m clean.”

Frankie groans when you shuffle off his lap. "I'm clean too. Got tested after she left and I haven't -" He cuts himself off as he stands and he watches you, growling as the need overwhelms him again and he bends over, wrapping his arms around your thighs to lift you over his shoulder.

Squealing in surprise turns to laughter, echoing down the hall and you can only hope you don’t wake the boys. “Caveman!” You giggle, smacking his ass as he strides down the hallway to your bedroom. He knows which one is yours, he’s been in it to fix the sink in your bathroom. “Fuck that’s so hot.” You moan, cunt clenching around nothing. “Dragging me off to fuck me.”

Frankie pushes your bedroom door open with his foot and throws you onto your bed after he kicks the door shut. He watches you bounce on your bed and he reaches for your ankle, "so fucking beautiful." He murmurs, sliding his hand along your calf.

There’s an appeal to his roughness. You don’t mind a little bit of manhandling at all, especially when it’s tempered with praise. “Goddamn you are sexy.” You groan, licking your lips as your eyes slide down to where his sweats are tented by his hard cock. “I swear to God I wouldn’t have survived you in a fucking uniform.”

He chuckles, “I still have my uniforms.” He smirks, “maybe we can have another costume night.” He teases and slides his hand higher until he’s pressing his fingers against your covered cunt. “Fuck. Can feel how wet you are.” He murmurs, his eyes focused on where his fingers are until they flick up to look at you. His hand slides up to squeeze your breast through your costume and he groans your name.

“Frankie, fuuuuuuuck.” You whine, pressing your hips down and wishing that there was nothing between the two of you. “I need you baby.” You beg softly. “Been turned on since I saw you in your costume and it’s only gotten worse. My clit is throbbing.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll suck on it.” He smirks as he reaches for the waistband, dragging the leggings you wore underneath the dress down to expose your panties beneath. “Take the top off.” He orders as he tosses the white bottoms over his shoulder.

You moan, sitting up and dragging your costume over your head and unclipping your bra after reaching behind you. “Fuck, I need you baby.”

He nods, “you’ve got me.” He promises as he leans back to admire your body. “Shit. You’re better than I imagined.” He confesses and groans as he shifts to kneel between your legs. “Fuck, you smell so good.” He murmurs as he kisses your stomach up to your breast. He slides his tongue along the underside of your tit until he takes your nipple into his mouth.

You moan, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of his mouth on you. “Frankie.” You gasp his name when he toys with your nipple with his teeth. “So good.”

He loves how you writhe under him and he’s barely gotten started. He groans against your skin, cock aching in his sweats but thankfully not as confined as jeans. He squeezes himself while his other hand trails along your thigh until he’s sliding his fingers through your folds.

“More.” You beg, already needing more from him and he’s barely touched you. “You don’t- you can just fuck me.” You bargain. You don’t want him to do it just because he feels like he has to. You’d rather you both enjoy sex, even if you probably won’t cum.

Frankie offers you a scoff and a shake of his head. “You have any idea how many goddamn times I’ve imagined you spread out like this? I’m gonna enjoy it.” He promises as he kisses down your stomach, “I want to taste you. Make you cum on my tongue. And my fingers. And my cock.” He murmurs between kisses until he’s between your thighs. He pushes them further apart to see your cunt properly. “Fuck. So pretty.” He murmurs before he leans in to slide his tongue through your folds.”

The way you keen should be a crime. He pulls it out of you with the flick of his tongue and the skill of his mouth. This is a man who enjoys eating pussy, not just viewing it as a chore. You moan his name, reaching down and twisting your fingers in the bedspread as he takes you apart lick by lick.

He loves how you taste. Tangy and sweet like a candy and he sucks your clit between his lips. His dark eyes watch you as he makes you moan, his hands sliding up so he can palm your tits, squeezing them until he pinches your nipples.

You bite your lip when you look down at him, his dark eyes focused on you like you are the only thing in the world. You love it, moaning his name again, you reach down and tangle your fingers in his hair.

Frankie groans, loving the way you tug on his hair as he laps at your clit. He desperately wants you to fall apart for him. He needs to taste your cum before he slides into you. “You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs before he sucks on your clit, his hand finding yours to squeeze it.

He is the beautiful one. Gorgeous between your thighs and looking up at you. You moan his name again and roll your hips down to meet his mouth. “Fuck, Frankie!”

He grabs your thighs, lifting them onto his shoulders so he feels smothered by you. He wants to drink you down, make you scream his name. He groans into your flesh when you tug on his hair again when he pushes his tongue into your pussy.

He grabs your thighs, lifting them onto his shoulders so he feels smothered by you. He wants to drink you down, make you scream his name. He groans into your flesh when you tug on his hair again when he pushes his tongue into your pussy.

You whine, feeling your entire body lurching and bucking in pleasure as he pushes his tongue deep. “Frankie!” You squeal, eyes closed tight and you feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven.

Your squeal makes his cock twitch, pre-cum soaking his sweats as he slides his tongue through your folds, pushing it deep again until he decides to flick the tip of his tongue over your clit. Eyes closed as he enjoys this moment that he’s imagined so many damn times.

He’s relentless, pushing his tongue deeper and curling it up. He wants you to fall apart, that is obvious from the determined set of his jaw. “Oh god, oh fuck, I’ve never - ever had someone be this eager.” You pant, unable to breathe he is flicking his tongue so deep inside you.

He pulls back to a second to look up at you, “then you’ve been sleeping with fucking idiots.” He growls before he dives back in, wanting to watch you fall apart for him before he slides inside you. His hands squeeze your flesh, his tongue pushing deep until his nose presses against your clit.

It’s hard to imagine sleeping with anyone better. Gasping when his prominent nose nudges you. His tongue quickly works you back up towards the edge and with one more flick of his tongue, you are sent spiraling, crying out loudly as you fall apart.

He holds you down as you spasm beneath his tongue. He’s aching, pressing into the mattress as he laps up every drop of your pleasure. He loves it. He loves you. “That’s it, baby.” He says between laps of his tongue until you’re pushing him away.

Your chest is heaving, breath heavy as your thighs shake and your cunt quivers in pleasure. “Oh fuck.” You moan. “Oh fuck, you’re so good. You’re so good, baby.” You praise, reaching down and needing to kiss him.

