#din djarin x force sensitive! reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

myownwholewildworld · 5 months ago

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THE WAY TO A GREAT WIDE SOMEWHERE

↪ a the mandalorian x beauty & the beast crossover

main masterlist | read on ao3 | easter eggs pairing: beast!din djarin x f!reader. summary: cursed to spend the rest of his days in Mand'alor, Din Djarin faces a threat that may break his peace: you. -or- a retelling of the beauty and the beast story. a/n: HAHAHA *manic laugh* HI! this has been a long time coming now. first and foremost, i'll start by saying that this whole brainrot was inspired by this beautiful moodboard by the very talented @almostfoxglove, please go see it because it's the main reason i wrote this fic. i have gone crazy trying to link both worlds so i hope some of you see/understand the easter eggs. feel free to come screech at me if you like it because i have been screaming into the abyss for weeks now. love you all, take care! <3 x warnings/tags (beware spoilers): 18+, mdni. set after the events of S2. grogu is BRIEFLY mentioned. if you're a SW purist, this ain't your fic, my friend. the stockholm syndrome is stockholming. beast!din. a fair bit of smut (you know all the usual warnings). sensory deprivation. kinda dom!din. monster fucking (this is a BATB crossover after all, sorry). death of a secondary character. reader is a blank slate. alternating pov. no use of y/n. italics means it's spoken in mando'a OR it's the beast's pov 👀 THIS IS THE WAY. w/c: ~24.3k. (HAHA SORRY) divider by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end 💖

11 ABY

“Take it with you. Don’t let anyone hav―” your father choked on his last words, a chesty cough wreaking havoc in his damp, bloody lungs. “It’ll take you to where you need to go. Find it. And destroy it,” he muttered as his grey eyes, crowned by bushy, white brows, bore into yours.

In your hands you held the device that had been passed down every generation in your family. It had been commissioned by Tarre Vizsla himself over a thousand years ago when he created the Darksaber ― a Pillio star compass to find not a physical location but his most valuable possession. For almost a millennium, your family had been the guardians of it.

And for as many centuries, your Jedi ancestors had been looking for the Darksaber after they had stolen the star compass from Vizsla. That Jedi blood was far too diluted now, just a remnant of what your family once was since none of you seemed to be Force sensitive. But the mission remained despite the passing of time, not so much the reason behind it.

Since your birth, this was all you knew: the thrill of the chase. Never settling down anywhere, never creating bonds with anyone outside of your tribe. You all were wanderers ― nomads who made home of no world. You knew no other life. It was what it was.

The Jedi star compass fit perfectly on the palm of your hand ― it was circular and slightly bigger than a locket. This one though was different, special even, because it was made of beskar, a metal alloy from Mandalore.

Your fingers caressed the lid, tracing the astromeridian lines with the tips, feeling each groove. Undoing the aurodium clasp, you opened the compass to find a plasma-encased supraluminite lodestone, perfectly centred. The plasma in this specific one, however, was not of a shimmering blue, but a deep, stagnant black. Its magnetism was so strong it buzzed, emitting a low vibrating noise.

You tapped the stone with your thumb, and the vibration pierced through your flesh and bone, travelling up your forearm and dissipating into your body before it reached your chest. You quickly removed your thumb, taken aback by the intensity of it all, eyes slightly widened.

“But father, you heard them. It’s already been destroyed. It’s over,” you whispered, tears trespassing the waterline of your tired eyes.

“They lie. Never trust one of them. Those power-thirsty ra―,” he coughed, pressing the wound that stained his clothing to stop the bleeding. You covered his hand with one of yours, the other still holding the compass. “I know we were close, we had to be. Promise me you’ll keep looking.”

“I promise, father,” you hushed, repressing the sob that threatened to tear your throat.

You laced your hand with his, unbothered by the blood, as you watched his eyes become dull, opaque and dead. His lungs exhaled the last breath while the grip of his hand on yours loosened.

You remained there for a few minutes, pain and grief gnawing at you, knelt by his deathbed, tinkering with the Pillio star compass. With your mother taken from you at childbirth and now your father perishing to an enemy, you had no blood relatives left. You were alone, stripped from the comfort of family.

You still had your tribe, but your connection to them was circumstantial. You grew up in their midst, but always felt like an outsider, a misfit who people felt forced to interact with because you were “the daughter of.”

It didn’t matter anyway.

You might not have known why your family kept on looking for the Darksaber, but now you knew why you had to search for it. It was your father’s last wish and that was enough reason for you.

“We must go,” Ashton’s voice reached your ears, but not your brain.

When you didn’t respond, he slowly approached you, kneeling by your side.

“Hey, I know this is hard, but we are really running out of time,” his firm arm wrapped around your waist to help you stand up.

Your knees trembled like a newborn qartuum but managed to stay upright on the soles of your feet. Taking a deep breath, you nodded.

“We need to leave Nevarro. It’s just a matter of time until our covert is discovered. They’ll come looking for him,” your head tilted in your father’s direction, voice flat and emotionless now. Stretching your back, you put distance between you and Ashton. “You find somewhere safe in the Outer Rim to lay low for a while. I need to see this done once and for all.”

“This what, exactly? You heard the same thing I did. Gideon crushed it. It’s over. We can finally live our own lives, find a home, settle down,” he muttered, a gloved hand looking for yours yet not finding it. He sounded so hopeful.

“I know what we heard. But my father… he thinks― thought it may be a ruse. I have to try, Ash. I can’t just leave this life behind, as if everything I’ve done has meant absolutely nothing,” you replied between gritted teeth, frustrated.

“Don’t waste any more years of your life on a wild goose chase, please. Let’s go back to the others. We can―” his hand finally found yours, lacing your fingers.

You looked down at your intertwined hands. It just felt odd, out of place even. Ashton was nothing more than a brother in arms to you.

You shook your head no, pulling your hand from his, breaking the contact, and looked at him directly in the eyes.

“No, Ash. There’s no “we” here. You do what you must, and so will I, simple as,” you rejected the unspoken offer, seeing the hurt consuming his blue eyes.

“What makes you think you can do this alone? Thousands of people have tried for centuries,” he quickly tried a different tactic, but his reproach unfazed you. “Let me come with you at least.”

“No. Our people need you to lead them into this new lifestyle, Ashton,” you refused, not even giving his proposal a second thought. “And you just made it clear, this is not the life you want, but it’s the one I do. Now go.”

Ashton pressed his lips together in frustration, gobsmacked by your bluntness. He’ll be fine, he’ll recover, you thought to yourself when you saw the pain of your rejection finally dawning on him.

“Have it your way then,” and with that, he left.

The compass weighed heavy on your hand and in your heart. But you couldn’t afford distractions nor being delayed by people. Not this time.

19 ABY

Weeks turned into months. And months into years. Eight, to be exact.

The passage of time was unfaltering, but so was your determination. Despite the many dead ends, the several disappointments and the near misses, you never stopped looking for the Darksaber.

There were days, however, that it all felt like an impossible task, that you truly believed that Moff Gideon had destroyed it. You couldn’t accept it though, not when you had spent eight more years hunting it down. It still had to exist. Right?

It was hard keeping the spirits up with no company to hear you vent your frustration. You had started talking out loud to yourself, your voice bouncing off the metal walls of your spacecraft.

Some days you regretted rejecting Ashton’s offer. The man had been nothing but kind to you, loyal too. You had your suspicions about his true intentions, but you never really saw him as anything more than a friend. You hoped that after all this time, he would have found someone who reciprocated him. Ash was a good man and deserved better than what you could have offered him. What you both wanted were two completely different things, incompatible ― he wanted a quiet life, you had preferred an adventurous one.

Given the same option today, however, you were not so sure of what you would have chosen.

Toying with the star compass, you looked through the windshield of the cockpit. Jumping through hyperspace at the speed of light always put you at ease ― the flashing of light as you passed through it left a rainbow of blue hues. The static noise was so calming, you relaxed into your seat.

Your attention returned to the device on your hand. Opening it again, you eagerly watched the metal semicircle twinkle, reflecting off the colours from the Hydian Way. It had not moved for a while, so you had set the course in the direction it pointed towards.

Unsure of the way it was taking you to, you had learnt to just let it take you where it pleased. Like a bantha following its herd on the vast, arid lands of Tatooine, your life for the past eight years had been reduced to following the hands of the star compass, and nothing else. And now, like every single time before, you would wind up in the middle of the great wide somewhere. Or nowhere.

Even if your eyes hadn’t been lazily transfixed on the lodestone, you could not have missed the louder buzzing it was emitting. You rapidly sat up on your seat, your thumb hovering over the stone while your heart jolted up to your throat. As the humming increased, the black plasma inside swirled and radiated a white, shimmering glow.

Only once had you seen it do something like that before, right before finding out that the Darksaber was supposedly destroyed by Gideon. You thought yourself so close to your objective in a stroke of sheer luck, you all had rushed towards the direction it marked and found absolutely nothing.

With blood drumming in your eardrums and heartrate spiking, you faced the panel of your starfighter and touched a few buttons in a trained dance of movements. Then you pulled a lever, and a sudden jerking motion stopped the spaceship on its tracks, easing out of hyperspace.

Back flattened against the back of your padded seat, you squinted your eyes to see where you were. It took you a good moment to recognise the worlds in front of you. But that couldn’t be, made no sense at all. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at the scope in front of you.

No, you were not mistaken. That was Mandalore and one of its moons, Concordia. The compass was vibrating so loud now, you had to close the lid to contain it. Did a double take on the scope, then back out to space.

You knew the story of what had happened here fifteen years ago ― Mandalore had become uninhabitable after the Night of the Thousand Tears. The Empire had made sure of it by brute force and unfair use of fusion bombs and rays, which reportedly left the surface of the planet crystallised and its atmosphere poisoned. No one who had ventured had ever returned, or so the legend went.

The compass hummed louder, still pressed between your hands, as if compelling you to decide, and to do it now. It couldn’t be that the Darksaber had found its way back to its homeworld. It completely defied common sense, the laws of space itself.

Concordia, on the other hand, was more promising, you thought. The best choice out of the worst possible options. Safest too. Probably.

Setting course towards the moon, the spacecraft slowly trudged forward. A loud sputtering sound coming from the thrusters almost made you jump, quickly followed by the incessant beeping sound of an alarm.

“Thrusters stabilizers compromised. Negative power couplers overheating,” the robotic, monotonous voice advised you.

Then your astromech droid, a yellow trimmed R3-D3 unit, started screeching so loud through your headset, you had to remove them.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, taking complete manual control of the helm.

If the couplers didn’t cool down, you only had minutes until these completely overheated, causing an explosion.

Weighing your options, you let go of an expletive. Mandalore was closer, but you feared that the moment you entered its atmosphere, your starfighter, and you inside it, would combust to death. Concordia was further, which meant the possibility of exploding before reaching it was very high.

You were fucked either way. Both were evils, none the lesser.

“Alor (boss), something has entered the atmosphere,” Nau’ul, his protocol droid, announced in perfect Mando’a, with a metal finger pointing out the window.

Din’s brows knitted together, not that anyone could see with his helmet on. His attention drifted to the direction Nau’ul was indicating. The wrinkles between his eyes pronounced as his head tilted.

A small spaceship had breached the atmosphere of Mand’alor, appearing through the greyish clouds with a burning tail following it as it rapidly plummeted towards the surface, leaving a smoky halo behind.

With muscles tensed, Din got up from the chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, trying to catch a better glimpse of the type of aircraft that dared to break his peace.

It couldn’t be the New Republic, and he hoped to hell it wasn’t an Imperial ship either. Everyone thought Mand’alor was a thing of the past, a barren planet harbouring no life.

He had thought so too before finding himself adrift in space, injured within inches of his own death. Crippled as he was, his Razor Crest survived the bumpy ride and even bumpier landing, all thanks to the droids aboard. The same droids that had managed to nurse him back to health. Or, close to, anyway.

Through the visor of his damaged helmet, Din eagerly saw the spaceship disappear between the dense foliage and slab stones, nearby the Mines. He waited and hoped to see a column of dense smoke towering above the vegetation, but that vision never materialised. There had been no crash, at least not a major one. Which meant that, whoever was commandeering the ship, had probably survived.

“Fuck. Where’s Mrs. Kri’gee?” he turned around to face Nau’ul.

The protocol droid lifted his arms above his head, running towards the door, panicking.

“Mrs. Kri’gee! Mrs. Kri’gee! Where are you? You’re urgently needed! Report immediately!” the high pitch tone of his robotic voice almost pierced his eardrum.

Din stuck a gloved fingertip in his ear canal and wiggled it to ease the pressure building up in there. Nau’ul was too dramatic and too loud for being a mere droid.

He had not even turned the corner into the main hallway of his decrepit abode, that Mrs. Kri’gee appeared in front of them. Nau’ul got the jumpscare of his life, one of his hands landing on the metal breast piece where a heart should be had he been truly human.

“Mrs. Kri’gee reporting, jatne vod (sir),” replied the IG-series assassin droid, one of her hands flying to her temple to salute him. “How can I be of service?”

“We seem to have visitors. Follow me, gedet’ye (please),” and with no further ado, Din walked almost blindly through the maze of corridors, then down the lift, until the cold breeze greeted him.

The temperature outside was almost freezing, especially in winter. This winter was chillier than usual too, so Din and his droids only came out when it was strictly necessary. Even after all this time, it still surprised him how glacial it was out there. With not even a tiny patch of skin uncovered, Din could still feel the biting cold clinging onto his beskar armour, seeping in through the smallest nook it could find. It could clutch around the bones easily, freezing you in place in a matter of minutes.

Not that he could tell the difference anyway, considering how fucking cold he felt under his skin. How icy it was inside of him, a never-ending snowstorm waging war on his numb heart.

Perhaps he shouldn’t hurry ― if he slowed down enough, and with a bit of luck, the unwanted guests might perish to the unforgiving cold of wintery Mand’alor.

With Mrs. Kri’gee on his heels, Din moved through the terrain as if he was one with it. After many years, he knew the topography as if it was the palm of his hand. Where he could step and where he couldn’t. What paths to avoid at specific times, and which ones were safe to hike, always mindful of the creatures who had withstood the Great Purge.

He might not have many things, but free time was definitely one of them, which allowed him to explore this world he had called home for the last eight years. There weren’t many pastimes in Mand’alor when he was the only human inhabiting it. Maybe that was why he had renamed the droids with more human-like names, to feel less lonely ― only if he could truly feel something.

The emptiness within him had only grown with every passing year on the planet. The curse that ran through his veins had slowly overtaken him, leaving an ever-growing void in his chest. Din could not remember the last time he felt anything ― joy, contempt, happiness, anger, hope, despair. Nothing.

He was an empty carcass, a non-sentient monster merely existing. Sometimes he wondered what the point of it all was, not because of an emotional response but because of pure boredom. But then his eyes would fall on the source of his misfortune, a brutal reminder of how he came to be where he stood, and the lingering questions would vanish. This was the way, his way.

And if that wasn’t enough, he also had to deal with the other side of the coin.

Din trudged along the faded path, now overridden by vegetation, to the Mines. His magnetised boots helped him find his footing more than once, sharp and loose rocks making it difficult to remain vertical. Mrs. Kri’gee, on the other hand, had no issues whatsoever.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached their destination near the Mines, close to a cliff. The lush bushes and thick trees blocked the sight at first, but Din found the perfect spot to stalk the unwelcomed visitors. Down on his knees and through a gap between the leaves, he made out the shape of a T-65B X-wing starfighter ― a pretty old one, at least twenty years old. It could have well served during the Galactic Civil War.

The starfighter could only carry the pilot and an astromech droid, which meant he only had to deal with one sentient being. Could have been worse, Din thought. The prospect of being found didn’t sit well with him though, unsure of why this person had found themselves stranded in Mand’alor, out of all the fucking planets in the Outer Rim.

The Mandalorian tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the person on the other side of the ship ― they were sat on a flat rock with their back towards him, knees propped up, elbows placed on them and crouched forwards. Din stuck his head out just enough to look over their shoulder, good eye squinting ― there was an astromech droid lying in front of them. By the looks of it, it had been fried to death, still sparkling and smoking a little.

Mrs. Kri’gee laid low behind him, still but ready to accept a command. Din waved a couple of signs to the IG-series assassin droid, and it moved silently, gracefully as a loth-cat, to reposition itself northwards, facing the target.

The Mandalorian kept his fist closed, indicating Mrs. Kri’gee to wait, when he saw the person standing up, removing their helmet and taking in a deep, exaggerated breath. It was the side profile of a woman in a bright orange spacesuit, human as far as he could tell. Din’s eyebrows furrowed under the visor, confused as to what could possibly have guided her to this inhospitable planet.

Perhaps he had been alone for too long, only the droids keeping him company for almost a decade, but the sight of you unsettled him. Had he been able to feel something, he was sure an uncomfortable weight would have grounded his stomach.

Kaysh cuyi mesh’la (she is beautiful), he thought ― a simple, objective observation a man could make with only half a vision.

Your hair shined even when the sky was gloomy; your big, bright eyes sparked with frustration; your plump lips fell into a flat line before smacking them with disapproval at your wasted andromech droid. Your fingers curled into your hips while one of your feet tapped the crystallised ground underneath nervously.

“Well, I’m not dead yet, so I guess the air is breathable,” you talked to yourself out loud, sounding almost disappointed. “Stinks like a swamp though, ugh.”

That was a good observation from your part. Stupid, but good. What was your plan if it wasn’t? Suffocating to death? Bit reckless if you asked him. And yes, the sulfuric smell coming off a bog nearby was not great, but there were worse places in Mand’alor to find yourself in. He knew damn well.

He eyed you for a little longer, Mrs. Kri’gee lying in wait. He didn’t need to kill you yet, first he needed to find out why you were here and if you were part of a larger group ― if there was a remote possibility of someone looking for you, he had to know.

Din signalled to Mrs. Kri’gee to come out of hiding but to not attack yet. And so she did promptly. The droid walked out in front of you, startling you so bad you almost fell backwards.

“Identify yourself,” his droid asked you.

You snorted, hand slowly moving backwards towards the blaster pistol in your holster.

“You identify yourself, you little piece of― metal,” you bit your tongue back.

“Nicknamed Mrs. Kri’gee by my Alor. IG-11 assassin droid. Serial Number 730X21G. Manufactured by Holowan Mechanicals in 1 ABY. First assigned to―”

“Alright, alright. Whatever,” you scoffed, fingers curling around the grip of your gun. “What is a droid like you doing here anyway?”

While you were distracted chatting to Mrs. Kri’gee, Din had come out of his hiding place, heavy boulder on hand. Stealthy as a predator, he raised his arm above your head and smashed the rock against your skull with no hesitation at all.

You plummeted to the ground instantly, rendered unconscious in a split second. Towering above you, Din walked around your body and crouched down in front of you. His gloved fingers moved a few strands of silky hair out of the way, following the tiny stream of blood dripping down your temple. The wound wasn’t too bad ― he was sure you’d survive the blow.

“Pick her up,” he commanded the droid, who willingly complied.

In a matter of seconds, Mrs. Kri’gee was carrying you over the shoulder, as if you were a light sack full of gloomroots.

What a banging headache. You were barely able to string two thoughts together.

Eyelids heavy, you did your best to open your eyes. It took you a couple of attempts, but you finally got there. Vision still burry, your pupils widened to adapt to the darkness surrounding you.

The room you were in was all rough, square edges. It reminded you od the inside of a spacecraft with all those panels on the walls. Here though, the cables were hanging out of the electrical panels, snapped and peeled. The scarce futuristic, metal furniture dotted around was broken and upside down everywhere ― the whole space was derelict, abandoned.

It has to be, because this is Mandalore, you suddenly remembered where you were before you lost consciousness. And how did you faint, anyway? How did you get here? Was it the freaking droid?

With a pitiful groan, you tried to reach the back of your head, where the pain was radiating from. To your dismay, your hand didn’t budge one inch. Confused, you looked down and around you, only to find a sturdy syntherope tethering you to the chair you were sitting on.

“What the varp!” You exclaimed, fighting the fetters to no avail.

You rubbed your hands together in the hopes to loosen the grip and slide one hand out, but whoever bound you, had tightened the rope really well. Did that stop you though? No, not one bit. You tried and tried and tried until the skin on your wrists was raw.

You were in the middle of attempting to break free when the creaking noise of the door made you still in place, half hoping to see the assassin droid.

Instead, a Mandalorian walked into the room, and you immediately ceased your endeavours. With a droid you could deal, but with a sentient being… and even worse, a Mandalorian out of all the fucking possibilities.

By the shape of his armour and predatory gait, you could tell he was a man, around five feet twelve. He wore a black body stocking covered by different metal pieces ― vambraces, shoulder pauldrons, breastplate, thigh and shin guards, and kneepads were all made of unaltered beskar. The shiny patina indicated that the alloy had been polished but not painted, as most Mandalorians would have them.

But what struck you as odd was his helmet. Manufactured with the same polished beskar, a black visor protecting his eyesight, you noticed the big crack that ran diagonally from the bottom left, all the way to his right temple. The transparisteel of the visor had also been damaged. It all had been welded back together, albeit by a novice hand.

You stiffened your back as he approached without exchanging one word. Your gaze followed his every movement, wary of the man in front of you. Your tribe instilled on all its members a gut-churning hatred for Mandalorians, although such strong feeling never really deepened within you.

Always mouthing your curiosity, your constant questions as a child were never well received by your tutors. Even your father had a hard time convincing you to hate someone irrationally. It just wasn’t in your nature to hate for the sake of it.

However, the Mandalorian in front of you… well, that was a slightly different story. The bastard had kidnapped you and had the guts to stop in front of you, arms folded, and head tilted. As if you just happened to be there, disturbing his peace.

“Release me now,” you demanded, narrowing your eyes as you leaned forward on your chair. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

A stony silence ensued, leaving you wondering if he was mute.

“Why are you here?” His voice was distorted by the speech scrambler integrated in his helmet.

Repressing a taunting jeer, you stared him right in his eyes ― where you assumed they were, anyway. When he didn’t respond, your eyebrows scowled.

“Are you, like, for real, man?” You couldn’t hide your incredulity. “It’s obvious I don’t want to be here. I didn’t mean to land on this forsaken planet. For all I knew I was about to die, I thought it was uninhabitable! I actually meant to go to Condordia―”

“Why would you go to Concordia? You’re not Mandalorian. Obviously,” he interrupted you, his hand waving up and down in front of you almost scornfully, pointing out your plain clothing.

“I― Well, that’s none of your business, actually. Look― Sorry, what’s your name? I didn’t catch it before you kidnapped me,” you asked with a pinch of rancour tarnishing your voice.

“I haven’t kidnapped you,” he quickly replied defensively. “Just Mando.”

“Okay, Just Mando. Look, you let me go and we both can pretend none of this ever happened. I go on my merry way and you― well, you stay here, doing whatever it is you do,” coming to think of it, you also had questions. You cocked your head, “What are you doing here anyway? When did Mandalore’s atmosphere become breathable again? I thought the planet was completely ruined after the Great Purge.”

“For considering yourself a hostage, you sure ask too many questions. And it’s none of your business, actually,” he snapped back throwing your own words at you with a snarky edge to his voice. “You and the whole universe think Mand’alor is unliveable, and it will remain like that for as long as I live, at least,” his tone turned sombre. “You ain’t going anywhere, I’m afraid.”

His last words shocked you. What did he mean you were not going anywhere? Of course you were. You couldn’t stay here; you had a mission to complete. And Just Mando didn’t seem to be the best company either, the man was so dispassionate you were sure he had a pole up his ass.

“Wait, wait, hold on one varping second. Let’s not rush into making stupid decisions, shall we? I get it, you want to be left alone for all eternity, don’t want anyone to disturb you. I won’t tell a soul you’re here, I give you my word,” you stumbled over your words, panicking at the perspective of not leaving this planet. “Please, I can’t― There are people looking for me,” you lied.

You had not been in touch with your tribe for weeks now. And by tribe, you meant Ash. He was the only one you had been communicating with over the last eight years. Life had been hectic, and you were never the best at keeping in touch.

“Then I’ll kill them if they come looking,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly.

“Wow, okay. Calm down. No need to threaten my people,” you tried to diffuse the situation, although Just Mando seemed pretty calm.

“And just so you know, I’ve just come back from where you landed. I’ve destroyed your engine and the navigation console, so you ain’t going nowhere,” he unfolded his arms, lacing his gloved fingers on his back, quite the measured gesture.

You glanced up at him incredulous, mouth agape while your lungs emptied. You were stranded here, forever, with him. The magnitude of his words had still not dawned on you, when a faster thought made its way through to the surface.

The star compass. Had he found it? Had he destroyed it too? Not that it would be useful here, but it was the last memento you had of your late father. Not that you could ask, anyway.

“Why… why would you do that?” Your trembling voice almost gave way to desperation as you leaned back against the chair.

You blinked fast to tame your feelings, all bravado leaving your body soft and boneless. For once you were speechless, your eyes searching for his under the damaged visor. But you only saw your reflection on the transparisteel, his pose not budging at all.

“Please, Mando. Tell me you’re lying. Tell me my X-wing was not the only way out of this forlorn planet?” You begged, a dense knot forming in your throat, collapsing your airway.

“It is. It was,” he corrected himself. “I can’t let you leave. I don’t trust you nor your word. This way, I make sure you have no other option than staying here for as long as you live. Death is the only way out of here.”

You deflated on the chair, looking at him in disbelief, almost unable to breathe. Although his voice was warped by the modulator, there was no emotion in it. He spoke as if talking about the damn weather, not like he had just clipped your wings forever ― literally.

“I― What… Why are you behaving like a fucking monster? Don’t you have feelings?” There was no edge to your question, you were past subtleties now.

He shrugged again, unbothered.

“‘Cause I am. And I don’t,” was his cryptic answer before turning on his heels and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The door slammed behind him a bit too forcefully for his liking ― a reminder that he would need to ask Ca’nara to grease the hinges. Din then put the latch down to ensure the door could not be opened from the inside.

Without another thought in his mind, he turned around and almost crashed into Nau’ul.

“Master?” asked the protocol droid, dubious, one finger lifted in the air to draw his attention.

“What?” he replied, exasperated. Din just wanted a moment alone ― that conversation had burnt the last energy he had reserved for socialising. If it wasn’t because he could harbour no feelings, one could say he was socially drained already.

“Since the girl is going to be with us for quite some time, I was thinking that you might want to offer her a more comfortable room…” Nau’ul suggested.

The damn droid was more human than he was. Din had not even thought about moving you a different place within his derelict fortress. He had made the once royal prison his home, suspended off the ceiling of Sundari’s bio-dome, or what remained of it. A suitable place for a worthy character like him.

Din just stared at him, weighing his words. Did he have to care about the needs of his captive? She’s not my captive, just a… lifelong visitor, he quickly corrected himself.

“Then again, maybe not,” Nau’ul quickly retracted, dropping his hand to one side, mistaking his silence.

Fuck, I should have thought that, not the droid, he almost reprimanded himself. After so many years in his self-imposed exile, Din had really lost all touch with his humanity. Solitude, along with the curse that plagued his veins, were to blame.

With a grunt, he turned on his heels, unbolted the door and walked right back in, coming to a halt behind you with just a few strides.

“What are you doing?” you asked in a small voice, sniffling.

You had been crying and were now trying to hide it, show him you were unbreakable. He should have felt like a dick but didn’t. Couldn’t, really.

He knelt behind you and removed his vibro-knife from one of his pockets. The blade hummed, vibrating, when it got activated and Din cut you loose, restoring the blood flow to your hands.

“I’ll show you to your room,” was his only explanation to your question.

“My room? But I thought…” the doubt in your words slightly angered him. A fleeting feeling.

Anger? That’s new, he thought, eyebrows momentarily furrowing under the helmet.

“You wanna― you wanna stay here?” he muttered, teeth almost gritting.

“No,” you hushed, wide eyes looking up at him when he walked around the chair to face you.

Unsettling.

“Then follow me.”

Turning on his heels, Din made his way to the door, hoping you would follow. And you did, possibly because you had nowhere else to go.

The royal prison was a cross-shaped structure with several floors. Most of it was completely abandoned, except for the last two levels where he had accommodated himself in this senseless life he lived. The height gave him vantage point, with a good view of the surrounding buildings and further afield.

If it was for him, he would live between wreckage and filth, but his droids had made it their purpose to make the prison somewhat liveable. Not that he cared.

Din looked over his shoulder for one second to see you rub your wrists, eyes focused on the floor. Red lines were imprinted on your skin and for a brief second, he wondered if he had secured the syntherope a bit too tight.

Oh well.

He walked you all the way through a maze of corridors until you reached an elevator which was already waiting to take you up. Din stepped in and then to a side ― it wasn’t too big, but there was enough room for the both of you without having to invade each other’s personal space. You reluctantly followed.

The minutes dragged; the silence heavy although he did not find it unbearable. By the way you fidgeted with your fingers, he knew you did. Despite your discomfort, Mando did not open his mouth ― better getting used to it now, he didn’t want you to think he was the talkative type.

Then a ding announced your arrival to the top floor, and you almost let go of a relieved sigh. Din glanced at you sideways but didn’t catch much of your expression ― you were on his righthand side, and his right eye was completely blind.

The floor was well illuminated, clean and free of debris. It was well looked after, pristine almost. The corridors were empty, giving the whole place a very diaphanous appearance. As you walked by his side, he pointed out a few rooms you might want to make use of.

Arriving at an intersection, Din took the east corridor, ignoring the opposite one deliberately.

“What’s on that corridor?” you asked curiously.

You were too damn perceptive. Too perceptive for your own good.

“The west wing is forbidden,” he grunted abruptly, a growl even, stopping in his tracks to face you. “Forbidden,” he repeated slowly so the words, and the threat in his modulated voice, would sink in.

His reaction took you aback, but he could see you subduing your fear. You would not let him see it ― how scared you really were. You might not want to show it, but he could sense it.

The thought of you sniffing around the west corridor should make him panic, but his reaction was a mechanical one ― once upon a time, he would have cared excessively, worryingly even, if you discovered what he was hiding. Now, however, it wasn’t that he didn’t care but couldn’t.

The reason behind it, the reason why his emotions had become sterile and why a beast lurked beneath his skin, was stashed away in the west wing.

And it was his life mission to prevent anyone from finding it.

When Just Mando opened the door to your new cell, you were pleasantly surprised to discover it was an actual bedroom. The walls were still polished stainless steel slabs, so it wasn’t the coziest place ever, but it had a double bed with fresh linen, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a chest and one single chair. Everything was immaculate white, not one speck of dust in sight. There was another door that you assumed would lead to an ensuite bathroom.

You entered the small room and walked towards the bed. Opened the drawers of the furniture not really hoping for anything, so your eyebrows furrowed when you discovered they were packed full with clothes. Weird, but good.

With a little jump you sat down on the bed, testing its springs and overall comfortability. It was strikingly soft and smooth like a cloud, beckoning you to lie flat on your back and drift away to your dreams. You were not expecting that ― seeing how the rest of this floor was decorated (it wasn’t), you thought there would be one single spartan bed which would be hard as ironstone.

You were even amazed to see a floor-to-ceiling window. An actual, big, massive window that faced the outside world. And there were no metal bars covering it. Incredible, really, that he would trust you with one. Not that you were planning to escape, considering how desolate the planet was ― where could you go? Nowhere.

Looking up, you saw Just Mando leaning against the doorframe, arms folded while his biceps flexed against the fabric of his body stocking. He had been watching you the whole time you were inspecting the room.

Suddenly you felt the weight of his eyes on you and that made you feel skittish. You couldn’t see them, but you knew his sight would be intense, drilling and thrilling. What did he look like under that helmet? Would his expression be as impassible as his tone? Did he really not care at all or was that a façade he could afford because you couldn’t dissect his face?

“So… can I come out of my room? Or are you going to lock it too?” you asked tentatively, hands laced on your lap, challenging him with the soft curve of your raised eyebrow.

“It’ll stay locked until I know you can be trusted with freedom,” he straightened his back, hand on the doorknob.

“You call this freedom? Wow, okay,” you paused, letting that spoken thought sink in. “Is it because I asked about that corridor?”

Just Mando stilled under the doorframe, head cocked. Unknowingly, you bit your bottom lip, your teeth massaging the plump pillow underneath.

He didn’t answer.

You had had enough years of silence, the quietness of your cockpit being your only companion. Only broken by the fleeting moments when you met civilisation, you had unintentionally craved that connection. You just hadn’t realised it until you were faced with the possibility of being accompanied by someone for the rest of your life.

Even if that someone was… well, him. Guessed you would have to make do.

“You’ve already condemned me to live here with you, Just Mando, for-fucking-ever. You’ve destroyed my ship, so it’s not like I can go anywhere, can I?” you pleaded with him. “This whole planet is already my personal jail, don’t make it even smaller or I’ll go crazy.”

In your begging, you had gotten up and cut the distance between you. The tips of your shoes bumped into his weathered, leathered boots. He didn’t move, not even one inch ― completely unbothered by your proximity. Your face was so close to his helmet, the steam of your breath almost fogged up the transparisteel of the visor.

And, for a second, he seemed to consider your petition. Or so you had liked to think. You measured each other up, no one giving in or up.

“Until you can be trusted,” Just Mando remarked. The Mandalorian was the first to finally retreat, taking a step back into the hallway. “It’s up to you how long that takes.”

Flabbergasted, you looked at him in disbelief.

And then he shut the door. The click of the lock quickly followed.

Hours had gone by until you heard the door unbolt.

A different droid, an astromech one, greeted you.

“Beep boop, beep!” it happily chirped.

Luckily you knew enough Binary to unsderstand that it said, “dinner is served”.

“I don’t get it. I’ve already had dinner. Don’t need to be here,” Din complained, arms crossed at chest level, manspreading on a chair in the dining room.

“Try to be understanding, sir. The girl has lost her freedom,” Mrs. Kri’gee almost reprimanded him.

“Least you could do is keep her some company, Alor,” Nau’ul chipped in.

Din scoffed, irritated. And such irritation surprised him. He shouldn’t feel anything but a void in his entrails.

Nau’ul picked up on his unusual display of feelings as quick as he did.

“Master… Have you thought that perhaps this girl could help you break the spell?” the protocol droid ventured, almost stammering towards the end when Din snapped his head back to look at him.

If looks could kill, Nau’ul would have dropped dead.

“Fucking nonsense. You heard the witch, the spell she cast,” Din muttered, jaw so clenched it almost hurt him. “Stop looking for solutions and just accept it. After eight years, you should have already giving up your futile hopes.”

“Someone has to keep the spirits up around here. Depressing enough as it is,” the droid retorted.

“If you allow me, Master, Elsbeth’s exact words were, ‘until you find your maker once more’, and that is up to interpretation,” Mrs. Kri’gee added.

Din remembered very well the cursed that Morgan had spitted in his face before he took possession of the Darksaber and sunk it in the witch’s belly.

