#he was pure beskar on his entire body

[lemeduartes]

I was at the gym training punches with 5kg halters and a ideia started forming in my mind

Imagine Din and Luke are on a mission together, something to protect Grogu (as usual) and Din HAS to take off his armour for a reason, and then they encounter some stormtroopers and have to fight their way out, but Din is armorless, you would think he is vulnerable, right?

WRONG, he IS NOT, he is surprisingly more of a BEAST then normally, so fucking fast and strong that the imps have no chance against the two of them.

BECAUSE HEAR ME OUT, Din has fought armoured his entire life, THAT AMOUNT OF BESKAR HAS TO BE AT LEAST A FEW KG + You lose mobility with armour! And he learned how to adjust to the weight and everything, so now, without it, he is so fucking faster and stronger that is almost inhumane.

OR.

He is helpless because he can't really move like a real person anymore after years of walking around wrapped in metal.

[bluebeary-jay]

Face to face

Din Djarin x f!Mandalorian!Reader

Summary: as riduurs, you and Din can finally show your faces to each other without suffering any consequences. but when the time finally comes, your insecurities and fears of rejection come into play, threatening to ruin this important moment

Tags: just pure tooth-rotting fluff, Din and Reader being insecure, they're sweethearts though and so in love, Din being a supporting husband <3, mandalorian customs are probably half-accurate but i did my best in research 😌

Word count: 3K

A/N: haiii guys!! long time no see 🤗 i had this idea ever since i watched s2 of the mandalorian almost a month ago and i'm finally done! thank you to all who stick around and i really hope you'll enjoy my first attempt at writing din (feel free to let me know what you think 🤭)! i love all of you darlings 🥰 and as always, happy reading!! 💕

Din Djarin wouldn’t ever admit it to anyone, but he always wanted a family. The memories of his parents were hazy, but he remembered how much they loved each other and in the depths of his soul longed for a connection like this someday. Being the bounty hunter didn’t give many opportunities to look for a relationship, however, and with time he abandoned the hope for a place and people he could call home. He convinced himself that he was content being on his own.

But then the Child came along, and with it everything has changed. This little wrinkly womp rat became the most precious being in his life and Din was ready to die to protect Grogu – but he never expected that he’d also meet his future riduur because of the kid.

He did. You, a fellow Mandalorian Din spoke to only a couple of times in the hideout on Nevarro, decided to help him on his quest, and from this moment on he didn’t stand a chance. You were everything Djarin admired – brave, compassionate, skillful and kind – and though you both respected the Way of the Mandalore and never removed your helmets in each other’s presence, he knew in his soul that you were beautiful as well.

It was a long road to come to terms with what he felt for you and gather the courage to actually let you know it. But it was all worth it just for this moment when you exchanged your vows and he officially became yours, and you his. Now you were his riduur and he finally had every right to admire and cherish you like you deserved.

And most importantly, he could finally see you. The pair of you talked about this moment a lot during the nights spent on the Crest, tangling your fingers together when the ship was flooded with pitch-black darkness. Din used to whisper to you of his dreams, how he longed to run his eyes over your uncovered body, taking his time to commit to memory every little detail of your physique and expressions. You, with a giddy and wistful tone, told him how impatient you were to at last find out how his lips would feel on yours and what color his eyes were. Even when you both knew you were going to marry, you didn’t rush things and never removed your helmets until your union became official.

But you did see each other’s faces, once, though not in a conventional way. Din remembered it clearly as a day, though his eyes – as well as yours – were covered by a piece of a material the entire time. Both of you were desperate for each other that night, the tension hanging above your heads straining the resolve about waiting. And then came the moment when you didn’t fight it anymore. Instead, you both sat down on Din’s cot and without your sense of sight spent the next hour talking and trailing fingertips down each other’s faces.

Din reminisced about this moment a lot of times. He tried to remember the shape of your features to create a full picture of you in his mind while he laid alone in his bed, longing for your vicinity. Even if your bodies were separated only by the layers of beskar, it was still too far for him.

He didn’t have to wait any longer now.

It was the day of your wedding and Din Djarin never felt happier than in that moment when you recited Mandalorian vows and he got to touch your bare hand again, not covered by a glove, to put a custom-made ring on your finger. It wasn’t a necessary but he wanted to make this day memorable and meaningful for you. A few tears of joy were shed, but his face was still concealed by the helmet, allowing his emotions to take hold of him.

He hadn’t let go of your hand since the small ceremony (if one could even call it that) ended, and you squeezed his palm every few steps as you walked toward a house that was going to be your home for the next couple of days. The Child was being taken care of by other Mandalorians so that you could be completely alone for this special moment.

You were buzzing with excited energy for the whole week prior to your wedding, but now Din could sense his partner’s nervousness. He wasn’t exactly surprised – after all, it has been years for both of you since anyone saw you without your helmet on. But with every moment that you neared the bedroom, you seemed more insular, more withdrawn and hesitant, and Din started to really worry.

“Are you okay, cyar’ika (darling)?”

You slowed down, not answering right away, which caused Din to furrow his brows with confusion. Maybe you didn’t want to do it after all? Maybe it was too sudden for you? Or maybe he came off as too eager?

“Cyar’ika,” he repeated softly, wanting to put you at ease – but it didn’t seem to meet the target. “If you’re not ready…”

“No. No, I’m ready. I just…”

You trailed off. Din wordlessly guided you to the edge of the bed, cradling your hands in his – one gloved one and one not. The light of the setting sun flowed in through the small window and reflected off the hard beskar you both wore, bathing your figure in a beautiful golden light.

He was already so in love with you. What could possibly be the cause of your hesitation?

“I’m just nervous,” you murmured at last with your head bowed, looking at your joined hands. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” the Mandalorian repeated before he could think, and shook his head slightly. “What are you… What are you talking about? Why would I ever be?”

You lifted your gaze, and though Din couldn’t see your eyes, he could almost feel the weight of your fears on his own shoulders. The modulator in your helmet was hiding any trace of it, but he knew you long enough to recognize the tiniest shift in your body language.

“Ner kar’ta (my heart). I could never be disappointed with you.” He laced his fingers with yours, once again admiring how perfectly they fit together, and lifted them to his chest. “You own my heart and soul now, and nothing will change that.”

He hoped to soothe your nerves, but you were still silent. It wasn’t at all what Mando was expecting from this evening and he was at a loss for what to do to fix it.

“Would it help if I showed you my face first?” he asked after some time, and your head snapped up.

“No.” Even with the modulator, your voice clearly sounded broken and regretful, and it was wounding Din more than anything else could. “We were supposed to do it together.”

“We can,” he assured quietly, swiping his thumb over your knuckles. “But the most important thing to me… is for you to feel comfortable during it. If you want to wait–”

“I don’t.” You untangled your hands from his hold and instead brought them to his chest, placing them on the beskar breastplate. He couldn’t wait to take it off and feel your touch on his skin. “If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t marry you and make you my riduur.”

You leaned forward and lightly bonked your helmets together, a sweet gesture Din loved since the first time you did it.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum or’atu an mayen. (I love you more than anything.) More than life itself.”

“I know,” he answered simply and delicately brought your hands to the edges of his helmet. It was obvious what he was offering you. “That’s why I’m willing to do it for you.”

You were still, not daring to move, and Din nodded slightly to show you that he’s certain of his decision. His heart was beating heavily in his chest, though, and he could feel sweat forming on the back of his neck.

Showing your face to others was one of the worst crimes in Mandalorian culture, but doing it with your riduur was the highest honor that not everyone was fortunate enough to experience. But Din Djarin was among the lucky ones. Even though it was not in a way he always imagined, he didn’t care as long as you were happy.

You gripped the edges of his helmet tighter and a high hiss sounded, a telltale sign that the metal piece was ready to be removed. And slowly – so very slowly – you did. Din felt a flow of cooler air on his hot skin: first his chin, then his cheeks, finally his forehead…

And lastly, he inhaled shakily before lifting his head to look into the void of your visor.

A second passed by. Then two. Then ten, though Din felt like it must’ve been a full minute now. And still you didn’t move, just watched him silently, motionless as a statue.

The Mandalorian swallowed with difficulty, starting to feel very self-conscious. The crisp air cooled the sweat gathering on the nape of his neck and he had to use all his self-control not to fiddle his fingers nervously. He felt so naked and exposed under your gaze, though he absolutely shouldn’t – you were his riduur and there was no reason to feel ashamed or insecure with you. But he couldn’t help worrying: what if he wasn’t what you expected? What if you didn’t find him attractive at all?

Then a movement of your hands drew his attention and he watched, transfixed, as you slowly started to take off your glove, tugging one finger off at a time. Once your hand was freed from the confines of the protective material, you flexed your fingers before lifting both of your palms to his face.

Even though Din was acutely aware of your every move, he still somehow flinched in surprise at your touch, causing you to freeze and search his eyes with the air of concern around you. He quickly gave you a small nod, silently begging you to proceed, and, thankfully, you did. Your fingertips traced his cheeks, so delicately it almost tickled, brushing down the path to his stubble, and then back up to the arch of his nose and eyebrows. Djarin’s eyelids fluttered closed and he let out a shaky breath, giving in to the most amazing sensation that your touch was.

“I knew you had to be the most beautiful being in the galaxy,” you whispered from under your helmet with a voice filled with a plethora of raw emotions. Din regretted not being able to see your face at that moment, but if it would help you feel more comfortable in such a memorable and important situation, he was ready to do anything for you.

“I’m sure you’re a million times more radiant, cyar’ika,” he said back. His voice was weirdly weak and raspy, sounding strangely to him – probably because he knew there was another person hearing him without his helmet on. “Even if I don’t see your face, mesh’la (beautiful), today or ever… The love I have for you will never change or waver. That I promise.”

“It won’t exactly be fair to the Creed if I don’t remove my helmet in front of my husband,” you answered, half-teasing, but Din knew there was a real worry behind your words.