He shuffles up your body to press his lips to yours, his cock pressing against your thigh through his sweats and he’s so hungry for you. His tongue slides into your mouth, loving how you moan and taste yourself on his tongue while his hand cups your breast.

You want him. Reaching down, you hook your fingers under the waistband of his sweats and try to push them down, eager to touch him, to have him inside you. Gone is any worry about messing this up, you just need him.

When your fingers wrap around his cock, he groans and presses his forehead to your chin, watching your fingers squeeze him and he pants, “hold on, babe. Let me - let me take them off.” He pleads and you release him, letting him shift off the bed to kick off his sweats while he pulls his shirt over his head.

“Fuck, you are so gorgeous.” You moan, pressing your thighs together before spreading them wide in invitation. You want him to hurry up and fuck you. Needing that thick cock inside you. “That cock- fuck Francisco.” You whine. “I need it inside me.”

Frankie groans, wrapping his fingers around his cock as he kneels on the bed and shuffles closer. “You need it? Tell me how much you need it.” He demands, his free hand sliding through your slicked up folds.

“So bad, it hurts.” You promise him. “My pussy hurts, it’s so empty.” You probably aren’t making any sense, but you ache for him. Needing him to fill you up. “Fuck me, baby, I need you to fuck me.”

He chuckles at your whiny tone, loving it after imagining so many times how good you’d feel around him. He shifts closer, his slick fingers squeezing your thigh as he slides the head of his cock through your folds. Your whine is louder until it transforms into a moan as he starts to push into you, slowly stretching you out.

“Ohhhhhh godddddddd.” Your head tilts back and your eyes close as he fills you. Managing to scrub against every nerve inside your sensitive pussy and sink impossible deep. “So good.” You gasp, hands on his shoulders and fingernails digging into his skin slightly.

He shifts closer, resting his weight on his elbows, and he leans in to kiss along your neck. "So goddamn good around me. Always imagined you would be. So fucking perfect." He murmurs between kisses as he shifts his weight so he can caress your thigh.

He’s so fucking big inside you. Your walls are pulsing around him and every time he twitches, it feels like he’s poking against your cervix. “Fuck, move baby.” You beg, wanting him to wreck you. “Show me how you’ve imagined me.”

He nods, biting down on your chin as he squeezes your thigh, lifting it up higher, and he rocks into you. He’s slow and methodical. Loving the way you whimper when he pushes deep. “I love you.” He murmurs into your skin as he kisses your jaw.

Your fingers caress his shoulders and you sigh softly. “I love you too.” You breathe out quietly, feeling your heart swell happily. Your legs slide up high on his hips and then hook behind his ass. “So much.”

Frankie loves how you push on his ass to make him sink even deeper inside you. He groans, rocking into you a little faster, and he presses his lips to yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth.

It’s not as fast or as hard as you have imagined before, but it’s perfect. You feel everything and the emotions have you nearly tearing up as he kisses you like it’s the last thing he will do. Pulling him closer and kissing him back just as eagerly.

He loves how you feel around him, beneath him, and he rocks into you like he has all the time in the world. Slow and deep. "Feel good?" He asks against your jaw, voice raspy from emotion.

“Sooooo good.” He has no idea what he does to you, what he is doing to you. “You’re perfect, Frankie.” You turn your head and kiss up his jaw and then back down again, nipping his skin slightly.

"You're perfect." He murmurs, closing his eyes as you nip at his skin. His pace increases, his hand sliding under you to get you even closer to him.

You moan, feeling so connected to him right now. It’s like the two of you are one whole together. “You -You’re perfect.” You pant, gasping for breath as he steals it from you.

Frankie doesn’t respond, he wants to show you how perfect he thinks you are. You’ve been his rock since his ex left and he knows you’ll be there no matter what happens next. He rocks into you a little faster, adjusting the angle with each thrust as he tries to find the spot that makes you cry out. When he finds it, he groans at the way you clench around him, and he focuses on it. He wants you to fall apart for him.

He has to be the perfect lover. You cling to him, moaning and whining every time he pushes against that perfect spot deep inside you. He seems to love hearing your sounds so you don’t hold back. “Fuck, fuck baby, I love you.”

“Cum for me, sweetheart. Wanna feel it. Squeeze me. Fuck - wanna feel you cum for me.” He demands, focusing on that spot with a determination that matches when he’s flying.

It doesn’t take long to do exactly as he says. The insistent push of his hips and the strategic angle that he’s shredding up into you sends you over the edge with a sharp howl of his name as your vision goes white and stars bursts behind your eyes.

Frankie watches you as you fall apart beneath him and shit, it's gorgeous. Your eyes roll back and your body shakes beneath him as you enjoy the pleasure that rushes through your body. "So fucking beautiful." He murmurs and slows his pace, helping you ride through it while he kisses along your jaw.

You moan his name, almost upset that he’s slowed down. “Baby, I want to feel you cum.” You whimper, turning and pressing your lips to his and enjoying the way he groans into your mouth. “Want you to fill me up.”

“Not yet.” He groans, pulling out of you and you whine. He slaps your thigh, “hands and knees. Wanna make you cum again.” He demands, “wanna feel it one more time before I fill you up.” He squeezes his cock, slick with your juices.

“Oh god.” You huff, rolling over to your stomach and coming up on your hands and knees. You hadn’t expected multiple positions the first time around, but he’s full of surprises. “Fuck me baby.” You beg, looking back over your shoulder at him as you shake your ass enticingly.

He can’t resist smacking your ass with his free hand, squeezing the flesh as he shuffles closer to you. He groans your name as he slides his cock through your dripping folds. “Gonna make you cum again.” He promises as he pushes into you.

You groan in pleasure, your already fluttering cunt greedy for another orgasm. You can’t even remember the last time you’ve cum from anything except your toy and now you are being spoiled. “Gonna get me addicted.” You pant.

He chuckles, caressing your lower back, “that’s the point, babe.” He grabs your hips so he can start pulling out of you until he slams his hips against your ass, loving the way it jiggles and he can’t help pressing his thumb against your puckered hole.