I condemn you, Din Djarin, to an eternity of loss, Of emptiness, apathy and thorns. At full moons you will be at your worst, With nobody to keep you warm. You shall walk this Galaxy alone, Until you meet your Maker once more.

They still resonated inside his head, clear as the pale ale in the jug in front of him.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow. You’ve been ignoring it for years, but I fear that if you do nothing about it, well…” Nau’ul voiced his worries, hands twisting ― a very human-like gesticulation.

Mando had spaced out, not listening to one word. He only snapped out of his trance when the door creaked, announcing Ca’nara’s and your arrival.

The bags under your eyes were screaming for some rest, which apparently had been evading you. He had given you enough hours alone to get some sleep and freshen up, so why hadn’t you? If you looked so miserable, that was entirely down to you, not him. Of that much he was sure.

Din straightened his back, sitting up properly, while Nau’ul rushed off his feet to serve you the food the droid had prepared. With a flourish of his hand, he presented you with his creation.

“It’s tiingilar, a Mandalorian stew of meat, vegetables and spices. It’s hot, very hot, be careful,” the protocol droid warned you.

From across the table, Din could have sworn he saw your eyes watering, then you blinked a few times, grabbing the spoon.

“Oh my stars, how many spices have you put in here?”

“Oh, you don’t like spicy food?”

“Well, I do, but it smells so spicy, I’m about to cry, phew!” you swept along your waterlines with your index fingers, making a point.

“Alor prefers it this way. I can prepare something else…”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll eat it. Thank you…?” You dragged your words, looking for a name.

“Nau’ul,” he replied. “Anything you need, please ask.”

And then all three droids disappeared from sight, leaving you both alone in the dining room.

You glanced up from your plate, eyeing him above your spoon while you blew on it to cool it down.

“Are you not eating, Just Mando?” you raised an eyebrow, inquiring.

If Nau’ul was still in the room, Din would have snarled at him. Instead, he folded arms again and shook his head no.

“I’ve already eaten,” he explained dully.

He couldn’t―wouldn’t―remove his helmet in your presence, or anyone’s. Not even his droids had seen his face in all the years they had been together. Din had been raised to follow the Mandalorian Creed and even though he was no longer part of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, he still believed. It was intrinsic to him, to who he was. Or had been. The only thing that kept him true to himself.

“Because you can’t remove your helmet in front of me. Right?”

Din tilted his head in surprise. He did not expect you to know that. Were you acquainted with the Mandalorian culture? And if so, why? You were not one, he could tell. But what were you? Your accent was a mixture of different ones, so he could not pinpoint where you originated from.

“This is the Way,” he found himself saying. It had been a long time since those words last escaped his mouth. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, from here and there, everywhere and nowhere…” Then you took the first spoonful of the stew and started coughing almost instantly. “Fuck, this is spicy,” you whispered, tears in your eyes, as your hand lunged forward to eagerly down the drink.

Din almost smiled at your severe reaction. The corners of his lips began to curl up but quickly dissipated, his own body fighting against such act of rebellion.

“So you’re a nomad?” He asked with certain curiosity in his voice, while he leaned forward to pass you the jug full of ale to top up your drink.

“Yes. I don’t have a homeworld. I don’t even know where I was born, we moved around so much my father didn’t even remember,” you went on almost absentmindedly, pouring the beer in your glass. “What about you, Just Mando?”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘Just Mando’? It’s just Mando,” as soon as he said it out loud, he understood the joke. He pressed his lips together, slightly amused. “I see,” he mumbled.

You laughed as if it was the best joke ever. The warmth in your laughter was vivid, hearty, compelling. Like a melody it filled the air ― suddenly the room was not as bare as before. As cold either.

“So? Were you born here in Mandalore, Mando?” the smirk coiling your lips told him you were teasing him.

Din debated whether to open up or not. Whether to tell you the truth or a lie. But Nau’ul was right, if you were to spend the rest of your lives together, lying was not a good start.

“I was born in Aq Vetina, but was raised in Concordia,” was his succinct answer.

Your eyes unsuccessfully searched for his under the visor. Din could tell you wanted to press him, get more information out of him, but that was as much as he was willing to share today.

“Eat up. It’s going to get cold,” he urged you, wanting to leave so he could be alone.

“So bossy,” you whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes to the back of your head, before attacking the tiingilar.

Nine weeks later

You turned to the next page of the book on your lap, your mind completely captivated by the story of the pages in front of you. Books were scarce in this day and age, but Mando had managed to salvage a few after years of rummaging through the rubble. This one in particular was a storybook for children ― a story about a Mandalorian fighting the Mythosaur down in the Mines.

You were immersed in it, curled up in your bed with a thick duvet and a few pillows around you. Your room was not bare anymore ― you had decorated with a few trinkets you had found in your day trips to the outside world, with Mando as your guide. The fear of the first week had slowly eased, giving way to a new sense of comfort.

Forgotten was your thirst for freedom. With the passage of time, you learnt that Mando was not joking when he first said death was the only way out. And since you didn’t want to die, you slowly had embraced this new way of life. You had made friends with the three droids and had really tried to form sort of friendship with Mando.

The Mandalorian was a tough nut to crack. He was not keen on showing emotion, so much so you even wondered if he was capable of feeling anything. You had noticed that, many a times, he relied on Nau’ul to show him how he should act or react. A droid teaching a human how to be human ― unfathomable. Perhaps all these years alone in Mandalore had taken its toll on him.

And so you liked to think that you were somewhat helping him reconnect with that side of him you thought long gone. By ‘helped’, maybe you meant ‘forced’, but Mando had thrown you in this situation, so now he had to put up with you.

The door to your room opened suddenly, startling you so bad you almost threw the book at Mando.

“One of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack. Don’t you know how to knock?” You screeched, hugging the storybook to your chest and burying yourself under the duvet ― you were only wearing a shirt and your underwear.

“Are you not ready yet?” you had grown used to the exasperation in his voice.

“Ready for what? It��s only half seven in the morning, Mando!”

“You wanted to visit the Living Waters in the Mines and see for yourself if it really is a Mythosaur’s lair, remember? Since you don’t believe a damn word of what I say,” he scowled, still under the doorframe.

“Oh, shit! You’re right!”

How could you have forgotten? You had been insisting for over two weeks now, and only yesterday did he capitulate. You were no Mandalorian, so shouldn’t be in such a sacred place, but you managed to convince him that it would do literally no harm to anyone if you visited.

In your excitement, you jumped out of bed, forgetting you were half naked, and looked for some clothes to put on.

“I’ll… I’ll be waiting in the parlour,” he muttered and disappeared into the hallway.

Ten minutes later, you were outside, on your way to the Civic Center. As you approached this new-to-you, unprobed area, the destruction around you made your stomach churn. The Great Purge and then years of neglect painted a gruesome picture in front of you. Inside was even worse, although you couldn’t see much considering how dark it was.

You followed Mando diligently ― he had been here before, so you trusted his instinct. You stepped where he did and remained silent while you descended into the ground.

After a few more minutes, a humid, warm cave appeared in sight. There were massive pillars holding the crumbling ceiling, and piles of debris everywhere. Stairs led a path to the Living Waters below.

“This is beautiful,” you mumbled in awe, looking around you.

The place was eerie and silent as a tomb. Seeing it with your own eyes, now you could understand why people would believe in the existence of a mythological creature.

There was a plaque on a stone nearby and you got closer to read it. However, the writing was in Mando’a, so you cocked your head to look at Mando.

“What does it say?”

He walked towards you and stopped right behind you. His proximity sent a warning shiver down your spine. You ignored your body’s reaction, focusing on the words you didn’t understand.

“These Mines date back to the Age of the First Mand’Alor. According to ancient folklore, the Mines were once a Mythosaur lair. Mandalore the Great is said to have tamed the mythical beast. It is from these legends that the skull signet was adopted and became the symbol of our planet,” he relayed, his voice ricocheting between the bare walls.

“And you are sure you’ve seen it? Mandalore the Great lived, what, hundreds of years ago? In all that time, you’re telling me, you’ve been the only man to witness the rise of the beast?” One perfect eyebrow raised into your forehead, a smirk curling up your lips, as you taunted him.

Although you couldn’t see, you liked to imagine the frustration distorting his features. Lately you had wondered who the man under the helmet was, but you knew you would never find out. Mando took the Creed very seriously, too seriously.

“I did,” he replied concisely. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

“And what were you doing in the water anyway? It does not look very inviting.”

“I had to redeem myself,” you could tell he hadn’t mean to tell you that, because he nervously adjusted his posture.

“Why?”

You were like a loth-wolf with a bone ― you wouldn’t let it go that easily.

“I had broken the Creed and had to atone for it,” his voice lowered, uncomfortable with the topic.

“How did you break it?”

“Will you ever stop asking so many damn questions?” he growled, evading your probing.

You lifted your hands up in the air in a peaceful gesture, but not without a subtle grin on your mouth. You loved driving him crazy, it was one of the little fun you could have in this place.

“Alright, alright.”

You bent down to grab some flat stones off the ground and practiced your stone skipping skills. That was until Mando’s big hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you mid-throw.

“Stop that, you’re going to awaken the beast,” he snarled, pushing you close to his chest a bit too forcefully.

“Oh, come on. Gimme a break, Mando. There’s no Mythosaur, you must have imagined it.”

“There is and I didn’t,” his grip loosened, and you took the opportunity to throw another stone. “Fucking quit that attitude now,” he warned you, grabbing you by both of your wrists, your hands flush against the beskar breastplate.

Your pelvis was sweetly pressed against his, your thighs touching his. Even with the beskar pieces, you could feel all his edges, his― Shit. His manhood resting just above where slick heat was gathering in your core.

You laughed to release your own tension ― your head snapping back, exposing your neck to his eyes.

“Oh, wow. You’re serious,” you managed to say between laughs, ignoring how close you were to him. Ignoring how wet your pussy was.

“Of course I am. You don’t unders―”

The sound of water abruptly moving forced both of you to look in the direction of the pond. Something enormous had risen, taking up the whole airspace, and water cascaded down its sides.

You froze in place, your mind rushing to come to terms with what you were seeing, as you looked at the gigantic figure towering above you. The water kept falling, so you couldn’t really make the shape of the monster underneath. But in that moment, you knew Mando had not imagined jack shit. The Mythosaur was real. Very real.

Mando pushed you back and put himself between you and the imminent danger. Above his shoulder, you saw horns sticking out and a big pair of eyes staring you down. Its skin was covered in scales and small horns, giving it a very reptilian appearance. The Mythosaur was massive beyond comprehension, and you could not, for the life of you, visualise it being tamed or, worse, ridden.

Time stilled and so did the beast. Its eyes were transfixed on you ― no, on Mando. As if they were measuring each other up, as if they were communicating somehow. Since that was impossible, it was obvious you were imagining things.

Before any of you could react, your heart pounding manically and your breath hitching, the beast went back down below the water level, and a massive wave dashed towards you. Within a matter of seconds, the Mythosaur was gone, and you and Mando were soaked to the bones.

Mando reacted before you did, turning around and forcing you to walk back.

“Let’s go, now! Move!”

In the safety of your bed, after a hot, steamy shower, you let your mind drift back to the moment in time where Mando had held you close to his chest earlier that day. How your body had unwillingly behaved to his closeness, how you ached for him to reach below your hips, right between your thighs…

With a soft moan, you gave in to the desire that had been pooling low in your belly for a while now. Your fingers dipped under your underwear, finding that sweet bundle of nerves in your wet slit. Your index tapped at your clit a few times until you stroked it ― electricity shooting up your spine.

That felt so good, you did it again and again and again, while your brain came up with different scenarios where Mando was giving you hell. With half-lidded eyes and lips parted, you smothered the beating nub with your thumb, two other fingers finding the entrance to your pussy and submerging in your wet heat.

You picked up a relentless pace, imagining they were Mando’s thick fingers, as the first orgasm in a long while started to build up inside you. Your own hand made you whimper, teeth sinking in your bottom lip so hard you almost drew blood. Your back arched involuntarily, stroking your pulsing clit more harshly now, your fingers reaching further in.

The squealing noise of the door opening alarmed you, your orgasm evaporating into thin air. You just about managed to remove your tantalising hand from your panties and throw the duvet above you. Panicking, you looked at the door.

Mando was under the frame, so still you thought he was a statue. You had tried to conceal what you were doing, but the rigidity of his posture told you he had seen enough.

Your cheeks reddened, your face on fire at the realisation of being caught masturbating. By none other than the protagonist of your wet dreams.

“Mando! I told you to fucking KNOCK!” You screamed at him from under the quilt. “You can’t just walk in like that!”

When you didn’t hear the door close ―because you were not expecting an apology from him―, you peeked above the duvet.

The Mandalorian had not moved one inch, and you really feared he had become immobile forever. But the tent on his groin showing through his body stocking told you otherwise.

And then he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. It was the first time he had trespassed the doorframe, you noticed. Butterflies filled your stomach and your lungs as he approached the bed you were lying on, your widened eyes looking for his unsuccessfully ― always unsuccessfully.

Mando didn’t say one word as he removed his gloves, coming to a halt by your side with his shins pressing against the bedframe. When they dropped to the floor, your eyes drifted right up at him, searching for clues, anything that could be crossing his mind.

His naked fingers were the first time you saw his skin, a bit of him. He was real, and he was right in front of you, caressing your cheek. You found yourself closing your eyes and leaning on the palm of his hand ― a tender gesture amidst your unresolved sexual desire.

Mando tilted his head, and you understood. An unspoken petition that you willingly granted. Driven by your lust, you scooted over to the other side of the bed, making room for him, dragging the duvet with you.

“Nuh-uh,” he clicked his tongue as he knelt on the mattress after having kicked his boots.

He yanked the duvet off you, exposing you to him with just your shirt and underwear.

You leaned back against the mountain of pillows and looked at him doe-eyed ― then your sight followed his right hand as it landed on your pubic bone. You pressed your lips into a fine line, swallowing a moan at his touch. His fingertips traced your wet slit over your panties.

“What were you doing, hm?” he husked, his long finger dragging against the garment.

“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unable to look for the words.

“Were you touching yourself?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded.

“Were you close?” a sliver of care transpired through his modulated voice.

“Yes,” you cooed.

“Sorry, mesh’la (beautiful). Let me help you with that,” he offered at the same time his fingers dunked under the waistband of your panties.

You melted into the mattress, audibly moaning, when he stroked you. Your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure his fingers were expertly working on you, sliding through your slit a few times, from your thudding clit to your dripping hole ― your clit hitching between his fingers every time he traced them back up.

He worked your flesh with his bare digits, and after a few minutes, his index and middle fingers went back down to your hot entrance. He tempted you with the tips but didn’t go in ― you were tiptoeing on the precipice of your pleasure.

You whimpered, annoyed.

“Please, Mando―”

“Din. Call me Din, mesh’la,” he hummed, the tip of his finger circling your entrance.

“Please, Din,” you blurted out, eyes flying open and transfixed on his visor, begging.

You let go of a pitiful groan when Din―you liked how his name rolled off your tongue―finally gave you what you wanted, what you needed. Two of his thick fingers dove in your seeping pussy, slightly parting your walls in preparation―hopefully, if you were lucky―for his dick.

First slow, then a devilish rhythm his fingers imparted on you. The orgasm quickly built up again, Din’s dexterity beckoning you to climb to the hilltop. And you did, you let yourself feel all the pleasure he was giving you until it was too much, your clit raw and overstimulated by his precise thumb. You reached the top of the mountain and jumped into the abyss underneath. The wave of your climax washed over your, drowning you ― your cunt spasming around his fingers while your knees pressed together.

When you opened your eyes again, all tearful due to immensity of your frenzy, you were relieved to find that Din had released his throbbing erection through the zipper in his body stocking―you didn’t have the patience right now to unclasp all the armour pieces, you needed him now.

The sight of his engorged dick made your mouth water. The girth and the length of it should have made you flinch, but instead it made your pussy wet itself a bit more. It had the perfect size to fill your insides to the brim. Din’s hand moved up and down on his shaft, slowly pumping himself although he was already hard.

You lifted your hand towards his manhood, and he removed his to let you touch him ― for a second you were fascinated by the soft swaying of his cock. Then you wrapped your fingers around it and Mando grumbled, sitting on his heels, manspread for you as a tasty offering. He was a sight to see ― knelt and sat on his heels on the mattress, fully clothed, helmet on, armour hugging his body, and his erection peeking out through the zipper, leaky and throbbing just for you.

Giving him a few pumps, you looked up at him with a smirk. And before he could complain or stop you, you came closer to him and gave the plump head a lick, then sealed your lips around his leaking glans.

The groan that bubbled up his throat spurred you on to bob your head down, taking half of his pulsing length in your mouth.

Din’s hand tugged at your hair abruptly, pulling you off his twitching dick.

You glanced up at him confused.

“I can’t―I don’t think I can take a blowjob without blowing my load, mesh’la. I need to fuck you now,” he was honest with you.

It was understandable. He had been stuck here for at least eight years, which meant that he had not laid with a woman for at least as long. You would have lost your mind too if someone hadn’t touched you in that time.

“Come on then, fuck me, Din,” you mumbled, laying back down on the pile of pillows so your upper body was propped up.

You spread your legs, making room for him. Din swiftly shifted, dragging himself into position.

It was a fucking sight; one you had been dying to see. And he was finally there, all cozy in between your thighs. He parted your legs, resting the back of your knees on his shoulders. He pushed your panties to a side, leaving you completely exposed.

You couldn’t see, but you knew his eyes were focused on the prize―your damp, puffy folds, clit twitching and hole begging.

“Been wanting some pussy for a while now,” he confessed in a grumble, head tilted back when the tip of his veiny cock slipped up and down your damp furrow.

“Here I am, take what you need.”

How altruistic of you.

His mushroom, precum-covered head caught on your slick entrance and Din bucked his hips a little, only the tip smoothly going in. Your heartrate spiked, your walls imploring for the full length of him to clench on. And then, Din thrusted in harshly, pushing his cock in down to the hilt in one smooth jolt. You both howled in unison at the intrusion ― his a deep, guttural moan, yours a high-pitched one.

Mando held onto your knees on his shoulders as he started with the slow sway of his hips impacting on the back of your thighs, building the perfect pace. His dick dragged along the right spot inside you as he jackhammered you into the pillows, another orgasm gathering in your core. Din’s rhythm became frantic, frenzied, to the point where he had to let go of your knees and lean forward, his hands holding onto the rattling headboard.

Mando fucked you hard, drilling you like a man starved. You could feel him stuffing you full, his hard dick disappearing between your swollen, greedy pussy lips. Reaching up, you held onto his arms above you, fingers wrapping around his elbows. Your body rocked up and down on the bed below him with the force of his unrestrained charges.

Your cunt couldn’t take it anymore ― it contracted around his girth, announcing your second climax, which quickly overtook your senses. With stars in your vision, you wailed his name, now fisting the bedsheets as you came, a never-ending wave making your twitch under him uncontrollably.

“Fuck, I… Fuck,” he growled, his hips bucking and stuttering erratically at the sight of your fucked-out expression.

He was close, you knew by the way his dick constantly pulsed inside you ― he just needed a bit of prodding. That was your signal to clench your walls around him, squeezing him as hard and snug as you could, clamping on his thudding cock, never wanting to let him go.

That was his undoing ― you felt Din’s warm, thick spend painting your inner walls, his steely cock convulsing with the last waves of his release.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Din between your legs, his dick still buried inside you as it softened. The inside of his visor was fogged up and you doubted he could see much.

“I didn’t mean to come inside, I was gonna pull out―”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. He didn’t need to worry about that.

His helmet tilted, but whatever question lingered in his mind, he didn’t ask.

His thumb lightly pressed your relaxed clit with gratitude, massaging it softly, before he pulled out and your pussy released his shaft. That gentle stroke ignited your nerve endings, slowly coming back to life. His thumb then went down, gathering the cum your pussy was releasing, and shoved it back inside you.

You bit your bottom lip to stop a needy moan.

“Wanna go again?” you asked, grinning. Offering.

Din laughed. He fucking laughed. You had never heard him laugh before.

“Sure do, but I need a minute, mesh’la.”

Every night for the next two weeks Din found himself stranded in the corridor leading to your room, like a lost, thirsty man looking for water in the harsh desert of Tatooine.

The internal struggle was always the same ― he shouldn’t seek you because, after all, you were his prisoner. You were stuck here with him because he had forced you to, giving you no other choice. Sure, he had not imposed his presence on you―quite the opposite, in fact―but it still seemed wrong to take advantage of you like that.

But then he would see you come out of your room, almost as if you knew he was marooned there, and would approach him with caution. Willingly you would take his hand and lead him to your nest, erasing any doubts he could have about your eagerness. You were as keen as he was ― fucking had become an entertaining pastime. And a calming balm for the beast within.

It was the same dance every night, without failure. And tonight had been no different, except for the hushed “I want you so badly, Din” that had dropped from your parted lips as you rode the last wave of your orgasm, a blissful expression softening your features.

As he stood outside of your door, back towards it, Din wondered what you had truly meant. Was it just a benign slip of tongue or was there something else behind it? He hoped for the first, because he couldn’t afford the second.

Feeling something―anything―was out of the question. Even if he wanted to, didn’t matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t. Elsbeth had cursed him to an eternity of apathy, and it had worked ― over the curse of the last eight years, Din’s feelings had dimmed, diminished and then disappeared, while his inner monster became more powerful, feeding off his emotions like a leech sucking blood out of its host. Mando had tried to feel to keep the beast at bay ― would even make the droids try to anger him in silly competitions, but the dull sense in his chest just grew bigger and bigger, like a tumour rotting his entrails.

Din couldn’t remember what happiness felt like ― he had a barren wasteland for a heart. So cold were his insides, he even thought all his organs were covered in beskar. That was what brought him back to your room every night ― your warmth, how it would seep through the cracks of his skin, warming up a part of him that he thought dead.

Tonight, he had allowed himself to really feel your body against his ― helmet still on of course, you both had been stripped naked for the first time, your skin rubbing his, heating him up. Whether he would admit it or not, he craved you. Yearned for your warmth.

With a shake of his head, his feet finally unglued from your doorstep and sauntered towards the west wing. A single light at the end of the corridor twinkled, snuffing out the moment he stepped below it.

He swung the door open to a room he had not visited in a very long while. Din preferred to pay no mind to the source of his emotional detachment, but Nau’ul’s words had been nagging him for weeks now, an annoying reminder scratching the back of his brain.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow.”

He had to see for himself.

The room should have been dark if it wasn’t for the light the Darksaber’s blade emitted. Din trudged towards the display stand in the middle of the empty space, where the Darksaber rested under a glass case. Two metal, U-shaped pins held the Darksaber upright.

An electrifying, white glow encased the black blade, but it was certainly fainter than what he remembered. Significantly fainter. It had taken him a few years to understand that the Darksaber was the vessel of his curse ― as his feelings dwindled and the beast grew fonder of control, so did the light of the Darksaber. He was not sure though about which one caused the other to wither away.

As he stared at it, Din pondered what would happen the day the light from the Darksaber would flicker away. Morgan had died before he could fully understand the idiosyncrasies of his malediction. At first, the frustration of the unknown had only driven him mad, especially when the full moons would bloom on the night sky, leaving him at the mercy of his curse.

The first time he had transformed, bathed by the white light of Concordia, Din thought he was dying. The burning sensation, the bones breaking and fusing back together, the stretch of his skin, the blood becoming cold in his veins and his mind spiralling out of control… He hadn’t died, but he sure wished he did. Only at dawn was he able to gain back control, so exhausted he just laid on the dirt near the Civic Center for an entire day before finding his way back to the royal prison.

Only with the insight of time did he decide it did not matter. The end was the end, and if that was the way, then he would greet it.

Din sighed, his eyes dry under the helmet. Looking around and knowing himself on his own, he carefully removed his helmet, wincing in agony, and placed it on top of the glass case. He pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose in an attempt to clear his mind, one hand resting on the glass.

Eyes shut for a long minute, he ended up fluttering them open. His reflection greeted him ― a terrible, gruesome sight, a face he almost didn’t recognise anymore. The scar that ran from the left of his chin diagonally to his right temple had distorted his features ― his chin slightly dented, the left corner of his mouth raggedy, the flesh on his upper left cheek mildly sunken around the scar, his crooked nose even more angular and his split eyebrow giving him a permanent frown. And then his right eye, completely blinded with a white discolouration covering his iris and pupil.

He could still feel the blade of the Darksaber melting his beskar helmet as Morgan pressed it against him. It hadn’t completely cut through the Mandalorian alloy, but the fire filtering through had burnt his skin, leaving an everlasting imprint on his face.

Din remembered the heat, the panic building up and the sizzling sound of his skin as it thawed like ice under the sun. The smell of burnt skill still haunted him sometimes when the helmet became too overwhelming.

The damaged tissue was thick but extremely sensitive ― every time he pulled the helmet off his head, the fabric inside would drag against the scar tissue, making him flinch in pain.

Shaking his head to release his mind from such memories, Din stared at the Darksaber for longer than intended, lost in his train of thought. For the first time in ages, he wanted to know if the curse could ever be broken.

Until you meet your Maker once more.

That had a pretty definite sentence to it. Death was the only way out.

“I didn’t see you last night,” you mumbled, repressing the need to add an ‘again’ to the end of your sentence.

You had noticed that there were certain nights when Mando would vanish, wouldn’t visit you at all. You wouldn’t see him in the morning either and if you asked any of the droids, they were as evasive as their master.

You still didn’t know why and every time you prodded him about it, his answer was…

“Had stuff to take care of.”

You sighed, pressing your lips into a thin line. The idea of slapping him had its appeal.

“Are we still going?” you quickly changed subject, not wanting to be disappointed with him today. “I’ve not really asked you for anything in the three months I’ve been here.”

You watched his gloved fingers drum on the metallic surface, helmet tipped to one side as he considered your words. You wanted to believe that in the time you both had spent together, Din’s undaunted façade had softened a bit. His replies had become less snappy, his posture slightly more relaxed, and his hands way more caring as they canvassed your skin every night.

An invisible force had been towing you towards him, his gravitational pull irresistible. Din Djarin was a challenge to you, a puzzle you had started putting together. He strived so hard to remain indifferent, it was now an exciting game to make him feel. The only downfall? You were falling for him. Perhaps him being the only man to walk this planet had something to do with it, you had no other options. Also, you knew that fucking the brains out of each other every night would eventually lead you here.

Considering that you had a lifetime to spend on this world, letting yourself feel for Mando was something you could afford. And even if he didn’t want to show it, you were positively sure he was not as apathetic towards you as he let on.

“Alright. I don’t see the harm,” he accepted.

You mumbled a “yes!” with a smile crooking your lips as you pushed the chair back to stand up.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

You rushed out of the room to run to yours and change. The winter was receding, but the cold was still bitter and nippy, so you decided to put on appropriate gear. A few minutes later, you darted towards the lift, where Din was already waiting.

Couldn’t help yourself, you had to smile at him, the softness of your grin reaching your eyes.

Din cleared his throat, face facing forwards to avoid your orbs meeting his.

The way down in the elevator was soundless, but you had grown used to his silence treatment. The short journey to the crashing site was as tranquil as the trip down the lift. Mando was truly a man of few words.

When you caught a glimpse of your T-65B X-wing starfighter, you overtook Din and ran towards it in excitement.

“Careful there! The ground is slippery, you’re gonna―”

Before Mando could finish his warning, you recreated what his next words were going to be: you slipped on an icesheet. Waving your arms so you wouldn’t lose your footing, you ended up falling face first. You managed to partially stop the fall with your hands. The rocks underneath slashed your winter trousers, cutting your left shin.

By the time Din had gotten to your side, you had already stood up.

“You okay?” he asked with worry in his voice.

You nodded, smirking at the preoccupation he was showing.

“Yeah,” you lied. If he knew you had hurt yourself, you would be turning around and returning home empty-handed.

“Be more careful, will you? The ship ain’t going nowhere,” he snarled once he knew you were fine.

You rolled your eyes at him before strolling to the aircraft. Your old X-wing had seen better days ― the glass of the cockpit was smashed; vegetation had grown over the body. Moss covered most of it, painting it green instead of white. When you peeked inside the cabin, you realised it was flooded, all electrics wet. It was truly done for ― if you ever had any hope of leaving this planet, it would not be aboard your X-wing.

Din stood watch as you foraged for the item you were here for. After a few minutes, you located the star compass under the seat in the cockpit, drenched. Looking over your shoulder to see where Mando was, you opened the compass and water leaked everywhere. The black lodestone was static, unmoving ― maybe it just needed to dry off. Despite how damaged it was, you hoped it would still work. You were not planning on using it, obviously, but it was a reminder of your old life, one that now seemed very far away.

You couldn’t say you missed your previous life. The constant travelling had taken a toll on you in the last few years, having almost lost sight of searching for the Darksaber. Now that your feet were back down on the ground, gravity keeping you centred, this new life was not so bad after all.

“You found it?”

“Yeah!”

You quickly clasped the lid back down and jumped out of the cockpit. Perhaps you had lied to Din about what you were really looking for, but something in you told you not to tell the truth. So, when he asked you that morning why you wanted to go back to the shipwreck, you simply lied, telling him you were looking for your family’s locket ― a relic that had been passed down for generations.

The object was small enough to pass for one. You waved it at him quickly, not really showing it to him, before you shoved it in one of the pockets in your vest. Luckily Din didn’t ask for it, otherwise he would have realised it was made of beskar.

“Let’s go back then.”

“You’re bleeding,” Din’s fingers grabbed you by the elbow, yanking you back before you crossed the door to your room.

You looked down, having forgotten about the wound on your leg. You shrugged, downplaying it.

“It’s nothing, I’ll just take care of it now.”

“Like hell you are,” he growled with clenched teeth while dragging you inside.

He only let go of your elbow when you were by your unmade bed. Din stopped right in front of you, hands on hips. He nodded to you, commanding you to remove your trousers so he could see.

Your eyes rolled in frustration and clicked your tongue.

“It’s fine, Din. Don’t worry about it,” you dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

“I’ll decide if I have to worry or not.”

And, without prompt, he pulled down your trousers in a swift movement, leaving your legs bare. You huffed but let him help you out of them and remove your boots. Mando signalled you to sit on your bed and so you did. Din knelt in front of you, grabbing your hurt leg by the ankle until your heel was resting on his bent knee.

He inspected the wound for a minute after having removed his gloves. His fingertips burnt your skin where they ghosted over it.

“It’s not too deep, just a scratch.”

“I told you it was nothing. You have some unresolved trust issues, Din,” you joked, slightly leaning back with the heels of your hands flat on the mattress.

You couldn’t see but knew his eyes squinted under the visor.

“I’ll go get something to clean it. Wait here.”

Mando walked out and you took the chance to remove the uncomfortable coat. A minute later, he had returned with a clean rag and a small container with lukewarm water. He knelt in front of you again, grabbing your leg, and dutifully cleaned the wound.

You couldn’t help but sigh at the feathery touch of his fingers on the back of your knee. His proximity was enough to lighten your need for him. Also, being only in your underwear and a shirt while he was knelt between your legs did not help at all. Your imagination was already running wild ― and so your legs parted slightly, almost involuntarily.

Din’s attention shifted from the wound to your core. He tried to hide he was being distracted, but the helmet kept tilting to one side so he could have a better look at where your thighs met.

You chewed on your bottom lip, slick warmth pooling in between your legs.

“Din,” you hushed his name, your hand searching his so he would stop cleaning the wound.

The Mandalorian didn’t need much prodding after that. He towered above you rising to his feet, his hips at your eye level. You knew he was hard already, so couldn’t ignore the call of the siren.

With rigid steps, he walked towards the chest and placed the container dow. He scrunched the rag so the water dripped back into it. Soon enough, he was in front of you again, clean rag on hand.

“Do you trust me, mesh’la?” his modulated voice was low and husky.

You nodded vehemently.

“I want to try something different this time,” he murmured, the rag twisting in his hands. “But you gotta promise me you’ll behave for me.”

“I will,” you promised, breath hitching in anticipation.

“I’m going to blindfold you and remove my helmet. But I have only two ground rules: you can’t take it off and you can’t touch my face. At all. No excuses. Are we clear?”

A rush of lustful excitement ploughed through your veins. You found yourself nodding again, your neck hurting.

“Use your words, cyar’ika (beloved).”

“Yes. Crystal clear, Din,” you mumbled, widened, almost adoring eyes staring at him. You hadn’t missed the endearment term, although he seemed to not have noticed.

“Good,” he curled one finger at you.

You sat back up, hands laced on your lap patiently waiting as Din blindfolded you with the damp rag. He secured it with a very tight knot on the back and made sure three times that it would not go anywhere.

“If you break your promise, I’ll have to kill you,” the threat was very real, not even a hint of joke in it.

Your mouth went dry and your clit irremediably pulsed ― your pussy was already wet and warm for him. You shouldn’t get off on a death threat, but apparently Din could reduce you to a slick mess just like that.

“I-I won’t remove it. You have my word. Please.”

“Be a good girl for me and lay down on your back,” he commanded you and you happily obliged.

Your heartrate spiked as you heard Din discarding the beskar pieces over his body stocking. Maybe you were too eager, but he was taking too damn long. Then a hissing sound told you his helmet was gone.

This was fucking torture. You wanted to see him, to see the face of the man who made you wet with just a few words. It was cruel of him to impose something like this on you, such a prohibition. However, you understood what his Creed entailed and respected it.

Hated yourself right now for respecting it, but you did.

Din placed his hands on the back of your knees and lifted your legs up, the soles of your feet resting on either side of his naked hips. The warm palms of his hands caressed your ankles, massaging them briefly, before travelling up your calves and inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

Unceremoniously, his fingers curled around the hem of your panties and pulled them down your legs; you couldn’t see but were sure he had thrown them away.

The Mandalorian exhaled audibly the moment his hands landed on your knees and pulled your legs apart. You squirmed, knowing he was devouring you with his eyes.

“Din, please, just―” you whimpered, moany and needy, anticipating.

“Shush. Don’t be so impatient, mesh’la,” he chastised you while stepping back.

That was the first time you listened to his real, manly voice. It was deep and raspy, surly yet sweet.

Your feet, no longer supported on his hips, dropped to the ground.

“Go on your fours,” he talked you through the position he wanted you in as you obeyed. “Now lean down, rest that pretty face of yours on the mattress for me.”

With your perky ass up in the air, you felt very exposed with your inner thighs pressed together and framing your swollen pussy like a pretty picture just for him.

One of his fingers traced your wet slit and you had to stop yourself from wiggling your hips until his finger was partially inside you.

“Look at her, all drippy and puffy for me. She knows what’s coming, doesn’t she? That’s why she’s so fucking wet,” he hummed, shuffling behind you.

You couldn’t see him, but you were damn sure he was on his knees at the feet of the bed.