“You know very well there’s nothing said about it in the Creed.” He opened his eyes, offering you a small smile. “And I don’t remember our vows mentioning it, either.”

You clicked your tongue with exasperation, but Din also saw your shoulders relaxing, a sign that some of your nerves ebbed away.

“Gev bic (stop it),” you laughed, letting your hand fall down – but before it could happen, Din caught your wrist and lifted it back to his face. He slowly kissed the inside of your palm, down to the veins disappearing under your sleeve, his eyes fixated on your visor the entire time. His smile grew slightly when he felt a shiver run through you.

“I love you, ner kar’ta,” he whispered. “Even if you’re a half-Hutt under your armor.”

“Don’t push it.”

You let go of his hand and Din’s face fell, fearing that he really went too far. He reached for you but stopped when you straightened up and took a deep breath, your hands going to the last thing that separated you from him – your helmet.

He held his breath and his heart beat erratically as he watched you. He tried not to blink, not wanting to miss the moment when he finally got to see your face. Just the fact that you were willing to do this meant so much to him, but…

Slowly, you took your helmet off and placed it down on the mattress right next to his. Then, a pair of irises gazed into the depths of Din Djarin’s heart.

…you were wrong.

Oh, how wrong you were.

There was no mistaking it that you were by far the most breathtaking sight the Mandalorian had ever laid his eyes on.

The Maker must’ve been overly generous, or maybe favored you, for looking at you… it felt like coming home.

You stared at him with gentle, tentative eyes of the most beautiful color in the world, and Din would’ve gladly lost himself in them. Your lips, so tempting and soft-looking, were parted slightly as you awaited his reaction, but he couldn’t move. He just watched, spellbound, and wondered if this truly is reality and not some cruel, elusive dream.

He hadn’t felt such awe even when he saw Grogu doing his magic for the first time. Hadn’t felt such elation even when a new skin made of beskar was forged just for him. Had never before felt such love in his life.

You were a wonder. A miracle.

“Cyare?”

Your voice sounded almost fearful to your ears, but you couldn’t help it – Din seemed unable to utter even a word, and panic started to flood your veins when you noticed tears gathering in his dark, beautiful eyes. “Din–”

But before you could move away, he slipped off the bed and knelt by your feet. You were so taken aback by this action that you didn’t even react when he cradled both of your hands in his and pressed lingering kisses to your fingers, one after another.

“If I could, I’d marry you all over again,” he rasped, meeting your gaze with so much love and adoration in his brown eyes that it took your breath away. “How did I get so lucky…?”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” you let out a breathless laugh of relief, your pupils darting across the lines and grooves of his face. “You… you’re not just saying that, right?”

“Cyar’ika, look at me.” He gently tilted your chin up, making your eyes meet his. For a second he faltered, parting his lips in wonder at the feeling of your skin under his fingertips, before he swallowed and gazed at you again. “Do you doubt my words?”

No. There was really no questioning his motives. You knew Din was as honest as one could be and there were only your own insecurities at play here. But the longer you looked at him, his expression so full of love and devotion, the less relevant your own doubts were becoming.

You couldn’t think of anything else but him.

“I really want to kiss you,” you whispered instead of answering, and his face broke into a wide, joyous grin. “Can I–?”

The Mandalorian didn’t even wait for you to finish – the second those words left your mouth, he surged forward and pressed his lips to yours forcefully, eliciting a surprised sound out of you, which soon turned into a needy whimper. You didn’t give him a chance to back away and instantly tangled your fingers into his hair, moving clumsily to be closer to him.

But when you attempted to climb onto his lap, your breast plates collided with a metallic clank, forcing the pair of you to put some space between you. Din huffed with frustration, while you laughed and cupped his face in your hands.

“You’re quite impatient for a bounty hunter,” you accused him playfully, nudging your nose with his. You took a deep, calming breath, wanting to surround yourself with the smell of him completely, but your riduur didn’t let you indulge for long.

He moved quickly and, without a warning, kissed you briefly again – and then one more time. It was more like a light peck, and you longed to feel his tongue inside your mouth once more, but at the same time relished in every sensation that his lips brought. Every touch he gave you was something infinitely precious.

“I’ve waited longer than you,” he murmured. His hands were already moving, taking off the beskar on his forearms and shoulders, reaching where he could without removing you from his lap just yet. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me, cyar’ika.”

You smiled widely and looked up from his deft fingers to throw another teasing comment, but in one second you lost your train of thoughts.

Because Din was blushing.

The feared Mandalorian’s face – a face you were finally allowed to see whenever you desired – was sprinkled with redness across his cheeks and ears. And you were the cause of that.

The thought of it almost caused your eyes to water.

“What are you looking at, mesh’la?”

Your eyes found him again and you smiled brightly, causing Din’s heart to skip a couple of beats.

You took his stubbly chin in-between your fingers and brought his lips closer, planting a soft kiss there that had the Mandalorian melting. He covered your hand with his, feeling the band on your finger under his own.

A miracle.

“I’m looking at you.”

[zeb-z]

that’s it fuck it fuck this fuck all I’m working on another Star Wars au and nobody can stop me

Etoiles is a resistance fighter before they had a name, before they were the Rebels, pre-Andor levels where there’s large cells but no major force and just communication. As much as he fucking hates and I mean just hates the politics between the different cells, he’s usually the one who deals with negotiations between them

Before then, he’s a bounty hunter. Jango Fett levels of lethal, but I’m not entirely convinced on if he’s mandalorian or not. Either way he uses beskar, but if he’s not mando he takes care to learn the culture around the metal and earns it. It’s what makes him able to go against those armed with lightsabers - which is the equivalent to him just being unkillable by codes. He’s well trained and kicks ass and when all is said and done, he leaves whoever he was fighting with their saber next to their usually unconscious, sometimes dead, body.

Pac is a newly retired smuggler/thief, who’s introduction into the rebellion is similar to the steps he’s taken to find what’s left behind by Walter Bob in canon on the island, except he’s not known by the rebels - or at least not on their radar. His past is certainly known, as one of the largest known criminals to have ever escaped the high security Imperial prison stationed on some famous core world, but he’s considered to be gone, missing or killed shortly after. But he stumbles upon this conspiracy, and digs deeper because he’s got nothing better to do, because he’s curious, sue him, and it leads him to the rebels.

He’s roommates/shipmates with Fit, a resistance fighter who Pac drags into his investigation sometime after the discovery of the ship named Hope - a derelict ship drifting in some asteroid field that once carried refugees fleeing from the Empire. one that Pac finds alone, and cements his decision to truly try and figure out how to reach some rebels to join them. It’s too late for Fit to try and direct him elsewhere, so instead he helps to point Pac in the right direction - because as much as he can’t risk compromising his own position with his ties, however low, to the Empire, he can find a way to bend the rules.

Moving around with Fit is a recent development. His apartment he shared with Mike he can’t risk returning to, because Mike is definitely currently missing due to “mysterious circumstances” (the Empire) and he can’t try to find or help Mike if he’s taken too. For that stint of time they’re living together, he stops smuggling to make sure none of it reaches back to Fit somehow.

Fit is a janitor for the Empire, and is one of the few with access to high security locations. Usually he’s stationed out in various locations - he’s one of the ones willing to travel, so he’ll bounce around on occasion. He’s sometimes requested to clean at the Imperial Palace and ISB headquarters - various high security buildings that he needs lots of clearances and background checks for. Don’t ask him how he got the job he doesn’t know, but he does know he’s good at it. He also knows he’s done well as an informant to the rebels, because he hasn’t been caught and taken by the ISB into one of those high security “interview” rooms that even he doesn’t have access to. He also hasn’t been force choked by the Emperor, like he’s also seen happen. He keeps his head down, his nose clean, and is very careful in how he obtains and leaks his information.

Foolish! He’s an newly elected senator with a lot of money, who listens to his constituents but ultimately leans pro Empire. Or seemingly does. His glamorous life and ‘he’s lucky he’s pretty’ kind of reputation makes it seem like he’s the perfect golden boy by Imperial standards. They still keep an eye on him, because they keep an eye on all the senators, and because he is known to be rather persistent with his agenda that isn’t always purely pro-imperial interests - but ultimately he’s cherished by the hierarchy. Popular and good company. A true believer of what the Empire stands for. And he’s steadily making connections with influential people. Think Arhinda Pryce from Thrawn - politically savvy, and in it for his own purpose like everyone else is, except he’s not actually a piece of shit. He’s just ambitious and crafty. A shark who is watched just as much as everyone else is, because the higher Imperial command is full of sharks looking for weaknesses to strike at, but no more than any other politician - because he’s good at what he does. His end goal is to do as much damage as he can from the inside out, because what he truly believes in is freedom - and as long as the Empire has its heel on the throat of the Galaxy, no one will be free.

Jaiden meets Foolish at one of the larger parties during Ascension Week, before his elections for governor which is before his elections for senator - and they become fast friends. She gets signed on to work for him, under the command of someone much higher than her for reasons “classified”. There’s some moment where her and Foolish have to work with the Inquisitors for one reason or another - and she immediately feels connected with them. She cant help but get this feeling that their role isn’t entirely voluntary, that there’s even darker forces at play. Think how she feels for Cucurucho. What she doesn’t know is that she used to be one of them - an Imperial experiment that never ended up showing enough force sensitivity to be of use, so she was mind wiped and given an insignificant job to keep her busy but close, to keep an eye on her.

Ok. Cellbit. A spacer merc who doesn’t get hired for hits, but for mysteries. To solve things. Star Wars equivalent of a traveling private eye. This gets him in some deep shit when who he’s investigating is tied deeper into shady Imperial shit than most, and of course once he’s caught onto conspiracy, he cannot stop digging. Also one of the escaped convicts, not that people make that connection - he’s changed his appearance and name after all. He eventually makes it to the rebellion.