You choke out his name, surprised by the action but you don’t pull away. You can’t, not when it feels so good. He’s downright filthy and you love it

He rocks into you, his other hand sliding down to rub your clit as he bends over you. He wants you to cum again for him and he wants to fill you up.

His chest is pressing into your back, pushing you down and you love how he feels. Surrounding you, overwhelming you. He’s completely in control and his fingers are pushing you towards another orgasm.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck. Pussy feels so good around me. Knew it would. Jesus, you’re so perfect. Wanted you for so long. Jerked off so many times imagining you.” He murmurs, groaning your name when your walls flutter around him. “That’s it. Cum for me. Wanna feel it again.”

You collapse down onto the bed, pressing your cheek to the cool sheets as he hammers into you. Squealing and moaning every time his hips slap sharply into your ass. He pinched your clit and you lurch forward, crying out in pleasure again.

“Fuck. That’s it. That’s it.” He grunts, rubbing your clit for a few more seconds before he slides his hand from beneath you. He grabs your ass, squeezing the flesh as he pushes into you over and over again. “Fuck. I’m gonna - I’m gonna. Gonna cum.” He warns you through gritted teeth as he closes his eyes when he can’t hold on any longer.

You feel his hips stutter, slamming into you one last time and grinding deep, the heat of his cum flooding your pussy walls and filling you up. It’s the best thing you’ve ever felt and you moan his name while he rides out his high, clenching down around him again.

Frankie leans over you, pressing his forehead against your back and he presses a soft kiss to your skin as he tries to catch his breath. His cock twitches inside you and he can't believe that just happened.

You melt into the bed, bringing him with you as he collapses on top of you. “Could sleep just like this.” You groan happily, closing your eyes and sighing softly.

He chuckles, kissing your shoulder, and he pulls out of you. He groans as he watches his cum well up between your folds. “So fucking pretty.” He murmurs, “everywhere.” He sighs as he flops to lay down beside you.

“You are pretty.” You hum, eyes still closed but there is a smile on your face. “We should have done that months ago. Maybe even a year.” You crack one eye open to look over at him in his gloriously disheveled state. “Fuck, you look even better post sex.”

He looks at you and chuckles, rubbing his chest that’s slick with sweat. “You do too. Yeah, we definitely should’ve done that earlier. But we have tons of time to make up for it.” He smirks, knowing the boys will be having lots of sleepovers now.

“Yeah?” You lean over and press your lips to his shoulder before rolling over to curl into him. “Plan on spending a lot of time in bed, Morales?” You tease.

He wraps his arm around you and he kisses your forehead. “Hell yeah. We got a lot of time to make up for.” He chuckles and enjoys the way you caress his chest. “And I want to go on a proper date. Like get Kelly down the street to babysit and we can dress up to go for dinner.”

“Fancy.” You tease, although it’s a very sweet sentiment. “I would go on a date with you. Of course.” Frankie dressed up would be so sexy and you haven’t been out in so long.

Frankie smiles, “good. I want to spoil you. You deserve so much better than that asshole.” He scoffs, “you deserve the damn world and I’m gonna give it to you.” He promises, turning his head to nudge your nose with his.

“Yeah?” You nudge him back and grin. “Why don’t we start with getting some of that leftover Halloween candy to share and we can go from there.”

“Fuck yes.” Frankie grins, “I’ll get the candy. You want a beer?” He asks and you nod. He shuffles off the bed and grabs his sweats, pulling them on before he disappears to your kitchen to grab some snacks. He pauses by the boys, slowly opening the door to see them both asleep and he shuts it softly. He can’t help but smile, his cheeks aching from how happy he is. He finally feels like things are happening for a reason. He has you, you love him, you have the boys and they are like brothers already. Despite your exes showing up like a goddamn demonic summoning, you and Frankie are together and that is definitely not a trick. It’s the best treat he’s ever gotten.

[pursuitseternal]

Hello my partner-in-crime!

Could I pretty please have Sauron x Reader with prompt number 7: "Can you feel how much I want you?"

Love you! ❤️😘

“𝕿𝖔 𝕭𝖊 𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖆𝖉𝖊…”

First Age Sauron x f!Reader | Dead Dove | 3.7K

Summary: There is no hope in Angband, in the dungeons of the Dark Vala…. But there is the Servant. Sauron.

A master craftsman and artist, forever seeking perfection, obsessed with creating his own beauty, and yet a victim of torment by his master that twists his sense of creativity to something vile and precious only to him.

CW: Dead dove: Do Not Eat, graphic violence, torture porn, bondage, temperature play, forge sex, corruption, marking branding biting, mind breaking, mind control, body worship, First Age Sauron, if evil why (literally) hot

Ao3 link | Tolkien Masterlist

You can see your breath, hear your heart beating slower and slower with each passing hour. Languishing. A slow death. A painful death. A merciless one that meant to break you without hope.

There is no hope in Angband.

Even the floors here are ice. Not even prison rats scurry around your cell. Your pointed ears have long grown deaf to the noises of the dungeon, numb from the icy chill of this evil frozen North. The chains on your neck and wrists have long since frozen to your skin. Death will be a relief, you sigh, when once again you’ll see the shores of Valinor and find comfort in the Halls of Mandos.

That thought makes your heart warm just enough to last a few more beats. But then you hear them—footsteps—lighter than Orc, more graceful than Balrog… and your body stiffens as you hear that sound on the icy air.

Humming. Music. Means one thing. Ainur.

Please not the Dark Lord, you beg to divine forces too far away to hear you. Your pleas have fallen on deaf ears. But you hope not this time.

“Do not fear,” that voice croons from the shadows. His presence seems to instantly thaw your extremities, warmth seeping in where there had only been cold for so, so long. You see eyes and movement in the darkness, but from his stature and bearing, you know it’s not the Lord of Angband…

It is the Servant.

His gaze is sharp, eyes darting over your crumpled mess of a body nearly frozen to the floor. His hair is bright; reds like blood and oranges like flames hang in long waves down his back and shoulders. His voice seems to tickle right in your ear, even at this distance, even as he stalks closer towards the bars of your cell. “Do not fear, I’m here to free you.”

“Wh-what?” You croak, the truth of those words do not deceive you, no matter how much you long for them to be true.