Din placed his hands on your ass cheeks and parted them, the skin in your sticky furrow stretching while his thumbs caressed your labia. Your cunt was on full display, and you could feel the cold air of the room against your damp, sensitive skin.

“At last, I can claim her as mine,” Din whispered, his hot breath fanning on your pussy now, sending shivers up your spine.

You moaned, finally understanding what was coming.

He didn’t keep you waiting. Din’s tongue lapped your whole pussy in one go and your entire body trembled at the wet touch, his beard prickling your skin. Covering your mouth, you swallowed a pitiful whimper while your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Mando’s broad hands squeezed your ass, grounding you, as he leaned forward again to drink from the fountain of your pleasure.

His tongue dipped in your creamy slit and stroked it slowly, deliberately loitering around your clit, but never really paying it much attention. He kissed your swollen lips, making out with them as if they were your mouth, the tip of nose intimately caressing your perineum. With the help of his fingers, he splayed open your quivering cunt, your hole accessible to the apex of his mischievous tongue.

Din licked you for minutes on end, ignoring your pulsing clit on purpose. The tension inside you coiled almost uncomfortably, so intense it would snap at any given moment. His devilish persuasion was relentless, more so when he would introduce his tongue in your very core.

You bucked your hips against his mouth, grinding. Desperate.

“Din, please, please, here,” you begged, slipping one of your hands down your belly and in between your legs.

You parted your slippery pussy lips, your clit hitching between them, showing him exactly where you wanted his goddamn tongue.

“Here, please,” you insisted, teary-eyed, at the edge of your patience.

“So impatient, mesh’la,” he chuckled behind you, still on your fours for him.

Finally, his lips latched onto your clit, and you whined out loud, pure elation running through your veins at the sweet suckling of his mouth. His teeth grazed the sensitive nub, and you saw stars behind your eyes, head slightly tilted backwards as you mewled until your throat felt raw.

Din sucked on your clit harshly at the same time two of his thick fingers found their way to your oozing hole. You screamed a resounding “fuck” at the perfect intrusion. The combination of his tongue and his digits were more than what your nervous system could take. Lick, pump, lick, pump ― the perfect rhythm making your toes curl, your pussy clench and your clit set ablaze.

The whole pussy-eating-from-the-back situation was too much ― his fingers ever so tantalising, you surrendered. Rubbing your cunt against his mouth, you moaned his name as the best orgasm of your life almost rendered you unconscious. You came on his mouth while Din just sipped from you, drinking all your discharge as if it was the last drops he would ever taste.

You could only hear your heart beating in your eardrums, all your senses overwhelmed. You were so out, you had almost forgotten the rag blindfolding you.

“You’re gonna come again for me, mesh’la,” only then did you realised his fingers were still inside you.

You panted, gathering your thoughts.

“I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, entranced.

“Oh, you can and you will,” he groaned, accepting the challenge.

And with that, his wicked lips pressed against your cunt, and he started all over again. As it turned out, he was fucking right. His tongue and his fingers were working you so well, there was no way you could resist. However, this time, there weren’t two fingers stuffed in your whole, but four. Your walls were so outstretched it should have been painful, but it wasn’t ― he had made sure to get you ready, pliant under his dutiful care.

“I wonder if you could take him. Bet you could,” Din whispered in a moment of respite.

“Huh?”

All thoughts dispersed when the second climax spread across your entire body, leaving you exhausted; a pitiful, sweaty mess on the bedsheets.

“Turn around and lay down. I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” the crudeness of his words should have made you frown but instead you smiled, completely blissed out.

Din made good on his promise. On your back and with your legs parted, you heard him moving around until he was between your thighs. Then he leaned forward, his hands on either side of your shoulders to keep his weight off you, and his hard shaft dove inside your cunt with no resistance. When he bottomed out, he snapped his hips back and then forth, until he was rutting into you like a man on death row.

Your hands held onto his back, your nails digging in his skin. You wanted to move them up and sink them in his hair so badly, your palms were itchy with longing. He had said you couldn’t touch his face; he hadn’t said anything about his hair. Hoping he wouldn’t notice your intentions, your hands drifted up his back, arriving at the nape of his neck.

So close to burying your hands in his hair, so fucking close…

“Don’t,” he growled at you, the snapping of his hips against yours unforgiving. “The fucking audacity. I. said. don’t. fucking. touch,” he punctuated every word with deep, sharp thrusts.

You winced and gasped at the depth of his dives, your mouth shaping a perfect O, back arched off the mattress below you. Every stab of his dick kissed your cervix, and you just couldn’t stop moaning uncontrollably. The mild pain quickly blossomed into ecstasy; your skin electrified with pleasure.

Suddenly you felt his mouth ghosting over yours; his unfiltered, gruffy grunts were music to your ears. You reached up, wanting to steal a kiss from him to taste his lips for the first time, but he slithered back.

“You don’t respect boundaries, do you?” Din rumbled.

His voice should have had a tinge of anger, but instead it sounded… amused?

“You have had a taste of me, it’s only fair I get something in return, Din,” you bargained breathlessly, but got no reply. “Please?”

Imploring for a measly kiss from your captor while he kept on fucking you. That had to be a new low in your book.

You couldn’t see him as he jackhammered you into the mattress, but knew he was debating. Whatever inner debate he had, the side you were banking on won.

“You keep your hands on my back at all times. Yes?” One of his hands moved to your neck, his dextrous fingers wrapping around your throat. “Or I’ll―”

“Kill me. I know. Elek, Alor (yes, Master),” you whispered in Mando’a, breath hitching.

His mouth came crashing down on yours, teeth colliding in a very messy kiss. His tongue sought yours with fervour and sucked it into his mouth. He tasted like you.

You couldn’t help but moan in midst of the sloppy kiss, your heart finally content at his small yet meaningful surrender. The grip of his hand around your neck softened but didn’t dissolve, adding another layer of excitement to his unabating thrusts.

“Gar serim, cyar’ika (that’s it, beloved). You’re so good, so fucking good for me. Warm, tight pussy always ready for me when I need her. She never disappoints,” he maundered, your brain spiralling with his praise.

Praising your cunt, not actually you, but you would take anything he would give you.

A few minutes later, the breathy groans of your making out along with the squelching sounds of your lust filled the air, quickly followed by the loud moans announcing your climaxes. Your cunt clamped on Din’s dick―a promise you’d never let him go―and he blew his load inside you. The tackiness of his cum filled your insides as his cock pulsed one last time and his lips pecked yours.

Din dropped to your side, panting with exhaustion, and you just laid there pondering all the decisions that had taken you there.

You’d never let him go.

When the fuck did that happen?

“How long does winter last here?”

“A good part of the year, around six months,” he replied dryly.

He was aware of the fact that you had been trying to get words out of him for the past week. Make conversation, talk about his story, his past, his interests. See if there was any common ground between you. But Din couldn’t bring himself up to actually share personal details.

And every time you tried, and he would dodge your attempts, he would see the disappointment painted across your face. And every time, something unknown would uncomfortably stir within him. He suspected you had started to harbour feelings for him ― and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t reciprocate you. Didn’t want to break your heart.

It was his fault, really, for seeking you out every night. You were so giving and him so greedy, he just mindlessly took what you offered without giving you anything in return except for a few orgasms and a good time.

“What did you do last winter? Bet it was boring being home with just the droids…”

Din knew very well what answer you were expecting: It was. Your presence has been a great improvement. You make my days―and nights―more bearable.

But instead, he shrugged.

“Dunno. Kept myself busy with stuff,” he muttered frugally.

He kept on walking before you, making the way back home after a quick stroll around to breathe some cold, fresh air.

The Mandalorian did not expect to be attacked by a snowball, which hit the back of his helmet. He quickly turned around.

“What the hell are you―?”

Before he could finish his question, you hit him again with another snowball, dead centre on his visor.

“You are such a prick, Din Djarin,” you snapped between gritted teeth, patting another snowball between your gloved hands. “Would it actually kill you to be a bit more open, hm?”

This time he saw the attack coming and was able to duck, avoiding the next snowball.

“Are you mad?”

“Yes, I’m mad, you fucking idiot!” you yelled at him, trudging forwards with another snowball on hand. “I’m mad for you, but either you’re fucking blind or you’re a cold-hearted jerk.”

Little did you know he was actually blind in one eye, but it didn’t seem to be the time to point it out.

The sudden love confession caught him off guard. You were not supposed to say that. You were not supposed to feel that way, not for him.

Din remained calm as you cut the distance and tried to smash the fourth snowball on his covered face. His fingers gripped your wrist before you were able to do so.

“You’re just confused, mesh’la. All the sex is blindsiding you, but you really don’t feel anything for me,” he reasoned.

You looked at him as if he had slapped you and took a step back.

“Of course, because you, the freaking Tin Man with a dead heart, know better than myself how I feel. Un-fucking-believable, honestly. Go fuck yourself, Din,” you scoffed, pushed him to one side and walked past him.

Din saw you disappear through the sliding door, while he stood there in disbelief.

What the fuck had just happened?

You kind of expected Din not to show up at your door tonight, but his absence in your bed stung either way. Sure, you had told him to go fuck himself, but now with a new―horny―perspective, you would prefer if he fucked you instead.

Infuriated with him, yourself and the situation, you sat back up on your empty bed. You reached for the drawer in your nightstand and opened it, grabbing the star compass inside. Fidgeting with the aurodium clasp, you wondered why the fuck Din didn’t open up. After three months and a half with him, you had thought you had been able to break through his armour ― the figurative one, not the real one.

Every time you tried to talk about your relationship with him, Din would shut you out or wouldn’t even engage in the conversation at all. He was more stubborn than a falumpaset, and that was saying something. Despite his indifference, you believed that, deep down in that cold, dead heart of his, he cared for you. Maybe he didn’t love you, but at least cared for you.

You didn’t even know if you loved him, anyway. Infatuated was, most probably, more accurate, you’d like to think. Most days you pushed that thought to the remotest corner of your mind, not wanting to consider it. Because, after all, you were his prisoner ― you might forget it some days, but the reality was that Din Djarin was your captor. So maybe it wasn’t love ― perhaps it was just a survival mechanism. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Amid your pondering, you almost didn’t realise that the hands of the compass had moved, and the lodestone was humming, the plasma inside slowly swirling around. Your heart jolted in your ribcage, almost dropping to your stomach, when you finally paid it attention.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping out of bed.

You had hoped it would work once it fully dried, but you were not expecting it to be actually functioning. It seemed to sense the Force emitted by the Darksaber, but that couldn’t be possible. If the Darksaber was here, in Mandalore, Din would know―would have told you. Right?

No, he wouldn’t have.

With that thought in mind, you put on some more decent clothes and cracked open your door. Carefully, you peeked in the corridor to confirm the coast was clear. It was close to midnight, so you hoped everyone―Din and the droids―would have gone to rest.

Tiptoeing through the hallway, you followed the path the star compass was pointing to, only to find yourself in the west wing after a few minutes. You knew you shouldn’t be here, but the compass hummed louder, vibrating on the palm of your hand, as you turned another corner. Looking up from your family’s relic, you saw a door at the end of the hallway.

“BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BOOP! BIP! PIP!” Din’s astromech robot, an old R2-D2 unit, screeched at you loudly, skidding and coming to a halt in front of you. It even had a red light flashing at you.

You almost threw your heart up there and then, the little robot giving you the biggest scare of your life.

“CA’NARA!” you told him off as your heartrate slowed down. “Fucking hell, you almost killed me, little devil.”

“BEEP! PIPIPIPI!” the droid beeped at you, going around you in circles.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, sorry!” you whispered, “I-I’m a sleepwalker!”

Ca’nara seemed to calm down, only for Nau’ul to appear in scene.

Great, fucking great.

“Ca’nara, what’s going on?” the protocol droid turned the corner, almost bumping into you. “Oh! What are you doing here?”

“I- Uhm, I was just telling Ca’nara that I’m a sleepwalker. He literally just woke me up. I didn’t mean― you know I cause no trouble, Nau’ul,” you pleaded with the affable droid.

“Of course, of course,” he took a couple of stiff steps back. “What’s that on your hand?”

Fuck. You looked down, coming up empty with a lie.

“I don’t know. I literally just woke up, I don’t know where I got it from,” you stammered a bit, but the droid didn’t pick up on it.

“I’ll take it. Alor will know what it is and where it belongs,” Nau’ul extended his hand towards you.

If you didn’t give it up, it would arouse suspicion. So, unwillingly, you passed it on to him.

“Where’s he?” the question slipped your tongue before you could refrain.

“Alor is… indisposed, miss. He needs to rest,” he replied cryptically as you both walked back to the main corridor where your bedroom was.

“Indisposed? Is he sick? Is he okay?” you instantly worried.

“He’ll be better in the morning, fret not,” he paused in front of your room, and you opened the door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Nau’ul,” you mumbled before closing the door behind you.

What a varping disaster. Nau’ul had confiscated your star compass, which meant that Din would eventually see it. If it came to it, you were not sure what you would do. And you still didn’t know what was in that room, why the compass had gone crazy as you approached it. But you had a pretty good idea. Chances were, the Darksaber was on the other side of that door at the end of the west corridor.

Sighing, you sauntered towards the big window in your room. Two perfectly aligned full moons dominated the night sky, their white, sparkly glow bouncing off the walls. It was a beautiful sight.

Something in the path below caught your attention. A metallic reflection. Your eyes drifted down just in time to see Din running towards the Civic Center, as if a thousand ghosts were on his heels.

You frowned, confused. Where was he going at this witchy hour? Wasn’t he sick?

A scary thought formed in your head. Were you under attack? Had Ash come looking for you after several weeks without returning his messages?

Heart pounding with worry, you darted to the door and then the lift. Whatever threat was coming, you would face it with him. With such resolution in mind, you followed his trail.

Your concern for him skyrocketed when you arrived at the Civic Center and saw nothing but pieces of his armour scattered around. You snatched the shin and thigh armour off the steps to the main door, only to look up and find more bits spread around the entryway.

This made no sense at all. Why would Din dispose of his armour? Something was wrong, very wrong, but you were not under attack.

You gathered all the armour pieces in your arms while calling his name but heard nothing except the whistling of wind passing through cracks and crannies.

Suddenly, you felt the need to look down the stairs to the Living Waters. A hunch rooting in your core, wrapping around your heart. Then a faint, painful growl came from underneath and all your senses flared alive.

What was Din doing down there? In the Mythosaur’s lair?

Panic hiked up your throat as you hiked down the stairs, the animalistic snarl louder now as you drew nearer. At the bottom of the steps, eyes fixed on your shoes, you dared to glance up.

His armour fell from your arms on to the ground, clattering. You were not prepared to see what you found.

Din was half curled up on the floor, naked and dragging himself towards the water. Only he was way bigger ― almost seven feet tall, his body much more muscular with chiselled, blueish veins across the whole of him, hands big as paws with his nails digging the dirt underneath.

You took a step forward, catching a better glimpse of him. Then you truly saw ― his skin had a viridescent tint to it and had started to scale. Rugged lumps raised from the skin on his back, tiny bones protruding through. No, not bones ― small horns, like those of a reptile.

Not like a reptile. Like a Mythosaur. Only smaller than the beast you saw a few weeks ago.

With a guttural bellow, he removed his helmet, throwing it to on side as he crawled towards the rippling water. His head was crowned by thick, short, greyish curls ― exactly what you had imagined.

“Din?” you whispered, taking a precautious step towards him, one hand extended in front of you to appease him.

His head snapped around at the sound of your voice.

You gasped at the sight of him. What first struck you was the scar across his face, one that would perfectly line up with the mended crack on his helmet. It ran diagonally through his rugged features, distorting them and hugging that crooked nose. His teeth seemed slightly pointier too. The next thing you noticed were his blown, bloodshot eyes with pupils as big as his sclerae.

Not eyes, one eye ― the right one was completely discoloured, covered in a white sheen.

He still looked like Din, but… not really.

The vision in front of you should have scared you. Even more so when Din stared at you, and you saw nothing in his expression ― he didn’t recognise you. Whoever, or whatever, this was, he wasn’t the man that had kept you company for the last few months.

Logic dictated you should run in the opposite direction. Instead, you propelled forwards towards him, knees skidding on the dirt and landing by his side.

The warm touch of an alien hand grounded him for an ephemeral instant. The bitter cold crawled under his scaled skin, rejecting the heat like a limping animal avoiding the helping hand of a human.

He snarled, creeping back and away from you, as if your mere proximity was a threat to him.

Because it was.

“Din, I’m here, let me help you,” you besought, dragging your knees towards him again.

He didn’t know who Din was. Where he was or had gone. Did he ever exist? The Beast didn’t know―didn’t care. So he growled again, but his futile attempt didn’t keep you at bay. Guessed you had a death wish, only that could explain your blatant refusal to his rejection.

Both your hands fell upon him, like warm blood spilling and enlivening his senses. For once the cold running wild through his veins minimised, giving way to a hot flush that was foreign to him. The sudden warmth surprised him ― but what shocked him the most was how soothing it was, how easy was for him to crave your touch. A primal need.

The Beast had forgotten what warmth was, having been cursed to a lifetime of coldness for as long as he could remember. Crazed by this newfound feeling, he slowly sat back up on the ground, eyeing you like a predator watching his prey.

Your hand reached up to him to cradle his cheek and the Beast closed his eyes, that warm feeling running down his neck, wrapping around his dead yet beating heart.

“You’re so cold,” you mumbled as you cut the distance some more, your chest nudging his side.

Another heatwave flashed through him ― your warmth beckoning, your body too inviting. He wanted to dive in, to let your warmth surround him, make him surrender. He craved it so bad, so fiercely, the Beast bowed down to sink his forked tongue in your mouth ― unannounced, unrequited.

You moaned at the intrusion, your hands lacing on the nape of his neck, and that only spurred him on. He gave in to your warmth and gave up his restraints. Growling, he plundered your mouth as he forced you down onto the ground.

Towering above you, his tongue slipped out of your mouth to graze your neck, and you shivered under him. Biting your chin, he returned to your lips to kiss you, to suck out your warmth to replenish himself. Like a leech he drank from you while his rough, broad hands roamed your body.

“Din,” you mewled.

He didn’t like this Din whose name you were moaning. So he kissed you, not wanting to hear it again and tugged at your clothing. Impatient, he almost tore your garments apart and only relaxed a little when you were completely naked beneath him.

Pressing his bare body against yours, he revelled, soaking in your heat. But there was a part of you that was hotter, and he could sense it ― like a tracking fob, he pursued the warm feeling as he slithered down your frame.

The heat pulsing from between your thighs called him home, hypnotising. You pressed your knees together and he snarled, his sight darting to your glassy, dreamy eyes, silently distraught at your denial.

He leaned down over you to graze one of your nipples, smothering it raw to show you what he could do to you down in your balmy core. His demonstration worked, because the next time he coaxed your legs apart, you showed no resistance.

So down he went on you, fingers splaying out your puffy folds to display the focal point of his desire. Like a thirsty animal his bifid tongue darted out and swept the length of your damp slit in one slow, sweet sweep. He howled into your pussy, besotted, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he devoured your seeping cunt. Warmth poured from your clit, and he latched onto it rather harshly, finally finding the beacon that reeled him in.

“Fuck, that― Mhmm,” whatever you were going to say died in your lips as a moan hitched in your throat and your body trembled.

A rush of liquid fire met his tongue, and he accepted your offering as your thighs quivered around him ― the strength of your release eased slowly, but his tongue didn’t.

His fingers found the warm cave he needed to nestle in. But before he could do that, before his brain got fucked out into oblivion, he had to prepare you to take him. He massaged your leaking entrance one digit at a time until you were sweetly stretched around four of his fingers.

You whimpered with the first pump and slowly you eased into it, into the feeling of being full to the brim. He licked and flicked your throbbing clit, the hot nub driving him wild. Your inner walls tightened, announcing another climax, and he pulled it out of you with his fist still immersed in your pussy.

Once you came down from your high, the Beast unburied from between your thighs and loomed over you. Your half-lidded eyes and fucked-out expression only made him harder, hotter. He hungered for the moment your bodies would connect; the moment he would finally feel only warmth running through his veins. The moment the cold was forgotten, albeit only fleetingly.

The tip of his cock nudged at your pliant entrance, and he trailed the head up and down your dewy furrow a few times. Your eyes blew open the moment he poked at your hole, parting your flesh, and you looked down at his dick kissing the mouth to your cave.

“Din, I don’t think― Oh, holy FUCK,” you mumbled something uncoherent afterwards, head tilted back and your teeth sinking in your bottom lip as your pleading metamorphosed into moaning.

His whole frame blanketed yours as he supported his weight off you by placing his forearms to either side of your head.

Slowly, inch by inch, he buried himself in you, suffocating heat radiating from where you two met. He growled, an animalistic bellow bubbling up his throat as he felt your walls swallowing him, sheathing his throbbing cock. And when he was fully embedded in you, buried almost down to the hilt, you whined as he remained still ― your walls adjusting around him. He was maddened by the warmth of you.

Only when he felt you relax around him, did he start pumping in and out of you. His mind went blank as his sight transfixed on yours and your foreheads touched, another bridge between you. The Beast rutted into you, first paced, then madly, as he stared into your soul. Your body rocked up and down underneath him, your back arched so your nipples caressed the bare skin of his chest.

The movement of water behind him made him look over his shoulder. The Great Mythosaur had resurfaced, only the top of his head and his eyes were above the water table. Watching, ever present and lurking. Eager. Wanting.

He growled at him, a warning to back the fuck down ― he wasn’t sharing you; you were all for himself and himself only. His exclusive prey, no one else’s. With a low rumble, the Great Mythosaur disappeared under the water, and he refocused on you.

Tension built up at the base of his spine, his cock pulsating so hard it was difficult to ignore it any longer. And then your pussy clenched around him as you orgasmed once more, and that inevitably milked him dry ― both of you moaning in unison as ropes of thick, white cum painted your inner walls, leaving a lasting imprint in your core.

The Beast panted above you ― all coldness deserted from his body, destituted by your unique warmth.

He sat back up, his engorged cock leaving your entrails. Through the daze in your eyes, you looked at him with a satisfied grin. As you sat up straight, you lifted one hand towards him, softly placing it on the center of his chest.

“Come back to me, Din,” you begged, and all hell broke loose within him.

The pain, the shearing pain, blinded all his senses as his bones snapped and rearranged again. His jaw clenched to stop the agonising screams hiking up his throat. Din hunkered down as his body adjusted back to normal size.

As grievous as it was, it was over very quickly. Too quickly. He had not fully transformed into the Beast, which meant easing out of it was not as traumatic.

What was traumatic was the sudden landslide of overwhelming feelings taking form inside him. Almost a decade of apathy meant years’ worth of emotions repressed ― emotions that would emerge to the surface if given the opportunity. And whatever you unleashed within him, flooded his brain and his heart.

A myriad of sentiments rushed through him ― joy, anger, hope, disappointment, serenity, desperation. All at once, a cacophony bursting his eardrums. So loud were his emotions, all boiling together inside him, his thoughts were drowned. He couldn’t think ― panic was setting in.

Din panted as his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, lungs vacating all oxygen in sharp exhales. His ears rang and his heart threatened to climb up his throat and run. Eyes closed shut, he grasped for control.

“Din, I’m here,” your hands slid on his back, grabbing him by the shoulders.

A soothing balm taking many of his worries away. Your palms smoothing out his skin felt like an anchor. One he desperately tried to hold onto.

Through the fog of his anxiety, he saw you knelt by his side, hugging him close. Naked as he was, a sweaty patina clinging to your skin. Although Din had not been in possession of his own body, he had been relegated to the background and had been witness to everything that happened. Forced to watch him take you.

He felt sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I can’t control him, I just―,” he wheezed as he sat back up.

Your soft eyes sparkled, a faint smile curling up your lips. Your fingers snaked through his hair, combing it back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Din,” you hugged him tighter, reassuring, kissing one of his shoulders.

“Are you hurt? Did I― did he…?”

“I’m completely fine. A bit… sensitive and raw. But in a good way,” you added with a faint chuckle.

The comforting caress of your hand rubbing his back and your lips brushing the skin on his shoulder made him believe you.

Even though the look in your eyes had not changed, he could see the questions dancing in your pupils. Questions you were holding back, but that would eventually spurt out.

Your free hand reached for his left cheek, and he almost flinched at the proximity. Your thumb had come too close to the scar, sending a shot of pain down his neck. But he didn’t lean back away from you. Instead, Din stilled under your touch.

“I knew you’d be gorgeous underneath that helmet,” you whispered, your mouth close to his.

Din grunted, taking your compliment as an offense. Why were you mocking him? He knew how he looked ― he didn’t need you making fun of him for it.

And why was he upset? He shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Your tiny fingers wrapped around his wrist when he reached for the helmet nearby. You yanked his forearm until his eyes met yours.

“I wasn’t joking. I mean it, Din. Truly,” you husked, hand again on his cheek and thumb too close for comfort.

He couldn’t see a sliver of jest in your features. You were deadpan serious. And that scared him.

Din looked away, coming to terms with the flaring emotions. Emotions. Even the unspoken word tasted weird on his tongue.

You moved away from him to quickly gather your clothes and put them on. Then returned to his side with his armour and clothing.

“Let’s go back home, Din. You look knackered,” you mumbled, kneeling by his side again.

Din didn’t reject your aid when you helped him get dressed again. Taking the helmet between your hands, he bowed down his head so you could put it on for him.

His body ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt ― all the restructuring his bones had to endure always took a physical toll on him. So much so, he needed your help to stand up ― his legs felt like those of a newborn humbaba.

But today… today it also took an emotional toll on him.

He really was exhausted.

You probably needed time to process what had happened tonight, a whirlwind of questions and doubts battered around in your mind. But you didn’t want to leave Din alone, not when he looked so fatigued, a moment away from breaking.

Walking down the silent corridor beside him, arm draped around his waist, you went past your room. You had never been to his and hoped tonight would be the night where he would let you spend it by his side.

Hand heavy on the handle, you pushed it down and the door swung open. You didn’t know what to expect and, somehow, the bareness of his room did not surprise you at all. The metalwork on the walls had been painted black and the furniture was sparse. A massive bed with black bedsheets dominated the room.

Despite the monochromatic theme, it felt cozy, inviting even. Dragging him towards the bed, you gently pushed him down on to the mattress and knelt in front of him to remove his boots.

“I can do it,” his words slurred.

“I know. But let me do it, please,” you muttered, throwing the shoes to one side.

Din hummed in agreement, so slowly you unfastened all the beskar pieces again. Removed the vest underneath and unzipped his body stocking down the side, helping him out of it.

There was something extremely intimate about undressing him. Not with a deprived end in mind, but a caring one.

I could do this forever. Only if you’d let me, the intrusive thought didn’t startle you. Because it was true.

Last, you placed your hands to either side of his helmet to pull it up. By pure instinct, his hands darted up to yours to stop you from uncovering his face.

“It’s okay, Din,” you reassured him softly.

Din crooned again, arms falling to his sides, surrendering, and you took it off, leaving it on the nightstand.

You could truly get used to this; you’d never tire of looking at him. His rugged features, although distorted by the nasty scar, were pleasant. His soft, brown and white eyes, the aquiline nose, the moustache blending in with the beard, the strong jaw. You only saw beauty, no beast.

Mando let himself fall backwards and you stood there by the side of the bed, unsure of what to do with yourself.

He decided for you.

“Stay, please,” he purred, half asleep by the time his head touched the pillow underneath.

He didn’t need to say more. Removing your clothes, you joined him under the bedlinen with a smirk.

The first lights of the morning filtered through the big window in Din’s bedroom. You had been awake for an hour now, but he had been so peacefully sleeping, you didn’t want to disturb him.

A tangled mess of limbs you were, your legs intertwined with his while your right cheek rested on his bare chest. Your left forearm was splayed across his abdomen, the tips of your fingers mindlessly caressing his ribs.

Pressing a kiss to his left pec, he stirred under you, slowly coming out of his slumber. You hugged him tighter, an easy smile surfacing.

“Good morning,” you husked when he looked down at you with just his left eye open, lips slightly curled downwards.

His addled expression made you snicker as you kissed his jawline.

“Morning,” he hushed back once his brain registered your words.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Everything hurts, but I’m okay.”

The arm of his under you moved, bringing you closer to him in a half embrace.

“I know you have questions,” he said a few moments later.

“Understatement of the year,” you joked, lifting your head slightly up to rest your chin on his chest. “Is now a good time?”

“Might as well,” his reply was accompanied by a smirk.

“You didn’t transform fully last night, did you?”

Din shook his head. “No, just halfway. I think your presence stopped it from happening.”

Did that mean that you could soothe the beast? That you could help Din in a way that really mattered? The mere possibility filled your belly with butterflies.

“And, well, the most obvious one… How?” you emphasized the last word.

“A witch cursed me before I killed her,” you looked at him quizzically, eyebrows raised, and he sighed. “A man by the name of Moff Gideon had someone I held dear under his grasp. A kid I was fond of,” he paused to gather his thoughts while your breath hitched at the name of Moff Gideon. “I fought Gideon to free him. I won, but he had backup I did not see coming. A witch named Morgan Elsbeth. She came to his rescue and I ended up killing her. Her last breath cursed me to an existence of apathy and becoming a beast. Guess it worked,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “That was eight years ago and ever since then, my ability to feel has been dying out while the beast has only gotten stronger.”

Your head spun with so much information, you almost felt dizzy. Did Din fight Moff Gideon? Was it his halo you chased eight years ago?

“Is that how you got the crack on your helmet and the scar?” you ventured, heart pounding.

“Mhm,” was his only reply. “How I lost my right eye too.”

The helmet was made of beskar, one of the strongest alloys in the Galaxy. Only a weapon strong enough would be able to melt it. But you couldn’t push him for more details, or it would be suspicious.

And did it really matter? Did you care that much about the Darksaber? Yes, you had spent your whole life looking for it; yes, you had promised your dying father you would finish the mission. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

“What was the kid’s name? What happened to him?”

“Grogu. He is Force sensitive, he went to the Jedi for training,” he pursed his lips, and your fingers smoothed out the crow’s feet around his right eye.

“You miss him,” you hummed, your fingertips tracing imaginary lines on his skin.

“I didn’t think I did. Till now,” he confessed, stirring under you. “I don’t know, it’s weird. Since last night I have started to… feel again. And it’s overwhelming.”

Your heart did a little jump against your ribcage. If he could feel now, did he feel for you?

You were too scared to ask, so didn’t.

“Maybe the curse is fading?”

“Maybe,” he said back, sounding unconvinced. “You hungry?”

You nodded.

“I’ll go get something. Bet Nau’ul has prepared a feast. Whether it’s edible or not, I don’t know.”

You chuckled at the joke and moved off him so Din could get up. In silence, you watched him dress, his back muscles rippling with every movement.

Yes, you could get used to this.

Fuck the Darksaber. Fuck everything. You just wanted to live your life. With him. Here, in Mandalore. Only if he’d let you.

It was selfish of you to think this way, but Din’s curse had become your blessing.

Every night since you discovered his secret, you’d go to his room and spend the hours of darkness with him. He would reluctantly take the helmet off, but each time you would reassure him he couldn’t scare you away, that what he thought he looked like didn’t matter in the slightest. And you meant every single word. In your eyes, he was perfect just the way he was.

There was still the issue of his Creed forbidding him, but you wondered if it was more habit than anything else.

And every full moon, you would follow him down to the Mythosaur lair to let him take you, excitement running through your veins every single time. You knew you shouldn’t enjoy it but allowing him to fuck you in beast form was exhilarating. Even with practice you had still not been able to take him fully ― his cock too big to bear. It was worse when you attempted a blowjob on him ― your jaw almost dislocated. But you were more than happy to try, obviously.

And of course, it helped him regulate, which was the most important point of all. He had told you he didn’t feel as cold either. Even if his body was hot to the touch, Din had explained how his organs, his blood, felt like icicles. Ever since the beast had had a taste of your warmth―Din’s words, not yours―it seemed like his feelings were slowly crawling back.

That had been interesting too. After so many years spent numb, Din had had a bit of trouble dealing with his emotions. Sometimes they were extreme, out of proportion even, but he was learning how to manage them. Although most days felt like one step forward and three back, especially when it was a touchy subject such as love.

You had tried, but Din was still of the idea that he couldn’t truly feel ― that this was just a glitch, a shortcut, but not the real thing. And because of his stupid theory, he didn’t want to hear you say anything about The Matter. You had seen how much he had improved, how much better he could deal with everything, and yet he wouldn’t listen to you in that respect.

You rolled your eyes, still thinking about it, as you trekked through the mud. It was a crispy morning, but the cold had started to recede. Poor Ca’nara had a faulty retractable third leg ― the inside mechanism was getting jammed regularly. You had decided to be proactive and walk to the landing site of your X-wing, in the hopes that some parts of your astromech droid were salvageable. An extremely long shot, yes, but you had to try at least.

In full armour, Din sauntered towards the dining room, where the three droids seemed to be conferring about something.

None of them heard him coming, and Nau’ul startled dramatically when he saw him.

“Oh! Alor! What― Uh, do you want something to eat?” he asked, looking at Mrs. Kri’gee and Ca’nara nervously.

Din frowned, suspicious of their jumpy, evasive behaviour.

“No, I’m fine,” he mumbled as his eye caught a glimpse of something shiny Nau’ul was holding, trying to conceal it. “What’s that?”

“Ah, this? Well. You see, I― It’s― Nothing really. I don’t really know what―” his stammering was riling Din up.

He was a damn droid, not a fucking human. How could Nau’ul get edgier than himself? Unbelievable.

“Give,” he extended his hand towards the droid, palm up, and curled his fingers with impatience.

The three droids shared weird looks, but Nau’ul finally handed him the object.

Din turned around the metal item and as soon as he did, he recognised the beskar. Brows knitting, he inspected the grooves and quickly identified them as astromeridian lines. This was not a simple object; it was a Jedi star compass. Confused as to how this came to be in the possession of Nau’ul, Din unclasped the compass and lifted the lid.

His breathing hitched and his heart skipped a beat. This was not any star compass; this was the star compass. One that all Mandalorians believed to be a myth. But the black plasma in the lodestone didn’t lie. In his hand he was holding the very same star compass that Tarre Vizsla had commissioned to keep track of the Darksaber in case it ever got stolen.

“Where did you get this?” he snapped, fingers clutching the device tight.

“I― Well, it’s complicated. I thought―”

“It’s hers, isn’t it?” he interrupted.

The memory of that day trip to your ship came back to him. A locket, you had said. Bullshit.

Nau’ul nodded.

“How long have you had this?”

“Weeks, Alor. I did recognise it from the lore I knew about House Vizsla, but we didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. She’s doing you good, Master, you’ve improved―”

“Unnecessarily? Are you for fucking real, Nau’ul?” Din replied angrily, teeth gritting.

Without expecting an answer, he turned around and stormed out of the room.

You were kneeling on the ground, elbow’s deep in the core of your old R3-D3 unit, trying to reach a hidden screw, when you heard heavy steps approaching.