He’s sensitive to the force like a motherfucker and struggles with balance, but is somehow entirely unaware of how connected he is. Thinks everyone must feel as extremely and physically as him. Anything else he brushes off as paranormal - the force doesn’t exist, but ghosts and the other world sure does. So maybe he sometimes has prophetic dreams, and maybe his own emotions overwhelm him to the point of physical illness, and maybe when he’s tired and distracted he’ll notice things moving seemingly on their own. Must be paranormal. Definitely not just oblivious to his own subconscious actions, and definitely doesn’t get overwhelmed at the feedback he gets from other life forms because he can’t properly separate himself from them. He’s just haunted. It doesn’t do well for his paranoia tbh

Phil is a Jedi who had to go into hiding, who managed to help a group of knights, padawans, initiates, and younglings escape Order 66. In the chaos and mess of it all, he finds himself alone with a youngling who’s barely a toddler. He makes a life for himself, for the first year traveling around instead of risking settling and being found. He meets and befriends Wilbur - a spacer with a dream of touring the stars to play his music - during this time. He ends up settling, making a life for himself on a nice mid rim planet, finding a husband and raising his kid. Wilbur shows up one day with a girl of his own, stays a few days, and leaves her with Phil, for reasons he doesn’t quite explain, saying she’ll be safer this way, and it won’t be forever. She’s just as force sensitive as his son.

He joins the rebellion after the Empire takes over his city and forces them to leave - and subsequently blows his cover, matching his scans to the database of Jedi who were never confirmed KIA. He has no reason to not join the rebellion at that point - the main thing that kept him was his family, his children, but now they’re no safer anyways. There’s safety in community and numbers. And he can strike back at the Empire, for what he views as right.

Missa really is the Just Some Guy that Phil married - except for the fact that he’s also force sensitive. During the raid in their home, he’s separated from Phil, Chayanne, and Tallulah, and currently is trying desperately to find his way back to them

Bad runs a shipping company, and has old money, like almost back to High Republic days money. Of course it’s mostly a front for organized crime and mercenary work - mostly hit jobs, assassinations, but that doesn’t mean he won’t branch out. He’s got an extensive criminal record, and is definitely on the Empire’s watchlist - but he somehow manages to get away with it all. He’s very anti-empire, and as much as he’s the head of the company, he delegates the non crucial busywork and takes hits and contracts himself.

Force sensitive, more attuned to those left behind who are one with the force, for some reason. And his race is unknown, but he’s older than he seems (he mostly keeps it secretive for tax evasion purposes, it’s only a little bit because he’s a habitual liar and likes the chaos that causes). As much as his views align with the rebellion, he doesn’t know much of its existence, and the rebellion is extremely hesitant to reach out, as beneficial as him and his resources may be

He meets Tina at a wrong place wrong time sort of moment - she just happened to be trying to get to know an Imperial officer he had a hit on, and came by to visit at just the worst possible moment. The thing is, she wasn’t trying to get to know the guy for any innocent reason - she wants to find a way to join either side of the conflict. Either by schmoozing out enough info to make her important to the Rebels, or establishing connections in the Imperial world.

She ends up working for Bad instead, talked into it after they talk it out, and he doesn’t just kill her to get rid of witnesses. They work together on mercenary work for a long while, which she’s fine with. It’s time spent almost having fun, and she’s a trusted member of the group. She does eventually join the rebellion after meeting Bagi, and it’s easy for her to convince Bad to join the cause once he’s made aware of its existence

Forever! Okay he’s definitely an Imperial politician, kind of similar to Foolish? I’d compare him to Mon Mothma - he’s hardworking, he’s funneling funds to the rebellion, and he’s an idealist who is constantly at odds with what he had to do and what he must pretend to support in order to do what’s best to protect the cause. He will do what needs to be done at the end of the day, and knows the consequences will surely one day catch up, but until then he’ll fight for his family and for freedom. For the rebellion.

He works often with Bad as the main point of contact for his shipping company - and also the main rebel contact. Again, just somewhat based off of Mon Mothma and Luthen from Andor. Bad doesn’t entirely trust Forever, thinks he should be doing certain things differently, gets nit picky with tactics and the way Forever moves his money. Forever finds him a bit extreme in what he’s willing to do, willing to sacrifice, and extremely pedantic. They bicker a lot for two guys who ultimately agree with each other.

That’s all I got off hand for now but please ask me about it please

[techs-goggles9902]

Two Souls Entwined

part 3 eventual Captain Rex x oc

A/N: sorry for the wait! life's been... life. Open to criticism, as always! LMK if you wanna join/be taken off the tag list. And sorry if it feels rushed 😭

The second to last paragraph of italics is directly from Triple Zero by Karen Traviss and I don’t take credit for it I just thought it would be a cool addition and help set the mood

word count: 812 (apparently? I thought I wrote more)

The Mandalorian Medics helped Niva the best they could, physically. Nothing could help her recover from what happened; watching her father, her buir, die right in front of her, and she could do nothing. 

Kal shifted his weight from his right foot onto his left, his shattered ankle screaming at him. His sand colored beskar’gam reflects the sun just right that there appears to be a halo encircling his body, the light at the end of the tunnel for Niva. He waited outside the medical tent for a while with his arms crossed, pacing back and forth every once in a while. 

Poor girl…

The medic - Gale? - pushes aside the tent flap and walks out onto the firm ground of Central Mandalore’s terrain. Gale looks at Kal, giving him a small reassuring smile and nod. “Did my best, Skirata. She’ll make it.” 

“That…That’s great. Any permanent damage?” Kal asks, his brow furrowing. 

“None that I can see… You know, she has a lot of Cabur in her. Just like her buir, eh?” Gale grins, patting Kal’s shoulder, and walks over to the center of the camp, talking with his vode.  

Kal’s footfalls are nearly silent as he slips through the tent flaps. The tent is dim, a small lantern illuminates a small area by Niva’s bedside. A thin, portable, wooden floor is all that separates Niva’s little sleeping bag from the dense clay soil. 

Thick gauze is wrapped around her sternum, cords and wires hang from tabs on her wrists and chest. The heavy, cloying scent of bacta fills the tent. Kal glances at Niva’s half open duffel bag, which she insisted Kal take with them. 

“Why is it so cold?” Niva’s quiet voice fills the tent. Kal laughs, coming over to sit on the floor beside her. 

“We’re in Central Mandalore. Up north, ad’ika,” Kal says, the nickname flowing off his tongue so naturally. He fixes the blanket lazily draped over Niva. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.”

“How did Buir die? He always gets into fights… Why did this one kill him?”

Kal sighs, “Gale, the medic, told me that his rib punctured his heart. You know, ad’ika, even if you’re in the safest, toughest box in the entire galaxy and you’re hit tons of times, that doesn’t mean being rattled up in that box can’t hurt you.” 

Niva looks away, blinking back tears; her long lashes clumping together from the wetness. 

“And why am I alive?” She asks. 

“That little necklace, made of pure beskar. The blast hit you between the collarbones, but that little scrap of iron saved your life, ad’ika.” That does it for Niva. Her eyes brim with tears, her throat begins to tighten. The heavy feeling of grief, loneliness, survivors guilt, all coming back to her. 

“Buir g-gave me that…” 

“I… I’m sorry, ad’ika. You know… I lost my dad, too. Before becoming a mando, that is,” Kal whispers, carefully adjusting one of Niva’s many curls. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” The two quietly talk together, Kal telling Niva about the origin of his three sided knife in exchange for Niva telling him about her necklace, the metal tree now bent at an awkward angle. 

“Do you have any other family?” Kal asks after a while. 

Niva doesn’t respond right away, only looking to a corner of the tent instead. She says softly, “No.” That’s the biggest lie she’s ever told, but she can’t go back to that village. An already unstable woman, now grieving the loss of her husband… Not a good mix. 

“Alright… You can stay with me, if you-”

“Please, can I, Kal?” Niva cuts him off, her wide green eyes staring intensely into Kal’s.

“‘Course, ad’ika. Anything,” 

Two years later. 

Kamino was damp. No, it was more than damp: it was nothing but storm-whipped sea from pole to pole. The air smelled more like a hospital than a military base. 

Niva, now 16, steps close to the window separating the corridor she and Kal’buir are currently waiting in and the vast chamber of what looked to be large toroids stacked on wide pillars. 

In the past two years, Kal became Niva’s surrogate father, showing his love by telling her to call him Kal’buir - Papa Kal. He could never replace Cabur as her father, they both knew that. Yet the empty, painful hole left in Niva’s heart was slowly filled in by the presence of her Papa Kal. 

This was a mistake. Taking Niva, of all people, here. We might not leave for… For years! Jango’s gonna owe me s-

“Kal’buir… Look at the towers,” Niva says, interrupting Kal’s thoughts. 

“I don’t see anything, ad’ika.”  

“No, k’olar. Closer.” 

Kal sighs and steps beside Niva, who’s nearly as tall as him, although that isn’t saying much since he’s shorter than the average man. 

“There’s… There’s babies in those tubes, Kal…” 

Glossary & Pronunciation

Beskar'gam - Mandalorian armor [bes-car-gum] (I think). Buir - dad/mom [boo-ear] Vode - brothers/sisters/comrades [vod-ay]. (I think) Ad'ika - little one, son, daughter of any age [ah-dee-kah] Beskar - Mandalorian iron [bes-car] Kal'buir - Papa Kal [Kal-boo-ear] K'olar - come here [ko-lar]

Taglist: @fionajames @sevdidntdie @will-is-silly @hellhound5925 @skellymom @dangraccoon @the-rain-on-kamino(<- maybe you're interested?)

dividers by @saradika

[lifblogs]

Deal: Chapter 1

AI-less Whumptober 2023: Day 4 Hiding An Injury | Betrayal | Lying @ailesswhumptober, @tarisilmarwen

Fandom: Star Wars: Rebels Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Pairing: Sabezra Word Count: 1168 Summary: While on a mission with Ezra Sabine gets injured and she hides it from him, not wanting him to worry. Things go sideways, and what Sabine wants becomes a whole lot more difficult. WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence READ ON AO3

Sabine was glad Ezra wasn’t around when the second ambush came. He was already farther into the prison, and in a few minutes he’d reach the prisoners Fulcrum had marked as high priority. Sabine and Ezra didn’t know why the Empire had wanted them, or if they would be important to the Rebellion, but any day where they saved someone was a good day.