Those lips twitch as with a wave of his hand, the iron door swings open, the groaning hinges echoing against stone. “Well,” he suddenly sounds sharp, exacting, “free you from your cell, Elf. You are by no means free, not in body or in will, nor will you ever be again.”

Reality smacks you, your chest constricting.

“The Dark Lord has no need of such a small, frail Elf like you,” he strides in, grasping your chin in fingers impossibly hot. His touch sears like the fires of the forge, the stink of brimstone and smoke fill your nose. “You’d make a weak, pathetic Orc.” Then he shoves you by your face back to the ground at his feet. Your manacled hands catch yourself just in time to keep your nose from smashing against stone.

“Fortunately, what is unfit to serve the Master is deemed worthy of his Servant,” that voice returns to such silken, lilting tones, and you look into his face. His bright brown eyes rake over you, assessing and evaluating your worth, as if you were a precious gem examined for the flaws in your cut.

Those eyes, the more you stare into them, the brighter they seem to shine, a mix of golden browns that bubble and simmer with flame. You see them, the ripples of his power that creep beneath this disguise of a mortal form. “Come,” he orders you, those frozen irons and chains melting from your skin to clatter on the floor around you. “There is much work to be done.”

His grip on your wrist tightens, and you realize with certainty that his skin is hot… flushed and searing you by touch alone. It would frighten you, if it wasn’t for the sense of reprieve it gives from the biting cold that has settled in your bones from your imprisonment. If anything, you draw your scantily clad body closer to his, seeking that thawing sensation…his black robes barely brush your flesh, The bared skin of your arms, even patches of your torso where your gown has shredded to rags with violence and time crave to be nearer.

It feels so… good. After so long in the cold alone, to feel another’s touch, it makes you melt. He guides you through the dark, and even though your jaw aches from that fleeting ferocity in your cell, you can’t help but wish for more warmth shared against your skin.

The memory should terrify you but… it doesn’t. Your mind only remembers how good those fingers felt, their warmth, their command…

And you crave more against your better judgment. You would call it hope, but there is no hope in Angband. No hope. Only craving. As if you know that the only thing that awaits you is fire and blissful burning.

Shadows deepen as you walk, those brown-orange eyes flicker at you beside him as you both ascend the darkened stairs. That scent of smoke and ashen stone that clings to his skin suffocates you. Your frail lungs burn with every inhale, and as you reach the ascent, you see why.

No ice prison, he’s brought you to a massive forge. Torches burn and flicker, but no light is brighter than the gaping maw of a furnace. Orange flame reflects in his eye as he scans you. Grip deathly tight on your wrist, he leads you with graceful movements… lithe and sinuous. Like a snake.

Like a predator stalking his prey.

The faintest of smiles turns his full lips, and he stops you beside a great metal anvil… wide and long and big enough for any great creation. You recall the tales of such things from those of your kind who had come from Valinor, from the workshops of Aulë himself, or of Fëanor and his descendants.

It is on this warm, dark metal that he effortlessly lifts you up to seat you. Its surface is roughened with divets and grooves, the scars of the Servant’s work spanning its face. That relaxing heat creeps through the skin of your ass and climbs your spine until you feel a smile stretch on your cracked lips.

His fingers wander their soothing touch over your collarbone, the slightest push guides you to lay back on the heated anvil. You stare into the ceiling, seeing only the gathering darkness offset by rippling steam and flickering light. His touch continues to dance on your chest, tracing the parts of you where starvation has prodded your bones towards the surface.

And that sharp face, that handsome face, smiles… so warmly. “The Dark Lord insists that we each are forged in the shadows, that what has once been bathed in the light is made anew in the dark. Morgoth’s way is to maim… to ruin and torture and kill the light of beings he drafts into his service…”

You see a flicker behind his eyes, a memory of his own past perhaps, you surmise. A recollection none too pleasant as it darkens his gaze and stiffens the corners of his smiling lips.

Then, he turns that smile down upon you, spread so perfectly on his anvil. “But such is not my way. I am no jailer or executioner. I am an artisan, a craftsman of greatest skill, and I shall make you anew, my treasure.”

His fingers trace your gaunt face, warming it, caressing the spots that have grown stiff and lined with fear. His voice is dulcet, sweet and singsong as he purrs down, and you want nothing more than to feel those full, smirking lips on your skin and taste the sweet promises that drip from his tongue. Before you even realize your need, before you can name your inner burning as desire, two words fall from your panting mouth. “My Lord…” you whisper.

And the Servant smiles. It’s radiant, a flash of brightness in his eye and a brilliance to his grin. But he tuts his tongue, chiding you for the youthful creation you are. “Tsk, none of that. I am no Dark Lord. I am called many things… Admirable, Abominable… Gorthaur… Sauron…”

His hands come to rest at the top of your throat, a slight pressure around your neck as his thumb traces your lower lip.

“But you, my treasure, you shall call me by one simple word…. Hîr.”

Master.

Your breath catches in your burning lungs, your tongue already noiselessly testing out the syllable as it dances at its tip.

His reddish brows arch, pleased at your submission as he can see every little twitch of your mouth.

“You are a rare beauty,” he whispers, “the undiluted blessing of the One shines in the skin of the Elves, their eyes still bright with the memory of the Two Trees…”

He peers into yours, almost wistful, as if he longs to catch a glimpse of that Starlight to capture for his own. Sauron lowers his mouth, hovering just out of reach of your own lips. The scent of his forge is so strong, you can taste it, you are lost in the wash of his singeing breath on your face. “Hîr,” you obediently rasp, arching off the anvil to catch his lips.

And he lets you, lips and tongue so overwhelmingly warm, there is no sensation in your body other than his mouth as he devours.

Wave after wave of his mouth on yours, you fail to sense the snaking of chains around your arms and legs until they have chinched themselves bitingly hard into your flesh. Then you panic, your heart thundering no longer from pure arousal, but that wild rhythm of racing fear. You tug at them, fight them, and with one last desperate plea, you beg for Manwë, Varda… Eru himself to hear you.

But there is no rescue, no whisper of a reply to your prayers.