“Good you’re here, I can’t get to this screw. I’ve been at it for five minutes now. Can you try?” you asked Din, who stopped inches away from your back.

When he didn’t say a word, you turned around and glanced up at him.

He radiated tension through every pore, his posture stiff and shoulders squared. Eyebrows furrowed, you got up, cleaning the palm of your hands on your trousers.

“What’s the matter, Din?”

“This. Why did you have this?” his voice transpired how mad he felt as he handed you an object you quickly recognised.

The star compass that Nau’ul had confiscated from you weeks ago. You had assumed the droid didn’t know what it was and hadn’t bothered to show it to Din.

Your eyes shot up to where you knew his were.

“I can explain,” you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his forearm.

“You better start talking now,” even if he hadn’t backed away from you, he felt so distant.

Your mind raced and your heart galloped inside your chest. You could lie your way out of this situation, but you didn’t want to. You loved him, and nothing else mattered. He would understand. Eventually.

“Din, listen to me, please. I’m not gonna lie to you: it is exactly what it looks like. My family, my tribe― we are trackers. Have been tracking the Darksaber for generations. I was raised to hate your people, but the message never really sunk in for me. Our purpose was to find the Darksaber and destroy it,” you explained while he remained deadly silent. “That was why I was travelling through the Mandalore system. I was tracking the Darksaber. I was going to Concordia, but I ran into technical problems with my X-wing and had to divert here. I think― I thought it was there.”

Until that night you sneaked out to the west wing. You had been caught before you could confirm your suspicions but were pretty sure that was what Din was hiding in the west wing. The reason he wouldn’t let you be anywhere nearby.

“But now you know it’s not in Concordia,” he finished for you.

You nodded.

“But I don’t care for it anymore, Din. Once I figured you likely had it, I made a choice. I chose you,” you whispered, closing in on him until your bodies met. “You have to believe me.”

He didn’t talk at all. Silence strung between you, dense and worrying, like a rope wrapping around your neck, forcing the oxygen out of your lungs. You didn’t want to panic, knowing that Din probably only needed time to think, to digest and ruminate.

Minutes went by and your grip on his forearm loosened. You were ready to take a step back, give him some space to process, when Din finally spoke in his modulated voice.

“I believe you,” a wave of relief washed over you, “and I choose you too.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach and then climbed up your oesophagus. It was beating so hard, so fast, you were seconds away from passing out.

He chose you.

Before you could throw your arms around his neck with pure elation, Din took a step back and one hand reached towards the back of his belt. Confused, you followed the movement of his hand, a deep wrinkle burrowing between your brows.

Din presented you a black hilt, waved it a little, and then the black and white blade appeared, humming very loudly, although dimmer than what you expected. Your eyes widened at the sight of the Darksaber ― the item your whole family had been searching for, right there, in front of you, an inch away from your fingers.

Lifting your right hand, you reached for it.

Suddenly, a firing sound broke the silence and, inexplicably, Din leaned forward towards you, the Darksaber dropping from his hand.

You held him by the elbows, not understanding what was happening, as his hands grasped for you. Then a second firing noise uprooted a painful groan from him while he almost dragged you to the floor.

“Din? Din!” you whispered, on your knees with him in your arms, as your hands roamed his body.

You felt the warm blood before you could see it and panic settled in fast. He was profusely bleeding from two gunshots on his back, right below the beskar piece that covered his six.

“No, no. Wait. What―” you sobbed as Din groaned, his consciousness drifting away.

You were losing him fast, and you didn’t even know how.

“Are you okay? Is he dead?”

A male voice came from behind a tree near the cliff. A voice you had not heard in a long while, but quickly recognised.

Ashton.

Blaster still pointing at Din, Ash had frozen several meters away from you. What was he doing here? How did he get here unnoticed? Why? Fucking why?

But none of those questions left your mouth, gutted as you were, holding onto Din, worried he would slip away from you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, overwhelmed as you were.

Din stirred in your arms, and you saw the panic reflected in Ash’s eyes as he cocked the blaster in Din’s direction again. There was no time to think, to beg, to ask him to leave. To tell him you loved the man he was intent on killing.

So you did the only thing you could do. Your fingers found Din’s blaster in his holster, lifted it up, pointed to Ash, and shot.

The light beam flashed before it hit dead center between Ash’s eyes. He stumbled back and fell into the abyss behind him. And just like that, you had killed the only friend you had known.

You should have doubted your actions, but you didn’t. It all happened too quickly, and you had bigger worries than having killed one of the few people you cared about. Like losing the love of your life.

Dropping the blaster, you rushed to remove Din’s helmet.

“Din, please, just hold on. Please, stay with me. Please, don’t leave,” you screamed and cried, hands trembling and pressing on the wounds on his back.

His eyes fluttered open, only a tiny slit ― his gloved hand reached up, cradling your cheek.

“Cyar’ika,” he could barely talk. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (I love you). Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No, no. NO. You ain’t saying goodbye. No,” your words slurred as your sobs intensified, your heart breaking into a myriad of tiny pieces.

You removed the glove of his hand to kiss the palm, your tears streaming between his fingers. Yours wrapped around his wrist, holding him there.

As you cried your eyes out, you noticed the Darksaber humming louder, almost deafening, and its light shining brighter. Its vibration called you, hearing your name inside your head. A Force deep within you awakening, beckoning you to touch it. A need as basic as breathing.

Through teary eyes, blinking fast, you gave in ― you grabbed it.

An electrifying sensation ran through you, all your muscles coiling at once. Your mind spiralled out of control, for a moment losing track of time and space. The Force was so intense, so primitive, you thought you would be obliterated by its magnitude.

When you could finally open your eyes, the blade had dimmed considerably and then it completely snuffed out. Your cries had not stopped though, so loud you almost missed Din’s voice.

“Mesh’la,” he rasped, trying to straighten his back, “you― you’re Force sensitive. You’ve used the Force of the Darksaber to heal me.”

Your wet eyes darted to him and then his wounds. Or where the wounds had been but no longer existed. Mouthing a gulp of air, you instantly dropped the Darksaber to hug him tight, crying louder than before.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. We’re okay,” he hushed, comforting you.

“I love you, Din,” you mumbled in the crook of his neck, relief running through you loosening your taut muscles. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me again or I’ll kill you myself.”

Din chuckled, one hand smoothing out your hair.

“Noted, cyar’ika.”

Cradling his handsome face, you pressed a kiss to his lips. Salty yet sweet. You kissed him again, looking for the solace of his tongue.

The wind carried some words you barely made out.

“Maker met.”

Four full moons had come and gone, and the beast was no more.

Din��s curse was broken. For good. Forever.

You couldn’t have asked for anything else. Anyone else. You loved him and he loved you back ― he had shown you many times. Right as he was showing you now.

Your lips brushed his tummy right above his belly button, leaving a trail of kisses as you found your way back to his mouth. Din was laying on his back, his rough hands caressing the back of your thighs as you kissed his scar and then his right eye, lips soft as a cloud.

He didn’t flinch anymore whenever you touched the sensitive skin or his blind eye. Instead, he sighed, as if your caress was soothing, calming. As if you could take away the pain he felt sometimes.

You sat back up on top of him, straddling his hips as his mushroom head hitched in your entrance, his hands compelling you to impale yourself. But you didn’t ― not yet.

Instead, you leaned over a bit, taking the helmet off the nightstand. It was heavy. Curious to know what it felt like, you put it on. The padding inside was soft, your face snug. It was slightly claustrophobic, but also comforting. Weird.

“It suits you, cyar’ika. You should consider taking up the Creed,” he mumbled, eyes full of desire, of yearning. Of love.

You chuckled and stirred your hips above him, the tip of his cock going in ever so smoothly.

“For you, I just might, Din.”

@baronessvonglitter @bishtrouille @natalieispunk @iknowisoundcrazy @almostfoxglove

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iron-strangers · 11 months ago

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Dream a Little Dream of Me

Description: It's all true, Jedi can read minds. You've been trained to keep people's thoughts about you for so long. It went well until the day you caught Din's fantasy involving you.

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Female Jedi!Reader

Series: Expanding Clan Mudhorn

Tags: Established Relationships, Mand’alor Din Djarin, A Sprinkle of Family Fluff, Sexual Fantasy, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex (f receiving), Unprotected p-in-v, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Lactation Kink

CW: Reader has AFAB characterization, uses she/her pronouns, is able-bodied, has depicted body changes related to pregnancy and breastfeeding, and hair that can be pulled during sex. No Use of Y/N. Consent Issues: Reader peaks into Din's fantasy. NSFW MINORS DNI

Length: 2.7k

According to urban legends, jedi can read minds. That's true, well, to an extent.

Jedi can read unshielded minds. A Jedi’s mental shield helps to prevent their minds so they’re not easily read, but also to prevent them from accidentally reading a non-force sensitive’s mind. This knowledge helped you survive being chased around the galaxy during the Empire’s reign. Imps are weak-minded and you could easily get any information you needed by reading their mind.

As you grew older, some thoughts people had about you turned sexual. Some got you blushing, like the one from a spacer who fantasized about sweet-talking you into having a quickie in the back of the cantina, some others were just plain disturbing and had you slamming a mental shield as quick as you can before fleeing the parameter with your blaster clutched in your hand.

During the old Jedi-Mandalorian war era, Mando'ade have found a way to keep the jetiise out of their head. Beskar helmets are effective for as long as you can remember, but apparently, there's a loophole. Beskar can't block a jedi who's already soul-bonded to a Mandalorian. There might not be any data about this, but let's be real, there's barely any noted soul bonds between a jedi and Mandalorian throughout history.

This explains the weird sync you and Din have. People have mentioned how you complete each other, that you have almost the same opinions on things, how you two always make the same decisions, both politically and on the battlefield. Some might even suggest that you and him finish each other's sentences. It's a cliché, written in teenager’s holonovels. So you're used to laughing it off, deflecting that you probably just spent too much time together, that between leading and parenting, agreeing on the same thing is just what spouses do. The Armorer called you ‘two halves of one warrior’ at your wedding ceremony. It should’ve ring an alarm in your mind, but in your defense, you were too busy getting swooned off your feet.

It became apparent one day when you met him in a small bakery, just a few minutes away from the Keldabe Palace, when he wasn’t supposed to be done until much later in the day. You’ve been craving Keshian Spice Rolls all day and you figured it was a great day to take the kids out, enjoy the sun and a little sweet treats, then surprise your hard-working riduur with a box of pastries back in the palace. Imagine your surprise when you stepped into a bakery and saw him already queuing.

“Rid’ika!” He called, waving to you from the line. You skipped over the lines, smiling and nodding to everyone as you made your way to your riduur. Din took Grogu from you so you can lift Aranar, who’s busy charming everyone off with his toothy grin, up.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, holding his offered hand. “You have to meet the Prince of Bespin in half an hour.”

“I know, but I heard they are baking Keshian Spice Rolls. So I went to buy you some.” Din shrugged, not once caring about the Prince having to wait for him to get back from spoiling his riduur. “And what about you? I thought you have a bes'kad class for the verd’ike this afternoon.”

“The class won’t start for another two hours and I really want a spice roll.”

You heard people behind you aww-ing and you buried your face into his shoulder, humming when you feel cool beskar against your blushing cheek. Din smiled behind his helmet, paying for three spice rolls to go, never once he let your hand go. You got back to the palace with twenty minutes to spare and herded the ad’ike to the Mand’alor’s office.

“Knock when you need him and don’t come in before I answer.” You rushed into the room when you spotted Kryze marching to stop you.

“You two better not be having se-”

“Young ears, Kryze! Manda, we’re just gonna eat Spice Rolls!” You held the pastry packages up for her to see, holding your laughter when you saw her scowling.

“Spice rolls better not be a code for something else, Djarin! You have a meeting in twenty minutes!”

Din closed the door on her face and you locked it with the force for good measure before dissolving into giggles. Din lifted his helmet up and immediately pressed a longing kiss to your lips. The kiss was uncoordinated since the two of you couldn’t stop grinning. The kiss, and the pastries were heavenly, Grogu and Aranar shared a piece, for your peace of mind. After all, it was you who had to wrangle two sugar-high toddlers in the training yard as you teach advanced sword techniques to a group of heavily armed teenagers who happened to be Mandalore's newly sworn warriors.

The impending knock finally came and you shared another sugary sweet kisses with your riduur before you put his helmet back on and sent him away to his duty. The door was barely closed when you were hit with realization.

Fuck, you thought. We’re soul-bonded.

Overall, there are worse people to be soul-bonded with. Having one with your own riduur is not a bad thing at all. Having one with your riduur without any source to soul-bond knowledge, however, is another piece of work. Putting a mental shield up against your own riduur feels wrong but you do it anyway, respecting his privacy to his own mind.

Until today.

Today, you feel a gentle nudge at your brick wall of a mental shield, laced with Din's warm force presence. You could've brushed him off and shielded yourself better, but you thought to yourself that a small peak wouldn't be bad.

You're wrong. Oh, you're so wrong because it's bad. Your hand directly flies towards your mouth and you try to stifle a moan as a yawn.

In his fantasy, Din had you bent over the meeting table and he's pounding into you. He has his hand on the small of your back, pressing you down to the table. You're completely naked against the table, pinned beneath the beskar of his armor. You can hear the filthy sound of his cock ramming into your sopping cunt. Din grabs a fistful of your hair, making you cry his name out loud, losing yourself to the stretch and the hard thrusts of Din's cock.

“Oh fuck-” you grit your teeth, clenching your fist on your thigh. You sit there, stunned, breathless, unable to stop watching.

“Can you feel how good this pussy stretches around me, rid’ika?” Din grunts, holding you so close to his hips while his fingers reach down, rubbing your swollen clit. “Such a good girl, do you wanna cum, mesh'la? Wanna soak my cock and make me give you another ik’aad?”

Maker, yes! You thought, trying your damn hardest not to whine while the version of you in his mind is whimpering and begging him to make you cum. Din leans to your ear, telling you to come. You’re shuddering in his arm, moaning his name in a punched out noise with a telltale sign of orgasm, and you snap yourself out of his imagination.

You put your strongest mental shield up and you lean to the plush seat, blinking and looking around the room as you settle yourself back to reality. Din is sitting on the head of the table, looking over his own datapad as he watches a member of his council talk about Mandalore’s quarterly budget report. If you didn’t know better, you’d think your riduur is actively listening to the report instead of daydreaming about fucking you over this very table.

You tread carefully when you're back home. You put Aranar and Grogu to sleep late, making sure they are a little bit more tired than usual so they sleep soundly later tonight. Once the kids are out like lights, you take the baby monitor with you and change into one of Din’s loose shirts.

You find him still seated on the dining table, tapping things into his datapad. You smirk to yourself, walking towards him and leaning over the dining table to take your own datapad that you could easily reach if you make an extra trip to the end of the table. Din can't stop staring, making no move to help you, instead he stands up from the chair and moves to cup the swell of your ass, just like how he imagined before.

“Careful, rid’ika, you don't know what kinda game you're playing here.”

You whine when his hand moves underneath the shirt, trailing up your thigh, sending shivers up your spine. He whispers praises to your ear, biting down your jaw and your neck.

“Fuck, look at you, mesh'la, you're expecting this, huh?” He lifts the shirt up, revealing nothing underneath other than your glistening cunt. “I haven't even done anything, rid'ika, and this pretty pussy's already all wet for me.”

You moan softly when his fingers find your clit, rubbing on it as you shudder in his arms. Din sinks two fingers into your wet heat and he groans when he feels how wet you are. He thumbs on your clit as he keeps pumping in and out of your cunt, spreading your arousal all over his fingers and your inner thighs until you shake beneath him, then he pulls off of you.

“No, cyare please, I'm so close- Ah!” You cry as his fingers leave you, only to moan loudly when he kneels behind you and he slaps your soaked pussy.

“Needy girl,” he teases, slapping your clit again, ignoring your cries. He parts your folds with his tongue until his smart mouth finds your clit and he starts sucking on the sensitive nub. You grip the edge of the table tightly as you grind against his face, smearing your arousal all over his lower face. Din tuts, holding your hips in place, chuckling when he sees your hole clenches around nothing.

“You know what you get for being such a good girl, cyar’ika?” Din asks, his fingers are back on your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerve in a tight circle as you buck violently against his fingers. “Good girl gets to come on my face.”

His lips are back on you, kissing, lapping, and sucking until you're a whimpering mess. You let out a high pitched whine and you come on his mouth, flooding him with your arousal as he keeps on sucking on your lips as you ride your orgasm.

Din grabs your chin towards him and he kisses you hard, his lips are glistening with the mixture of your cum and his spit and you can taste yourself on the tip of his tongue. Din pulls off of you and he turns you around, lifting you up to the edge of the table. He lays you down and he parts your legs with a steady hand on your inner thigh, keeping them apart so he can admire his hard work, your drenched cunt glistening with your sweet come. Din groans then he spits on your cunt, adding to the mess before smearing everything around with the thick head of his cock. He's painfully hard, his foreskin is pulled all the way back, revealing the flared tip, steadily leaking precum all over you. He lines himself up with your entrance and fucks all the way into you in one push. You watch as his thick cock stretches your hole, feeling yourself clinging to his girth, fluttering around him as you struggle to take his size. Both of you moan when he finally buries himself deep inside you, still holding tight to each other.

“Maker, been thinking about this sweet pussy all day.”

Oh, I know. You thought. “Yeah? Did you think about fucking me, ner riduur? Thought about how my pussy clenches around your cock? Did you think about filling me up with your cum until I'm swollen with your adi'ka?” You taunt him, circling your legs on his hips to keep him buried deep inside of you.

“Fuck!” Din swears, hissing while he steadily leaks precum all over your wet heat, leaning his head to yours and rutting deep against your sweet spot. “You're playing with fire, rid'ika. Can't just say things like that.”

“But I want you to,” you beg, moaning wantonly when he starts pumping in and out of you. “Want you to keep fucking me until I'm so full and swollen with your baby.”

Din growls, pounding deep into you with punishing pace. He's watching you, watching your cunt swallowing his cock, watching your face grow slack with pleasure. You slip your hands under the shirt, covering your breast and squeezing them, making your milk leak until there's a wet patch over the shirt.

“Filthy girl,” Din grunts, pawing on the piece of clothing. “Lift it up baby, let me see.”

You lift the shirt up, revealing your breasts for him, shiny from both milk and sweat. Beads of your milk trickling from your nipples, leaking steadily as he fucks into you. He slips one engorged nipple to his mouth, sucking until he can taste you on his tongue while his fingers play with the abandoned one, rubbing and squeezing, spraying him with milk.

“Everything about you is just so sweet, rid'ika, my perfect girl.” He praises. He licks your nipple clean before switching to the other side, pressing open mouthed kisses before bringing the sensitive buds to his mouth and sucking on it, drinking you until he's full while his hand loves on the other one. His cock never stops pounding into you, bringing you closer and closer with each snaps of his hips.

He folds your legs into a mating press, tucking your knees against your chest and his cock is so deep inside you. So deep he reaches your cervix, kissing your womb with his tip. You clench hard around his length, your wall seizes violently around him, milking him irresistibly as he keeps hitting the spot that makes you see stars, begging him to please, never stop. You're wailing as your whole body shakes, tipping your head back and moaning Din's name so loud he has to cover your mouth with his palm, worried the filthy noises of the snap of his balls slapping your ass, your loud moans, and the squelching sound of your wet pussy might wake the sleeping kids up.

With a shaky shudder, you come down from your high, whining as Din keeps fucking you, chasing his own orgasm. After a few brutal thrust, your riduur groans loudly, shouting punched out moans as he peaks. His cock twitches in your soaked, messy cunt, filling you with his hot cum, flooding your insides and claiming you his. He kisses your lips, muffling both your moans, only parting to plant another kiss to your temple while he pumps you full of his cum, murmuring sweet, loving praises and filthy promises to you.

“That's a good girl, rid'ika. Take it, baby, gonna get you all round and pregnant. That's what you want, right? Want to give me another? Want to be bred all over again?”

Din keeps rutting with you until you both shake from overstimulation and he gently pulls out of you. He admires your blissed, fucked out face, trailing soft kisses down your jaw and your neck, sucking his marks all over your body. You tip his jaw up and catch his lips in another kiss, laced with a content smile, before breaking away to whisper sweet I love yous to each other.

Din gathers you in his arms, carrying you to the bedroom and lowering you gently into your shared bed. He leaves for the fresher, fetching a damp rag to clean you up before slipping into his side of bed beside you. He pulls you close, kissing your lips lovingly and rearranges the covers, tucking you into his arms.

“You're my dream girl, you know that right?”

“I tried,” you smile contently, caressing the scruff of his jaw softly.

“You don't have to,” Din mutters, humming when you snuggle closer to him, pressing your heartbeat over his. “You're perfect just the way you are.”

You exchange more kisses, lazily making out in bed until sleep takes over, safely nestled in each other's arms.

About a few weeks later, you start to feel the tiniest flutter in the force.

#expanding clan mudhorn #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian smut #din djarin smut #din djarin imagine #pedro boys #pedro pascal fic #star wars #star wars fanfiction

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sometimescharlolette · 2 months ago

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DIN DJARIN X F!READER (BREEDING KINK)

Synopsis: The love between you and Din blossoms when he meets you at the fair in Nevarro, little by little you understand that you are the only one for each other, and now you are ready to let your love take root.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: +18, p in v, loving sex, breeding kink

A/N: Hello beautiful people, second day, second oneshot. I confess that it was with Mandalorian that my heart started beating faster for Pedro, I think the scene in Ahsoka will test Grogu is so cute, the way Din encourages him and celebrates like a real father, I was giggling and kicking my feet the whole episode. Well, I hope you like it and comment what you think of this man in love, kisses 💜 💜

Din Djarin and Grogu, officially adopted as the Mandalorian's apprentice and son, were living peacefully in their home near the city of Nevarro. A peaceful life was not something Din had ever imagined for himself, but as time passed, he realized it was exactly what he had been searching for—what he needed.

He met you on one of his trips to the bustling city fair. Grogu, ever the mischievous child, had used the Force to snatch a meiloorun fruit from your bag. The moment Din noticed, he immediately returned it, apologizing on behalf of his son. But instead of being annoyed, you had only laughed, a warm, genuine smile gracing your lips. Kneeling to meet Grogu's curious gaze, you gently reached for the fruit in his small hands, telling him he would probably enjoy it more than you ever could.

That moment stayed with Din. It wasn’t just your kindness—it was the ease with which you treated everyone, the way you seemed to carry warmth in your very presence. Before he knew it, he found himself lingering at your stall during his weekly supply runs, listening to your stories, laughing at your sharp wit. He told himself it was nothing at first, but deep down, something unfamiliar had begun to take root in his chest, something he wasn’t sure how to name.

Months passed, filled with small moments and stolen glances. Conversations turned longer, filled with shared experiences and an unspoken understanding. Grogu, perceptive as ever, saw what Din refused to acknowledge. One day, with an innocent nudge from the little one, Din found himself stumbling over an invitation. It wasn’t anything grand—he simply mentioned going fishing, and you, without hesitation, offered to join him. One outing turned into another, and before long, the two of you had built something more than just companionship.

When Din finally found the courage to admit his feelings, he did so with the same sincerity that defined him. But before taking any step forward, he made sure you understood what it meant to love a Mandalorian. He explained the tenets of his creed, the weight of his vows, and you listened with unwavering patience. He wanted you to know everything before making a choice, and when you did, it was without hesitation.

On a warm summer night, beneath the endless stretch of the Nevarro sky, you and Din exchanged the Mandalorian oath. A vow not just of love, but of devotion, of commitment beyond words. From that night on, you were bound to one another, and love only continued to bloom between you, stronger with each passing day.

Now you were lying in bed, your bodies tangled in an affectionate embrace, Din's helmet resting on the bedside table as he placed sweet kisses on your neck, drawing soft giggles from your mouth, the adorable sound was like music to your husband's ears.

He continues his tender ministrations, his lips trailing up the column of your neck, pausing to nip gently at your earlobe before murmuring in a low, gruff voice. "You are adorable, cyar'ika. Every inch of you is a treasure."

His hands roam your curves, mapping out the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips, the soft swell of your breasts. He cups them in his large, calloused palms, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks until they pebble beneath his touch, the delicious sounds that escape your pretty mouth are all the reward he needed.

"I want to worship you, mesh’la. I want to show you the depth of my devotion, my love." He captures your mouth in a loving kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim you, to taste you, as his hands continue their explorations.

He breaks the kiss to blaze a trail down your body, pausing at your breasts. He takes a nipple into his mouth, suckling greedily, his hand kneading the other mound. He laves attention on your breasts until you are writhing beneath him, before continuing his descent.

“Din, love, kriffing” your adorable moans cut through the night breeze, your fingers tangling in his soft brown hair.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your legs and tossing them aside. His hand finds your cunt, fingers delving between your folds to stroke your slick heat. He groans against your skin. "Kriffing, you're so wet for me, mesh'la. So ready."

He parts your thighs, settling between them, his breath hot on your core. He leans in, his tongue parting your folds, delving deep to lap at your sweetness. He strokes your clit with the flat of his tongue, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves until your hips buck off the bed.

He grips your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you, his tongue plunging deep, fucking into you, before suckling hard on your clit. He brings you to the brink of climax before pulling back, only to start all over again, determined to taste your release on his tongue.

"Din, oh, kriffing, by the force" you babble, the haze of pleasure not allowing you to form adequate sentences, incoherent moans are the only thing that slips from your lips.

He works you over until you are an incoherent mess, begging for him, for more. Only then does he sit back on his haunches, freeing his aching cock from the confines of his armor. He strokes himself as he watches you, taking in the sight of your pleasure, committing it to memory.

"I need to be inside you, cyar'ika. I need to feel your tight little cunt gripping my cock as I claim you, as I make you mine." He settles between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging your entrance. With a swift thrust of his hips, he sheaths himself inside you, burying himself to the hilt.

"Din." You gasp his name like it's an oath, a promise of eternal love that repeats itself every time he is inside you, loving you until your mind can no longer process anything but his love and devotion.

He starts to move, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm, his cock stroking your inner walls with each thrust. He leans down to capture your mouth, swallowing your moans, your cries of pleasure as he loves you with his body, as he seals his vow to you with each deep, powerful thrust.

He feels your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, and he groans at the feeling of being so deeply sheathed inside you. He begins to thrust harder, faster, driven by the need to pleasure you.

“That's it, mesh'la. Take all of me, every inch. You feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock.” He grunts, his hips snapping forward with increasing fervor as he drives into you, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

His fingers never stop their relentless circling of your clit, stroking the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts. He can feel your walls starting to flutter around him, and he knows you're close. He wants to feel you come undone beneath him, wants to watch you shatter in ecstasy.

“Come for me, cyar'ika. I want to feel your sweet little cunt gripping my cock like a warm paradise you’re” He demands, his voice rough with desire, his eyes blazing into yours as he looms over you.

He leans down, capturing your nipple in his mouth once more, biting down just hard enough to ride the line between pleasure and pain. His other hand grips your hip, holding you in place as he pounds into you, the force of his thrusts rocking the bed beneath you.

He can feel his own release approaching, his balls tightening, his cock throbbing inside you. But he holds back, determined to bring you to your peak first, to watch you come apart beneath him.

“I want to fill you up, mesh'la. I want to pump you full of my seed, to watch it leak out of your well-loved pussy.” He growls, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. “I want to fill this sweet little pussy, to watch you swell with my child.”

The thought of you round with his baby, your belly heavy and ripe, sends a surge of primal desire through him. He wants to see you like that, wants to be the one to put his child inside you, to claim you in the most fundamental way.

“Come on, cyar'ika. Let me feel you. Squeeze my cock with your tight little cunt as you come on my cock.” He muttered, his fingers rubbing faster, harder, pushing you towards your climax.

He can feel you tensing, your body drawing taut like a bowstring, and with a final, hard thrust, he sends you flying over the edge. He feels your cunt clamp down around him, gripping him like a silken vise as you scream his name, your release crashing over you in waves.

With a roar of triumph, he follows you into nirvana, his cock pulsing, spurting stream after stream of his hot, thick seed deep inside you. He grinds against you, making sure every last drop is seated inside your womb, marking you, claiming you, making you his.

“Kriffing, mesh’la! Take it all, my love. Take every last fucking drop.” He growls, his hips still rocking, still stirring his seeds inside you as you both ride out the aftershocks of your intense lovemaking.

He collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you with his weight, his still cock buried deep inside your fluttering cunt, keeping his seed inside you. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close, his hands roaming your sweat-kissed skin, marveling at the way you fit against him.

“I love you, mesh'la. I love you more than anything in this world.” He murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, pouring all his devotion, all his love into the gesture. “You are mine, now and forever. My wife, my heart, my everything.”

"I love you forever, and If you meant what you said, Din, about giving me a baby," you begin softly, your soft fingers tracing the delicate lines of his face. "I would like to expand our family."

He stills, his eyes widening slightly at your words as a surge of emotion and desire crashes over him. He covers your hand with his own, bringing it to his lips to press a fervent kiss to your palm, his eyes never leaving yours.

His voice is rough with emotion when he speaks, unable to hide the depth of feeling behind his words. "Would you have my child, cyar'ika? Would you carry my seed, grow round and ripe with new life?"He asks, a note of wonder in his tone, as if he can hardly believe this blessing could be real.

“Of course, my love, I would love to carry the fruit of our love” You said affectionately, your eyes shining with an adoration that mirrored his.

He rolls his hips slowly, his still-hard cock stirring the mix of your juices inside you, a low groan escaping him at the thought of planting his baby inside you. "I would be honored to give you my child, to watch your belly swell and your body change as you nurture our offspring." He murmurs, his hand sliding down to splay across your stomach, imagining it growing heavy and full.

He captures your mouth in a devote kiss, pouring all his love and desire into the heated embrace. When he pulls back, his eyes are blazing with intensity. "I promise you, mesh'la, I will love our child as fiercely as I love you. I will teach them the Way, guide them to be strong and true." He vows, his hand still rests possessively on your belly. "And I will worship this body that will bear our baby, cherish it as the temple it will be. He promises, his voice dropping to a husky whisper."

You looked at him with eyes filled with affection and admiration. "I know you will, my love, and I love you intensely for that... You will be a wonderful father to our baby as you are to Grogu"

He starts to move again, his thrusts slow and deep, stoking the embers of your desire once more. He wants to fill you again, to ensure his seed takes root. He wants to make love to you, over and over, until your womb is flooded with his sperm.

He leans down to murmur in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm going to make love to you again and again, until my child is planted deep inside you. I want to see you glowing with new life, I want to feel our baby growing beneath my hands." He grows, his hips starting to piston faster, driving into you with renewed purpose.

He knows he will protect you, provide for you, love you fiercely and completely, no matter what. And now, he will breed you with his child, sealing his devotion to you in the most intimate way possible. "You are my heart, mesh'la. My life. And I will love you, and our child, until my last breath." He declares, his love burning bright and eternal.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #star wars #din djarin smut #pedro pascal fandom

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bits-and-babs · 2 years ago

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✧ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ✧

with one week until october, i've decided it's time i return to writing. i've planned out a release schedule for a kinktober celebration, and hope that i'll be able to complete it this year ! please enjoy, i can't wait to release work for you all again ! ღ

from the 1st - 31st i will be posting one smut fic a day with different prompts featuring different characters. all fics relating to this event will be tagged kinktober 2023. this masterlist will be continually updated as i go.

minors dni: please note all writing in this event is not suitable for minors. if i find minors interacting with my work, you will be blocked.

content tags: please be mindful of the content tags on my fics. each fic will have it's own separate cw section, detailing any sensitive or triggering content. i give ample warning, so if you don't like do not read. all fics will be written as f!reader.

tagging: i will be tagging my usual taglist for the characters I write each day. if you wish to be tagged on each day of kinktober, please sign up via the taglist below.

navigation blog rules taglist

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ─

OCTOBER 001.

camgirl | simon 'ghost' riley x camgirl!reader summary: a new client sends a request for a solo-cam performance. his lack of detail and scarce details leave you unprepared. cw: f!reader, sexwork, dirty talk, breast-play, m & f masturbation, use of sex toy, use of honorific 'sir' but no real power dynamic.

OCTOBER 002.

touch starved | din djarin x reader summary: the child has been getting in the way of you and mando spending time together. after weeks without your touch, he's finally reaching his limit. cw: f!reader, needy din, slightly ooc din to fit the theme, begging, oral (m receiving), cumming early, reference to f oral.

OCTOBER 003.

phone sex | johnny mactavish x reader summary: on leave, johnny can't resist pestering you while you're at work. or perhaps he just can't resist you... cw: f!reader, sexting, dirty talk, voyeurism(?), begging, masturbation (m & f), orgasm denial, inferred voyeurism. this one made me blush.

OCTOBER 004.

aphrodisiac | grand admiral thrawn x reader summary: grand admiral thrawn has a unconventional way of convincing neighbouring planets to pledge allegiance to the empire. cw: aphrodisiacs/sex pollen vibes so dub-con, fingering, cum eating, political mind games.

OCTOBER 005.

clothes on | joel miller x reader summary: trapped inside a wardrobe whilst hiding from infected, joel ups the ante of survival. cw: f!reader, threat to life, mentions of gore, quiet or die kind of vibe, unprotected sex, p in v sex, cream pie, autassassinophilia – arousal in the fear of being killed.

OCTOBER 006.

nipple piercings | captain john price x reader summary: three months into your sas training course, chief directional instructor captain john price drills you on cold-water-shock survival. cw: f!reader, cold water shock, power imbalance (recruit x directing staff), secret relationship, breast/nipple stimulation, unprotected sex, p in v sex, cream pie.

OCTOBER 007.

incubus | maul x reader summary: a bizarre creature comes to visit your dreams, promising to satiate the desperate yearning of your body that it sensed across the plains of the force. cw: incubus! – somnophilia and dub-con by default, size kink, rough sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cream-pie, choking, breath play, use of pet name ‘dove’

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐖𝐎 —

OCTOBER 008.

roleplay | könig x reader summary: as with all of your bedroom antics with könig, you plant the seed. but when he finally succumbs to your devious plan, you struggle to withstand the heat. cw: roleplay hostage situation, faux attack, faux disregard for partners comfort (konig cares a lot though, i promise) oral sex (m receiving), rough oral sex, face slapping, rough deep throating, swallowing.

OCTOBER 009.

witch!reader | din djarin x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 010.

cheating | captain john price x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 011.

breeding kink | grand admiral thrawn x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 012.

caught sex | joel miller x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 013.

morning sex | john mactavish x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 014.

hate sex | oberyn martel x reader summary: cw:

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 —

tbc...

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #spooktober #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #john soap mctavish #john soap mctavish x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #star wars #star wars smut #mwii smut #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou smut

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penvisions · 1 year ago

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of beskar and kyber {chapter 10}

Paring: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Toro Callican using a sedative to capture you has many effects, some you were all to familair with and one that is completely unexpected.