Now if only Sabine could save herself.

She tried dodging behind the comm terminal, but she was surrounded. There were four stormtroopers, each armed with blasters, and one of them was also armed with what looked like truncheons, but it had some sort of power pack near the grip. That stormtrooper stepped forward, and Sabine could picture the cruel grin on his face as he holstered his small blaster, and grabbed the truncheons. He hit buttons on the side and suddenly they sparked up with a whine that was almost too high for human ears to hear, and blue-white electricity crackled down their lengths.

Karabast.

Sabine moved on instinct, with training. She wasn’t entirely sure of what was happening, but she had her blasters out and she was firing, and the stormtroopers were firing. She downed most of them, and only received some burnt armor and bruises in return. Save for the last one with his fancy stun batons.

What happened next encompassed only a few seconds, yet time felt like minutes, hours, stuck in an agonizing sludge of adrenaline and pain.

When the stormtrooper reached Sabine she tried to kick, and hoped that she’d get out of his range, but he whacked her leg with one of the batons. The sensation of being stabbed by a million tiny needles had her falling, her thoughts scattering. The muscles in her leg were frozen, and the sensation traveled up her body.

Blood was in her mouth.

Had she bitten her tongue?

Even worse—had she screamed? Would Ezra find her like this?

Before she could fall to the floor, the stormtrooper hit her hard in the stomach with the end of a baton. Even without the electricity this would’ve been bad. The air whooshed out of her, and she was sure she felt a crack throughout her body—maybe a rib or two had been fractured. The bruising alone would be terrible. All of Sabine’s muscles tensed, tensed too much as if they were trying to break her bones, and some were almost vibrating. She had the shock of her head snapping back, and then she really did fall.

Her helmet toppled off somewhat as she hit the cold, reinforced durasteel floor.

The stormtrooper kicked it off and away.

Get up. Get up. You have to get up.

This was how people died. The Empire would see anyone who had fallen, anyone who had been beaten down, and then grind them under its heel, and snap their necks.

If Sabine didn’t get up right now, she would die.

A last bit of burning, stabbing electricity made its way through her body, her teeth grinding till they were alight with bright sparks of pain, till her jaw hurt. And then she was free of it.

But that stormtrooper was standing over her, surely gloating as Sabine’s vision went in and out.

She reached for one of her blasters, and the stormtrooper kicked it away. But what he didn’t see was Sabine reaching for her helmet. The inside of it was quite comfortable, at least for her, but the outside was pure beskar, and as she’d found out through years of training—beskar hurt.

With the stormtrooper distracted she smashed her helmet into his knee. She hoped that was actually a crack she’d heard. He let out a shocked scream, and was about to hit her again with a baton, but she grabbed his wrist and held on, and no amount of shaking let her go.

They both knew what would happen. If he electrocuted her, he’d be hurting himself now too.

Sabine spat hot blood out of her mouth, and stared at him, daring him to do it.

Somehow, he had the motivation to, surely to take down a disgusting rebel like her, but before he could hit her, she hit him again with her helmet, risking the electricity.

It buzzed and sparked through her body, but the power on the truncheon died and it went flying from his hand, and skidded across the floor.

Sabine was able to rise up, she grabbed her other pistol, and before he could hit her again, she fired her blaster at point blank.

Just to be safe Sabine kicked the other truncheon out of his hand once he collapsed, but he wouldn’t be using it again; acrid smoke wafted from the burnt hole in his helmet.

Sabine spat out more blood, and wiped her mouth.

And she managed to get her helmet back on just as Ezra returned to this junction with the prisoners.

He took in the dead men, and looked at her. His eyes alighted on her burnt pieces of armor. His lightsaber was in hand, blade humming in green.

After motioning for the prisoners—scared, disheveled beings—to stay where they were he came over, kicking a body out of the way.

“Sabine, are you okay?”

He turned off his lightsaber, and clipped it on his belt. His hands were out, fingers shaking slightly, not sure where it was okay to touch her in case she was hurt.

She was, but she was never going to tell him that.

“I’m fine. There were only four of them. You worry too much.”

His gaze seemed uncertain, and he put a hand on her shoulder, stepping closer. Sabine almost wished her helmet was off, so she could feel the moment more, so she could be as vulnerable as Ezra. But that vulnerability would lead to truths about her hurts, and she could not do that. She would not.

Yet she stepped closer too, forgetting for a heady moment that they had an audience, that they had to go.

“You’re sure you’re fine?” Ezra asked.

With one pistol holstered, Sabine had a free hand to lay on his arm. She wished she could hold onto it to keep herself up, but then he’d know. No, this was just purely because she needed him through this adrenaline rush. Everything else was fine. That’s what he had to see.

“Trust me.”

Ezra nodded, and then pulled away. Sabine gasped, and then winced at the pain she felt in her torso, a few inches underneath her right breast.

Luckily Ezra was too busy leading the prisoners out, and her sound was quiet enough that he wouldn’t hear, wouldn’t notice that anything was wrong.

Sabine took the rear as alarms started blaring, and blast doors began to close.

“Karabast!”

Some help from the rest of the crew would be really nice right about then, but their comms had been jammed as soon as they’d gone into the compound. They were on their own.

[eatommo]

Imagine being loved by me [d.d]

Cw: pure fluffy filth, use of princess and baby, one single use of daddy (oops. Shoot me.), oral sex female receiving, oral fixation, din is pussy drunk and drunk on feelings bc din, soft!din, praise kink, bit of size kink, missionary/breeding press, helmet is off, p in v, unprotected pinv, religious undertones(?)

A/N: I wrote this entire thing in one sitting between 12-3am so please forgive any grammar errors or ifs it bad let me know I’ll take it down but I am going to post and promptly pass out. Enjoy.

Summary: sex with helmetless din for the first time, he learns how to use that mouth

The first time you feel his mouth on your skin, you’re shocked by the roughness of his facial hair.

Each bristle carves its way from the crest of your neck down to the supple skin of your hips, and it’s painful. Your nerves are on edge, and fireworks bloom behind your eyelids as you squeeze them shut. You have no intention of peering into the darkness of the hull, hoping for a glimpse of his cock or to know the color of his hair that soothes the roughed skin from his beard with an apologetic, brushing caress.

His mouth is hot, his breath in short pants in between the open mouth kisses that he’d seen in holodrama after holodrama. He catalogs each crack and squeal from your throat as he trails south, his need to explore each bit of your body without his helm obstructing his senses outweighing his ability to think rationally. He can smell the soap from the fresher imprinted in your skin, and he wishes to press this scent into your bones so that you can never escape the thought of him because you’re imprinted into his eyelids and his dreams. There’s a hint of salt to your skin, the pliant texture letting his tongue trace patterns and trails over each crest and curve to your body. Until you’re nearly to the point of insanity, he avoids his most favorite thing in the world, waiting until your hips are twisting against his harsh grip.

The risks and intimacy of the moment is ever present but the sins have never seemed so honorable in his brain. The fog settling in his eyes and coating his tongue, if he didn’t consume you he’d surely erupt into a collapsed star.

He was ready, the blood rising to the surface of your skin calling to his beskar clad heart, warming its resolve until it melded into affection for your relationship, and now your body was the only thing that could calm him.

You chase the heat of his mouth, and the cool fan of his breath over his trail of saliva calls goosebumps over your flesh in its wake. You can picture the path of saliva glistening on your skin, you hoped would mar its path into your chest and abdomen branding you with his affection. The lazy circles and unpracticed kisses did nothing to stave your ache for his attention. You didn’t think anything would.

His teeth dig into the flesh of your thighs, sucking and pressing bruises and love bites into them. Soon he’d see to it that they never left, merely shifting or growing in number until he was dead and buried. He relents when you practically lift his face to your cunt by the curls of his hair.

He lets himself get oriented, licking a large flat stripe over your holes and lapping at your slit, savoring the sweet taste of your sopping wet pussy. He drinks from your center, nudging at your clit with his nose and humming at the furl of your fists in his hair. He shakes his head slowly side to side, spearing his tongue further into your cunt, and toying with your clit until you’re practically a grinding whimpering mess of a woman beneath him.

The sound of your undiluted breath and whines are music to his ears. The sounds are richer, filthier even. Therein he realizes your body was the altar that he would pledge to, your moans the chorus of the maker's children. He would die for you, a martyr or a champion. He didn’t have much interest in anything anymore. The empire, the rebellion, his planet, his creed, they had all fallen and failed the people they were due to serve, he would not be the same.

He’d never told someone he loved them, it didn’t ever feel necessary. Here with you keening and praising his name, it was venerating.

You call to him, loving the ferocity of his need to taste you, to fuck you and you reverberate his groans with your own, quickly climbing the mountain of an orgasm he was building. There was a mischievous and knowing glint in his eye, he knew you were dangerously close to cumming on his mouth, he’d felt your body tense beneath him and on top of him so many times it was welcomed with a moan of recognition.

Your body tightens and shakes with the force of your orgasm, and you fight to escape his grasp. He lets his hands relax, merely following your bucking hips with his hands never wanting to let you go even for a few moments. The ache begins to settle into your muscles as you finish the aftershocks of your climax by grinding against the firm muscle of his tongue, he leans against the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Are you okay? Was that okay?” His voice is gruff and deep, eyes are blown wide, barely able to make out the shape of your body in the darkness. His beard and chin are sticky with the juices of your release, and despite your content posture there’s a bit of insecurity in his voice.

“Yes. You’re amazing like always, I would call you a liar if I didn’t know any better.” The teasing only causes him to shy further into insecurity, and a rise starts in your heart, “but I think if you do get any better I might just die of an aneurysm.”