There is only Sauron’s shimmering toothy smile in the dark as his eyes dance over your form… spread so perfectly for him to work with. “Do you know, my treasure, why I’ve loathed the beauty of the Elves? Eru chose to bless you, to gift your kind the wisdom and graces first given only to me, to my kind… and you squander them. You cannot fathom, cannot see the greater purpose such power could serve.”

He’s pacing between your body and his tools, spread so evenly and orderly beside him. A long iron brand in his grip, he sticks it in the opening of the furnace.

The hissing of metal heating makes you shiver. Makes your skin crawl.

Fingers pull away the rest of your rags, baring every bit of your taut skin to his flickering gaze. “You are beautiful, but it is shallow, it is false. And I, my treasure, will purify you. I’ll remake you in my image and likeness, a thing of incomparable radiance ....” You whine as his hands wrap their warmth around your breasts. “You now are a thing to be admired… as I once was,” he croons down at you, pulling your ass to the edge of the anvil, your chain impossibly tight around your arms, breaking you in their unyielding hold as your legs hang down precariously.

Those lips press searing kisses down your neck, over the places where your mortal heart is thundering. His eyes flash up at you, and in that moment, you swear you see the reflection of the furnace beside you. Or perhaps it is more… the power that lies barely concealed in this handsome, sensual form. Those full lips wrap around one nipple, then the other, an inferno drummed up at his call races through your veins.

It is agony, hot and wild, that courses in your flesh. Never would one of your kind be so… wanton. Lust feeds your form, every bit of your skin wants to be touched… and the more he caresses your breasts and trails his mouth lower over the hollow of your belly, the less you care if that contact is pleasure… or pain.

They are one under his command, your mind purrs to your reason. Every thought reduces to the mere sensation of his mouth, his hands that press now between your spread thighs. The moment his tongue touches you, parting your folds to taste you, an unholy sound tears from your lips. Flames pulse through your veins, every lick and swirl of his tongue draws ungodly ecstacy. You weep for the feeling, the overwhelming waves of pleasure he coaxes from your nearly-broken body as if he drew your very soul, your fëa, to the surface.

Words tumble from your lips, nonsensical and varied in language until it is one word over and over again. You rasp it, cry it, scream it as he brings you right to the edge of your climax… Hîr… Hîr… Master.

His laughter tickles your flesh and your mind all at once, the sensation of his presence in your skull and his tongue in your walls throws you into oblivion. Your climax slams into you, all fire and heat and tension as he withdraws from you in that moment of bliss. Your chain grows impossibly tighter as you convulse on the metal beneath you, and for a split second, you wonder where he has gone….

At first you think it’s the ice of your prison again that slices through the warm pool of pleasure in your belly. But then, you open your eyes… it is not ice but white hot fire on your skin as his brand marks your inner thigh. The hissing, the steam, the scent of charming flesh takes over your pleasure, stealing it from your body. And all the while, he smirks down from between your soaked thighs. Orange hair catches the glow of the brand as he lifts it, a satisfied glint in the flames of his own gaze.

Fear races down your nerves, every corner of your being screams at you to fight, to run and resist… the pain almost breaks through those tendrils of shadow that have woven into your senses. And now, as you inhale, you can smell it.

Death. Ashen and purifying. You see him, eyes ringed in flame and breath blackened like smoke… your heart could burst from your need to resist…

Until you feel his hands on your skin again, that warmth somehow driving the dread back into the recesses of your mind.

That teasing touch traces the prongs of his mark, three of them, ugly and deformed, a perversion of the pronged crown that rests on the Dark Lord, the Dark Vala’s head.

Your body shakes with the shock of pain, even as he presses his lips to kiss that angry flesh. “Ninya,” he whispers against it. Mine.

The pain intensifies as he removes his touch, the euphoria of your climax dulling to leave you with only the searing agony he’s caused in its wake. “Mine, and like me, you shall be remade from admirable to abominable… and I will always possess you.”

The sound of liquid swirls in glass, the soft tapping of a brush against its rim… he stands over you, eyes roaming your bared form and lingering on the places he deems most worthy… or is it unworthy?

“The light of the Valar still shines too brightly on your skin, so soft almost like pearls of the Sea… it too shall have to be remade,” he rasps. The black bottle in his hand coming closer, the wooden brush wiping the excess fluid before he brings it to your legs.

The bite of acid eats at your skin, burning you, tearing you inside out. That music in his voice invades your mind, warping the pain into a warm sort of pleasure. Every drip of acid on your flesh as he paints higher and higher… your thighs, your belly… it shifts into that hot coil of need roiling behind your navel.

He doesn’t slather you, he’s not destroying you… it’s painstaking and exact the way he draws into your skin, making it burn and hiss and bubble anew. Remaking. Whirls and swirls and swipes in the precise places his critical eye deems worthy.

It’s agony… blissful agony… Every scream from your throat breaks into a moan. The perversion of your pain into bliss brings a drugged sort of grin to your face. The grin of a fool.

He sets the brush back inside the bottle, his hand tracing the rises and valleys of your face, your sharpened cheekbones, the hollows of your cheeks. His fingers dance on your wincing face, warm and burning, a herald of the pain you know he’s about to inflict. Your heart will surely explode, and your death might just be the final offering you make… But then, he cups your cheek, fingers laced in the mess of your long and knotted hair.

“Don’t be afraid, my treasure. You are being oh so brave… oh so valiant as you are remade.” His kiss instantly numbs your pain and slows your heart, the torture of resistance in your mind instantly silenced. That coil of need flames anew as his hand wanders back over your mound, dipping that addictive touch into your slick.

You gasp, eyes rolled back, spine arching off the anvil’s metal. Then you look into his face, the abyss of fire and darkness behind his eyes sucks you inside, lost to anything but the sensations of his fingers that tease you and torture you in a different way. A more pleasing way.

His fingers slide so easily, playing you like an instrument in his grasp. Your moans are the melody of his composing, the bucking of your hips keeps a steady rhythm, one perfectly timed to the thrust of his fingers. His mouth on yours once more, the biting of his teeth on your lips, the growls of his own pleasure in his throat form a counterpoint so intoxicating, there is nothing left but the music of him finger fucking you.

All that pain that is bound in your nerves and coiled in your belly bursts… white hot and violent as you come. Then, you scream until your voice cracks, until your vocal chords are fried from the force and volume he demands from your spent form.