Word Count: 6.5K

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical gore, mention of injuries, blood, mention of past injuries, description of self-inflicted scarring, mentions of past self harm, depression, mental illness, body high, head high, angst, reader is drugged, reader is under the influence of a sedative, body dysmorphia, body image issues, feelings of uselessness, feelings of weakness, altered mental state, ptsd, arousal, sexual themes, offer of sexual favors by reader, reader is tied up, reader is held captive, talk of past sexual encounters (not detailed), argumentative dialogue

A/N: there is a lot of angst and dialogue in this! it helps to set the tone for the budding relationship between din and our dear san. please let me know what y'all think? this was a rather hard chapter to outline and i wasn't sure if it was the right pacing but i feel comfortable enough to make it an official part of the story instead of abandoned scenes that sit in a document forever

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

It was pitch black, when you began to come back to yourself.

Blinking your eyes open rapidly, you tried to adjust to where you were. Trying to take stock of your body and how everything felt but it was hard with so many senses taken away from you. Mind fuzzy and body feeling like your nerves were untethered. Drugged, the rational, subconscious part of your brain that was struggling to operate supplied you. It was jarring, to feel so disconnected from your body, too familiar in the way that it made you feel to weak and defeated. So much like the person you had been trying to overcome for weeks now, all of the progress you made vanished in the plunge of a needle breaking through your skin.

Weightlessness, untethered, dizzy.

Your head felt so heavy in comparison, it was hard to shift around in an attempt to piece where you were and how you got to where it was. Ropes that were knotted far too tight were around your wrists and ankles, maneuvered behind you to make the task of detangling them worse.

“Looks like you need another dose, Mando sure is taking his sweet time considering you and that thing are in danger.”

“Please,” You tried to hold your head up long enough to catch the young man’s eyes. The high of whatever he gave you all encompassing, overwhelming.

“You can’t offer me anything that’ll change my mind.”

“I’ll help you,” The words tumbled out of your mouth like you were just learning how to string sentences together, jumbled and full over your tongue that was dried out. But you needed to get them out, to convince him this was all so reckless. “I’ll help you make your name known.”

“Not interested in anything other than turning in Mando, he will make my name known.”

“He’s…strong.” The words pushed out your lungs on a harsh exhale, the ‘r’ rolling as a growl rumbled in your chest. The need to defend the man who treated you like an equal, gave you space in his ship, allowed you a way to maintain your freedom with his protection.

“He tarnished his reputation for you and that thing. Which means he’ll do anything to keep you both safe.”

Words failed you as your concentration waned, the weightlessness taking over and robbing you of all the languages you were fluent in, mind struggling as it drowned.

“See, the thing is, I think he’s going to do exactly that.” He stepped closer to you, something glinting in his hand. When you leaned your head back against the side paneling of the hold, your eyes narrowed as you tried to focus on his blurry visage. You spat the words out, trying to put as much behind them as you could.

“Or he’ll kill you.” His gloved hand descending on your cheek was loud, the force of the action whipping your head to the side and all you could do was groan and take it. Pain so dulled by the drugs in your vein that it barely registered beyond a prickling sensation.

“I’m sure he’ll want to, I know he’ll want to. But he’s got a weakness now and it’ll play out exactly like I want it to.”

There was a sharp sting that broke through the fog of the drugs, demanding attention on your exposed arm. A needle was plunged deep into the muscle in the same spot as before, Callican’s hand holding it there as he administered something into your system, the needle hurting as it moved underneath your skin. You tried to cry out, the pain troubling with how starkly you felt it but all you let out was a warbled sound before you slumped back against the wall.

The coolness of the floor was soothing on your heated skin, tears brimming in your eyes as you clawed at your arms. Trying and failing to dig out the foreign feeling that was cascading over you, your nails only succeeding in creating marks along your skin, delving no further for desperate relief. The ice-cold sensation of something traveling through your veins making you feel trapped in your own body, sweat dripping off of you as it tried to make itself feel like home again, like your own again.

You startled when a deep, modulated voice called your name. Wide eyes cast up to gauge the figure that was standing in front of you. It was vaguely familiar, your fogged up brain not able to make a definition of who it was aside from them not being a threat to you. Not caring much beyond that, you pressed your forehead flat to the ground again, the thud of it making contact reverberating all along your neck and shoulders. Groaning, you curled your legs and brought them up to your chest, hugging them close. Your arm brushed across a bandage wrapped around your thigh and you hissed as it sparked a sensation that should’ve been painful but only felt like tingles spreading across your skin.

Nerves responding to what should be pain but felt like a wave of cold prickles over your body, making you groan as they skittered all over. They didn’t do anything to combat the heat licking at your senses, if anything they made you realize how intense it felt all over again.

Vision wavering, you could hear a low buzz of something around you. Not paying it much mind, you dug your fingers into your thighs, trying to relieve the tingling that was coursing through your veins. The bandage wrinkled under your hands, pulling on the wound below and you felt the rush of blood as the cut reopened, allowing some of the intensity of the heat consuming you to wane. You signed in relief as the tingling ceased at least on that part of your body, replaced with something that was a dull throb.

Suddenly there was a weight, pulling your hands up, that insistent buzzing now louder and closer. You brought your hands up to grip at your temples, fingers digging into your hairline before you dragged them down the length of your face, over your cheeks. The action smeared a metallic tang that was too strong on your nose, and you felt your stomach lurch. Scrambling, from your side to push yourself on your knees and hang your head over the toilet basin beside you, fruitless dry heaving wracked your body.

A weight landed on your shoulders, pulling at your hair and bringing it to lay over your back away from your face. The action caused arousal to flare in the apex of your thighs, warming you even more so as you felt the need for touch so strongly, for relief from everything that was barrage on your senses, on your body. Panting with the effort it took to catch your breath, you cast a glance over your shoulder to see a shadow kneeling beside you. It was comforting, despite being so far under the fog that was occupying your mind. The thought crossed your mind that they would be able to help you, but your eyes wouldn’t focus.

Suddenly, you recalled the sensation of floating. Of being buoyant while you simply let small currents jostle your body in slow motions, swimming. The cool of salty water washing over you, surrounding you, smelling so comforting. The weightlessness of your real body intertwined with the recollection of it and you felt tears prick at your eyes as you yearned for something you had tried to forget.

“I want to go home.” You cried, voice broken and fragile, words barely spoken above a whisper. “But home doesn’t exist anymore.”

“You’re safe here, mesh’la.” He knew what you were talking about, not just the physical world you hailed from, but the feeling of childhood you both had been ripped from too soon. Things from the past that developed into complicated places and feelings, tainted by the world that was cruel to you both. He held your hair back as you cried for something that could never be again. “I’ve got you.”

As the nausea waned from you, he lifted your weak body and took you up to the space behind the control room he converted into a small room for you. A cot slotted against the right wall, the trunk he had given you up against the left, your bags and things placed atop it. As he settled you in the bed, your eyes barely opened when howling wind sounded outside the ship. The hush of sand and debris coursing through the air was loud, almost deafening and your hands gripped his arms tightly, preventing him from stepping away from you.

“Just a storm, mesh’la.” His voice was a soft display through the modulator, as he took in the wide eyes you were now looking at him with, your pupils blown out and your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“I can’t stay with you, you’re still fighting off the sedative.”

His name sighed out on a long exhale was a good argument, but he stuck by his words.

It wouldn’t be right, to give into your request to lay beside you. He was only as strong as he could be, and he was realizing when it came to your distress he was unprepared. You were so far gone under the influence of what the medic at the small clinic had said was a sedative and muscle relaxer combination that you were most certainly high off the dose administered to you. They said it would take a few days to work out of your system, something that concerned him, but they said you should be fine. He hadn’t told them about the withdrawal you had already suffered through when he first brought you aboard. He worried for those long hours as they steadily neared.

“I’m comfortable with you, you make me feel safe.” Fingers tight around the part of his arm that didn’t don any armor, you could feel the way his muscles jumped at the contact through his shirt. It stirred arousal, to feel that underneath the armor was a person. The visage of him in nothing but his sacred helmet and sleep pants from a former time stoked flames in your lower abdomen. The broad expanse of his shoulders and chest, dark hair not a shocking but pleasant discovery that spanned across his pecs and trailed below his belly button. The way his biceps had moved as he carried you across the hold, the feel of his body against your own. The scent you had breathed deep from the crook of his neck, it was all so dizzying…so alluring, and you wanted it.

“I know, mesh’la. But it’s for the best, I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.” His words came out even despite his muscles jumping underneath the wandering touch of your fingers as they carefully began to delve underneath the bottom of his pauldrons. He wasn’t strong enough to pry your fingers away from him despite his words saying he felt this was wrong, the play of something so pulling while you weren’t complete of mind.

“But there are none,” Your voice lilted, laughter in your tone as you smiled serenely up at him. There was something glinting in your eyes that he hadn’t seen since meeting you, something he recognized as dangerous should he ask after it. Your head knocked back, eyes roaming over his form from top to bottom as he stood beside the cot. But he didn’t need to, you gave it to him all the same in a sultry voice that he’d think about for days to come. Pitched low like it was for him and him alone. “I’d let you do anything you wanted.”

He grunted in response, feeling himself twitch below the waist. He was completely unprepared. Your eyes were so bright, your face so relaxed. Your words so earnest and alluring, the lines of your body long and enticing as you shifted atop the cot.

“I’d let you put your big, soft hands-“

“Enough!” He barked, his anxiety and worry getting the better of him. His guilt. He tore his arms out from your grasp and turned his back to the cot. Taking a deep breath to center himself, to collect himself, he could hear you shift behind him. He worried you were going to reach for him, play on his conflicting emotions in your altered state. The guilt he was feeling burned in him, to think such things of you when you had done nothing to suggest you would take from anyone in such a way. You weren’t wholly yourself right now, he was completely unprepared for who you were under the influence.

He spared one last look over his shoulder before he left and his resolve almost crumbled. Your bottom lip was trembling, your hands wrapped around yourself as you sat up, hunched over as your eyes shone with unshed tears. A complete shift from the energy you had just been using to entice him, an entire shift to your mood. Because of his reaction to it.

All he could picture for the rest of the evening as he busied himself setting up the ship to withstand a sandstorm was that last glance he had taken of you and the one of you sprawled on the bathroom floor with bloody handprints staining your face and legs as you fought against the drugs pumping through your system.

Din could hear you stirring about, in the space of the ship beyond his personal quarters. The Child was asleep, exhausted from the unsettling events of the night. His quiet snores comforting Din in his agitated and anxious state. Sighing, he kicked the blanket from where it covered him. His armor was piled neatly beside the cot, some comfortable sleep he thought would help only resulted in him laying and staring into the darkness through the visor on his helmet.

It had been…alarming to see you ricochet back and forth between such extreme emotions. All of them amplified by the drugs in your system, something he felt tortured over, as if he had been the one to administer them to you. He sat with his legs over the edge of the cot, bare feet flat on the cool metal of the ship’s flooring. His mind replaying the events even as he tried his best to shove them out and move past them.

‘“Took you long enough, Mando.” Callican’s voice projected around the hangar.

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now.” The mechanic slowly walked out from the dark interior of the ship, steps light on the metal of the ramp. Callican behind her with a blaster shoved into her back and the Child in his arms. “Partner.”

“Drop your blaster and raise ‘em.” The younger man paused at the top of the ramp, not stepping further, with the threat aim of a blaster trained on him. Din didn’t make a sound as he tossed the blaster in his hand to the ground in front of him. It landed with a dull sound as he raised his arms out to show he was further unarmed. Slowly, he dragged his palms over his torso as he moved them up, grasping at a flare with his palm. He placed his hands on the back of his helmet, the Child cooing as if he could sense his caretaker.

“Cuff him.” He shoved the blaster into the mechanic’s back twice, urging her to move down the ramp and toward where he stood.

“You’re a Guild traitor, Mando.” Callican voiced the very thing that echoed in Din’s mind every time he was alone, but when faced with the soft coos of the Child, or a brightening of your face, it didn’t seem like such a tragic thing. “And I’m willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape.”

“Fennec was right. Bringing you in won’t just make me a member of the Guild, it’ll make me legendary.”’

Anger at the overly confident actions of a younger man he had seen a glimpse of himself in had him shoving off from the cot. He had been fooled by the earnest attitude of Callican wanting to make something of himself, to prove to whoever had told him he would amount to nothing that he could be something, to make a difference in the world by bringing in trash that was sought after for their indiscretions with the Guild. The door of the small space hushed closed behind him as he padded toward the makeshift table.

Making sure that the ship was still locked down and there was no chance of anyone sneaking aboard or disengaging the settings, he moved about the space freely,

He hadn’t cleaned up the mess he came back to yet, so focused on getting you comfortable and making sure you were alright. That the Child was alright, not too worked up by seeing you taken down and not knowing where he had been must’ve been hard on such a young one. Ad’ika, you had begun to call him, the term holding endearment and care when it passed through your lips for the first time over the comm link. His chest had hurt at the call, the sounds of you moving about his ship comfortably, the sounds of ad’ika cooing in the background.

It had been so domestic, a feeling so foreign to him and yet….it had felt like it had always been as such. It had felt so normal, like a facet of his life that shone when spotted and simply was something his life was made of, that he was capable of. His chest had hurt… and for a fleeting moment he had thought of his parents. The fast beating of his heart had been loud in his ears as he tried to keep his voice even to a listening Callican, lest he pick too much up from the exchange. The lightweight feeling of the memory twisted into something darker as he recalled the way Callican spoke of you.

‘“But it is rather telling, which quarries you decided to keep all to yourself.” Toro smirked at him, overly confident with no reason to be. The deep scratch marks that were angry and bright on his neck displaying as much, that he could barely handle his own against a woman he ambushed and sedated.

“The one on the ship must keep your bed rather warm, seems like a good exchange for the bounty you’re missing out on.”

“She was so unsuspecting, said some really interesting stuff while the drugs were working through her system. Told me she would make it worth my while if I were to let you and this thing go.” Callican jostled the Child in his arms, causing louder sounds of distress to bounce into the tense air.

Din seethed at the filth falling from the younger man’s mouth, baring his teeth underneath the helmet and he pictured tearing him limb from limb, pummeling him until he was nothing more than a collection of broken bones and bruises for even thinking of laying a hand you. He must’ve taken you completely off guard, to not get thrown about or struck down by your saber. The mental image had his hands fisting at his sides, of you just standing there busy with something only to be drugged and tied up all before you even knew what was happening, where he was.’

The helmet hissed as he disengaged it with a bare hand and the weight of it clunked as he set it atop the makeshift table. Running a hand through his thick locks that stretched to curl about his ears and the nape of his neck, he pressed the button that opened the panel storing the scant few kitchen wares he owned. He ignored the hotplate in favor of turning on the caf maker. It was already set up, the water full up to the line indicating it would make exactly one cup. The drawer he opened for a pod of the compressed caf was full as well, despite not being able to remember the last time he even thought of seeking them out in a marketplace or shop.

He tried to picture you flowing through an open marketplace, hair braided as it had been the last time he had seen you fully conscious and aware of your senses. Bringing the pod up to his nose to inhale the rich scent of the caf, he let his mind wander as he closed his eyes and thought of you.

Cautious but aware of your surroundings, polite but not overly talkative to vendors. Kind enough to warrant free samples and discounted prices, toting around a large collection of wares you deemed important. He wondered where you had even gotten the credits from, for the things still laid out on the makeshift table around his helmet. Smile soft and small as you tried out all the different fruits and felt the sun on your skin. But the image bled into the one he had come back to.

‘The metal rings you had been fastening into armor were scattered around the floor of the ship, crunching underneath Din’s boots as he slowly advanced inside. It was dark, all the lights and mechanisms shut off, the only light in the space was what sunlight could sneak in around his frame in the doorway. His steps faltered when he spotted your unconscious form by the ladder leading to the control room. Your hair loose and fanning around you, your hands and feet were bound with rope, the knots looking tight around them, you were on your side, arms pulled behind your back and legs bent at the knee.

Bruises could be seen up and down the length of your arms, visible without the cloak he had gotten you, it was shucked off and crumpled beside you. As if you had been fighting and someone had snatched it, pulling it from your frame forcefully. There was a prominent, irritated spot on the outside of your arm, indicative of someone stabbing a needle deep into the skin there.

Kneeling beside you, he turned started to untie the rope, but it seemed to make the knots wind tighter around your wrists. Growling low in his chest in frustration, he took the knife from inside his boot and cut it away, rubbing his fingers along the marks to sooth them as best he could. He did the same with the ties around your ankles before turning you gently onto your back with a soft call of your name.

Faint whimpering startled him, your body jostling beneath his hands as he removed the rope from around your limbs. You didn’t stir beyond that, lost to the world that the contents of the needle had plunged you into. It was then that he noticed the rip on your thigh, the deep cut already beginning to scab around blood-stained skin. It must’ve happened hours ago, but you didn’t wake.

He stayed beside you, stretching to reach over to pick up the syringe you that was discarded on the ground. It looked small in his hands, but the casing was empty, not even a stray drop rolling around inside. He gripped it tight in his palm, the leather of his gloves crinkling with the force. He pocketed it despite wanting to crush the glass in his hand, to hear the crunch of it as he destroyed the very reason you were unconscious beside him on the floor of the Crest.’

He had to concentrate on placing the pod into the machine before he activated the brew to begin, not wanting to wreck the one thing you had been comfortable enough to use as your own on the ship. He had to focus on not slamming the mug into the space below to catch it. As it began to sputter and drain the water from the storage reservoir, he leaned his hands on the lip of the small inlaid counter and hung his head. The action stretched out his shoulders, underneath his long sleeve shirt, popping where kinks had developed from his ride back into the city.

The wind howled outside of the ship and the caf dripped into the mug as he turned around and began to clean the metal rings scattered across the floor. There were hundreds of them, but he managed to get them all. The different sizes all found themselves in the same pouch, Din not having the energy to separate them. He contemplated just getting you a whole new collection when he spotted the sketches you had drawn up of what you were making. It was armor. A set of pauldrons made of chain mail you were creating yourself with the rings.

The detail and notes on the pages of a small book looked professional and it intrigued him. Is this what you had been raised to do? Or something you had taken up after leaving home, after the attack on the temple as a way to make credits? As he flipped through to the next page, he was greeted by sketches for a design that looked masculine. The top of the figure’s body only went so far as their chin, but it was dusted with scruff much like his own face was. The outline of the figure’s body an exact replica of how he would look without the bulk of the beskar armor.

He closed the book, not wanting to invade your privacy any further than he already had, but his heart was thumping rapidly in his chest as he realized you had been thinking about him.

His mind replayed the way you had been so unnervingly still even after he had untied you from your restraints. He had moved you atop his cot, hoping that you would wake and recognize that you were safe in his personal space. As he had been tending to ad’ika, talking over with the mechanic about waiting out the storm in the hangar, he had hated stepping away from where he could keep an eye and ear out for you. As he had trudged back up the ramp, it was closing and locking just as he heard your muffled cries in the fresher. He had quickly placed the small sleeping figure in the small hammock before going to you, only to find you having a fit on the floor. It had been…painful to see you so worked up and in such a state. Fingers digging into your own skin, over scars he hadn’t known you possessed, that you had carved into yourself…

He shook his head, not wanting to think about that and he began to move once again.

He gathered up all of the tools and metal pieces you had been working with and placed them in a crate, so it would all be in one place for you when you were feeling better. The caf warmed the mug he cupped with both his hands as he sat there and listened to the storm rage on.

Groaning, you stretched a handout to feel for the blanket that had fallen down by your feet. You had all but shoved it off during the night, too hot underneath its confines. You could hear ambient noise from down below, securely in your bed, in your space, in your room. All things Din had provided for you while you had been wrestling with reality while your body rode out the wave of drugs and subsequent withdrawals. You had shut yourself in the room as soon as you were alert enough to handle being on your own, embarrassment making your skin burn from the inside out and shame bubble up to join it.

Rain pelted down on the ship, pinging as thunder rumbled overhead. The sandstorm you vaguely remembered from two nights before delved into a thunderstorm in the early hours of the morning. It ate most of the day after and yesterday, allowing you an excuse to stay in your new room and keep to yourself as the ship needed to stay stationed there at the hangar. The thunder had woken you up some time ago, and you lay atop the cot trying to recall everything that had happened the last day and a half.

Your hands idly traced the scars along your thighs, the recent indents of your grappling nails, the bandage around the right one shielding a tender cut from the open air. You recalled digging your hands into the skin there, as you often did in moments of weakness, of needing to feel something other than the emotions storming inside. You recalled rubbing your hands over your face, of pressing it to the cool metal of the floor, of writhing around as fever and chills warred over the territory of your skin.

The white-hot pinpricks of anxiety could be felt over the entirety of your body, making you restless.

There was a sudden knock at the door to your space, but you turned around to face the wall your cot was pushed up against and curled up. You feigned sleep as the door opened, footsteps nearly silent as the Mandalorian entered. You could hear the rustling of his clothing as he kneeled down beside the cot, a hand resting on your shoulder.

“I know you’re awake.”

You shifted until his hand fell to the top of the blankets. You pulled the blanket up further, prompting him to stand up. You could feel his eyes roam over your form, hiding in the blankets and not daring to cut your eyes at him lest he see something you didn’t want him to in your current state. The motion caused your hair to fall over your forehead, some of it resting on your cheek.

“You’re not feeling well.” A feather light caress of bare fingers moved the fallen hair from your face, you tried not to startle too much, not having heard the man move behind you. They brushed over your forehead, feeling for something that you weren’t sure of. When he made a small remark about your temperature, you didn’t respond, continuing to stare at the wall in front of you.

“You…rejected me.” You whispered after a beat of somewhat tense silence.

“You were drugged, you were high on whatever Callican dosed you with.” His voice was even, as if he was trying to keep it from displaying too much of what was going through his own mind.

“I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know how to tell you what I want. If I’m even allowed to…”

“I don’t want anything you aren’t willing to offer. If you wish to remain cordial, I will adhere to that. If you wish to allow casual touches, I will adhere to that. If you wish to…explore other parameters of touch, I will adhere to that.”

“You won’t. I’m tainted, I’m dirty, I’m used.”

“You are you, and I admire who that is.” He didn’t dismiss your words, the thoughts that plagued you every time you thought about the things that happened to you in your life. He took them and let them sit in the air, let you voice them even if he didn’t agree with them.

“Strength, abilities, weapons, Mandalorians put so much worth on those. Admiration on skills.”

“Listen to me and hear me,” Din’s hand reached for one of your own, bringing it up to clasp his ungloved hand with your own. His thumb brushed the back of your hand, sparking tingles down the line of your arm. He had sat himself on the edge of the cot, to reach out for you. His fingers were warm against yours, bringing forth a wash of heat up to your cheeks, coloring them for him to be witness to. That such a simple touch from him could stir such a response was dizzying. “Yes, my religion places importance on those things. But you are the most important factor. You are important to me, and I will show you in any way you wish for me to.”

“What if…I get scared…or nervous…self-conscious.”

“Then we will share the same sentiment. My body…is not perfect and I have never shared any part of myself with anyone. Well…” He trailed off, modulator relaying a deep exhale the told you of his trepidations and worries.

You shifted under the blankets, sitting up to face him. His armor was gleaming in the faint light, and you wondered if he had tended to it recently. It was a comforting image, of him sitting at the makeshift table, armor in hand as he gave it all his attention and meticulously buffed out any indentations or scratches, polishing it to make it shine. The love he had for the precious metal of his people, the adoration he placed on caring for it, the pride he took in wearing a full suit of it, of having been the one to return so much of it to his own people.

You mulled over his words, aware that it was a conversation that needed to happen. Some things that needed to be addressed, on both your parts. You lifted your eyes from the cuirass over his chest, to the visor with a slightly furrowed brow. He needed to speak plainly, as did you.

“Yes, you have.”

“Yes, that... I have, but only a handful of times. With consenting partners and with nothing in mind other than chasing a base need.” His words were expected, he was a grown man, free to be who and what he wanted within the parameters of his Creed. You didn’t fault him, but it just made all of your own feelings so much more complicated, jealously flaring at the idea of him with another person, touching another person, wanting another person. You pushed it down, not willing to delve into that just yet.

“This is new… for me…these feelings. These desires,” You ducked your head, bashful. His other hand reached up and tucked under your chin, bringing your head back up for him to rest the forehead of the helmet against your own. When he leaned back, the heat of his gaze through the visor was scorching, the direct attention making you flustered paired with your confession. “And I know that might be…daunting for you. A big…commitment…for you.”

“My life is about commitments, for my Creed, for my people, for my work.” His hand squeezed around yours, bringing them to hold to his chest. The armor was cool against your skin, but it was nice to combat the flush you were suddenly overcome with. You felt your breath get caught in your throat as he paused to gather his thoughts. “I would be honored to make one to you. If you’d allow me to.”

The tears were sudden, the feeling of being seen, of connecting with someone.

Two more days of the incessant storm brought thunder, pelting rain, and blinding washes of sand over the city before it lightened up. You had remained in your room most of the time, body still going through the motions working the drugs out. Din gave you the space you needed but had asked you each time he fed ad’ika if you wanted to join them for the meal. It brought a smile to your tired features to see the small child enjoy spending time surrounded by you both, safe and happy.

The tabac was soothing as you inhaled deeply, a thin cigarra held between two fingers. A bad habit, one that you had only picked up to stave off the feelings of loneliness, something to fill the void that had been your life on the run. Slipping to the market for a quick trip while there was a lull with the storm with a quick wave to Din had allowed you the opportunity to track some down. He had been busy, nodding at you as he held a large panel of metal for Pelli to weld to the side of the ship. A large piece of debris picked up by the strong winds had grated harshly and caused some damage.

“Don’t.” Was all you said as you felt a figure come around the side of the ship toward you.

“Wasn’t going to say anything.”

“It’s a bad habit, I know. But it’s helping,” You blew the smoke out with a long exhale, watching as it wafted in the still prevalent wind. “With the withdrawals.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just a lull as you both mulled over things in your respective minds.

“I think I’m through the worst of it, might take ad’ika to the marketplace to get something hot for dinner.”

“He’d like that,”

“Maybe…you could come too?”

“He’d like that too.”

“And you?” A gentle, hesitant question.

“I’d like that.” His voice rumbled closer that it had just moments ago as he stepped toward you, one of his arms reaching. His gloved hand was a comfort as it brushed your bare arm, fingerless gloves and vambrace left atop the crate in your room. Warmth bloomed in your chest as you turned away from him to take a long pull of the cigarra.

“Hmm, but I’m paying.” Mouth lifted up at one corner as you smirked over at him, eyes taking in the shine of his armor in the dull light of the suns.

“Is that right?”

“You gave Pelli everything you had, everything you took off Callican, no?”

“The mechanic?”

“Please tell me you knew her name.” A stern edge to your voice had Din’s stomach jolting as he gazed at you through the visor. You had never used a tone like that with him and it was rather endearing to know you were comfortable enough to do so now.

“She didn’t introduce herself.” Was his flat response and you snorted at the way he worded it.

“Neither did you! You strutted down the ramp and fired on that poor droid as greeting.”

“That droid was going to mess something up, didn’t you notice how shifty it was?”

“Shifty? Kriff, Din, you’re…something.”

“So are you, mesh’la.” His hand that had been caressing you gripped and turned you. His other reaching out to knock the last bit of the cigarra from your hands to the ground where he scuffed it out with his boot. You let him move you, wanting to see what he was up to, how he played along with your harmless teasing. You let him pull you to him, chest to chest and he rested the forehead of the helmet against your own. “Something good.”

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anonymousewrites · 2 years ago

Text

Clan of Three (Book 1) Chapter Two

Father Figure! Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Teen! Reader

Chapter Two: The Mudhorn

Summary: Mando and his "assets" encounter Jawas and a Mudhorn, and he begins to learn why the Empire is so interested in the two kids.

The sun was a veritable blaze about Mando, (Y/N), and the Child arrived back at the Razorcrest. Unfortunately, it had been enough time for the Jawas to arrive and disassemble many of the mechanical pieces of Mando’s ship.

Mando crouched and pulled out his shotgun, gazing through the scope. (Y/N) pulled the Child’s cradle closer to them and watched as Mando shot one of the Jawas stealing his ship. The rest cried out and scrambled for their rover as he took out another. Mando ran down the slope of the hill and tried to chase after the rover, firing a round at one of the gas tanks.

(Y/N) ran after the cradle as it followed Mando. They could take the chance to run, but they had nowhere to go and no weapon to defend themself. Plus, it seemed that other bounty hunters were after them, and at least Mando didn’t seem eager to hurt them.

Mando tried to climb up the side of the rover, but the Jawas shot him with a stun charge, and he fell the ground below. The rover drove off as he groaned and sat up. He turned to see the Child staring at him curiously and (Y/N) sat on a rock.

“That’s your ship, isn’t it?” said (Y/N).

“Yes,” said Mando, standing and walking towards the Razorcrest.

Everything was gone, from the metal plates of his walls to the guns in his storage. Electricity sparked at the ends of torn cables. Mando attempted to start the engines, but without proper power, they whirred lifelessly. He sighed in frustration.

“What’re you going to do?” said (Y/N), leaning in from outside.

“There’s an Ugnaught with a farm,” said Mando. “Not far off.” He glanced at the teenager, who was lifting the Child back into his cradle. “Let’s go.”

(Y/N) followed him silently, every once in a while glancing at where their dagger was strapped into Mando’s belt. They didn’t dare try for it, though. The bounty hunter could kill them in a moment. They were lucky he hadn’t already. So (Y/N) just stayed silent and watchful for danger as the three of them walked as the sun set.

Finally, just as the sun was lowering below the horizon, they arrived at a small farm.

“I thought you were dead,” said the Ugnaught, suspending on a ladder and working on a mechanical device. He turned to face Mando and grew quiet when he saw the Child waddling around on the ground and (Y/N) standing by Mando’s side. The farmer descended the ladder. “These who are who’re causing all the fuss?”

“Yes,” said Mando. “They’re children.”

“It is better to deliver them alive, then,” said the Ugnaught.

(Y/N) crossed their arms at the discussion. Even though they’d been dealing with it for quite some time now, they’d never quite adjusted to having people speak about them as if they weren’t there.

“My ship has been destroyed. I’m trapped here,” said Mando.

“Stripped. Not destroyed,” said the Ugnaught. “The Jawas steal. They don’t destroy.”

“Stolen or destroyed, makes no difference to me,” said Mando, taking a screwdriver and fiddling with the parts of his armor affected by the electric pulse. As he turned to his arm; he saw (Y/N) picking the Child up again from where he was trying to catch a frog and placing him in the cradle. “They’re protected by their crawling fortress. There’s no way to recover the parts.”

“You can trade,” said the Ugnaught.

“With Jawas? Are you out of your mind?” questioned Mando.

“I will take you to them,” said the Ugnaught. “I have spoken.”

Mando looked back at the assets. The Ugnaught wouldn’t let him argue, anyways. He stared as the Child crawled back out of cradle and was in the process of swallowing a live frog. Next to him, (Y/N) was clearly testing out which of the tools the Ugnaught kept around the farm could be used as a weapon.

“Put it down,” said Mando, half to the Child and half to (Y/N). The Child ignored him and gulped down the frog, looking quite pleased with himself. (Y/N) scowled and put down the drill bit they’d been weighing in their hand.

It was slow going, but the Ugnaught guided them to where the Jawas had parked their crawling fortress. They chattered away as they saw the Ugnaught approaching, but he spoke in Jawa. Unfortunately, the Jawa picked up guns and began approaching.

“They really don’t like you for some reason,” said the Ugnaught, glancing back at Mando.

“He disintegrated at least two of them,” pointed out (Y/N).

The Jawas clamored and gestured at them. “You need to drop your rifle,” translated the Ugnaught.

“I’m a Mandalorian. Weapons are part of my religion,” said Mando.

“Then you are not getting your parts back,” said the Ugnaught.

Mando sighed. “Fine.” He put down his rifle in the cart.

“And the blaster,” said the Ugnaught. He walked away, beginning to converse in Jawa as Mando put down his blaster. He turned and gestured for Mando to join them.

(Y/N) watched him go with the Child. He cooed at them, and they glanced down. (Y/N) could guess what he was trying to communicate. “No, I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Ah?” The Child cocked his head, blinking at them.

“Exactly,” said (Y/N).

Mando stood and turned towards them, motioning for them to come over. (Y/N) sighed. “Let’s go, kid.”

Mando sat in the cramped driver’s box of the Jawa’s rover. The Child was in his cradle beside the Mandalorian, and (Y/N) was crouched on his other side. The Jawas cackled every time they went over a hill and caused the humanoids to jolt and nearly hit the ceiling. (Y/N) nearly did, but luckily for their head, Mando reached out with a hand and kept them in their seat. (Y/N) nearly thanked him, but the ominous knowledge that he was just keeping them alive until he was paid weighed heavy, and they were instantly on edge, pushing themself as far away from him as possible. The movement was not lost on Mando.

Finally, the rover arrived before a mass of cliffs and a cave opening. The hull opened, and the Child, (Y/N), and Mando descended. Apparently, Mando had to find an egg the Jawas wanted. A strange request, but then again, (Y/N) would do anything to just have some fruit from back on Ushti.

Their heart clenched painfully, and their hands curled into fists. The Empire’s remnants had burnt their farms. (Y/N) would find no fruit. Their gaze flitted to the knife in Mando’s belt. All they had was their mother’s dagger, and even that had been taken.

The Child whimpered as they approached the cave. (Y/N) paused for a moment, too, a deep-seated feeling of dread settling in their stomach.

“Stay here with the Child,” ordered Mando.

(Y/N) obeyed, taking ahold of the cradle. They didn’t want to enter anyways. Their every instinct told them to leave the area. As Mando entered, (Y/N) walked to the side with the Child. A few moments later, a growl rumbled up from within the darkness Mando has descended into. A second after, the buzz of blaster shots echoed up, and red lights flickered from the energy pulses.

Mando was thrown from the cave opening by the creature living within. (Y/N) scrambled to the side and pulled the cradle towards some rocks with them. A large mudhorn lumbered out from within the cave, huffing angrily at the intrusion into its territory.

The Child whined and ducked farther down into his cradle, and (Y/N) glanced between Mando and the approaching creature. Mando lifted his rifle and aimed at the mudhorn, but the mud sealed it shut; he couldn’t load it with ammunition. The mudhorn charged and hit him square in the chest with its horn, sending him flying.

The Child cried out softly, and (Y/N) winced. They knew the attack had to hurt, even through Mando’s armor. They tensed as the mudhorn turned towards them, and as it huffed and made to charge, (Y/N) pushed the cradle away. At the same moment, Mando threw out a wire, a small barb attaching to (Y/N)’s shirt. It dragged them out of harms way and closer to Mando.