“I’m not done with you yet princess.” His chuckle is almost sinister. You pocket the conversation for later, this is new and you’re not gonna let the hard cock that digs into your stomach go to waste. He climbs his way to rest his forehead on your hand.

“Why are you covering your eyes?” His voice is sincere, and you detect a bit of hurt.

So you stammer through a defense, “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Can you follow instructions baby?” The confidence is back and his ability to suck the air out of your lungs with a pet name scrambles your brain. Your chest is rising and touching him with the sensitive muscle of your breast, and you wonder if he can sense your heart race without the assistance of the helmet.

He tilts his mouth to yours in a bruising kiss, then flicking your top lip with his tongue. You don’t even feel his body shift but suddenly he is brushing over your lips with his thumb. “Your words.”

“Yes, Din.”

His chest rumbles to life and utters an affirmation before he can stop himself. He slips his thumb into your mouth as he breathes “Good girl. Move your arm.”

He moves his legs, using his combat skills to his advantage as he splays your legs open with his own. Allowing his cock to dip down and notch at your entrance.

As if smothering you, he pins his body against yours tightly, pressing your legs further apart, and caging you in with his arms, he digs his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder as he pushes inch by inch into you, while finding the hand that was covering your eyes and lacing his fingers through them tightly.

The stretch isn’t new by any means, but it’s still deliciously slow. Slick squelch from your pussy would usually embarrass you, but in it’s combination with the lewd pornographic moan that Din makes it only spurs on your antics.

After he’s finally seated inside you, he adjusts his arm so that he is cradling your head into his shoulders as he begins to rock his length in and out. His warmth and the pleasure are a frightful combination, you skin alight with every building thrust in the sensitive aftermath of your first orgasm.

How could he ever stop? His hips begin to slap against your ass, punctuating each whine that gets punched from your lungs. He fucks into your pussy with a desperation he’s never felt before, like if you don’t cum before he does he’ll burst into flames. He so desperately wants to feel you clamp down around him, and he wants you to hear him whine for you while he fills you with his cum.

In his yearning, he abandons his mark on your shoulder and presses his lips to the shell of your ear. “You’ve been so good for me princess.” The hair stands up on your neck, and a familiar twinge in your lower stomach makes you mewl. “You’re gonna make me fill that pussy baby.” You tilt your head, exposing your vulnerable neck even more for him. “Can you soak daddy’s cock one more time baby?”

The moan that falls from your mouth is blasphemous. But as if speaking it into existence your orgasm rolls over your body in the form of shaking legs and shudders that wrack through your body as he thrusts two, three, more times before twitching and burying himself deep in your cunt.

[marierg]

Biscuits and Beskar: 2

Pairing: Boba Fett x OC Kaylee Manu

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, language, mentions of past traumas, fighting, poor self image, getting nervous around the Daimyo, frisky thoughts (still pretty sfw).

A/N: This is written in the style of a reader insert where the reader is Kaylee. So Kaylee is not used to her little world getting set off kilter. She likes the idea of a partner but doesn't usually have the time. Then Boba walks in and the feelings hit like a ton of bricks. Boba is intrigued and Fennec is in the background like a chess master moving the pieces. Fennec is ma girl, like I would love to be besties with her.

Picture credit: Disney and Lucasfilm

Words: 3000 ish...

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“Come work for the Daimyo they said. It'll be great they said. You only might get killed on your first day.”

You hissed out a breath body aching, but there was work to do. You weren't about to let either of the bosses catch you slacking. The second in command had the eyes of a shreik-hawk. She had given very clear instructions to you: keep the Daimyo in good health and spirits. There was an unspoken or else in the silent look she gave that didn't bear testing. You had cautiously requested to see the kitchen. It was an appalling, dirty wreck, and that would have been a kind assessment.

The walk in was out of range, produce and meat were going bad, whomp rats had gotten into most of the dry storage. Then there was the equipment! Looking at the assassin with beribboned hair you quickly insisted on a full remodel. Fennec, as she had introduced herself, had simply given you a slight nod of approval telling you to let her know whatever you needed. You had expected an argument or at least some grumbling. Instead the woman walked away quiet as death.

You weren't entirely certain that she wasn't the specter herself.

“Honestly the state of this place, might as well have left the door open. Wake up to a krayt dragon in the throne room playing with the Rancor.”

It was pure luck that the kids had returned to the palace when they had. The smell of Wookie fur a dead give away for trouble the minute you all crossed the threshold. And while you hadn't necessarily formed your own opinion about the new Daimyo, no one deserved to die ripped limb from limb. Racing up the stairs there the beast was, crushing the man as his feet dangled off the floor.

Bless Drash's soul, the girl had no fear going right for the great terror head on. The others fell in rank behind her ready to brawl. You had joined in as well, landed a few cuts with your knife before being flung like a rag doll across the room. Landing squarely on a very warm, large body. The breath, along with all sense apparently, knocked from you as you lay atop of the infamous Boba Fett.

A half naked Boba Fett whose arms had circled around steadying you and what had been your reaction? Instead of being terrified you had dumbly looked down at his dark, handsome face, swiped your sleeve at his cut lip and said, “You're bleeding.”

What kind of a fool does that?! In the middle of a fight no less! But damn the man for being so handsome... probably why he wore that bucket. Wouldn't get any business done at all with those eyes on everyone seeking audience going dumb.

His brown eyes that had stared back at you like there wasn't a gargantuan, killer hairball not a few feet away. Eyes that should have been cold or harsh or angry given his reputation. But no, they were warm and just a touch amused. He had smirked and quickly rolled, pushing you into a protected side of the room before grabbing a gaffi stick to rejoin the maylay. He was broad in the chest with bearlike strength, fluid and graceful in his movement. Watching as he coordinated his attacks with the others dancing with perfect rhythm. The new Daimyo was something to behold and not one to be trifled with for certain.

Back in the present you moved the grill grates back into place and relit the pilot light. The cabinets were in varying states of repair, counter now resealed and secure again. Rough first days, but looking around now it was starting to feel like your own space. You couldn't help but do a little spin to test out the cleaned floors. The tile in the kitchen was beautiful, thoroughly swept and polished to a high shine. Amazing what you could find hidden under all that tattoine sand.

Not unlike the handsome man in armor down the hall...

Karabast you needed to get a grip! So what if the man was broad and solid. So what if he was kind to those around him. So what if he was honorable in victory and spared the life of the being sent to kill him. And so what if he had protected you. Boba Fett was the boss you were the cook.

“Kaylee don't be a fool... finally landed a good job GET A GRIP!” For Maker's sake you'd only just met the man. Not to mention that you knew better than anyone that crime lords only wanted the arm candy types. Pretty little airheads that didn't care what shady deals happened around them. Not scared, round, small little things like you. Placing the last of the racks in the oven you stacked the pans back on the shelves, clanging them angrily. It was stupid of you to be acting like this.

“Ratty leave that be, I'm not done fixing the door yet,” The little droid paused its shelving work drooping his antenna and beeping fearfully. Cringing at having been so stern you softened your tone. “Hey I'm not mad, it's ok buddy. It's just that I really need you to help me finish the pantry right now. R9 can handle that.”

The little rat catcher was so easily spooked, he had hid for hours when you first started. You could see the many dents and rewires that told you the poor little bit had been previously abused. All of them had, even 8-D8 had mismatched parts. Well that wouldn't happen from now on, not on your watch. If there was one thing this whole palace needed it was a little bit of care and attention. Giving a soft smile you tried again, “How 'bout it? I'll get you both a nice oil bath after we're done?”

With a happy set of boops the droid had scurried to where you stood happily handing you the sorted in date items. Honestly how any of the beings here weren't dead from food poisoning was a wonder, “First thing tomorrow you and me are going to tackle the last of the cabinets and the walk in. Sound like a plan? Can't have the boss thinking we slack about can we now.”

Ratty beeped and swiveled his head in agreement.

Boba observed you from the shadows, much like he had the day before. Did you even realize that you sang loud enough he could hear in the throne room? As for your last comment, the boss didn't think you a slack about. Already the place looked brighter, cleaner. There were fresh herb planters lining the walls and things neat and tidy. He had half smirked watching as you sharpened the knives, checking the balance of the tang and blade with practiced ease. A craftswoman about her work.

Loath as Boba was to admit it, Fennec had been right. Already operations about the palace were running more efficiently. He was pleased that you had decided to stay, though unhappy with the restrictive movements you worked with. You were pushing through an injury just to prove your worth to the boss. Even Boba was still stiff after using the bacta tank, Wookies were never an easy fight. He had noticed all too well the little winces, the ginger bending at the hip and deep breaths. Worse was that it was his negligence that led to your injury. He allowed for the Palace to continue crumbling into disrepair; it had been careless and he received a painful lesson when Krrsantan had breached security. Stepping into the kitchen fully Boba noticed the food and various drinks on the side board, easy to grab and more than enough to keep this lot fed. Seeing a tray of cookies he picked up the delicate treat.

“Oh Lord Fett! I'm sorry for the chaos, the kitchen should be done by tomorrow.” You stumbled coming out of the pantry but managed not to fall. "I'm sorry I hope you haven't been... How can I help you."

He hummed in amusement, removing his helmet and tucking it snugly under his arm. You looked flushed and tired Boba thought, watching as you fidgeted nervously.

“I could make something for you...”

He waived a hand ceasing your nervous ramble, “You've done more than enough, especially being injured.”

“Just sore sir, I can still work.” Oh kark, wouldn't that just be the way of things. Two days of work and you get fired for being slow.

“That was not in question,” Leaning a hip on the counter he ate the cookie, taking in the subtle butter and almond flavors of the treat. It was delicious, as was his meal earlier. For the first time in a long while Boba felt energized, his mind sharper. It didn't hurt his mood any that the little chef was pleasing to glace at as well. Must have some Pantoran blood with the slight purple highlight in your hair and golden eyes. “I have a duty to those under my employ. I will send Fennec to see to you after the meeting.”

“I'm fine really...”