“Good, my treasure…” he rasps against your lips as they fall silent. “Ninya… you’ve done so well,” he purrs into your pointed ear as the world grows dark to your vision, as your body gives in and falls unconscious. Those little praises bring a twisted smile to your face as you drift into oblivion. “When you wake, you’ll be mine alone, mine forever… the most beautiful abomination I have yet crafted…”

And the final sensation to pierce through the veil of your slumber is the sting of acid on your forehead and cheek… the flicker of pain plunging you completely into the darkness at long last.

There is no hope in Angband… There is also no time. Only darkness and craving. Hunger and satisfaction.

Pain. And pleasure.

It’s a lesson you are taught nightly, at least you assume it’s nightly… whenever it is that Sauron returns to his chambers where you are kept sequestered away. The chains from his forge are gone, replaced with elegant links of gold and gem-entrusted trappings that hang on your frame. Your hands fiddle with them, where they drape down your arms in layers, where they sweep over your bare skin to your middle.

You’ve long forgotten the feeling of clothes. There is only the bed and your elegant chains, the heat of his touch and the sting of his biting teeth and burning brand and lashing whips.

You wish that your memories would dim… that the burden of your elven heritage would forsake you as easily as that fair, starkissed body you once called your own. Tears prick your eyes, your own fingers steadily tracing your once soft skin, touch dancing over blade scars and the rough ridges of his burning… the brands of his possession forever glaring at you from your thighs, not unlike those ghostly flickering eyes that haunt you each day… whether Sauron visits you or not.

“Mairaza…” the whisper brushes your mind before it settles in your ear. “My precious…” you’ve learned his new tongue… this speech he’s created for his servants, for you.

The warmth of his body seeps into you from behind, that scent of fire, of ash and smoke and forge excites you now… it conjures that swirl of damp heat in your cunt. Already you grit your teeth, craving in excess, hungering for more. The thin chains of gold and jewels clink and jingle as those calloused hands caress your body. He lingers over his marks, the scars of his pleasure-pain that have molded you into his own creation.

“Can you feel it, Mairaza, can you feel how much I want you?”

You clench around nothingness, hoping beyond hope that he fills you soon and grants you release this time.

Soft words of his own invented tongue purr inside your brain, praising your scars, the healed-over bubbles of flesh from that day he claimed you…

Sauron turns you, your attention lost in the bottomless depth of his eyes as those magical fingers caress the scars that curve in serpentine shapes over your cheeks. “Beautiful, so beautiful,” he rasps. “Can you feel how much I want you, body and soul?” his lips whisper against your own. “Can you feel how much you are mine, Ninya?”

The words do not come to you outloud; they flood your very being, racing to your awareness down the tether that binds you to him.

That taste of his mouth swallows you whole, and there is nothing left of hope and peace. All that remains is the fire of lust and the darkness of desire. You cannot escape, nor would you seek to anymore. No lies or deception are required any longer, for you feel his want and crave his attentions…

He is always in your mind, his marks always on your body… his greatest creation. For now.

A gift to @myfavouritelunatic for her ask, for @marimosalad for betaing and inspired by @ogyscrypt and his masterpiece of a nsfw audio you should totally check out… Link on Reddit

[lokidjarin-7567]

Kinktober Day 3 - Aphrodisiacs/Sex Pollen

Billy Butcher x you Contents: pwp, fem!reader x Billy Butcher (The Boys), 18+ MDNI, there's only one bed (!!) W/C: 2.2k So I've read a lot of sex pollen fics, normally Mando ones actually, and then this idea got stuck in my head so yeah, here it is! It's a little longer but my next two are a lot shorter, so this is to make up for it. Anyway, hope someone out there is as obsessed with Billy Butcher as I am! Kinktober Masterlist | General Masterlist | AO3

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” You could’ve shouted at the receptionist, hands balling by your sides.

“Sorry, just the one room left tonight.”

“We’ll take it.” Billy replied, shit eating grin spreading across his face.

“You can’t be serious…”

“How much do I owe you, darling?”

He ignored your complaints the whole way to the room as well, your bag slung over his shoulder. He unlocked the door, swinging it open and laughed heartily.

“What?” You pushed him aside, to see… one bed. For fucks sake.

“No getting away from me now, sweetheart…”

You’d just gotten out of the shower when you heard a deathly silence come over the room next to you. That was unlike him. He’d had the TV blasting since you’d been in the bathroom, and now it was silent. Something wasn’t right.

You wrapped your towel around yourself and peeked your head around the door. He was standing, his leather coat abandoned on the bed, head cocked as he looked towards the window. He turned his head when he heard you, pressing a finger to his lips and creeping closer. It was cracked open, a soft evening breeze causing the curtains to billow, but you couldn't hear anything else. You opened your mouth, about to ask him what was going on when a figure moved into frame.

“Fuck, cover your mouth!” Billy shouted, backing away, but it was too late. The figure raised their lips to the window, and a baby pink smoke filled the room before you could even react to it. It left you coughing, doubled over as you waited for it to clear. When it finally did, your head was hazy, as though you had literally put on rose tinted glasses and smoked a joint. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it meant that it took longer than you normally would've to figure out what just happened.

“Cupid…” you muttered, cursing lightly under your breath and moving to close the window. She was the Supe you had been tracking for the last few days, with the ability to produce a powerful aphrodisiac that was nearly incapacitating to whoever it affected. Not exactly the best superpower, although it felt pretty fucking awful right about now. Billy had perched on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. “But why would she…”

“To distract us, to throw us off…”

“That makes no sense, we’ve already stopped for the night.”

“Didn’t you do your research, darling? It can last a full day, even two.”

“Fuck!” You were pacing now, trying to ignore the fog that was lowering over your mind. “Well, lets go after her! She can’t have gotten far.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not in any way to drive. Plus, you’re only in a towel.” You looked down, a blush spreading across your cheeks.

“Ok… ok I guess we just have to ride it out and hope it doesn't last too long… what?” You had looked up to see him gazing at you, pupils dilated, a dark expression on his face. His eyes were tracing your body, and you hadn’t realised until that point how short the towel actually was, your legs on display for him, droplets of water from the shower still clinging to you. “Billy!”