The mudhorn roared and turned towards the pair of humanoids again. It charged Mando, and he hit it with a flamethrower, but it only served to anger the creature, which slammed down onto him. He fired again, and the mudhorn jerked away and back away for a moment. Mando scrambled to his feet, slipping slightly in the mud and trying to get his bearings, but the mudhorn was charging again already. Mando was thrown into the air and hit the floor hard. This time, he wasn’t as quick to stand. He remained prone.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. If the mudhorn attacked again, Mando would die. As much as (Y/N) hated being hunted, they didn’t want him to die. At least Mando had given them and the Child some human respect compared to the way other people had treated them on their way to the Imperial Warlord after them.

Mando struggled to his knees and faced the mudhorn as it growled and huffed. It was going to charge. He groaned and pulled out a knife. It would be useless, but it was all he had.

The mudhorn roared and charged. And then it froze. Mando looked up and saw the mudhorn struggling against an unknown force. To the side, the Child had a hand raised, and his eyes closed. He was stopping the mudhorn. That was, until exhaustion took over and he fell back into his cradle.

Mando started as the mudhorn slipped to the ground and fell over. The Child had…powers? The momentary distraction fled him as the mudhorn pulled itself to its feet. Now it was angrier, but at least Mando had a moment to regain his bearings and grab for his rifle again. It had at least a longer blade than his knife. The mudhorn pawed the ground and charged, and Mando lifted the rifle. The mudhorn turned towards the Child who had stopped it before, roaring as it approached the kids.

The mudhorn hit an invisible wall was thrown backwards as (Y/N) threw out their arm. The force tossed it into the canyon wall as Mando watched. It slumped to the ground, dead from the force of the hit.

Mando stared at the two assets he had been commissioned to bring back. They had abilities beyond his understand. Just what had he gotten into? He approached (Y/N) and the Child carefully, his rifle by his side.

(Y/N) looked at him, looking drained and warily eying the rifle. They raised a hand, prepared for a fight even if they had no idea how to summon their abilities. They only had their emotions.

“Are you going to kill us now?” questioned (Y/N), narrowing their eyes and trying to seem tough even as they swayed on their feet.

Mando strapped the rifle onto his back. “No.”

(Y/N)’s hands fell. The slight relief began to wash away their adrenaline, and exhaustion replaced it. “Oh,” was all they could say. Their eyes rolled back into their head, and they collapsed to the ground.

Mando stared down at the Child and (Y/N). They had helped him even though they knew he was going to give them to his Client. In a way, it made sense. They were children. Even the Ushti teenager, who had undoubtedly seen terrible travesties and was prepared to fight for their life at every moment, in the end was trying to help others. They helped the Child. Both were still just kids.

He sighed. Mando clicked the cradle and shut it so the sun wouldn’t bother the sleeping Child. Then, he crouched and lifted (Y/N) up and placed them in the shade. For the first time since he’d found them, they weren’t waiting for danger or a fight. They weren’t scared or angry. They were at peace.

Mando set off back into the cave. He needed to get that egg and get off this planet. This job was becoming more troublesome by the minute.

(Y/N) awoke to find themselves lying in the cart. Mando sat by the side, and the Child slept on the other. Piled behind them were the pieces of Mando’s ship the Jawas had returned. (Y/N) didn’t move. There was no point, after all. They closed their eyes again. They only had so much relative freedom left before they were given to the remnants of the empire to be turned into a weapon or experiment. Not to mention, exhaustion still rested heavy on them. They needed to recover again.

“Are they still sleeping?” asked the Ugnaught, glancing back and seeing Mando looking at the kids.

“Yes,” said Mando.

“Were they injured?” questioned the Ugnaught.

“I don’t think so. Not physically,” said Mando, gazing down at the assets.

“Explain it to me again,” said the Ugnaught. “I still don’t understand what happened.”

“Neither do I,” said Mando, his voice softer than usual. “They just raised their hands, and the mudhorn stopped.”

“Hm,” hummed the Ugnaught.

Sleep washed over (Y/N) once again.

When (Y/N) awoke again, the sun had fallen and risen. Once again, it sat high above and blazed over the desert below. The Child and them had been situated in the shade while the Ugnaught and Mando fixed the Razorcrest. It was now whole.

The Ugnaught and Mando walked up from their finished work. Mando saw (Y/N) was awake.

“Come on. We’re leaving,” said Mando.

(Y/N) stood up, and the cradle followed them as they stepped onto the Razorcrest. The end was coming for them; they knew it.

“I can’t thank you enough,” said Mando to the Ugnaught. “Please allow me to give you a portion of the reward.”

The reward on my head, thought (Y/N), feeling themself lose any relaxation the sleep had given them and sliding back into their state of “ready to fight for their life.”

“I cannot accept,” said the Ugnaught. “You are my guest, and I am therefore in your service.”

“I could use a crew member of your ability, and I can pay handsomely,” said Mando.

“I am honored, but I have worked a lifetime to finally be free of servitude,” said the Ugnaught.

“I understand. Then all I can offer you is my thanks,” said Mando.

“And I offer mine,” said the Ugnaught. “Thank you for bringing peace to my valley.” He walked out of the Razorcrest and mounted his blurrg.

(Y/N) looked out on the view of the lovely desert, home to so much beauty and pain. I guess our presence did cause problems.

The Ugnaught raised his hand to gestured goodbye. “And good luck with the children. May they survive and bring you a handsome reward. I have spoken.”

(Y/N) turned away. Speaking as if they weren’t there again…

Mando closed the hull doors. He walked to the cockpit, and the door slid open. The cradle floated behind him, and (Y/N) followed. There wasn’t anywhere else to go. The cradle settled into place over one seat, and (Y/N) took another while Mando sat in the pilot’s seat.

“We’re going to the Client now,” said (Y/N). It wasn’t a question; they knew the answer.

“Don’t try anything,” said Mando.

“If I thought I could really escape, I would have tried by now,” snapped (Y/N). They spoke strongly, but a tiredness tinged their tone in a way only life-weary adults should speak.

Mando glanced back. A teenager that finished with everything, so tired and exhausted and yet still knowing their death was coming and unable to do anything. A memory of himself waiting for his parents when the Empire attacked, alone with no path, rose unbidden in his mind.

Mando forced it back down. He had a job to do.

(Y/N) watched as the Child climbed out of his cradle and dropped to the floor. They had very little (nothing) to do but dread their arrival on whatever the planet the imperial officers were hiding out in, so they just sat back and watched the Child fuss or Mando navigating. Until this whole mess, they’d never been off Ushti, so seeing all the stars and planets pass was strange experience because it was both the first and last time they’d see the vast freedom and beauty of space.

A buzz drew their attention, they looked up to see Mando receiving a transmission. A man stood in the small hologram.

“Mando, Greef Karga here. I’ve received your transmission. Wonderful news,” he said. “Upon your return, deliver the quarry directly to the Client.” Karga chuckled. “I have no idea if he wants to eat them or put them on display, but he’s very antsy.”

Beside Mando, the Child had climbed up and was grabbing at the dome of one of the levels, trying to pull the metal ball off.

“Safe passage. You know where to find me,” said Karga before the transmission ended.

Mando reached out and took the metal ball from the Child as he gnawed on it. “It’s not a toy,” he said, picking the Child up by his cloak and setting him back in his cradle.

The Child cooed mournfully, and Mando frowned beneath his helmet. In his peripheral vision, he could see (Y/N) pick up a spare bolt from when he and the Ugnaught had fixed the Razorcrest and hand it to the Child, who brightened as he held it.

Mando was not enjoying this job.

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gatorbites-imagines · 1 year ago

Note

Ur recent Wally post lit a fire in my head lol. If you’re up for it could I request a FTM Din Djarin getting eaten out? Was thinking a quickie type scenario: helmet on, (most of his) armor on, squirming in the pilot seat?

FTM Din Djarin x male reader

Drabble

Mixed terminology for his bits. Still new to writing FTM characters x reader, and even newer to writing oral, so let me know how it is.

Dins thighs tensed against the captain’s seat of his ship, toes curling inside his boots as he exhaled shakily, his vocoder not even picking up the sound. But the quiver in his legs and the creak of his gloves at he gripped tighter onto the steering, trying to keep the ship on course as a suck could be heard from between his thighs.

Din was half slumped in his seat, having scooted his hips far out enough for you to wrap your lips around his t-cock and hook two of your fingers in his wet hole, curling them as you rub his sensitive bundle of nerves with the flat of your tongue. His hips jolt upwards as a punched-out noise leaves him, his cunt only growing wetter around your fingers as they press against that sensitive spot inside him.

He had no idea how you had convinced him to do this, or why he had allowed you to crawl down under the control panel, or why he had sat still as you pulled off the codpiece of his armor and opened up the bottom of his flight suit.

Because of the way he lives, Din was very sensitive in most areas of his body. His high stress lifestyle also meant he didn’t get to touch himself a lot. This resulted in him almost jumping out his seat the moment you licked through his folds, teasing his hole before focusing on his sensitive engorged t-cock. Hormone treatment has left him bigger than most, which only gives you more to suck on and tongue at, much to Dins pleasurable misery. The hormone treatment had also made it harder for him to get wet naturally, but your sinful tongue and fingers easily coaxed it out of him.

It was only because of his helmet that you didn’t get to see just how red his face was, or how sweat was pouring down his face and most of his body, as his layers and armor did little to keep him cool in this type of situation. You could hear from his shuddery breaths and the moans that passed through his helmets microphone, that he found this just as good as you did, if not more.

Pushing a third finger into his slit, Dins hips canted forwards with a sharp gasp, the noise quickly becoming a cracked moan as you pulled your mouth from his t-cock, only to rub it in cruel small circles with your thumb. It was enough to force him mercilessly over the edge, his hold tightening around your fingers as his back arched and he moaned loud enough for his helmet to crackle.

Normally you would have ended it there, but Din let out a breathless keen as you withdrew your fingers with a slick noise, only to replace them with your tongue, as you lifted his leg just enough to access to his cunt easier.

Din was quick to grasp at your hair, his noises turning higher and higher pitched as he hurdled into overstimulation in a way that hurt so good. His still armored thighs quivered like leaves on a tree, his free hand smacking blindly at the control panel to put the ship into autopilot.

At the familiar click of autopilot, Dins other hand found your hair as well, dragging you even closer to his wetness, the wet slurps and licks only fueling the heat inside him further. Dins vision was almost swimming as feeling of orgasm brewed in his abdomen once more, feeling borderline painful at how quickly you had pushed him from one orgasm to the next.

Returning your lips to his t-cock, he almost screamed as you gave it a cruel suck, just barely scraping your teeth against the hard bundle. It had his feet planting onto the floor, his hips lifting off the seat as he wailed, wrenching your face deeper into his crotch, a soundless wail leaving him as pleasure-pain thundered up his spine.

Your lips became covered in his slick, the front of your shirt soaking in his juices as they squirted out of him, his entire body quivering and tense. You could tell from the little bit of skin exposed under his helmet that his jaw was open, stuck in an open moan as he rode out his orgasm against your face. All you could do, was rub lovingly at his thighs as he shook and whimpered, catching him as he fell limp back into his seat and situating him correctly.

A string of slick was connected from his slit to your mouth as you pulled back from him, grinning wolfishly up at him as he glanced down at you. Din didn’t even need to say anything for you to know he was flustered and embarrassed, especially when he noticed just how soaked your face and shirt was. The microphone of his helmet picked up a few warbles of his voice, mixed with a few half-formed apologies.

With a shake of your head, you told him not to apologize since it was really hot, as you closed up the bottom of his flight suit once more, and clicked the codpiece of his armor back in place. Din gave a slight wiggle of his hips as you stood up, clearly uncomfortable with how wet his crotch was, but he was too embarrassed to say anything about it as you shot him a wink.

The choked noise that left him as you wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand was like music to your years, an almost peacock like pep to your step as you sauntered towards the fresher to clean up. Who but you could say they had someone as dangerous as Din wailing and squirting on their face? It truly did things for your ego, a fact Din liked to remind you about regularly. But those times, you were always quick to show him it wasn’t like reasonless ego, much to Dins pleasure.

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multific · 1 year ago

Text

We Are One

Chapter 1: Getting You

Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: He watched you leave him and did nothing. Now, he was a Mandalorian again, he had his son, but he still felt as if something was missing. That something was you. Yet, Din Djarin never expected to find you on a far planet as the bride of the great Duke Leto Atreides.

Part 2

Everyone said he had it all.

Everyone said he was so lucky.

And yet, he felt empty.

His house wasn't a home, not fully. Not without you.

He will never forget the day you left.

How he regrets not going after you.

How he regrets not saying that he loves you.

And now, he was suffering the consequences.

He didn't have you anymore. Yes, he still had the kid, but he also wanted you.

He needed his clan of three.

This is the way.

You left not long before the kid left with the Jedi.

You two had a bad argument.

He blamed you for letting the kid be taken, but in reality, he couldn’t handle his own guilt.

He blamed you, but he knew it was never your fault.

You left him, and it was all because of him.

Being a force-sensitive yourself, you had to be careful who you trusted.

So, naturally, you didn’t tell your Mandalorian companion about your powers. It's not like he would have cared.

As you began to know more and more about him, you realised that you were in love.

In love with a man you have never seen the face of.

And then, he broke your heart.

He suggested the worst.

Even with your powers, you were too slow, too weak to stop them from taking Grogu.

And so, you left.

Leto Atreides, frequently referred to as the Red Duke and sometimes called Leto the Just, is the twentieth and penultimate Duke of House Atreides. A true noble who took great interest in you when you visited his planet.

It was meant to be a place for you to forget.

To forget the Mandalorian who broke your heart.

Yet, Leto was obsessed with you. You had a feeling it was mainly your powers he desired, but he insisted it was your beauty.

Which you also didn’t doubt.

He was obsessed with beautiful things.

He liked the finest feasts and wine, why would his taste in woman be different?

It wasn’t.

He often said how beautiful your children would be.

He often looked at you so lovingly.

Yet, you didn’t love him and you never could. He wasn’t your Mandalorian.

It was a week before the wedding.

The entire Galaxy knew about your engagement to the Duke himself.

You will soon become a powerful lady.

And yet, you were not happy.

You were good at faking it, sometimes you even convinced yourself, but in your bed, alone, you couldn’t convince anyone anymore.

You missed him and the kid.

Your clan of three.

You didn’t even know what happened after.

You can only assume Djarin got Grogu back. You can only go off of the fact that the Mandalorian would go to the end of the Galaxy and back for the kid.

You look out the window, trying your best to enjoy the scene when you notice the guards getting ready for something. You tried to see what was happening. It was strange.

You only ever saw them behave like this way when an intruder came about a month ago.

So, you could only imagine it was the same.

You watched as a small ship landed.

You saw a silhouette walking towards the castle.

Your heart picked up as you realized who it was.

All of your senses, screaming at you.

Run to him.

And you did. You ran through the castle, nearly running into others who were trying to see what was happening.

You reached the entrance where Leto was standing.

“My Beautiful Love, please, get inside, you might get hurt.” he said but you didn’t hear him, all you could see was the Mandalorian.

Your Mandalorian.

The beskar on him looked so shiny, you could hear your heart in your ears.

Then a voice, his voice filled your mind.

“Come to me.” he said.

And you didn’t need to be told twice.

You ran.

Ignoring everyone, every blaster that was pointed, every yell behind you, asking you to come back.

You ran.

And you ran right into his arms, they held you close as you clung to him, tears leaving your eyes as you finally felt at home.

Djarin turned around and started walking back to his ship, you opened your eyes to see the blasters still pointed at you, with a simple mode of your arm you made all of them lose their weapons as everyone stood, stunned.

But you didn’t care, you were back right where you belonged.

Part 2

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

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ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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djarincore · 1 year ago

Text

To Touch Darkness

summary: Din is possessed by the darksaber, forcing all of his darkest fears and deepest desires to manifest in a way that threatens to consume you.

pairing: haunted!din djarin x f!reader

word count: 4.8k

warnings: dark, dubcon, biting, blood, oral (f and m receiving), hair pulling, rough sex, overstimulation, possessive behavior, name calling, dirty talk, breeding kink, breath play, degradation, unprotected PIV, manhandling, mainly smut, please read tags carefully and do not read if anything could be potentially triggering!

a/n: there's something so sexy about an emotionally closed off man who gets possessed and all those locked up feelings surface in the worst way possible and he becomes obsessed with his desire hehe

There was something wrong with Din.

You wanted to believe in logical explanations. Grogu was gone, training with Luke Skywaker and shrinking your clan of three to two before you could process your goodbyes. The Razor Crest was ashes—the only home the two of you had known for the years you’d been together. And Din’s creed was broken, leaving him an apostate with an uncertain future. Not to mention he was now in possession of an incredibly powerful weapon, the darksaber, and he didn’t even want the responsibility of its power.

The world was crashing down around him; it made sense for him to change.

But, you were wrong—so very wrong.

Your slow realization began the first night without Grogu. The two of you had gone back to Tatooine with Boba Fett and Fennec Shand, finding an inn to stay at before planning your next moves.

Exhausted, as you laid on your side in bed together, his bare hands wandered over your skin, hot and needy, his mouth trailing down your neck in search of the spot that made you melt beneath him. He knew it well, having spent hours ravishing you in the dark of his bunk long before Grogu was ever in your lives.

You craned your neck to face him with a frown. Maybe now wasn’t the best time; after all, you both just lost a son. “Din, I don’t think-”

With better access, his lips sealed yours in a passionate and frenzied kiss as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your pants.

“Need you,” he grunted, yanking your pants down along with your underwear, “Now.”

“But, Din,” you attempted to protest, but it died on your lips when his hand pulled your thighs apart and another wrapped around your waist. His rough palm came in contact with your clit and a finger ran up your folds. You shuddered and gasped when he ground his palm against your clit, urging you to grind against it. You could feel him growing stiff against your ass as he rutted against you.

It was unlike him to be so desperate; Din was all about calm and collected control. When the two of you were in bed together he would never fully lose himself to his desires, a part of him always held back, too afraid to hurt you. His hands would only ghost the column of your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh of your skin but never sinking in and taking what he wanted.

But, you were tempted by that locked up part of himself, by what he could do and how well he could ruin you if he’d just give in.

Both your emotions were running high from your newfound loss; you slowly allowed yourself to succumb to the pleasure he offered to forget your feelings for a night.

Din turned you on your back and his lips returned to your neck, trailing down the slope and through the valley of your breasts. You moaned when his tongue ran over your nipple, building it up to its peak and then moving on to the next, teasing lightly with his teeth.

His finger worked over your clit, massaging circles around it until you were writhing and soaked. He cursed as he stuffed two fingers into you without warning, curling his fingers in your heat. “So tight ‘n wet for me.”

You cried out, shocked by the sudden feeling of fullness. You weren’t quite used to how rough he was being, the words he spoke. As much as you loved his praise and gentle whispers, you couldn’t deny how wet you became from hearing the rasp in his voice or the way he commanded your body with rough touches.

You shifted your hips to adjust to his fingers, but he clawed down on your thighs, forcing you open.

“Stay still,” he growled.

You struggled to comply. Hips jerked in response to his thick fingers pushing and pulling through your slick heat. You whimpered his name, curling your fingers around his bicep. You could feel the tension in your belly building.

Din huffed, his fingers slipped out of you and he manhandled you onto your stomach, propping you up and ready for him.

Your eyes widened. He never liked taking you in this position, said it was too impersonal. He always wanted to see you, kiss you, watch as your face twisted with pleasure, to see your eyes open again and know they were filled with love.

He leaned over, pressing himself against your pulsing heat, allowing you to feel just how badly he wanted you. He whispered low in your ear, rough and heated, “What’d I say, mesh’la?”

“S-Sorry,” you panted, pushing against his cock. You were throbbing, aching to be filled again and again.

“Think you can take me yet?”

You only nodded into the pillows, too distracted by the rustling of his pants sliding off and being discarded somewhere in the corner of the room. His thick cock dragged against your entrance, soaking in arousal.

“I need an answer,” he demanded, pulling your face from the pillows. He cradled your jaw. The tips of his fingers trailed down to brush against the column of your throat.

“Yes! Please, Din,” you begged, pushing your aching cunt against him.

When he slid in, molding you around his cock, you clung to the pillow and moaned. He grunted once he was all the way in, already pressing against that perfect spot that made your entire body tremble. He just knew your body all too well and when he began grinding into you just the way you liked, you nearly fell apart with a cry.

“Such a good girl,” he groaned when you opened around him, adjusting his grip tighter on your hips to control you. His thrusts started shallow, allowing you to adjust to his size, until you begged for more. “Ready, cyare?”

“Yes, please, I need it,” you mewled, rocking your hips back.

The first heavy thrust nearly pushed you against the headboard. He continued at that pace, drilling into your tight cunt. The slick dripping between your thighs was messy and your walls fluttered around him, pulling him deeper until he was groaning and snapping his hips harder.

You swore you were going to break. The angle was different; he was pressing against you in all the right places, filling you to the brim. The building pleasure in your stomach grew and grew. His hand wandered away from pressing bruises into your hip and brushed against your swollen clit.

You jerked away with a pitiful yelp, but his other hand held you down, moving from your hip to the back of your neck once again, pressing your face into the pillows.

“You’re okay,” he soothed. “Doing so well for me.”

“Ah, Din, feels so good,” you whimpered, sinking deeper and deeper under the waves of pleasure as his finger continued moving on your clit, sending strong pulses throughout your body. It rocked you to the very core until you threatened to snap.

The fingers around your neck pressed gently, reminding you he was there, completely in control of your pleasure. The added pressure only served to bring you closer to your climax.

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you managed through your breathless pants.

With a few more thrusts of his hips, you shattered completely with a sharp cry, squeezing his cock until he followed soon after. You rode your highs together, his chest against your back and his mouth to your ear, whispering praises.

As you eased yourself onto your stomach, Din slipped out but continued to hover over you, ghosting fingers up and down your spine to soothe you.

“Did I hurt you?” His concern and guilt took over his exhaustion. Two hands roamed your body, tracing the marks and bruises he created.

You cut off his on coming apology, “I’m fine, Din. I-I actually liked it.”

“Really?” His fingers pressed into your skin. “Are you sure?”

You laughed, turning over to grab his head and pull him down, attacking him with a flurry of kisses all over his face. “I’ll say it one more time—I’m fine, Din.”

Din pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, cradling your cheek in his palm. “You won’t leave, right?”

Your brows furrowed. It was a sudden question, but you had a feeling you knew what brought it out. “No, Din.”

A shadow passed over his eyes, so quickly you swore you imagined it.

“You’re mine?”

Your worry faded into a chuckle. “Last time I checked, we’re married. Of course, I’m yours forever.”

Din pulled you into his chest, an arm draped over your waist, his fingers pressing into your back. He peppered kisses over each splotch of color along your neck. He was clearly satisfied with your answer.

As you drifted off, you faintly heard a whisper.

“Mine forever.”

Din’s behavior only declined after that night. He rarely allowed you to leave his side or wander too far out of sight, claiming it was better this way, safer.

Who knew what kind of enemies he had made after capturing Moff Gideon? There were people after him; they were enemies shrouded in shadow and ghostly whispers he couldn’t explain, but they were there—he was sure of it.

And the only place you could be safe was by his side as he viciously tore his enemies apart. Bounties were no longer given the choice to be taken in alive.

You witnessed Din slice a man’s hand off with the darksaber simply because he grabbed your hand as he begged for his life. And when you asked him why he’d done that, he only shrugged and polished off the darksaber’s hilt.

“He touched what’s mine.”

His words burrowed into your skin for weeks to come.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Every time he held the darksaber you wanted to shy away. The ominous glow surrounding its dark void pulled you into its haze and clouded your rational thoughts.

His words were no longer spoken with adoration and devotion—there was only obsession. He needed you, craved you so desperately. His frenzied hunger consumed you every night. He was rough, needy, as if every second you weren’t wrapped around his cock would turn him into a starved beast. You were never without splotches coloring your skin, never without his touch burning onto every inch of your body.

And you craved him all the same, falling into his arms when he opened them. The need was insatiable, almost painful. To be without him created an ache deep in your heart, a pounding in your skull, and throbbing desire for him to be buried in your weeping cunt.

So, you continued to follow him because you loved him and needed him.

He often talked about Mandalore, not just when it came to bathing in its waters to be redeemed but reclaiming it, becoming its rightful ruler. You didn’t understand where the desire came from. He was so adamant about giving the darksaber to Bo-Katan after winning it from Gideon, not wanting anything to do with the responsibility.

His determination led the two of you to find the Armorer, hoping she’d give him the support and guidance he needed. When you ended up on Glavis, where the Armorer and Paz set up a new forge, you were glad to see them.

It almost felt normal. For the past six months all you knew was Din. Seeing familiar faces brought back a sort of clarity in your mind; the world was more than just Din.

That night you laid with Din in a bed offered by the Armorer in the new covert. You stayed up, haunted by your thoughts. Your recurring dreams, more like nightmares, were plagued with panic and danger, blood and death.

The nightmares started after Din’s change in character and always surrounded him, whether it was him washed in the blood of his enemies or lying in a pool of his own.

Fresh air would do you well. You had to untangle yourself from Din’s arms. Carefully, you slipped his arm off and rolled yourself out of his grasp, replacing your body with a pillow. He didn’t stir and you crept out of the room without a sound.

You hated stumbling around in the dark. Before things with Din began to change, you had no problem with it, but now it felt suffocating to be trapped in the darkness.

The new covert was smaller, made up of narrow walkways with no railing. One small misstep and you’d tumble over into the abyss. A small part of you wanted to turn back, stay with Din where it was safer, where he could protect you, but that thought shrunk the longer you walked down the familiar path toward the forge.

The light in the room beckoned you inside. Paz was sitting on a bench cleaning a few blasters with a rag.

“Come in,” he invited, not taking his focus away from his task.

You slipped into the room and sat on a bench situated against the wall.

“Trouble sleeping?” He asked.

“Sort of,” you said. It was odd to be alone after so long by Din’s side. You almost felt empty.

After a long silence, Paz finally spoke.

“The darksaber is dangerous,” he spat. “The apostate should have never brought it here. It craves power and control. It draws strength from fear and desire.”

You sat, dumbstruck. You felt a moment of clarity, something you hadn’t felt in weeks. Were you truly so blind to the darksaber’s influence over your mind and body? But it all made sense—the lust, the possessiveness. The darksaber was to blame.

You missed Din, the man he used to be and the life you had.

“There has to be a way to help him, right? We can take it away, destroy it,” you spouted off.

Your speech was growing frenzied, your mind desperately raced for solutions to fix a problem you didn’t understand.

“We have to help him,” you begged. You stood and rushed to Paz, grabbing his arm. “Please-”

“What’s going on here?”

Din appeared like a ghost at the edge of the shadowed doorway. Darkness seemed to consume his outline, pulling him further into the abyss.

You slipped your hands from Paz’s arm and stepped away, afraid of what Din might do if you clung to him longer. The sound of the darksaber igniting and echoing screams rang in your ear.

“Nothing,” you were quick to say, but Paz thought differently.

“You’ve changed.”

Din’s low, dark chuckle made your shoulders tense. Confidence seeped in his stance, his posture lax and head cocked. “Have I?”

“You scare your own riduur, brother.”

“She’s not scared.”

Paz stepped in front of you, shielding you behind his large body. “You do not get to decide that.”

With your face no longer in his sight, the confidence slipped into rage. “Stay away from her,” Din growled.

Paz shifted his feet, igniting his vambrace shield. The tension began to rise as both men reached for their weapons.

“Din, stop,” you demanded, stepping from behind Paz. You didn’t want bloodshed—you just wanted him to be free. “We just want to help you.”

“Come here,” Din commanded.

The feeling was undeniable. The heavy push toward him forced your feet toward him. Though your mind wanted to fight it, your eyes gravitated toward the darksaber clutched in his fist. It screamed and called for you, distorted and clear all at the same time.

“Din,” you begged, as if his name would be enough to rid him of the darksaber’s curse.

“I did not ask.”

Like metal grinding against metal, a trilling noise reverberated in your skull, calling you to him with more than just words.

“You do not deserve that weapon nor your riduur.”

Paz’s harsh words were enough to push Din into igniting the darksaber. A pitch black saber with a glow of white and a hollow ringing as it raised, the sight brought a tremble in your legs. The confrontation would only end one way if you didn’t defuse it.

“They belong to me.”

It was like Din’s voice was not his own.

“The darksaber was forged by my ancestors. It does not belong in the hands of an apostate.”

“Then come get it.”

The threat was evident in his words. A new challenge for the darksaber was approaching, one that would only end in death to mark the true keeper of its power.

Paz stepped forward. The ringing became louder, unbearable.

“Stop!” You threw yourself in the middle, arms outstretched. “That’s enough!”

You carefully stepped toward Din, hoping your wavering smile would make him sheath the darksaber and forget Paz’s words. “Let’s go to bed, okay?”

Din grabbed your arm and tugged you away. When Paz stepped forward again to follow, you stuck your hand out to shoo him away. He had the best intentions, but you didn’t want to see him dead.

When Din returned the darksaber to his belt, the ringing didn’t stop. You wanted to run, but you wouldn’t leave Din to be consumed by the darksaber’s influence.

Din dragged you back to your bedroom; the silence was tense. His grip around your arm burned and he squeezed until you let out a whimper. “He’s turning you against me, trying to take what’s mine.”

He threw open the door and pulled you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“It wasn’t like that,” you whined, clawing at his hand. Maker, your head was pounding. “He only wanted to help.”

“Help?” He scoffed. His other hand came to grip your jaw, his nails digging into your cheek, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Don’t fucking lie to me. Just admit you want to leave me too,” he all but roared.

It was fear speaking. His hand trembled as he held you. Like a caged tiger lashing out.

Your eyes burned as both of his grips tightened. “No,” you managed to squeeze out of your puckered lips. “Never.”

“Prove it.” He released you with a shove, sending you tumbling to the floor, and sat on the bed. He began to unbuckle his pants.

You stared at him wide eyed, slightly dazed from the fall. He was never this rough or demanding, even when he was buried deep inside your cunt, taking you over every flat surface available.

“Don’t sit there and look dumb.”

His words brought you back. Your legs clenched and shame flooded through you.

It wasn’t right. You were supposed to be convincing him to get rid of the darksaber, not getting aroused when he threw you around with impressive strength.

Your head was screaming; the pounding against your skull made you fear something would burst out of it. You couldn’t focus.

You needed to…

Your hands were on him. You freed his cock easily and got to work without a second thought. You just wanted to—needed to—please him.

Stroking his thick cock with your hand, your thumb brushed over the weeping tip and smeared pearls of precum over him. You felt saliva begin to pool on your tongue as you leaned forward to take him into your mouth. Your lips wrapped around his cock, taking as much as you could until you reached halfway. You stroked the rest of him with your hand.

“That’s it,” he sighed, a hand reaching to press against your skull to guide you.

Your head bobbed, tasting the saltiness of him on your tongue. You moaned when evidence of your arousal began seeping into your panties. You attempted to shift your hips and angle your heel against your core to give yourself some stimulation. Your clit rubbed against your heel, a weak pressure but managed to send a shudder through you.

When Din sensed you were more interested in getting yourself off, he forced you down his cock until you choked. Tears pooled in your eyes as you tried not to gag. Your hand clawed at his hip, begging for air.

“Take it,” he ordered, his voice nothing but a harsh bite. He could feel your throat fluttering around him perfectly—a mouth made just for him.

You blinked away your tears and tried breathing through your nose.

“You want to come so bad you’re going to fuck yourself on your heel? Heh, what a naughty little slut,” he said, clicking his tongue.

You nearly jolted at that word, eyes widening. It was always mesh’la or cyare; on rare, gentle nights it was riduur—never slut. Your brows furrowed, but he paid no mind.

His hand guided you along his length, deep and quick. His breaths came ragged as he used you. He pulled you off at the height of his pleasure, biting back a groan.

“Get up,” he demanded.

You gripped the bed for support as you stood on weak legs before his seated figure. The throbbing in your core grew stronger when his hands came to slide up your waist, beneath your shirt, to cup your breast, running both thumbs over your hardening nipples.

“This is mine,” Din rasped, pinching one of your nipples until you yelped. Another hand trailed down, slipping into your panties and cupping your leaking cunt. “And this is mine. Every fucking inch of you belongs to me.”

He dragged a single digit through your folds, gathering your arousal on his finger before dipping into your warmth. Your hands flew to grip his shoulder pauldrons when he began moving his finger and grinding his palm against your clit.

“There is no running from me,” he growled. He ripped his hands from your body and stood in a mass of intimidating silver armor. “I’ll make sure you remember that. Take your clothes off.”

You were pushed on the bed before you could blink and Din was removing the rest of his armor and clothes. Each plate clashed against the floor, the sound of anticipation. You followed his orders, quickly shedding off your clothes, revealing yourself to the cold night air.

By the time you were naked, his helmet was all that was left. He revealed his face, finally. The eyes you loved were void of any emotion other than lust. Dark eyes scanned your body as he stalked toward you and slipped onto the bed.

Laying flat on your back, you awaited his next demands. It would be wise to listen. There was no telling what kind of beast you’d unlock with one wrong move, yet you were shamefully eager to discover it.

When he knelt between your legs, devouring your glistening pussy with his starving eyes, he pushed your legs wider, bending your knees up toward your chest.

Din lowered himself onto the bed without tearing his gaze from your cunt. He wet his lower lip before kissing along your inner thigh.

“Stay.” Was his only command before he dove into your sweet cunt. He dragged his flat tongue slow up your slit and against your clit.

You held onto your trembling legs, pulling yourself open for him, as he delved into your folds. He devoured you, using his hands to spread your lips wider as he fucked you with his tongue, eating you like he was starving.

You clawed at your knees, trying to keep your legs open, as breathless pants slipped through your lips. Your orgasm was approaching fast and if he didn’t let up or give you a break, you’d come all over his face.

Maybe that’s what he planned. Once he began to rub your sensitive clit, ignoring your whines, you knew it was over.

“Ngh, Din,” you gasped, giving up on holding your legs when the overwhelming rush of your impending orgasm flooded you. Your legs locked around his head, fingers tugging his hair as your hips moved to reach your high.

“That’s right,” he moaned into your cunt, encouraging you to ride his face further, clawing your thighs.

You met your peak with a sharp cry, grinding against his face as his tongue lapped up your release. His hunger was insatiable; he cleaned any drop of your arousal that leaked from your cunt. When he finally emerged, he swiped his thumb over the corners of his mouth and sucked that off as well.

“No one else can make you feel like this, huh?”

You caught your heaving breath. “No one.”

Hands slotting beneath your knees, Din spread you open once again. Your body was still shuddering, sensitive, when he slotted himself between your legs. His cockhead caught against your opening and you groaned, still twitching from the aftershocks of your orgasm, “W-Wait, Din.”

“Quiet,” he growled, grabbing your neck. His hand squeezed, cutting off your breath, leaving no room for any more argument.