“Never the less.” Fixing the woman with a very unimpressed stare Boba made a grumbling noise in the back of his throat. Stubborn little thing. “Fennec will see to you after the meeting.”

“Well at least let me make you a fresh cup of Kaf.” You turned to walk to the machine. Your stomach dropped, not only for being scolded but also because you had screwed up. You had been so focused on trying to get the kitchen sorted and the food made that you hadn't even thought to ask Fennec for an itinerary. If your Papa were alive he would have shaken his head at such a rookie mistake. You decided to try to roll with the situation, keeping a calm tone. “And how many are expected?”

“It is only the few of us here, though there are some new faces that you should know.” Boba could see that his comment had put you on edge. He pivoted quickly wanting to put you at ease, which was a curiosity in itself. Perhaps he had gone soft, “Your name is Kaylee correct?”

“Yes Lord Fett,” Why were you blushing and why did his voice sound like smoky velvet to your ears? A grown ass woman did not turn into a simpering mess just because the new boss was as handsome as the devil himself and sounded twice as enticing. Oh Garsa was right you really needed to get out more. Straightening your apron and folding your hands you tried to compose yourself. “Chef Kaylee Manu at your service.”

“Well Chef Kaylee, I would like your input on further improvements for the Palace. What you see as needs for the staff here including yourself.” Boba tried to keep his tone even and low. He watched as you worked the knobs on the fancy Kaf machine. From this angle he had a fine view of your figure hidden beneath the apron and well worn coveralls. Something he had noted earlier, the flight coveralls. Embroidered with desert blooms and stars, tailored at the waist to taper giving you more of a fitted look than the excess material was originally designed for. It was far too warm an outfit given the climate and your job, so that begged the question why? Yet even under the cumbersome layers he watched as you gracefully approached and offered him a mug of Kaf.

Boba well remembered your curvy form as it was pressed flush to him on the floor of the tower. How your hands had softly touched his face. He wouldn't have even noticed the cut had you not said anything. No he was far to distracted by how gently you acted, how your eyes didn't look on him in fear. How even now you seemed more flustered than genuinely afraid. When Krrsantan had ran from the tower you stayed with him, again asking if he was hurt. The whole journey down the stairs you had stayed close to him, squeezing his hand at every little bump. It stroked his ego being your protector, even if only for a few moments.

Fennec had teased him for glancing too long as you had moved about the dinning room, serving food and drink while offering your thoughts. Then there was her amused eye roll at his reaction when you left to collect the belongings that had finally arrived. It seemed you didn't own much, a few bags and a trunk at most. Skad had teased you about his back hurting from the weight only for you to remind him who was making diner and that it was something he enjoyed. You didn't snark or threaten, just keeping your voice firm and even to remind the pup who was in charge.

It was that same tone that you had used throughout the meeting, keeping the peace while also pointing out deficiencies. You were smart and direct, giving a working list of the immediate needs. You knew many of the city's dealers and craftsmen and also demonstrated a firm grasp of the groups that ran the different sectors of the city as well as the local officials. For a simple cook you were proving anything but.

There was a certain air about the you that Boba couldn't quite place; confident yet reserved, calm yet strong. Then there was the quality of your work; not only was the food excellent, but the presentation of each dish was flawless down to the garnish and sauces. Clearly you were not a product of the sands, you had honed your craft off world. You were a puzzle, one that he couldn't seem to place, which was all the more reason that he had Fennec observe you closely. Leaning on his throne in contemplation the question remained, “Who are you Kaylee Manu?”

Boba watched as his second in command strode into the throne room, stopping to pour a drink. He waited, tapping the arm of the throne in thought. “Anything to report?”

Fennec played with the cup in her hand, “She knows her city I'll say that. Every place that we ordered from happily handed our orders over, especially when Kaylee's name came up.”

“That bothers you?”

“No, quite helpful actually. Something Garsa Fwip told me though...” Thinking over the information Fennec debated again telling Boba. She had seen much in her time both good and bad. Not much bothered her, couldn't afford it in this line of work. Most hunters had a code that they followed, certain things that were off the table. But there were always some scum out there that ignored such things. Taking another swig of the spotchka she half sat on the steps. “Seems our chef has made a few people angry, people who would like very much to see her gone. Including Mok Shaiz.”

“Oh she has?” Boba watched Fennec nod, “and what did she do to incur such wrath?”

“It would appear our esteemed Mayor was in business with Bib Fortuna. In exchange for his tribute Fortuna would rid the streets of it's excess citizenry, the troublemakers. According to Garsa they weren't particular about who... or how young.” Fennec heard the creaking leather of gloves as Boba flexed out of anger. “A few of the citizens helped to hide people, especially the kids. Fed them, looked after the ones whose families were killed as an example.”

Boba glanced to the entry where Skad was speaking with Nitro and Nakita, “The Mods...”

“Among others, Garsa has been protecting her till now,” Fennec had seen the good will that just your name incurred, that was worth more than credits. Working for a crime boss could get messy though, like the other night. Still if Boba was determined to be a Daimyo and not just another crime lord having someone like you around would be invaluable. “Everyone we visited would appreciate it if Kaylee were kept safe.”

“Hmm brave little thing,” He tilted his helmet in the direction of the palace apartments, “not many would have done that.”

“Not many would have kept doing it after having their business burned out from under them and left for dead.” Fennec could hear Boba growl from under the helmet. “Should I ask around?”

Turning back to the master assassin he gave a curt nod. Someone betrayed those who tried to protect the people of this city and Boba wanted to know who. If they still lived their days were numbered. No one would harm the people, much less children in Mos Espa ever again. As to your circumstance things like this usually resulted from greed or anger, someone had broken trust among the good Samaritans. Trust was a dangerous thing, it could kill if misplaced or was a powerful ally when well invested. He trusted Fennec and had been repaid well for that.

The question was what had made you trust enough to stay here? Especially when you had suffered so in the past? Boba could not see how he had earned such a privilege, but he would not squander it. “You can let them all know that Miss Manu is under my protection.”

“I already did.” Fennec studied the bottom of the empty cup, wondering what kind of strength it must take to be kind in a cruel world, to stand against the corruption that rotted a place like this and remain. Not many would have made your choice, nor endured the consequences with such grace. Fennec had seen first hand when she had helped treat your injury earlier. You had looked back at her with a grin saying, "Our lives are what we choose to make of it." Fennec knew fate to be a fickle thing, so was luck. Then again this whole Palace was filled with beings whom defied the odds.

Tags:

@rain-on-kamino @daimyosprincess @pickleprickle @acatalystrising @kimiheartblade

[gravvitywritestrash]

Dincember Day 3, Promp: Gloves

Gender neutral reader (let me know if I mess that up!)

Warnings: none!

Prompt Masterlist

Mando didn't have to do the things he did for you.

Yet he was always doing little things that reminded you of how kind, and caring the man behind the beskar was.

When you had started working for him, you thought he was cold and distant. It only took you a few weeks to realize that he just wasn't a man of words, speaking very little. Almost a little awkward in conversations that wasn't purely tactical.

You soon realized that he was a man of action, where his words failed him, he let his actions speak.

He let you know he was caring through the little things he did for you.

He had remembered your favorite fruit, reminding you of the one time you had made an off-hand comment about it by surprising you with it if he happened to pass a vendor selling them.

He always knew if you were low on blaster charges, buying you replacement ammunition before you realized you were low.

He even took note of the preferred ingredients you liked in your personal care soaps. One day you were running extremely low on said products, only for replacements to be waiting for you in the tiny cabinet in the 'fresher bathroom.

And today, Mando had fished out a pair of his own winter gloves for you to wear under your work gloves. It didn't matter how they had fit on your hands previously. Under your normal work gloves, they provided you fingers and hands extra protection against the bitter cold surrounding you. The side of the planet you had emergency landed on was currently going through its winter season, leaving the ground covered in a thick white blanket, and temperatures below freezing.

I don't want your hands to get cold. He had told you.

Before, you would have assumed it was because cold hands meant stiff hands, causing you to be slower in repairing the issue. Now, you knew he didn't want you to be uncomfortable. He didn't know enough to repair it himself, felt bad that you had to go outside and face the less than kind weather to get you off the planet.

You wondered if he knew, if he realized how his little actions affected you. His little actions always left you feeling a deep affection in your chest, and it spread warmth throughout your entire body and caused your mind to swim. No one had shown you this level of care before, not since your biological parents had passed, leaving you with your old, and less than enthusiastic grandparents to raise you.

You wondered if he knew the feelings a pair of gloves ignited deep inside of you. Just a simple pair of gloves, but it meant so much more than that. It meant that he cared, that he was looking out for you. Despite the fact that you were employed by him, and it was your job to fix the ship, rain or shine, he treated you with respect. Treated you as a person, not just an employee. Treated you like a companion, a friend.

You remembered how heat had risen to your face when he offered the dark colored winter gloves. It had caused your throat to tighten and a stuttered 'thank you' to leave your lips when you accepted them from his outstretched hands.

All of that over a pair of gloves.

But you knew it was more than that.

taglist: @honeydjarin

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[purplesong1028]

Hunt the Hunter

Chapter 2: The Twins

Paz and Din each prepares for their journey ahead, while thinking about their best friend with a very special ability.

AKA. I chose to make my life harder by but making Paz and Din childhood friends with each other.

Rating: General Audience

Paring: Paz/Din

Words: 2,609

Paz wakes up early the next morning to the noise outside. Everyone is walking around, moving stuff, talking to each other with mixed Mando’a and Galactic Basic. He wakes up early anyway, because it’s important to maintain a daily routine underground. At this point, his body has already developed an accurate biological clock after spending years without natural sunlight, which is how he knows this is even earlier than when he usually wakes up. If he has to guess, the sun is probably not even out yet.

Paz blinks a few times and wipes a hand down his face. Then he remembers: they have to move the covert before the Imps track down the mandalorian hunter who disrupted the entire guild. He silently curses Djarin again. The bastard better be prepared when Paz finds him.