“Fucking hell, love, I’m sorry, but we just got blasted with some kind of sex potion so you can forgive me…”

“Just… go and have a shower or something. Maybe a wank, clear your head.”

“Sure thing, boss. Wanna watch?”

“Fuck right off.”

He had been in the shower for a while now, and you were starting to struggle. When you had agreed to go with him on this Supe hunt, you never thought this was the situation you would end up in - trapped in a hotel room, only one bed, with Billy Butcher, after a maniac just filled the room with a potent aphrodisiac. And you were really starting to feel it. Every single nerve ending in your body felt like live wires, and you were so turned on it was painful, squirming on the bed as your core physically ached with lack of attention. You had managed to get changed into a t-shirt and shorts, but you still felt too warm. You were halfway through tying up your hair to try and help cool down when Billy emerged from the shower, towel around his waist. Sweet Jesus that wasn't going to help. He was ripped, his arms and chest looked almost chiseled from stone, save for the light smattering of hair over his torso, following down his stomach into a happy tail that lead under the towel. You could almost feel your mouth watering as you noticed a tent in the think fabric. He was hard, and from the way he winced when he moved, painfully so.

“Did it help at all?” You asked feebly, trying to ignore the hardening of your nipples as you watched him move.

“No.” He answered sternly, sitting down with his back to you. You couldn’t help but gaze at it. His wide shoulders, the way his shoulder blades rippled with his shuddering breaths, what it would look like when you were done with him, red welts and scratches after he fucked you into the mattress…

Nope, no. Can't go there. He's a colleague - even if only technically. Work would be unbearable.

Although, this was pretty unbearable too.

He’d said something.

“Hm?” You asked, not noticing the way he was looking at you over his shoulder until your eyes had traced his entire back. You blushed.

“I need to change…”

“Oh shit, sorry.” You headed to the bathroom quickly, closing the door behind you and collapsing to the floor. Fuck this was a mess. A horrible, terrible mess. Maybe it would help if you just… just a little bit…

Your hand found its way below your waistband, and as soon as your fingertips brushed over the sensitive bundle of nerves there, your entire body relaxed, an audible moan escaping your mouth. Shit. Hopefully he didn't hear that. You carried on quietly, biting your lip to try and stay quiet, but it was hard, the relief flowing through you unlike anything you’d ever experienced. And then you heard something from the other room. A soft grunt, and then another. And fucking hell it was a beautiful noise, almost pained but so relieved, perfectly echoing how you felt at that moment. God, he was awful and frustrating and horrible to work with but his voice was so sexy, and the noises he was making now were no different.

You couldn't deny it was helping you along, and you couldn't tell if you were imagining it or not, but every time a whimper escaped you, he groaned just a little louder. You reached your peak quickly, your entire body crumpling as it overtook you, a last moan falling from your lips as you caught your breath on the bathroom floor. You stood up to wash your hands and face, legs shaking, only to realise… it had barely done anything. The ache was back almost instantly, nipples hardening again at the thought of Billy in the next room, and you cursed into the icy cold water.

He had been quiet for a little while now, so you knocked cautiously.

“Yeah, I’m decent, doll.” The new pet name sent another wave of arousal to your centre, and you cursed internally with it. Every word he said feel like he was physically touching you, but not quite enough. It was driving you insane.

“How the fuck do we make this stop?” You gasped out, frustration clouding your mind as you flopped onto the end of the bed, laying down with your hands over your eyes. Maybe if you just didn't look at him…

“Well, I can think of one way…”

“Billy…” you muttered warningly, but you couldn't bring yourself to say more than that, just letting your hands drop from your face to see his dark expression looking you up and down.

“Do you really wanna stay like this for the next day…”

“We might still be like this… after.”

“We don't know until we try.” Fuck, you hated how much sense he was making in your sex-addled brain. “You can't say you haven't thought about it…” You opened your mouth to snap back that you hadn’t, that he repulsed you… but you couldn't get the words out. The truth was, you had thought about it. A lot. He might be a pain in your ass, but he was undeniably attractive. The smirk. The confidence. Those stupid fucking Hawaiian shirts that showed off his biceps in just the right way…

“Please I… look, it's killing me here love…” he sounded breathy, strained. Needy. Hearing him beg was almost enough to send you over the edge.

Fuck it.

You sat up before you had a chance to change your mind, grabbing him by the neck and pulling his lips to yours. He practically growled into your mouth, reciprocating with a ferocity you hadn't expected. His hands were instantly all over you, grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his lap, his strength making you gasp sharply. His teeth found your bottom lips, biting and pulling as he forced your hips down into his, grinding into you in a way that felt so fucking perfect. You needed him closer. Your shaking hands reached for the hem of his tee, pulling it over his head and pushing him to the bed, lips marking a path down his chest.

“Fucking hell, love, get those clothes off.” You obliged quickly, standing to rip off your tee, then shorts and panties as he removed his own bottoms, letting his cock spring free. He was big. Really fucking big. You needed him inside you now. Needed…

He was a step ahead of you, grabbing your arm and pulling you face first to the bed. He set himself up behind you, pulling your hips into the air and his hand found its way to your hair, pressing your face into the mattress. And then you felt two fingers dip inside your wet core. The sound that you made was filthy and animalistic, pressing your hips back into his hand as he chuckled, desperate for more of him.

“God you’re needy like this aren't you?” He pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you whining, and you heard him pump his length a few times with your slick. And then he was there, his size pressing against you, and you had no time to adjust as he rolled his hips into you. You couldn't breathe as he split you open, full to the hilt, hands scrabbling across the bedspread trying to find purchase on something.

“Fucking hell…” he grumbling, hand smacking your ass hard. You yelped, and he laughed again. “I can feel your pretty cunt fluttering around me when I do that.”

“Fuck… you…” You managed to choke out between laboured breaths.

“As you wish, doll.” He started to drag himself out of you, so painfully slowly you were squirming, but he just pressed your face further into the bed. And then he started to just fuck into you. It was debilitating, every single nerve in your body on fire. His pace was merciless, hard and fast and blinding, hitting a spot inside of you that turned your body to jelly. His hand on your hip was the only thing keeping you upright, squeezing in a way that was sure to bruise. And then his hand left your head, and you gasped in air, only to realise it was snaking around to your clit. The instant his fingertips found your sensitive mound, your world went black, and you were coming hard around his cock.