The usual loving gaze he kept was gone, gentle hands and loving gestures, replaced by something darker—a locked away desire bubbling to the surface.

You hated how much his voice and his complete control made your body tremble. You needed him to satisfy you.

He entered you without another warning, forcing himself into your cunt despite the resistance of your tight walls. He didn’t give you the chance to adjust to his thick cock filling you.

You yelped, clawing at his arm. The lack of oxygen and his rapid thrusts made your mind spin. There was nothing but Din as darkness crept into your vision—it would only be him forever.

“Gonna fuck a new baby into you,” he grunted.

That would have given you pause if you weren’t so caught up in bliss, trapped in the haze of pleasure he gave you. You only moaned, words were lost to you, your tongue nothing but a heavy mass.

“You want that, don’t you?” He cooed, “To be swollen with my kid. You’d never be able to leave my side.”

He released your neck and you gasped for air, grateful with each breath you could gulf down. His hand slid down your chest until he reached your stomach and pressed down; he could feel the bulge of his cock moving inside you.

“Right here. Feel that?”

The pressure from his hand brought tears to your eyes. He was relentless—he fucked you until you cried, helpless under his strength. Your body was nothing but a doll for him to break and mold beneath his touch.

Your sobs were silenced by his lips, rough and heady, devouring every gasp and cry. You tasted blood, felt the sting of your lower lip from where he bit. Din trailed kisses and sucked marks onto your neck as you writhed beneath the attention you were too weak to deny.

His hand slid lower, his thumb grazing your sensitive clit. You came without warning, arching into his thrusts and clawing at his back with a sob.

He continued, unphased by your cunt clenching around him, allowing you to ride out your high to the point of almost painful overstimulation.

Your chest heaved, begging for a break he would not offer. Your legs fell limp against the bed. “C-Can’t,” you choked.

It was too much, too sensitive. And when he hit that perfect, spongy spot inside you, your back arched with a violent cry escaping you.

“You can take it,” he encouraged, hands slipping beneath your thighs to push them to your chest, spreading you wider and letting him go deeper. “You’re gonna be good for me, yeah?”

All you could do was nod through his punishing movements as he worked closer and closer to his release. He muttered breathless promises until they trailed off into nothing but grunts and groans.

“Give me another one.”

“Maker, I could stay buried in you forever.”

He was lost, taking all the pleasure for himself as you laid there whimpering, twisting your hands around the sheets or running them down his back. You ached all over, but you could feel another climax building, twisting inside you.

Din cursed, the harsh groan came before he sank his teeth into your shoulder. You weren’t sure if you screamed or not, too consumed by your orgasm and him filling you. Your hands desperately clawed down his back the deeper his teeth dug.

“D-Din,” you stuttered weakly, eyes falling heavy under the pain; your face twisted.

He let you go after his teeth made their mark on your skin, a sign for anyone else foolish enough to challenge him for you. He pulled your limp figure close to his chest and held you in his arms until your breath evened.

You were fading, succumbing to your exhaustion and his warm embrace. Though there was a thought floating around in your meddled brain, something important.

Din shifted inside you, not pulling out yet. You could feel the mixture of your cum stuffed inside of you and slowly leaking between your legs. It was just the two of you, lost in the aftershocks of your orgasms.

Whatever the problem was, it must not have been important if you couldn’t remember—it could be dealt with…eventually…you just…wanted to…sleep.

Lulled by the sound of vibrations, like a strange ringing, you slipped into a deep slumber, wrapped in Din’s arms, and were pulled into darkness.

Nothing was wrong.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader smut #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction

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decembermidnight · 1 year ago

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Ner Mircet'ad (My Slave)

Summary: The Mandalorian breaks into the Imperial safehouse where you're held captive and kidnaps you to use you as his slave... and you're not complaining. Kinktober 2023 special

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ mdni, CNC, kidnapping, handcuffs, use of gag, bondage, dom!Din, sub!reader, unprotected sex (p in v), oral (m receiving), tease and denial, edging (m and f), creampie, cumplay, degradation kink, Mando'a speaking kink, dirty talk, face slapping, glove kink

A/N: Happy Kinktober! Here's my contribution! This should have been a fantasy of the reader in another story but I got a little carried away and it became its own oneshot. I'm feral about how it turned out. See below for Mando'a translations. I hope you enjoy it!

Divider: @saradika-graphics

You only saw him a few hours before, when he entered the Imperial safehouse where you’re held captive, forced to work as a scientist at the facility.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him - tall, broad shoulders, mysterious, a dark and raspy voice that made you melt in an instant. You have heard he’s one of the best bounty hunters in the outer rim. He acted disdainful towards the Imperials, pointing his rifle at them as soon as he perceived a hint of menace.

You looked at him completely entranced the whole time, devouring him with your eyes. You noticed he tilted his helmet towards you more than once, and felt his hunter gaze scouting your figure as he barely paid attention to the Imperial officer talking to him.

When he left, you felt the urge to immediately go touch yourself.

You locked the lab door behind you and slipped your hand in your panties. You sighed when you reached your slit and felt you were drenched at the mere thought of him. You started circling your fingers around your swollen clit and rested your head against the steel door behind you. Your mouth let out a groan too loud and instinctively your free hand went covering it to muffle how much thinking about the Mandalorian warrior was getting you off.

You let your body slide down until you were kneeling on the floor with your legs spread open. You thought of how hot his masculine voice would sound moaning your name while you’d be on your knees sucking his cock. You circled your clit in a frenzy, trying to be as silent as possible, but the wet noises of your arousal were betraying you. You thought of his heavy, thick body on yours, of how hard he’d fuck you, of him panting in your ear. Those thoughts drove you over the edge and felt the hot spark of the orgasm setting you aflame. You squeezed your eyes shut and had to hold your breath as that hot wave of pleasure was traversing your whole body, reducing you to a weak, trembling mess collapsed on the lab floor.

The very same night he comes for you.

He breaks into the safehouse, exterminating everyone in it, mercilessly, using his huge rifle, and then he opens the door to your room and finds you there, laying in your bed, still half asleep, scared and disoriented by all the noise, dressed only in a light nightgown.

In a second he is on you, his heavy armoured body is preventing you from moving. You do not even attempt to resist him, you stay completely still and carefully observe every action he does.

He’s holding both of your wrists in the tight grip of one of his hands, as the other one rummages in his utility belt to take out handcuffs, which he immediately uses on you.

You feel a tingle of excitement as his fingers slowly loosen their grasp and start to lightly trail down your naked arm, until they reach your neckline, where they delicately pull the fabric of your dress down to free one of your breasts.

He admires your hardened nipple, tilting his helmet sideways as his middle finger gently brushes it, drawing circles around it. You sigh at the tender touch of the leather against your sensitive skin, and when he hears that sound, his inscrutable visor immediately jerks towards your face, to look at your aroused expression.

To your disappointment, his hand stops touching your nipple, goes back to his utility belt and takes out a piece of cloth with which he gags you - not because he needs to prevent you from screaming and pleading for your life, no. You immediately realise that he’s turned on by it - treating you like one of his preys, hunting you, kidnapping you, making you his. The thought of it gets you more and more aroused the more this unspoken, borderline wicked dynamic plays between the two of you.

He then picks you up from your bed and carries you on his shoulder like his trophy through the dark, desert streets of Nevarro, all the way back to his ship, where he lays your body down on the cold steel floor and fixes your handcuffed hands to the bottom rung of the ladder leading to the cockpit.

He kneels before you and rips your thin clothes off with his hands, rabid and longing, making you gasp in arousal at that vulgar display of strength, and looks at your naked body and at the marvellous way it responds to him, so eager at the thought of being owned by him.

When his hands start to touch your body and you feel the leather of his gloves against your skin, you let out a deep, muffled moan and pathetically try to follow his movements with your body, craving for more contact.

He indulges on your breasts, tender and soft, groping and squeezing them. His touch is unexpectedly delicate, and you carefully follow it with your eyes, seeing the way he makes you simmer as he takes all the time he wants to reduce you to a whimpering mess.

He plays with your nipples, feeling how hard they get with just the brush of his fingers circling them, making them hard and stiff.

Use me. Use me. Use me. You beg for him with your muffled voice and body language.

His hands then trail down to your soft belly and round hips. He caresses and squeezes your feminine curves, longing for the moment when he'll finally dig his fingers into them while using you for his pleasure.

You can’t help spreading your legs for him, letting him have a look at your glistening core, already so wet for him, warm and inviting. He lets out a low, guttural hum when he sees how yearning and desperate you are for his touch, knowing his painfully slow teasing is working wonders on you.

His fingers trail so close to your wet folds, and the whimpering noises you make are absolutely pathetic as he taunts you, softly brushing your inner thighs and outer lips without touching your most sensitive spot yet. Your breathing gets laboured as he gets close to your clit and barely brushes it, teasing you, making you stutter with a brief, imperceptible touch, only to proceed down your slit and slide two fingers inside of you, making you arch your back in pleasure, moaning as loud as you can as you clench around them.

"You like this, don't you?" he asks as he takes out his fingers, completely soaking wet. He seems so pleased as he admires the leather of his gloves glistening in your arousal.

"Go on. Taste yourself on my fingers." he ungags you as he pushes them inside your mouth.

You obediently suck his fingers, gently licking them with your tongue, tasting the salty of your arousal, the bitterness of the leather and the faint metallic taste left by his guns. You look at him with lustful eyes right in his visor as your tongue swirls around his fingers, letting him know with your gestures that you'd suck his cock any time he wants, that all you care for in the galaxy is just to give him pleasure.

He hums in satisfaction, thinking of the way your sweet mouth will welcome his cock, how far it'll go into your throat, and how badly he wants to cover your pretty face in cum.

He takes out his fingers from your mouth and gags you once again. After that, he stands up and goes to his well-stocked armoury, taking some ropes out and coming back kneeling between your legs. He spreads them even more open, to the limit, and enjoys the view of your achingly needy cunt, drawing a few circles on your clit with his thumb, driving you insane as he looks at you whimpering and rolling your hips towards him.

He starts by tying each of your legs to the same ladder where your hands are, so that it’s impossible for you to close them. After that, he patiently wraps a rope around each of them, tying your thigh and ankle together, immobilising you, so you’re always available, at his mercy, any time he wants, and the thought of that gets you even more aroused. You’re drenched by now, you feel your sleek coating your inner thigh and dripping on the floor below you. Maker, you've never been this wet in your life, ever.

He looks at your helpless body, trailing his gloved fingers on your inner thigh, making you feel leather against your skin once again, rejoicing in the fact that you can’t move, making you quiver with lust as he smirks under that damn helmet seeing that you are so wet for him. He sees the way you react to his body, to his dick, to his touch, and Stars, he is so turned on by that.

He unfastens his utility belt and unzips his pants to finally take out his big, thick cock. It's throbbing and veiny and its tip is deliciously red and glistening in precum. You mewl just looking at it, feeling your walls clench in anticipation.

He immediately starts sliding it painfully slowly between your folds and it’s fucking debilitating after all of that excruciating teasing. You arch your back while moaning hysterically, begging for more as your eyes uncontrollably cross as you try to keep your gaze on his tip teasing your aching cunt. He keeps rubbing, keeps rubbing it on your clit and you feel so close already, and right when your body starts shaking in preparation for the imminent orgasm, he stops, taking it away from you, and starts stroking himself at the sight of you - so desperate for his cock, getting off from your agony. He gropes the soft flesh of your thighs and keeps giving himself pleasure in front of you. You can barely hear him panting under the helmet and oh, damn, he sounds even hotter than you’d imagined. It's such a pleasurable torture to be forced to look at him without being able to do anything, to hear the wet sounds of him fucking his fist so close to you when you wish you were the one who makes him feel so good.

He gives one last squeeze to his cock, letting a drop of precum out, then he slides his tip inside of you, making you roll your head back, sighing at the feeling of having him inside of you, finally.

When he feels how welcoming and hot you are, he groans in pleasure. His raspy voice makes you clench around him. He feels how tight you get when your muscles clench, and he lets out a barely audible curse.

He takes it out and immediately slides it back in, just the tip, just to play with you, to tease you, to get you on the verge of your orgasm and who knows, maybe he won't give it to you. You're at his mercy, you have to accept anything he's willing to give you. Will he make you come? Will he fuck your pussy, or will he just tease you like that indefinitely, leaving you crying and begging for him, as he gets off in your frustration, covering your body in his cum?

He goes on tormenting you like that for what feels like forever. A long, pleasurable torment where you desperately beg for him to put it back in everytime. Your whole body is shaking at the cruel game he's playing with you.

You wonder what he looks like. You bet he's handsome and he's smirking sadistically under that helmet, getting off from your desperation. His body exudes sexuality and confidence, his voice is deep and sensual - he is hot for sure.

He puts his tip in one more time, but now he's pushing all his shaft inside of you, and he's looking at your tearful eyes and how they widen in wonder when you feel him sliding slowly inside of you - deep, so deep, like you've never been fucked before, making you feel owned, marked, his property, his. He knows how good his cock is making you feel and that you'll never be fucked this good by anyone else in the galaxy.

He can't help sighing at how tight you are, and he sounds so hot when he does. You're so wet, the obscene sounds of him sliding in and out of you fill the hull of the ship. He's grabbing your legs, thrusting deep and slow, his head leaned back, completely sinking into the pleasure that is fucking you, controlling you, owning you.

When he picks up the pace, he starts cursing in a foreign language, gasping and groaning at the way your walls clench around his cock.

“Bid pel bal piryc par ni.” he growls in between sighs. He sounds even hotter when he speaks what you assume is his native language. There's something about the way that ancient language of warriors sounds that fits him and his husky voice so well. You don't understand a word, but you can tell by how pleased his voice sounds that he's praising you and the way you feel around him. You too are enjoying his cock so much. Maker, the pleasure he is providing you with is one you’ve never felt before. You’re forced to take him in any way he wants, completely subjugated by him and his desires, and it’s so perverse and thrilling that you’re already addicted to it.

You feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he thrusts into you, hitting your clit at just the perfect angle, building your pleasure gradually, until you feel on the edge - your breathing is getting laboured, your body starts to shake, you’re just there… but he takes it out and you feel like you’ve been robbed of air from your lungs.

You're so desperate, your whole body is shaking, your handcuffs rattle against the ladder behind you in protest and you let out cries. You must look pretty pathetic to him, who is enjoying the sight of your desperation and the sound of you whimpering by viciously stroking his cock in front of you, letting you see and hear how wet you've made it, his helmet is cold and won't betray any emotion. You can only arch your back and roll your hips begging for him to put his cock back into you.

When he's satisfied and has seen you beg for him enough, he slides it back in, the both of you moaning at the same time at the feeling. He immediately picks up his rhythm and grips your throat in his hand, forcing you to look at him while he’s choking you.

"Mircet'ad." he growls as he thrusts into you. "Ner mircet'ad" rasps again.

You look at him, not sure about what it means, but his voice is hot like lava against your skin as he speaks that foreign language.

"Yes, that's what you are. Do you know what it means? I want you to. It means slave. My slave. Ner mircet'ad. That's the only way I'll be calling you."

He made a point of what you are to him - nothing more than a sex slave that he will use when he comes back after his hunts, to let off steam after catching his quarries. Bounty hunting is tough, and you'll be his relief, something warm and giving always waiting for him with open arms and legs and that will make him feel so, so good any time he wants. His Mircet'ad. That word keeps echoing in your head and you drench yourself at that thought. He feels the way you're spasming around him and how aroused that made you.

"Do you like being called like that, little whore? You like being used?" he wraps his hands around your throat even tighter.

You nod as you look at him with needy, lustful eyes.

When he sees that, he goes crazy and just starts jackhammering you, digging his fingers in your hips as leverage, making you lose control over your mind and body, completely overwhelmed by the way he's fucking you brainless.

"What a fucking slut. Feel how wet you get when I call you my slave. Fuck, you’re such a whore. Wanted to fuck you so badly since I saw you. Do you think I didn't notice the way you were looking at me, whore? Made me walk out of there rock hard, thinking of the things I'd do to you. Gonna fucking wreck your pretty cunt. You feel so good, ner mircet’ad." his voice alone could make you come, and you both feel the way your pussy reacts to him, uncontrollable spasms of excitement that further add to the already overwhelming pleasure, hoping he maintains that promise.

He takes it out again when he feels you're on the edge. And again, your body begs for him. You know he's enjoying seeing his slave begging for him.

"Fuck. Killed so many people to fuck this little pussy. Let me enjoy it. Let me hear how much you want my cock." he pants as he looks at you.

Your back arches and you let out desperate moans as the hand wrapping your throat grips your jaw instead, blocking your face in that position, letting him look at your face.

"Beg for it like the needy slave that you are." he lowers the gag from your mouth.

"P-please, please put it back in. I want your dick inside of my pussy. Please, I need it." you let out in a pleading voice on the verge of tears.

"Hmm. Go on. What do you want me to do to you?"

"Anything you want. I am your whore. I'm here to please you. I want you to wreck me and fill me with your cum. I want to come on your dick so badly, so fucking badly, please! I want you to make me scream until I beg you to stop. I want to give it to you any time you want and hurt for days. I want you to use me, please! I want to be your slav-"

He slaps you in the face, stopping that flow of obscenities from coming out of your mouth.

"You are my slave." he snarls as he grips your jaw tighter, bringing your face so close to his helmet. You look at him right in his visor, so heavily aroused by the rough way he's handling you, asserting his dominance and ownership. You are his slave. His slave. The thought of it sends a thrill of arousal down your spine and turns you on so much.

"What a filthy little mouth you have. Let me use it before we're done." he growls as he takes a good look at you.

"Damn you're pretty. Wanna ruin this beautiful face. Look at these perfect lips. Can't wait to see them wrapped around my cock." he says while tracing your lips with his thumb.

He positions himself over you, with his dick right in front of your face and you can't help elongating your neck towards it, sticking out your tongue to lick the salty slick of your arousal from its shaft, making him grunt as he feels how hot and velvety your tongue is.

"Yes, yes, lick it. Feel how wet you've made it, ner mircet'ad." he slides his wet cock inside your mouth and you welcome it, brushing it with your tongue, tasting yourself on him, adoring it.

He gasps at the feeling and goes on sliding all of his length in. You take it in greedily, keeping your gaze on his visor. He pushes it in your throat without resistance on your side. The Mandalorian is amazed at the way you take his cock.

"What a greedy whore you are. You want it all, don't you?"

You moan at that, sending vibrations to his cock, making him throb and choke a sigh as his hand grips tight to the ladder.

He loses it completely at how obedient you are and starts thrusting into your throat, making you feel used like an object for his own pleasure - you can feel by the way he's panting that he's loving it… and you are, too. When he takes it out it’s completely drenched in your saliva, and he grabs you by the hair and looks at you.

"Ner mircet'ad, I knew your mouth would be perfect. You take my dick so good. All of it, deep in your throat. Good girl, you deserve to be fucked so hard." he praises you, then he positions himself once again kneeling in front of you, lifting the gag over your mouth.

He grabs his cock in his hand and slowly slides it back inside of your desperate, throbbing cunt, letting you feel every inch of him.

"Oh, fuck, you take it so good" he lets out in a low, pleased whisper.

He immediately starts to rail you once he's buried deep inside of you, making you uncontrollably moan and tremble.

"Bet you never had a cock this good. No one's ever fucked you like I am right now. Gonna give it to you anytime I want, and you'll be taking me like the fucking whore that you are, ner mircet'ad." he buries his cock deep inside of you and he stops, as he’s close to his own orgasm this time. He’s panting and shaking as he grips tight to the ladder with both of his hands, towering over you with his broad figure. You can see the outline of his biceps from under the thick layers of duraweave and Maker, it's such a delightful view. You roll your hips against his so as not to stop stimulation, moaning provocatively. It’s so good, you don’t want him to stop just now.

“S-stop it.” he grunts as you keep moving your hips, disobeying him, getting even more aroused by the way his voice sounds when he's restraining himself.

“Fuck. Greedy slave, you want all of my cum, don’t you? You want me to fill you up and drain me, to be my cum slut, huh? If you k-keep moving like this I’ll - I’ll - fuck” he lets his dick slip out of you with the very last inch of self control he has left. His whole body is trembling and he is panting as you beg for him with your muffled voice.

“Fuck, you’re a temptress. An insatiable slave. A fucking cocksucking, cum addicted whore. Stars above, if you want it so badly, I’m gonna give it to you. You make me want to fuck you so hard and fill you so deep. Damn, take it.” he puts it back in and starts to rail you at a debilitating rhythm, making you shake your legs out of lust and roll your eyes because of the pleasure.

"Shit. I'm so close" he grunts as you look at him with pleading eyes, making your handcuffed hands rattle on the ladder.

"Do you want me to make you come, mircet'ad?"

You frantically nod your head.

"Yeah - bet you did. I will make you come. If you ever make it out alive from my ship, I wouldn't want you to say that the Mandalorian didn't satisfy you. It would be bad, wouldn't it?"

You keep nodding your head, feeling your cunt throbbing with need and lust at the thought.

"Get ready, I know you're close."

The angle at which his cock is hitting your clit is sending you to heaven, just as the thought of him restraining from his own orgasm to give one to you first.

"Let me hear you. Let me hear how fucking good I'm making you come" he finally frees you from your gag and you can finally let him hear your desperate, loud moans.

A few more thrusts of his thick cock inside of you and you feel the devastating force of the orgasm blazing through your body, making you burst. Finally, after a never-ending edging torture, he lets you come. From the position you're forced in, with your legs completely spread open, the power of your orgasm seems even more shattering than ever, nothing like you've ever experienced before. You can feel your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his cock, making him grunt as you let out the hottest, headiest moans he's ever heard.

"Fuck. F-fuck. How can you feel so good?! M-maker you're tight. Fuck. Killing me. G-going to fill you. Fill you with my cum. N-now. My slave. F-fucking mine." he snarls and fills you with his hot load, his cock pumping it deep and hard inside of you as you groan loudly and sensually and won't stop looking at him. He tries to muffle his own moans by gritting his teeth, and Maker, he sounds even hotter when he gives up, letting those heady moans out, losing control, wholly abandoning himself to that overwhelming pleasure. He grips tight to the ladder with both of his hands, preventing his body from collapsing on yours, burying his cock deep inside of you as you both slowly come down from your high.

“I’m your slave.” you softly whisper in your post orgasmic haze, smiling.

"Ni gar mircet'ad" he teaches you. He trails his fingers on your mouth and you kiss them sweetly, looking at him in the visor.

“Ni gar mircet'ad, Mando” you repeat in a sweet, tender voice.

“Gar serim, ner mircet’ad. So fucking hot when you speak Mando’a to me.” he lightly wraps his hand your throat once again.

"You too." you reply.

"Oh, you like it when I speak Mando'a to you?" he lets his hand trail all over your body, making you sigh when it stops between your legs and starts rubbing your clit.

"Yes. So hot. You're so hot." you go on praising him in between moans as he picks up the rhythm of his fingers.

"'lek, ner aikiyc mircet'ad, k'olar tug'yc par ni bat ni cere. Come for me again on my fingers." the sound of his dark voice, sweetly whispering those words while touching your clit drives you wild and you can't help obeying his order, coming again after a few rubs of your clit, so unbelievably aroused by that. His visor is locked on you, on your eyes that uncontrollably cross and roll because of the pleasure, on your mouth letting out filthy sounds of pleasure, all while he keeps speaking his native language throughout your orgasm, encouraging you.

"'lek. 'lek. Jate, ner mircet'ad. Bid mesh'la. K'olar par ni."

After that second orgasm you feel completely debilitated and just collapse, exhausted but so, so satisfied.

When he slips out of you, he enjoys seeing your exposed cunt slowly leaking his cum out, wrecked and still spasming in aftershock. He uses his cock to gather all the seed that escaped from you and push it back inside of your hole. When he’s done, he looks at you in the face, his cock is still hard.

“Will you clean it for me, mircet'ad?” asks gently as you have already opened your mouth wide open for him.

“Good girl.” says as he slides his cock in your mouth. You taste both of your orgasms in your mouth and hum, sucking it avidly and licking it clean.

“Damn you’re perfect” says as he tucks his softening cock back into his pants.

"So hot when you come for me. Taking my cock like a hungry whore. I will keep you here on my ship. You'll be my slave. No one except for me will ever lay one finger on you. You belong to me now. You're my property.” he tells you as he frees you from the handcuffs and ropes. You swear you are so tired you could fall asleep right there, right now, but he picks you up in his arms and lays you down in a cot - his cot, you will learn later.

Translations:

I have used mandocreator.com as reference.

- Bid pel bal piryc par ni = So soft and wet for me

- Gar serim = Yes, that's right

- 'lek, ner aikiyc mircet'ad, k'olar tug'yc par ni bat ni cere = Yeah, my desperate slave, come for me again on my fingers

- 'lek. 'lek. Jate, ner mircet'ad. Bid mesh'la. K'olar par ni. = Yeah, yeah. Good, my slave. So beautiful. Come for me.

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oscarseyebrow · 2 years ago

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Hurricane: Chapter One

Pairings: din djarin x force sensitive female reader Rating: explicit. 18+ (later chapters will contain explicit smut) Word count: 9k Warnings: canon typical violence, mention of death of enemies, description of injury, reader being captured, slow burn, enemies to lovers. later chapters will include pregnancy and a brief mention of the death of a parent. A/N: while being on a hiatus, i decided to rewrite this fic as it had completely changed direction from where i began and i wasn't happy with it. i hope you all enjoy the new version as much as i've enjoyed writing it again and this time, i will tell the end of their story! i also want to give the biggest shoutout to @the-scandalorian for your time, your patience and your constant support. thank you for being the best beta and a wonderful friend 💖 Series masterlist | Masterlist | Taglist

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Heavy boots pound relentlessly, their rhythmic thuds echoing through the twisted, uneven terrain of the forest. They never falter or break their stride, propelling you forward. Each step interrupts the eerie calls of creatures in the night, a cacophony of sounds that sends shivers down your spine. Like sinister fingers, the branches snap, scrape, and snag, viciously clawing at your clothing and skin as you desperately try to outrun your pursuer.

He’s close. Closer than ever before.

This is what it has come down to, a deadly game of cat and mouse, an unrelenting chase where every move determines your fate. Time had become a blur, lost to the dark abyss that had inked over your surroundings long before you ventured into it. The very darkness you hoped would grant you cover now seems to conspire against you, mocking your latest attempt to slip away unnoticed.

Over the months, you had encountered many hunters on your trail. At first, it had seemed almost effortless to elude them. Your abilities granted you an undeniable advantage—speed, agility, and an unwelcome connection to the Force. None of them had stood a chance against you; their end had come before they even knew what was happening.

But this hunter was different, tenacious and unyielding in his pursuit. He closes the gap with every twist and turn, narrowing the distance between you. Your name, once a mere whisper in the wind, now reverberates with an ominous promise as he tracks you to your last known location.

His strength is palpable, his determination unbreakable. And now, here you are—heart pounding in your chest, consumed by a single instinct: to run. You push against your limits, desperately seeking an escape from the predator hot on your heels.

A red, searing spark slices through the darkness, a fleeting flash from a blaster. The acrid scent of burnt air mingles with the sound of splintering bark, a tree beside you left scarred in its wake. Instinctively, you tuck into a tight roll, narrowly evading the next shot.

A bead of sweat trickles down your forehead, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. The fine line between life and death stretches taut before you, and you refuse to grant him the satisfaction of being the one to sever it.

You’re back up on your feet as another surge of raw energy courses through your veins. Each stride is a calculated leap, nimble and agile, clearing any obstacles that threaten to halt you in your tracks. The thicket becomes denser, the branches clawing at your flesh with renewed vengeance, as if conspiring to slow your progress and grant him the upper hand. Yet, you continue in silence, the wave of adrenaline numbing your senses, shielding you from the pain of their grip.

Finally, when your feet clear an uprooted tree, you deliberately drop to the ground. Fingers gripping your blaster tightly, the safety disengaged, you force your racing breaths to slow.

In the stillness that envelops the darkened forest, you listen intently, attuning your senses to the silence around you. You push beyond the pounding of your heart, further still, and that’s where you notice it. An absence of sound. The weighty silence settles like a suffocating blanket, shrouding both predator and prey. The thunderous thud of his heavy boots has ceased, mirroring the stillness of your own.

Pressing your back against the rough bark of a fallen tree, you draw a deep breath, steeling yourself. This is who you are, a fighter, a survivor. You’re equipped with the skills to get out of this situation—you had been taught well under the Empire.

For a fleeting moment, you close your eyes. The world around you teems with vibrant life; pulsates with an energy you can’t resist. You tap into it, harnessing the power that had gotten you into this whole mess.

Given the situation, it’s difficult to focus, but still, you try. You reach out in an attempt to grasp any help the Force has to offer. Despite the struggle, you find what you’re looking for—a flickering presence that doesn’t belong here—The Mandalorian.

Suddenly, a sound breaks the silence—a rustle, a snapping twig—your gaze darts toward the opposite direction from where you had sensed him. It seems too distant to be him. Could the Force have misguided you? Was it possible for the Force to be wrong? It had been so long since you were able to use it properly, to truly call upon your connection to it…maybe you weren’t interpreting it correctly.

You ignore the guidance offered to you through the Force and place your trust solely in your surroundings. Deep down, you know he’s close. Yet, you dismiss the pull of your gut instinct and opt to slip away.

It’s now or never.

Your body presses low to the ground while you move silently. Damp leaves and thick mud cling to your front. Every sense in your body sharpens—the scent of the mossy ground beneath you, the sting of sweat mingling with the scrapes on your skin. Your entire being fixates on survival, pausing for a second to reach out to the Force again to check your surroundings.

Nothing. There are no sounds that don’t belong to the eerie symphony of the darkened forest—no thundering beskar, no trace of movement or breath. Absolute stillness. Slowly, you rise, surveying the moonlit area for a moment before you propel yourself toward a narrow gap between two gnarled trees.

Freedom beckons, so tantalizingly close. Just a few more strides, and it would be right there, within your grasp.

Then, it happens.

It hits you with the force of a cataclysmic collision, expelling all of the air from your lungs. The Mandalorian emerges from behind the tree, anticipating the impact, his solid frame poised to absorb the force of your body hurtling toward him. For just a split second, there’s a feeling of complete weightlessness before you collide with the ground. You’re down, but not defeated. Swiftly shifting your weight to the left, you avoid his grasp and deliver a quick kick to his knee, causing him to crash down beside you.

Synchronized movement unfolds, an intricate dance of opponents keenly aware of each other’s every move. You fire first, only for him to dart out of the way with a lightning-quick dodge, your shot barely grazing the corner of his chest plate. The ricochet momentarily shatters your focus, panic creeping into your core as you begin to grapple with the consequences of your misjudged shot, while the Mandalorian seems to register surprise at your near hit.

Undeterred, he launches once more, but you’re too quick. You take evasive action, executing a roll, your fist connecting flawlessly with the side of his ribs as you raise again. He’s winded. His modulated groan reverberates in the air and allows you a second to recover. But he’s not far behind. Now back on your feet, you parry his relentless attacks, the rhythm of the battle pulsating between you.

Neither relenting nor yielding, every fibre of your being fights for your survival while he fights for credits that will no doubt buy his next meal. This can’t be how it ends for you. You’ve endured too much to be taken down by a mere bounty hunter.

Grunts and groans puncture the air as blows land on both sides. His attacks are measured and deliberate, his reach surpassing yours. But you’re much quicker. Amidst the chaos, you sidestep his lunging assault, seizing his arm and leveraging the momentum to hurl his heavy frame to the ground. You’re almost proud of yourself until he retaliates and sweeps your legs from beneath you. Gravity pulls you down once more, your head colliding with his armour and causing an explosive burst of light to engulf your vision.

Your focus wanes, slipping from your grasp. You blink, once, twice, and then he has you.

“Stop fighting,” he demands, breathless yet commanding, as he pins you to the ground and traps your arms with his knees.

At that moment, you note the stark contrast between his voice and your expectations. He sounds different. His voice is devoid of emotion, yet soft. Distorted, yet strangely velvety. Gasping for air to desperately refill your lungs, you both engage in a silent struggle, your eyes fixating on the impenetrable visor of his helmet. It reveals nothing and yet you can sense it, the energy radiating from within. He holds no satisfaction in completing this job. After the relentless chase, you expected a triumphant gloat to be concealed within that mental shell. But it’s not.

Tilting your head away from his gaze, your fingers strain where they’re pinned to your sides. You have a vibroblade, nestled securely in the strap around your thigh. The tips of your trembling fingers brush the handle, its coldness a stark contrast against your clammy palm.

“Fuck you,” your words escape in a breathy whisper as you launch your next desperate attack, but it’s anticipated and effortlessly countered. The last thing you see is his helmet descending upon you, followed by a resounding thud. Darkness falls, consuming all your senses.

The cat has caught the mouse.

***

A gentle swaying motion and a caressing breeze coax you back to consciousness. In that fleeting moment, you could be anywhere–weightless atop the tranquil surface of a serene lake, bathed in the warmth of the sun. It kisses your skin, filling you with a sense of serenity you rarely experience these days. It has been an eternity since you felt such freedom, devoid of burdens. In this relaxed, suspended state, you are liberated, free. If you were to extend your fingertips, you could almost feel the cool water cascading over them, your body gently rocking in its embrace.

And so, you reach out, anticipating the familiar sensation. But instead, an icy chill seizes your hand, a sudden heaviness grips your being, and your limbs refuse to respond. Panic surges, robbing you of the tranquil calm that had momentarily embraced you. A searing pain lances through your side, jolting you awake.

Gasping, your eyes snap open as you struggle to make sense of your disorientated surroundings. Gone is the water, the lake, the radiant sunlight. Instead, you find yourself suspended upside down, a tattered cape fluttering behind the imposing figure of heavy boots.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Fuck.

You’re alive, but your freedom is gone. Your hands are bound, your body hoisted unceremoniously over a rigid shoulder. You have a choice to make: do you submit and face your fate or continue the fight? You’re exhausted, your body bruised and aching…do you have anything left in you to fight?

This can’t be the end.

With gritted teeth, you clasp your hands together, summoning every ounce of strength you have left. They fall upon the man’s back with a resounding force, a desperate attempt to break free from his grip. Yet, his armoured form barely registers the impact, beskar shielding him from the brunt of your attack.

“Put me down!” Your voice is cracked and dry but overflowing with defiance as you writhe and strain against his strong grip.

He tightens against your struggles. It’s the only response you get and you find it ignites a new flame of determination from your darkest depths. You shift your weight, aiming to unbalance him. For a moment, you think it works. He staggers, offset by your attempt but whether through your own effort or his loss of patience, he eventually drops you to the ground in a graceless heap.

It’s then that the full extent of your exhaustion becomes clear: muscles ache, bones protest, and the pulsating throb in your head spreads outwards to the point you find yourself closing your eyes and applying pressure to the area where the Mandalorian had headbutted you.