It doesn’t take long for him to get up and get ready. None of them has a lengthy morning routine. Then he packs some necessities into a large bag: weapons, common spare parts, ration packs, credits, and some medical supplies including a full can of bacta spray. He checks the four small pieces of pure beskar the armorer gave him yesterday, and carefully puts them in a pocket. The pocket is deep and spacious, but he can still feel their existence against his leg when he starts walking.

*

Paz receives a few nods as he walks outside carrying his luggage. Most people are too busy for any other gestures, but a few people he’s closer with give him a pat on the shoulder and a “good luck”. They don’t need to say anything else. Mandalorians are people of action, and they always know the weight behind the simple words spoken by their brothers and sisters.

However, there is one person he has to see before leaving for his quest.

After a few turns, the tunnel opens up to a large flat area, which they use as their training camp. Foundlings are running around carrying boxes of supplies, to get them ready for transportation. Some of them briefly stop in front of the two adults standing among them, seeking instruction or comfort.

Paz smiles at the scene. Every mandalorian will do anything for their foundlings, but it takes a special kind of talent to get a group of small children and teenagers to work together seamlessly. Luckily, some of them have that talent.

*

Syina and her twin brother Mylo look no different from any other human, but there is one thing that sets them apart: they can sense emotions.

When they are physically close enough, they can feel exactly what you feel.

There is little record left of their species, so it’s uncertain why they’re empaths, but regardless, their special ability makes them the best mentors for the foundlings.

It also made Syina the perfect friend for Paz since they were children. Back then, most kids in the fighting corps were at least a little scared of him. Maybe it had something to do with his size, his temper or his family name, or a combination of all those. But Syina, a few years younger and much smaller, was never afraid.

She would seek him out after training and ask him to go over some complicated moves with her, to tell her stories about mandalorian history, or even to teach her to use a weapon that she was too young to touch.

“Sometimes you are just in a bad mood,” She once told him, “but you don’t want to hurt me, I can feel it. You are a kind person.”

Over the years, it became a clear pattern: if Syina wasn’t with Mylo, she was most likely hanging out with him. Some elderlies in the covert assumed they would start courting once they grow up, and even encouraged him to do so, but he never felt that kind of desire towards her. It was just nice to have someone trust him, both in his skills and his character as a mandalorian. If anything, he saw her more as a little sister than a future wife.

Paz understood why he might have given off the wrong idea though. The twins were strikingly similar in every way, but he was much closer to the girl. But it wasn’t because he liked Mylo any less. It was just inconvenient for them to hang out because Mylo had always been very close to Djarin. How these two became friends, Paz had no idea, still doesn’t.

Honestly, it was a bit funny that a pair of twins somehow ended up being friends with two people who could hardly coexist in the same room.

*

“Paz!” Syina notices him first, not hiding her excitement as she gives him a solid pat on the arm, right below his pauldron so it actually hurts a little. “I thought you already left!”

“Without saying goodbye to you?” He snorts, “you’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“That was what I told her.” Mylo also walks towards them, pulling Paz in for a brief half-hug. “All ready for your big quest?”

He smiles at the friendly teasing tone. “Yeah, I’m good. Are the young ones ready?”

“They’re not very happy with the short notice, understandably.” Syina shrugs, “but we got them, there’s no need to worry.”

That’s true. If Paz has to trust anyone with all the foundlings, he trusts them.

“Look, Paz,” Mylo starts again, and Paz already knows what he’s about to say, “Din didn’t betray us. There’s no way. Something we don’t know must have happened.”

“That’s not up to me to judge.” He tries to remain as impartial as he can at the moment, since that’s what the armorer wants him to do. “My quest is to bring him back. That’s all.”

“What he’s saying is that, obviously Djarin won’t let you bring him back without a fight.” Syina cuts in. She’s always been more blunt than her brother, at least with him. “And you have a plasma thrower.”

“Yeah, what she said. Just don’t kill him, alright?”

“And on that note, don’t let him kill you either.”

Maybe that’s not a joke on their end, but Paz laughs out regardless. Sometimes he has a weird sense of humor.

He turns back to Mylo, “have you heard from him? Any idea where he might be?” If anyone in the covert has additional information on Djarin, it’d be Mylo, and Paz truly hopes he won’t hide anything.

“I don’t know. I tried to call him yesterday, after we got the news about a mandalorian blowing up a building in an alley. He didn’t answer, so I sent a message to his ship.” Mylo looks down for a second, and Paz doesn’t need to be an empath to know that look. Guilt, for not doing more, even after they’ve done everything they possibly can. “Then the armorer ordered everyone to prepare for relocation, so we had to change all the comlinks.”

“I’ll find him.” Paz grabs his shoulder and gives him a solid shake. “If he’s in trouble, I’ll bring him back home.”

“You know, at first I thought the armorer was going to send Mylo, but maybe she had a good reason to choose you.” Syina tilts her head, and Paz just knows she’s smirking under her helmet. “What’s that saying again? You know your enemy the best? Something like that.”

“We’re not enemies.” Enemy is a strong word. The Imps are the enemy. Djarin isn’t, as long as he’s not working for the Imps.

“Rivals then, still, my point stands.”

“Well, I certainly hope you’re right then.” Paz smiles. He knows she can’t see it but she sure can feel it with her powers. Behind them, the foundlings are finishing up stacking boxes of supply neatly together. “I should let you two get back to it. I need to get going too.”

Mylo nods. “Good luck on your quest, Paz.”

Syina reaches over to pull him into a tight embrace. “Cuyir morut'yc.” Be safe.

*

Din sinks into the pilot chair. He just spent almost an hour trying to make the freaking kid fall asleep. He tried everything: he fed him, cleaned his clothes with sonic, spoke to him softly while gently rocking him. That eventually worked, or maybe the kid just tired himself out. Either way, now he’s more than ready to take a nap himself.

But he can’t do that just yet. There are more pressing matters to be taken care of. He made himself a suspect of treason, which is never dealt with lightly. By creed, he is to be brought in front of his vods and questioned by the armorer. He is more than willing to explain himself. After all, he didn’t mean to keep the beskar for himself. It was just a lapse of judgment under crisis, a stupid misunderstanding. The thing is, with both the Imps and the guild hunting him, the last thing he needs is to bring his troubles back to the covert, so as much as he wants to go home and clear his name, he can’t.

Of course, Din tried to contact the covert yesterday as soon as he realized what he had done. There was already a message from Mylo waiting for him, but when he called back no one answered. Then he tried the armorer’s comlink, and that didn’t go through either.

Is he casted out already? Did they make the decision without even giving him a trail?

The mere thought of that brings a dull soreness to his chest, but he quickly gathers his thoughts, and realizes that’s not possible.

Everything they do, they follow the creed. If the creed says he needs to be questioned, someone will track him down and bring him back. It’s more likely that the covert had to reset their comlinks as a security measure. Maybe he should do that for Razor Crest too. It’s difficult to track someone with only a comlink, but it’s always better safe than sorry. Din makes a mental note to get right on that as soon as he lands on the next planet.

Right now, the important question is: who’s coming?

*

Din thinks about everyone at the covert. It has to be someone who’s capable enough to take him down.

Would it be Mylo? It would make sense. His ability to detect emotions gives him a great advantage in tracking when used wisely. Mylo actually came as a close second in the contest to select the new beroya. That was about two decades ago, but he has faith in his friend. Besides himself, Mylo is likely still the best hunter out of everyone else.

Din really hopes it will be Mylo. That would solve the problem instantly. He can just explain what happened and why he can’t return, then ask his friend to bring the beskar back home to the foundlings.

But with his luck, that’s probably too good to be true. Always prepare for the worst. That’s one of the golden rules to survive in this galaxy.

Still, he can’t help but hope. Chances are he’s going to be on the run for a very long time. Maybe he can never go home again. It would be nice to see his only friend one last time.

*

Mandalorians don’t make friends easily.

Din had learned that a few months after he was brought to the fighting corp. They were taught to always be loyal and have each other’s backs, and even die for each other in battles, because they would grow up to be warriors, because that was their creed.

But that wasn’t what friends were, right? Not like his friends back home, where they would sneak out and run around doing silly things, like laughing at some weird insects.

He didn’t mind it though. He didn’t feel like talking to people most of the time anyway. It was easier to focus on his training. Training was straightforward. It was clear which moves were right and which ones were wrong, what attacks worked on his opponents and what didn’t.

Seeing his own improvements made him feel good. His body was aching, but his heart felt safe.

Mylo approached him one day when he was icing a bruise on his forearm after a sparring session.

“Wow, that’s a big one.” The red-haired boy sat down on the floor next to him. “Sorry about that.”

Din shot him a confused look. They didn’t need to apologize for hurting their opponent during those exercises. Mylo beat him in fair combat, so there wasn’t anything to be sorry for.

“So you’re not talking, but you’re also not mad. Wait, you know I can tell you’re not mad, right?”

“I’ve heard people talking about it. You and your sister can…feel people.”

“That’s a really weird way to put it, but sure.” Mylo shrugged. “I went pretty hard on you earlier, when you felt it I kind of felt it too, so just wanted to check if you’re all good.”

“You can feel others' pain too?”

“In a way?” Mylo made some vague gestures. “Not physically, but people feel things in their heads too, when they’re in pain. It’s hard to explain.”

Now Din was completely confused. “What things?”

“I just said it was hard to explain.”

They stared at each other silently for a few seconds. He wondered if Mylo could feel the awkwardness.

“Anyway, if I didn’t hurt you too badly,” Mylo nodded at his bruised arm, “do you want to pair up again tomorrow?”

He removed the ice pack from his now numb arm and put it down on the floor. “Why? You won earlier. You should fight someone stronger next time.”

“The way I see it, you’re a lot smaller than me but you gave me one of the toughest fights.” Mylo kicked the dripping ice pack out of the way as the water got to his shoe. “You’re faster than almost everyone else and you always know where to hit. You just need to build your strength up, and you’ll be one of the best fighters around here.”