“Fuckk, there we go, sweetheart. Good girl, let it all out...”

By the time you could see again, it didn't take you long to start winding up for another orgasm. Your body had completely crumpled, pressed to the bed apart from the arm he had around your hips, keeping him in the perfect position to keep hitting that sweet spot with every thrust.

“Goddd, Billy…” you cried out, sound after filthy sound filling the room as he continued to rut into you, his breaths becoming shorter and his curses becoming less coherent. “Please.. that's it… inside me please…” Your fucked-out babbling seemed to help bring him to the edge, and he pressed his hips into yours as he came, his teeth clamping onto your shoulder enough to help you reach another pinnacle.

You could barely breathe when you were done, his entire body weight pressed to your back, his lips pressing sloppy kisses to the back of your neck. He was still inside you, and it wasn’t until you tried to move that you noticed…

“Billy?”

“Yes, love?”

“You’re still hard.” There was a beat where he stopped kissing you shifting his hips just slightly with a groan, then he sighed.

“I guess its gonna be a long night, doll.”

[entitled-fangirl]

I know you made her your riduur.

Din Djarin x reader

Summary: Din finds his little clan held captive by Moff Gideon with the Darksaber. He intends to do anything to get them back.

Warnings: kidnapping, mention of blood, fighting, threatening

Author's note: I'm a huge sucker for protective Din, so any requests of that is more than fine by me...

Masterlist

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The door slid open to a sight Din never wanted to see.

Moff Gideon held the dark saber above the Mandalorian's clan.

Y/N and Grogu.

The two were in cuffs, the child in the woman's lap.

When she saw the familiar beskar, she let out a breath of relief, "…Mando…"

He stepped through the doorway slowly with his blaster pointed at the man. But he knew it did no good.

"Drop the blaster." Moff Gideon commanded.

When Din hesitated, Gideon lowered the blade closer to the woman's head. 

The soft white glow from the saber illuminated the woman and child's faces, only spotlighting their concern gazes on the Mandalorian.

But Din could barely see it through the red anger that was clouding his vision.

"…Slowly."

Din obeyed, setting the blaster on the hard metal floor.

Y/N shifted in her chair, "Don't… please."

But Din didn't care. 

As much as her frail voice made his stomach drop, he would do anything to guarantee that he could keep hearing her voice forever.

Even if that means surrendering.

"Now kick it over to me."

And Din did so. He pointed to his family, "Give me the kid and the girl."

"They are just fine where they are."

Just to tease the beskar-wearing warrior, Moff Gideon menacingly brushed the blade back and forth, mere inches from the girl's head.

She grimaced slightly, looking down at the child.

Moff Gideon didn't care to even look at them, "Mesmerizing, isn't it? Used to belong to Bo-Katan. Oh, yes. I know you've been traveling with Bo-Katan. A friendly piece of advice, assume that I know everything."

Din shifted his weight to his other leg, as he contemplated what to do.

"Like the fact that your wrist launcher has fired its one and only salvo. And that only two weeks ago did you make this pretty girl your riduur."

Din's voice hardened through the modulator, not only tired of the situation, but angered by the mention his weaknesses. "Where is this going?"

"This is where this is going: I'm guessing that Bo-Katan and her boarding party have arrived at the bridge, seeking me or, more accurately, this." He held the saber up. "See, but I'm not there. And I imagine that they've killed everyone on the bridge, the murderous savages they are. And now, they're beginning to panic.

"You see, she wants this. Do you know why? Because it brings power. Whoever wields this sword… has the right to lay claim to the Mandalorian throne."

Y/N's eyes shift up to Din at this information. She takes note of the light glow that reflects from his armor.

"You keep it." Din says immediately, "I just want the girl and the kid."

Moff Gideon tilts his head in consideration, "Very well. I've already got what I want from the kid. His blood. All I wanted was to study his blood. This child is extremely gifted and has been blessed with rare properties that have the potential to bring order back to the galaxy."

Din finally lets his gaze move to the woman and child. He takes notes of the small cut on Y/N's cheek, the unshed tears that sit in her eyes. The child seems unscathed enough, but his eyes are just as saddened as the girls.

"I see your bond with the child," Gideon continues. "Take them."

Din steps forward.

Moff Gideon's voice becomes low, "But you will leave my ship immediately and we will go our separate ways."

Din nodded, moving to his little clan.

Gideon stepped forward to let the Mandalorian do so.

When his gloved hands connected with Y/N's, Gideon ignited the saber, swinging it right into Din's back.

Y/N had never been more thankful that Din wore beskar. 

He grunted at the impact, immediately blocking the next swing with his armored arms.

He managed to get the battle away from the two hostages as he lured Moff Gideon into the hallway. 

As much as Y/N wanted to help, she knew she was in no state to do so. And she could help Din the most by protecting the child.

She stood up with him in her arms, moving towards the sound of the saber hitting beskar.

She stayed in the doorway, watching the two fight.

Finally, Din got the upper hand and kept his spear pointed at the defeated Moff Gideon who slouched on the ground.

The dark saber had been thrown from his hands, and now resided on the floor near Y/N. She hesitantly picked it up and pocketed it.

"You're sparing my life? Well," Moff Gideon smiled, "This should be interesting."

Din took a moment to remember the girl and child. He turned to see them standing in the hall a few feet back. He motioned them towards him.

Y/N immediately walked to him.

Din managed to get the cuffs off both of them, and only then did he relax.

His hand wandered to Y/N's cheek, lightly grazing over the cut there.

She leaned into his touch, "You came for us…"

"Of course I did. I made vows to you, and I intend to keep them." He lets his eyes wander down her frame, "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, hugging the child to her, "We're just fine. Are you… are you alright?"

His helmet moved just barely in a nod, "I'm alright now."

She smiled, reaching into her pocket with the arm that didn't hold the child to retrieve the saber. "Here…"

If only she could've seen his own matching smile under his helmet, "Thank you, cyare."

He turned back to Moff Gideon, letting his voice harden once more to the warrior he was, "Let's go."

And just like that, Y/N felt safe next to the man who would kill anything that stood in his way.

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