The asshole. If you were to survive this night, you knew there would be a shining bruise there come the morning.

You attempt to push yourself up to your knees, hoping to make it to your feet. It’s not to be. A mud-coated boot gives you the smallest shove and you end up rolling onto your back, defeated once again.

You close your eyes, attempting to steady your breathing amidst the waves of pain. When you open them once more, you find him standing above you, his head slightly tilted against the backdrop of twinkling stars. This isn’t the time for distractions, but you can’t help noticing the way his beskar illuminates beneath the reflective glow of the moonlight.

“I can bring you in warm…” his voice breaks the silence, presenting the first option to you before taking a deliberate pause. “Or I can bring you in cold.”

His hand gestures toward the ominous presence of his blaster, and right beside it, tucked into his belt, is your own. Moments tick by, and he remains motionless above you, an enigmatic statue frozen in time.

Without a single word, your decision is made evident as you sit up. The Mandalorian reaches down, his gloved hand gripping your wrist restraints, and effortlessly hoists you to your feet. He leads the way, his strides pulling you along until you fall into step beside him, surveying your surroundings. The forest is now all but gone from sight in the darkness, and you see that you’re closer to the outskirts of town.

You trudge across the uneven terrain, contemplating the different outcomes that await you. None of them are hopeful. One thing is clear in every scenario: you can’t outrun or outfight this bounty hunter. So where does that leave you? A surge of frustration courses through you, angered by the situation you have allowed yourself to fall into. Anger bubbles beneath the surface, and so, you unleash your next attack with words instead of actions.

“Did they send you to do the job the others couldn’t?” you ask. “How many did it take before they brought you out? Five? Six? I lose count of how many I’ve had to kill.”

Still, he remains silent as your steady voice taunts, probing for a reaction. He refuses to give you the satisfaction of acknowledgement. His message is clear: you’re wasting your breath.

Undeterred, you press on, uncaring whether he answers or not, “Did they have families? Were they your friends?”

Nothing. Resolute silence.

It only angers you more. You twist your arms, attempting to free your restraints from his grasp as you pull away from him in a bid for freedom. The man follows, his muscles tensing beneath the armour to keep his grip on you as you fight against him and finally show the first cracks of panic.

“I swear to the Maker and all the Gods above, as soon as I get out of these restraints, I’ll make you regret every second of this. Do you hear me?”

If he does, he doesn’t answer you, so you raise your voice, “I said do you fucking hear me?”

“Yes, I fucking hear you,” he grits and pulls your body closer to prevent you from flailing around.

He’s frustrated, you can feel it. It oozes from him like a thick, suffocating smog. There’s a moment of silence between you and he chooses to wait, allowing you a few seconds to calm down before he speaks again.

“I’m not the only one looking for you, but I am the only one willing to take you in alive. So are you going to let me get us out of here, or are you betting on your survival against the other hunters with your hands bound and no weapons?”

You despise the way his voice calms you. You want to fight, want to pull free and run in any direction possible. But there’s something that keeps you there, your eyes trained on his visor as you look for any hint of the man beneath the opaque glass. This is about survival, and being captured alive gives you a lot more options than being brought in dead.

You hate to admit it, but he’s your best option right now.

No more words are exchanged for the remainder of the journey. The crunch of gravel beneath your boots announces your arrival at the town’s entrance. A palpable silence blankets the air, unsettling in its weight. The energy shifts inexplicably, and both you and the Mandalorian tense in response. His grip on your restraints tightens, his hidden gaze scouring the surroundings, mirroring your own vigilance as you search every corner, every shadow.

With each step you take through the small town, windows shutter and people retreat from the streets. You swallow, feeling a sense of warning through the Force. And then you see it—the swift leap from one rooftop to another. This time, you’re the fortunate one, reacting swiftly. Your hands twist, seizing the bounty hunter’s wrist and yanking him out of harm's way as blaster bolts rain down upon you.

Why are you saving his life when he is so willing to hand you over for someone to sacrifice yours? It’s a clear calculation—he needs you alive, fighting with him instead of against him. This is how you both get out of here, alive. It’s a mutual understanding as you drag him to safety between two buildings.

Everything seems to happen in a blur, time accelerating rather than decelerating as it had in the forest. He releases his hold on you, shielding your defenceless form with his own body as a blaster bolt ricochets off his armour. Before you have a chance to react, his blaster is in his hand and he shoots down the attacker from the roof.

You turn, catching sight of another hunter charging toward you. With your hands bound, your only option is to rely on your perfect timing as you deliver a swift kick to the front of his knee and destabilize him with a sickening crunch of bone. It’s followed by a loud scream of agony as he doubles over, right into an uppercut from your restraints which sends him crashing to the ground, unconscious.

With a quick glance over your shoulder, you see the Mandalorian occupied with three other hunters. Now is the moment, and without any hesitation, you flee in the opposite direction.

Your footsteps echo loudly between the tall buildings, alerting those close by of your location. It’s not a smart move, goes against all of your training, but desperation propels you forward. Your path weaves through the labyrinth of twisting streets and finally, you pause, finding a temporary hiding place to catch your breath.

The pain continues to pound inside of your head, everything becoming so loud; blaster shots across the street; the yells of the pursuers being taken down by the Mandalorian. If they’ve found you this easily, you know those who work at Moff Gideon’s command won’t be far behind. Up until now, you’ve been able to play it smart, always staying one step ahead of them all. But your first mistake is proving likely to be your last.

You need to calm down. Breathe. Focus.

Every nerve ending in your body seems to come alive–you have to go, you have to run. The Force all but screams it at you, encouraging you to slip out into the street once more and take off in a slightly different direction. Swiftly taking a right turn, you hear the resounding crack of a blaster shot pierce the air. You veer left, evading two more shots. A body plummets from a nearby building, their weapon sliding along the ground. You react on instinct as you thrust out your bound hands and use your pull through the Force to snatch it into your grasp in one fluid motion. Though you’re not at the best advantage to aim, you find a way to make it work.

Gunfire and thudding sound through the streets as you engage in a fierce battle, skillfully manoeuvring through the chaos, instinctively ducking and sprinting at precisely the right moments. This isn’t a mere stroke of luck or chance–it’s a testament to your abilities, the Force, a result of countless encounters you’ve faced throughout your life.

Once again, silence descends, and you become acutely aware of your ragged breaths as you struggle against your burning lungs. You don’t have long. Seconds, maybe. You sense the Mandalorian’s energy drawing nearer. You sense him to your right, searching the street parallel to your own. Pushing a little further through the Force, you should be able to pinpoint the precise source of his energy, but you don’t have time. He seems close enough for this to work.

You step out, blaster aimed, expecting to come face-to-face with him at the exact moment you both step out into the open.

Except, he’s not there.

“What…” you breathe.

Confusion clouds your focus as your eyes dart around, desperately trying to calculate how you got it wrong. You were so sure you had the advantage, so certain of his location and the speed at which he was moving. Not once had it occurred to you that he may have also known your exact location, waiting for you to make the first move.

“No…” one simple whisper slips from you, laced heavily with dread as the beskar-clad figure emerges from the shadows.

He quickly disarms you, throwing your new-found blaster aside as his chest rises and falls in sync with your own accelerated breaths.

“Nice try,” his voice holds a hint of smugness at your apparent disbelief.

He readjusts his grip on your restraints, tugging forcefully and causing you to stumble as you dig your heels in, desperately attempting to resist his pull. Undeterred, he continues striding forward.

“I saved your life,” you try. “You owe me.”

Silence.

The rhythmic thudding of his boots is your only reply.

“I’ll take you to other bounties. I know where to find them,” you try bargaining. “You’ll get payment for food and fuel, and you’ll have more credits than you’ll ever be able to spend.”

He doesn’t appear to be interested. Your attempts are a complete waste of time.

“Please…” Your tone softens in your attempt to appeal to him without the bullshit. “Please don’t take me in. You have no idea what they do to people like me.”

He says nothing.

***

Underneath the scorching sun, a day of silence stretches out before you. Mando, as you have taken to calling him, pauses only briefly at a roadside vendor to buy a drink for you, his caution preventing him from staying any longer than necessary. Now that other hunters have caught wind of your whereabouts, he insists on keeping a low profile…as low as a shiny tin-can-of-a-man is able to.

As the day wears on, the sun gradually descends towards the horizon, casting elongated shadows across the landscape. With each agonizing step, the fatigue in your feet intensifies, while the searing pain in your wrists serves as a constant reminder that you need to find a way out of your restraints. If Mando harbours any concerns for your well-being, he conceals it well. But then again, why would he care? To him, you’re nothing more than a contract that promises credits.

Throughout the day, you find your thoughts wandering to who exactly he will be delivering you to. Will it be the New Republic? The notorious Bounty Hunters’ Guild? Or perhaps he would hand deliver you to Moff Gideon himself.

Somehow, you doubt the latter.

You walk together until the land becomes vast and barren with very few discernable landmarks in sight. It’s here that Mando comes to an abrupt halt, catching you off guard. Towering boulders provide convenient cover, but more importantly, smaller rocks offer a place to sit and rest after hours of relentless walking. He turns his head slowly, surveying the area and once satisfied there are no immediate threats, he finally turns to look at you. Despite not being able to see his eyes, you feel his gaze from behind the inky-black visor. His eyes fix you in place while he decides his next move carefully.

“We’ll wait it out here until dark.”

It’s a logical decision and one that resonates with familiarity. You understand it far too well, slipping away under the cover of darkness, hoping to evade detection. With a slight nod of your head, you silently show your understanding.

Exhaustion weighs heavily on you as you finally ease yourself down to rest on one of the weathered rocks. Every muscle protests, throbbing with aches in places you never knew existed. The events of the past day have taken an undeniable toll on you, leaving you feeling as though decades have been added to your battered and bruised body.

“Do you think you could remove these for a little while?” you ask, a touch of vulnerability lacing your words.

Mando subtly shifts his weight. It offers a glimmer of hope, a sign of the smallest crack in his resolve. You maintain the helpless facade, testing the waters a little more.

“Where would I go? We’re in the middle of nowhere and I’m too exhausted to fight you. Even if I tried to run, you’d catch me before I took a single step away from this rock.”

You feel his conflict, and while your lips desperately long to curl into a smirk, you force yourself to frown deeply and wince while flexing your fingers slowly. There’s no faking the hiss of discomfort that follows when the metal bites a little deeper into the raw skin beneath the bindings.

“Fine,” he sighs. “But try anything and you’ll be back in these until I hand you over…got it?”

You nod. Mando doesn’t move. He’s waiting for you to say it. You find yourself gritting your teeth as you bite back any snide remark that begs to claw its way out: he won’t be able to get you back in these things once you are out of them. But you play along, letting him feel as though he has the upper hand here while you bide your time.

“I understand.”

Mando steps close enough to you to work on releasing the binders from your wrists. His presence becomes palpable. You smell the scent of the forest intertwined within the threads of fabric beneath his armour; the subtle fragrance of the well-worn leather of his gloves, a testament to the countless battles he must have fought. Beneath his flack vest, a faint musk clings to his skin, a lingering trace of his relentless pursuit. In a different situation, this combination of smells would be alluring, drawing you closer with a desire for familiarity and comfort. But in your current predicament, they serve only as a reminder of your capture.

A prickling sensation tingles across the broken skin that had been hidden beneath the unforgiving grip of the binders. The gentle touch of the evening breeze carries a coolness that both soothes and aggravates the tender area. As Mando stands before you, there’s an unexpected pause, almost as though he contemplates the discomfort that has been his doing. His gaze lingers for a fleeting moment, revealing a flicker of empathy. You watch him with interest, seeing a glimpse into the depths of his guarded nature. And then he remembers himself: he retreats into his stoic demeanour and turns away from you to settle onto a rock across from yours.

Only slivers of daylight remain as the final light of the day starts to give way to night. You know you’re on very limited time: once the sun completely descends and darkness falls, you’ll be on the move again. You have to do what you can to make yourself valuable enough to save. This isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself captured; you know how this works.

“So, you’re a Mandalorian?” you begin.

Your question carries across to Mando and you watch the way his helmet tilts ever so slightly, showing that you have his attention.

“It’s not often you see Mandalorians these days…I’ve only ever met one before. Very different to you, though. Whew, she was a talker.”

“You’ve met others like me?” Mando asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Hook, line and sinker.

“Only once…” you trail off, observing the way he hangs on your every word. “At one time, she was very powerful. She had a whole following of Mandalorians. But…things happened and her followers found a new leader–don’t worry, she was still alive when I left…a great fighter, though. You Mandalorians sure are equipped with some fancy accessories.”

“Who is she?”

At this, you simply smile at him and shrug a little before turning your head away, pretending to lose interest in the conversation that he has fully immersed himself into.

“I’m afraid that information stays with me,” you confirm and then glance back over at him with your follow-up. “Whether I take it with me to my grave is up to you.”

***

They had found you.

Following a brief respite and hours of relentless travel shrouded in darkness, the hunters had, at last, closed in on your location as the first faint glimmers of daybreak began to paint the horizon.

Your boots pound through the dew-covered grass as Mando’s footfalls echo in sync with yours, an urgent rhythm as you both try to put as much distance as possible between yourselves and the chaos that unfurls behind you. The ship is so close. A beacon of hope in the early morning sunlight, its gleaming exterior promising escape.

A rapid beeping pierces the air, growing in intensity with each passing second. You know exactly what that is, and so does Mando. There’s a split second of shared recognition of the impending danger, and in a swift, instinctive motion, he propels his body towards yours. The impact takes you down to the ground, his sturdy frame protecting you just in time as the explosion reverberates through the air and unleashes a powerful shockwave. Mando’s armour absorbs the brunt of the debris, shielding you from it. As soon as it passes, his body is gone, allowing you to regain your bearings.

It’s hard to focus. Your ears ring, your head swims. Somewhere amidst the muffled chaos, you hear Mando’s voice, urgent and commanding. Time seems to stretch on, distorting reality as you blink and shake your head in a desperate attempt to clear your brain and focus.

“Come on!” Mando yells.

With a determined effort, you push yourself up onto your knees, only to feel a firm grip on your hand. One of Mando’s gloved hands clasps yours, pulling you upright again. The strength of his grip steadies you, allowing you to find your balance.

“Take this,” Mando pushes something cold and heavy into your hand. You drop your eyes to see your blaster and even in your disorientated state, it’s a surprise. “Now run for the ship. Run!”

One last burst of energy, that’s all you have to give. With a nod, you wrap your hand securely around your blaster and start your sprint for safety. Blaster bolts pierce the air around you, crackling and pinging on impact with the ship as they ricochet in every direction.

The Mandalorian follows your trail of disturbed grass. His pace is slower–hindered by the shots he turns to fire at the hunters–but he’s not too far behind. He’s close enough to deploy the ramp, within distance to shout for you to take cover and as he thunders up behind you, he fires a few more shots to slow them down.

“Take down as many as you can,” he gets out between his ragged breaths. “Then hit this button when I say—it will close the ramp as we take off.”

With that, he’s gone, leaving you alone, staring at the button for the ramp.

Time seems to slow as you stand there, torn between the decisions you have to make: do you stay and trust this man to help you, or do you jump out as you close the ramp? He wouldn’t be able to stop you during take-off.

A heavy frown clouds your features, intertwined deeply with conflicting emotions. The Mandalorian has gotten you this far. He has kept his word of protecting you. Were you going to betray him after he had quite literally put his life on the line to save yours?

Your trembling fingers rest against the button, ready for your cue to press it.

Who were you kidding? You’re not going to press it.

You’re not conflicted. You owe this man nothing.

A third plan forms in your head and you draw in a slow breath as a flicker of determination sparks a new fire deep inside of you. This is self-preservation. It isn’t personal.

His command travels through the hatch from the cockpit, his instruction clear as the engines rumble their signal of take-off.

“Press it now!”

You don’t.

You stand and watch the hunters approaching, almost close enough for you to execute this plan.

“It’s not working!” you lie, edging your words with a beautiful act of panic. “I’m pressing it, and nothing is happening!”

Within seconds, boots thud overhead and then a blur of beskar jumps down through the hatch. Mando makes no use of the ladder in his hurry.

“What do you mean, it’s not working?”

The stakes are high. You have one shot at this and you can’t fuck it up.

“I’m pressing it and nothing is happening!”

Mando steps closer to the panel as you take a small step to the side, creating the perfect line-up of his body with the ramp. Your decision has been made, fueled by desperation and the hope that, in the end, this would all be worth it.

You draw in another steady breath and let it out slowly, focusing on the hunters as they approach, waiting for just the right moment as Mando’s thumb hovers over the button.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur quietly.

His helmet snaps around to face you. You don’t need to see beneath his visor to understand the exact moment the disbelief hits him.

He has no time to react. With the hardest kick you can manage, you send him tumbling down the ramp and into the clutches of the hunters below.

***

It doesn’t take long before you bring the ship down into a controlled landing. The hisses and whirs are accompanied by your muttered curse as you sigh and rest your head back against the pilot’s chair. There’s a sense of regret forcing its way in. You know deep down that returning to the room you have spent weeks hiding out in is a gamble. You’re risking everything to come back here. But you can’t leave without what little belongings you have left. Their worth outweighs the danger. They hold more than material value; they hold the key to your survival, the last traces of your past. They’re all you have left of your life before and the risk to retrieve them will always seem worthwhile.

With closed eyes, you reach out for the Force, seeking solace and insight. You search for a glimpse of the path that lies ahead, for a warning of any danger that awaits you if you leave the safety of the ship. But as the Force welcomes you, it withholds the answers you need. Instead, it offers something different, something unexpected. A current pulses through your connection, a bright energy that has been absent for so long. It seems as though the Force has chosen to reveal a different path to you and you push further in an attempt to see more.

Another Force user, closer in proximity than you’ve felt since you were a child. Their light is pure, untarnished by the pull of the darkside. Hesitantly, you push yourself up from the chair and look around the cockpit. For now, you’re alone, but there’s a persistent pull that beckons you to search further through the ship.

You don’t have time for this, you remind yourself as you climb down into the hull. There is a very angry Mandalorian looking for you. He would find you and when he did, he would no doubt kill you for what you had done: you crossed him, stole his ship.

No, you were becoming distracted, your connection to the Force seeming to drop like radio static on an out-of-tune channel. You breathe slowly, regaining your focus and allowing the pull to guide you as you come to a set of small doors. Whatever it is you’re able to feel is on the other side, alert and waiting, aware of your presence.

You’re not entirely sure what you’re expecting when you hit the button, but you’re taken aback by the large, glossy orb-like eyes that stare up at you. It’s something small, green, and rather peculiar-looking. Large ears perk up and it tilts a small head, curious at the sight of you. You’re not the Mandalorian that owns this ship. You’re not supposed to be here.

The realisation happens like the toppling of dominos and your stomach plummets: a Mandalorian, a Force-sensitive child.

These were the two Moff Gideon had been looking for. They had to be.

What were the chances of finding another Mandalorian bounty hunter with a Force-sensitive child in his care?

You step back, head reeling and heart pounding. This discovery, this child, could be your ticket to redemption, a chance to be welcomed home by Gideon. You can’t deny yourself a moment of envisioning what that would look like, offering the innocent life you’ve stumbled upon as a testament to your unwavering loyalty. You can almost hear his praise, see the way his lips curl into a knowing smile as he opens his arms to you…no.

You would never go back there. You couldn’t.

Panic sets in as the last fragments of your control slip through your fingers. All that’s left is vulnerability, exposed like a raw nerve. You sever your connection to the Force and this child, knowing that nothing good would come of it. You’re losing—the odds are stacked against you and in your panic, you slam your hand repeatedly against the control panel to seal the doors to the cot once more.

You have to go. You have to get as far away from this child as possible, you have to leave behind the last flickering chance of reconciliation with Gideon. The safety of this child outweighs any opportunity for absolution, you know that deep down. It doesn’t make the choice any easier though. It bares down upon you as you flee from the ship, having already wasted too much time.

In the cover of your room, dried mud cracks from your boots, crumbling and joining the tapestry of unidentifiable stains on the floor. You had paid over double the credits for this dismal sanctuary, the owner’s vow of silence now a hollow promise in hindsight. The bounty hunter had tracked you down regardless.

As you pace, the floorboards groan underfoot, protesting the burden of their existence, while the peeling paint on the walls reveals grime and more stains below. You could have chosen a more upscale haven, a place where unsavoury memories weren’t woven into the current lodgings, but anonymity was your greatest ally.

You need to calm down. You have to think about this carefully.

Amidst the storm of panic threatening to engulf you, you have to remind yourself of the important facts. A single close call had shaken your resolve, but you were still clinging to your advantage, a precarious lead in this deadly chase.

Drawing in a deep, measured breath, you quiet the clamour of thoughts echoing through your mind. You sift through the chaos, grasping only those that will serve your survival right now. Everything else, you would deal with later, once safely away from the bounty hunter.

Your pacing ceases. Your hands find solace braced against the small table before you. As you lower your head, your gaze studies the small collection of possessions resting there–a few additional blasters, a clean outfit, and a meticulously crafted helmet. It was a gift, given to you by someone you had cherished deeply; someone you had respected and looked up to.

What would he say if he could see you now?

He had given everything for you. He had taught you, trained you, tried to guide you, and for what? Since his passing, you had chosen every wrong path that strayed so far from his teachings that you could barely recall them these days.

A soft, ragged breath escapes your lips, carrying with it the weight of the situation as you move one of your bruised and blooded hands to rest against your helmet. Oh, how you long for his counsel. You would give anything to hear his wisdom and witness his ability to navigate even the biggest problems with unerring precision. Deep down, you know what he would say. Keep fighting.

A swift shake of your head brings your focus back into sight and you begin to gather up your belongings. Methodically, they find their place within your bag, which you wear with a wince as it settles into a tender area of your shoulder. Everything you hold dear now fits within a single bag, not counting the arsenal of weaponry you securely fasten into their rightful place. Some had been lost during the chase, but you still had more than enough for another encounter, if one should arise.

With everything you own in tow, you stride toward the door, prepared and determined to escape from the planet and continue your life of being on the run. However, your journey is abruptly halted within a second of the door sliding open. Cold beskar collides with you, knocking the breath from your lungs as you’re unceremoniously pinned against the opposite wall, belongings now strewn across the stained floor. Your hands desperately grapple his arm in an attempt to ease some of the pressure restricting your airways. But he doesn’t budge. Mando has learned the hard way, and he refuses to allow you even an inch of movement.

One of his strong arms presses across your collarbones, keeping you in place while the end of his blaster jabs underneath your jaw, causing a cold stillness to settle across your writhing body.

“If you’ve laid even one finger on him…”

The limited space between you is fraught with tension, disturbed only by the sound of the safety catch being disengaged. It’s a noise you’ve heard countless times, but this time, you find yourself beginning to panic as you hear the tone of his voice. It’s devoid of the stoicism you had become familiar with, and instead, it carries an undertone of desperation, an element of urgency that cuts through you and warns you of Mando’s intentions if he doesn’t get the answers he wants.

Your lips part as you try to struggle again, gasping for air so that you can answer him.

“I…I…I can’t…” your voice is strained in your attempt to draw in a breath.

Mando’s arm is suddenly gone, and so is the support of the wall as you’re hurled away from it. Aching bones are met with the abrupt, unwelcoming force of the table as you stumble against the edge of it. Pain explodes from your hip, sending a shockwave through your body and you finally crumple to the floor.

Every muscle tenses, every instinct screams at you to react, but your limbs feel strangely unresponsive as you drink in the precious air, your lungs greedily accepting the offering.

What you first perceived as aggression now takes on an entirely new face as he advances toward you. Fear, palpable and potent. It’s a fear of losing something precious, something that he holds most dear: the child.

“I didn’t touch him!” Your words erupt from you, your own panic saturating your words.

You scramble backward, your hand instinctively extending as a feeble barricade against his approach.

“I didn’t touch him,” you repeat. “He’s safe, I swear. He’s on the ship.”

A heavy silence descends upon the room, tense and thick with contemplation. From behind the visor, you feel Mando’s gaze fixed on you, unwavering and inscrutable. You sense his hesitation and observe the way the tight ball of his first slowly unfurls. This isn’t a man easily deceived, but you think he believes you. He accepts your truth.

He bends and retrieves your helmet from the floor, silently studying it as he turns it in his hands. You wonder if he understands it, if he can sense the triumphs and losses it has seen. His gloved fingers run along the helmet’s contours, feeling the subtle grooves and indentations that give the dark metal its distinctive character.

“Who are you?” Mando finally asks.

His helmet tilts fractionally and you know his eyes are now on you again.

“I’m someone who can take you to Moff Gideon.”

Every muscle in his body freezes at that name. You have him right where you need him, and when all you’re met with is silence, you continue.

“I’ll come with you. I won’t fight you. Then you can decide if you’re going to turn me over…or let me help you. We have a common enemy, Mando, and—”

“Stop talking,” he cuts you off.

“Instead of fighting each other, we can help each other. You want to find him, and we can–”

“There is no we,” his voice is firm.

He leaves no room for misinterpretation as he closes in on you again.

“Give me your hands.”

With a heavy sigh, you hold them out and close your eyes as the binders pinch at the raw skin around your wrists. What did you think he was going to do? You had crossed him, fed him to the wolves and stolen his ship.

He picks your bag up from the floor and hoists it over his shoulder then takes hold of your helmet in one hand, your restraints in the other, and walks you out of the room.

You needed a new plan.

***

The tranquil azure light of hyperspace dances through the hatch from the cockpit, bathing you in the smooth glow. Since your return to the ship, the bounty hunter had spent most of his time up in the cockpit and you welcomed the silence that had settled in his absence. It gave you the space you needed to reflect on the chaotic sequence of events that had led to this moment; you, sitting on the cold, metal floor of the hold with your back against the sealed cargo crates.

There was a lot to think about.

Occasionally, a terse command from the cockpit breaks the silence of the ship. You pick up on words such as “no” and “stop that”, which only seem to be met with coos and soft babbling. The child’s voice, innocent and almost oblivious to the tension that lingers in the air.

During the hours that follow, you drift in and out of uneasy sleep. Each time, fragmented dreams are interrupted by the vessel’s subtle tremors and the soft cadence of Mando’s footsteps as he periodically checks on you. The rhythmic thuds of his boots become almost imperceptible until, at last, he descends from the cockpit once more. With the child asleep above, you can only assume he has time to focus his attention on you again.

You blink, focusing your gaze through the dimly lit hold as you watch him take a seat on the crate across from you.

“Here,” he murmurs and extends a flask toward you.

Bound hands make it challenging, but you manage to take it and consume nearly its entirety in desperate gulps. The cold liquid caresses down your parched throat and helps to soothe the dry, scratchy sensation. You contemplate wiping your mouth on the back of your dirty hands, but upon closer inspection, you pause with the realisation that they are still stained with dirt and blood. Much like your torn and tattered clothes, they bore witness to the battles you’ve endured with the man sitting opposite you.

“Thank you,” you finally speak, voice croaking with the lingering dryness the water hadn’t been able to soothe.

He offers a brief nod and maintains a steady gaze through his visor. You have piqued his interest, despite the way he fights against it.

“Do you have a name?” you ask after a prolonged silence.

“Mando is fine,” comes his reply. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

For the first time since he joined you, you avert your eyes and focus on the wall behind him. By now, you have mastered the art of silence and elusive answers as a way to reveal very little of yourself under interrogation.

“I’ve worked for many people,” you reply flatly.

Mando sighs at the lack of depth to your answer, as if he had expected something a little more from you.

“How did you find other Mandalorians?”

Your gaze returns to him as he asks his next question. He tries to hide his desire for knowledge, and his yearning to discover others of his kind. It resonates with you on a deep level. You understand his desperation, having experienced it yourself. The longing to connect with those who share your story, your origins, your essence. Yet, you’re aware of the harsh reality; the Jedi had mostly been killed and any who survived had vanished. Mandalorians were but a scattered few, their presence so sparse in the galaxy that they barely existed at all.

“As I said,” you shrug and immediately regret it when a sharp pain jolts through your shoulder and upper arm. You desperately try to hide the wince, but it flashes across your face quicker than you’re able to fight it. “I’ve worked for many people.”

He sighs heavily. You know this man is smart enough to know when he is fighting a losing battle. You’re tired, you’re hungry and there’s not an area of your body that doesn’t ache. You’re in no mood for his questions.

Mando moves to stand, his own groan of discomfort audible through the static of his modulator. You’ve both taken quite the beating and you can’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction that you’re not the only one struggling.

“Do you…” He begins and then trails off as though still processing his next question. “Do you want to get cleaned up?”

That was quite unexpected.

You raise your eyebrows slowly, suspicious of his endgame. It’s almost as if he picks up on your hesitation because he quickly clarifies.

“I’ll go back up into the cockpit. You can use this area…and the fresher is right there,” he nods in the direction of a small opening in the corner.

“I…uh,” your eyes dart back over to him, still somewhat suspicious. “That would be great…thank you?”

You’re not entirely sure why it comes out as a question. With an edge of hesitation, you twist yourself just enough to hook your arm over the top of the crate so you can use it to pull yourself back up to your feet.

“Could you take these off?”

You hold up your hands, bringing your binders into view. This time, it’s Mando who hesitates. His helmet has a subtle tilt while he considers your question and your previous actions.

“No,” he states firmly.

“No? How do you expect me to clean up when I can’t use my hands?”

He shrugs. He stares straight at you and shrugs.

“I warned you not to make me regret taking them off last time.”

Your stare hardens into a glare so fierce, you’re almost sure it could melt his precious beskar armour. The tension in your jaw sets your teeth into a tight clench as your fingers unintentionally begin to curl into fists. He sees your festering frustration and chooses to defuse it.

“You see that?” Mando asks and points to something over your shoulder. You turn your head slowly, spotting the carbonite chamber over the far side of the hold. “That’s where you’ll end up if you so much as think about pulling another stunt like you did earlier. Consider yourself lucky you’re standing here with your wrists bound. Get cleaned up or don’t, the choice is yours.”

You say nothing. It takes every fraction of your control not to laugh at that. Lucky? You’re far from lucky right now.

You want to get cleaned up, you really do. But your stubbornness keeps you rooted to the spot, your eyes continuing to burn a hole through the front of his visor to keep him on edge. You’re unpredictable, he knows that. It’s how you have managed to slip through so many attempted captures. So while you understand his need to protect himself and the child while you’re on his ship, it doesn’t stop you from being pissed off about it.

Still holding your silence, you cross to the fresher and turn to close the door. There is no door. All that sits on the wall is a broken control panel, the functional buttons long gone.

You sense his heavy gaze lingering on you as you turn on the water and watch the way it cascades over your fingers, a brief respite to wash away the layers of dirt and dried blood caking your skin. Glancing up, you meet your reflection in the small mirror, and a heavy sigh escapes your lips. The evidence of the gruelling confrontation is marked across your skin in the form of vivid, darkening bruises. Scratches, trophies of your frantic battle amongst the branches, streak across your cheeks.

You try to cup the water, attempting to bring some relief to your battered face, but each attempt fails. The water slips through the gaps in your bound hands, unable to keep hold of it in their limited position. Your frustration snaps as you slam your hands down against the small sink. Simultaneously, an agonising surge of pain courses through your arm, causing a small cry to escape you before you’re able to muffle it. Everything about this is humiliating. He stands watching you, a silent witness to your struggle.

You should have fought harder. To the death, if you had to. You had given in too easily and allowed yourself to be captured. What would Gideon say if he could see you now? Something tells you that you won’t need to wait long to find out. Once Mando hands you over, he will find you.

“Here, let me help,” Mando’s voice–albeit softer now–startles you from the small doorway.

“Why?” you snap. “So you can feel better about yourself? So I can thank you for taking care of me after you fucking captured me?”

You don’t give him time to answer. His silences are too long and you’re done with them.

“You did this,” you shove him with your other arm, causing him to stumble back a couple of steps from the doorway. “You did this. You asshole. You fucking asshole. You should have put me in carbonite and been done with it! You…You…”

You reach to shove his chest again but this time, he grabs hold of your hands and keeps them pressed against his chestplate.

“You asshole,” your voice cracks.

The wind has been taken out of your sails and your head lowers, defeated.

“Are you done?” he asks, his voice still calm and quiet.

Your silence is the only answer he gets and when you don’t pull away from him, he lowers your hands and releases your binders. Not for the first time that day, your senses are filled with him. You think you would be able to identify his smell anywhere now; well-worn leather, polished armour, a musk on his skin. It takes you back to hours earlier, when he had first removed your binders and stood so close to you.

“Can I see your shoulder?”

You nod and help him with removing your shoulder pauldrons. He takes each one in his gloved hands and places them down carefully, treating them with the respect he would show the pieces of his own armour. Each time, he waits for you. He keeps his hands at a respectful distance while you unclasp your shirt. He turns his helmet to allow you some modesty as you slowly slip your arm free so he’s able to feel around the area when you tell him he can.

No further words are exchanged. He simply follows your lead, as though he is beginning to learn your movements. He has studied you, memorised your fighting pattern, and watched your decision-making processes. In the hours you have spent together, both in and out of combat, he has started piecing together the parts of you he has seen.

He removes his dirty gloves and sets them down beside your pauldrons. With your eyes still lowered, you note the inky tones of his bruised knuckles and the way his fingers flex almost nervously at being exposed under your gaze. It’s the first part of him that you have seen, the first glimpse of the person beneath all of his armour.

“Turn around,” he instructs.

Very slowly, he moves his hands toward your shoulder and it catches you off guard. It’s not his actions that surprise you but rather the warmth of his touch as his fingers gently seek out the tender area he had seen you struggling with earlier. Everything about him had been cold and frigid; his voice, his posture, his overall demeanour…yet his warmth, unexpectedly coursing through his touch, reminds you of his humanity.

A hiss escapes your lips as your breath catches when his thumb applies pressure to the most sensitive point, coaxing an involuntary flinch from you.

“Sorry,” he’s quick to apologise. “Try and keep still. I need to feel around this area.”

The cold that radiates from his beskar is a stark contrast to the warmth of his hands and despite the discomfort they cause when he moves your arm slowly to assess the movement you have, his touch is not unwelcome on your skin.

No. You have to stop that thought right there.

“I can’t say for sure, but it doesn’t seem like anything is broken. Could be a torn muscle. It’s probably going to be tender for a few days.”

You nod, signalling your understanding as he helps you to slip your arm back into your shirt. Your mind bounces between the way his hands felt, the warmth they brought to your skin, and the way he had mentioned a ‘few days’ so casually in his assessment of your shoulder.

Did that mean there was still a chance for you to make yourself valuable enough to not hand over?

“I’ll leave you to get cleaned up. Do you…do you want some soup?”

You can’t help yourself. You lift your gaze, unable to hide the half-amused, half-confused expression from your face. This is a funny little dynamic you have going on, one of threatening violence and offering soup. At this, you begin to smile.

“Soup would be great.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #mando x reader #mando x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #hurricane series

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