*

They didn’t sneak out or do silly things…no, actually they snuck out twice and almost got caught the second time. But they grew to become friends. They sparred with each other, ate together before they got their helmets, and gossiped. Thanks to Mylo’s power, he always had the best gossip.

Din wondered where Mylo and Syina got their empath abilities, but nobody really knew. The twins were brought here when they were babies, and they looked human. Their buir, the medic, noticed their special abilities as they grew up. That was as much as everyone knew.

He also tried to look for leads over the years as he made his way through the galaxy, but to most people, their kind was unheard of. From what he could gather, they were a small civilization of highly intelligent and peaceful people, but a series of catastrophic natural disasters deemed their planet inhabitable.

*

Din looks over at the tiny bundle of green on the co-pilot seat, peacefully asleep. Whatever this child is, Din hasn’t seen anything like him. What if he’s the last survivor of his kind? What is it like to have no one know what you are, and where you come from?

Din slowly exhales, shaking himself out of the sudden urge of sorrow. This is not the time. Survive first, and everything else can come later.

He checks the panel. Only 30 minutes remain until they can jump out of hyperspace. He needs something for his journey ahead, and he knows exactly where to get it.

@vanishedangels @mandaloria314 @theydjarin @cheesybadgers @artemiseamoon @anunhealthydoseofangst @hausofmamadas @bellinitini @ohyousillything (Let me know if you want to be added or taken of the tag list.)

[loveoaths]

👀 “are you really giving me the silent treatment right now?” anadin? 🙏💋

Set in the In the Shadow of the Valley padawan!Din AU. Summary: When young force-Sensitive Death Watch assassin Din Djarin fails his mission to kill jedi knight Anakin Skywalker, he expects the jedi to kill him. What actually happens is far, far worse: Skywalker makes Din his padawan.

Afterwards — after the sweat and the slick and the giving and the taking, after the kisses slow and the euphoria fades and the drunken afterglow fluttering beneath his skin withers and dies — Din cannot face what he’s done, and so, like a coward, he doesn’t. He rolls over, feigns sleep, and hopes his master has the decency to read the stiffness in his spine and leave him alone.

Unfortunately, Anakin Skywalker has never been interested in decency, and he has no plans to start today.

“Are you really giving me the silent treatment right now, when you were so loud a minute ago?” Anakin’s flesh hand strokes down Din's naked flank, and Din has to sink his teeth into his bottom lip to stay silent, to fight the urge to press up and back into large, rough palms scored by a constellation of burns and scars and a lifetime of war. A war they shared on opposite ends of the galaxy, in different lifetimes, yet their bodies bear the same burdens. Din tries to remember them all: the curdled whorl of a blaster burn on his right shoulder blade sustained by friendly fire; the delicate vibroblade cross-hatching the inside of his bicep, courtesy of the Death Watch instructor who despised the boy from Aq Vetina for his soft voice and angry eyes; the keloid thunderbolts cupping his ribcage, a parting gift from an airdrop gone wrong.

For his entire life, Din believed he was nothing more than bone and scar tissue held together by vengeance masquerading as duty. That there was no softness in him, no tenderness, no joy.

And then Anakin took him in, made him his padawan, stripped him of the armor that is his true face, reached behind his ribs and buried himself to the hilt in the pulsing wet heat of his body, and subsequently warped him into this: a needful creature with his heart in his mouth, as desperate to be touched as he is terrified.

Mandalorians do not cry. Jedi do not want. Yet Din's eyes burn and his cock throbs in equal measure, red-hot and pathetic, when Anakin — his enemy, his friend, his master, his mentor, his everything — leans over him and licks a long, wet stripe up the boiling river of Din’s throat, his boyish chuckle darkening into a moan at Din’s startled flinch. 

“Pretty,” Anakin mumbles, lazily licking down into the valley between throat and shoulder, and through the ebbing haze of orgasm Din wonders what he tastes like — salt, maybe, and skin, and heat, and pure metal, and enough shame to hold it all together. “You’re so kriffing pretty, you know that? I used to hate that helmet,” Anakin snorts, rubbing his thumb in slow circles against the swell of bone before drifting down to trace the divot between thigh and pelvis, “But now I’m thankful. No one knows how pretty and soft you are under all that beskar, but I do.” Something rumbles deep in Anakin’s chest and his grip tightens, digging into tender tan skin just this side of bruising, “Say it. Say I’m the only one.”

Din’s jaw clenches. He shouldn’t say it. But he wants to say it — because want is what brought them to this moment, this cavalcade of shame and desire: Anakin needs to be needed, Din needs a purpose, and they both hunger for proof that every terrible thing that they’ve done and will still yet do was for a reason, even if that reason is an ill-advised first fuck while on medical leave. But Din knows his master, too — knows that under Anakin’s fragile skin and golden curls lurks a predator with fangs and claws and a taste for destroying the fragile things it loves, and Din may be young, but he is old enough to understand that he is but a fledgling in the mouth of the beast, pretending these teeth are a gilded cage. This is a matter of survival.

(But there's more to it than that, isn't there? Din is a hunter, unafraid of the wild and excited by the untamed, but when they're together the roles reverse and suddenly he is the prey, and though the clenching teeth caged around him promise death, the fact of the matter is that when he is alone with Anakin, Din finally feels alive.)

So he says, “You are the only one,” and tries not to hate himself for the quiet animal sounds he makes when Anakin’s hand slides between his legs and squeezes around him in reward.

Cold durasteel skitters across his jaw. Din jerks away from the touch, so cold and unnatural like a droid’s, but synthetic fingers click-lock into place and hold him steady. When Din’s eyes snap open, devastating blues stare back. “Again.” Anakin strokes the back of his durasteel hand against Din’s jaw, eyes crinkling with amusement at his scowl, then desire when Din obeys the silent command and does not fight his grip. “But say it right this time.”

“You are the only one… master,” he murmurs into Anakin’s palm. When Anakin smiles, his teeth cut the light like a blade, and the shame in Din’s belly sinks straight into his cock. A Mandalorian would not submit. A Jedi would not give in. But the twining of their bodies has stripped both identities from him, leaving him to cling to the only thing he has left.

Just as his master intended.

[aastxrk]

𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍 chapter 2: dirty dancing

music is recommended for the parts starting and ending with '*' summary: Cassian finds himself following the mysterious woman to the dance floor, only to get indulged in sensual dancing, which ought to lead to something more pairings: Cassian Andor × OC warnings: sensual/dirty dancing, usage of alcohol, depictions, and mentions of death, grinding of privates (if that made sense) ratings: T count:3744

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Feet thumped and heart raced as the dancing strobes illuminated each and every swaying being of the Morlana one sector's infamous pub. There rose and spread the stench of pure breaths of liquor, spices, and even the smoggy ones of the cigar as it mixed with the coated sweats of the carefree dancers. So, there wasn't much of a difference in the atmosphere when the undercover woman pushed the room's swaying doors open.

To the inquisitor, this was just an exciting and well-versed job. Taking out the possible threat, who would inevitably if not taken care of, divert and distract her from her true and only purpose—extinction of all the Jedis that there this.

But to Cassian Andor, it was just a good yet drastic turn of events from the day he had been having. He knew he had to leave before anyone takes an interest in him or his stolen ship. But he just couldn't get himself to adhere to those thoughts. Most importantly,  he couldn't help but feel himself get lost in a bewitched drunken trance, which trailing her each step was bringing him. He deemed the reason for his tranced being to be the sensuality that splashed the browned waves of her smoky eyes, or whatever glimpse of it he had caught. Or the mesmerizing dips and curves of her hips which snug perfectly to the sides of her dress. For him she was seraphic, a celestial being and a creature so elegant that the infinitesimal longing he had spent so much and so hard in hiding, abruptly went rogue and stretched throughout.

It was only a matter of time before the blue neon on the tops and sides soon submerged to the moving lights. And it was only a matter of time before the woman's entire being vibrated with the heavy bass that the room's EDMs were providing her with. Her teeth were feeling as if they would fall out from the sheer pressure and vibrations throughout. But she kept herself determined, stoic and excited even, as she leisurely—all the while providing her hips with what felt like a lustful sway—made her way to the middle of the dance room.

The alcohol which she had so professionally huffed in, seemed to start heightening its effect on her. It seemed almost unethical for a woman with a job like hers, to find herself in a place like this or a predicament like this. But underneath all the leather, and a layer of metal and chains, somewhere deep, deep and probably the deepest within there still resided a mortal being or whatever of it there still remained.

But at that fleeting moment, she felt free. Free to loosen up her body, free to use much more tactical and creative methods to embowel the man behind her. So, she did exactly that; Crammed up in a room full of people she didn't know, she didn't care, the woman slightly tilted her head up with a pair of closed eyes, letting the flashes of hues be visible even faintly through the highly translucent covers of her closed eyelids. She let the intoxicated liquid coursing inside her control her for the night. Moving herself the way it wanted her to. The tip of her fingers felt rather numb, and even a tad bit tingly or maybe it was just the hyperawareness of the alcohol making her feel so foreign.

Inevitably she let these nimble fingers, trained even—which had taken more lives than the cost of beskar in the Canto Bight black market— thread through the lush of her hair. The vibratory bass only made her heart go berserk with each fleeting second before she started swaying to the rhythm of the music.

It first started with the synched and fluid moving of her hips and waist, altogether, all the while as she kept her hands buried movingly, running along the sides of her head. She had watched women, especially nightclub dancers do the exact same thing to the men and women they wanted to lure out of a club. They would dance, heavily pressed up to their target, rolling and grinding their hips and such, if they had their back facing their target's front. And that's what the woman decided to do.

The beats from the speaker now only slowed and thumped down to a much more danceable and prurient one. She could feel him very close behind, her heightened force senses only making his presence known more severely. The strobes now only illuminated a flashy red shine, which morphed into a blue one with every fifth beat or so.

She could feel the heat radiating off of his body, which was distanced only a mere inch or so away from hers. The heels which she harbored didn't help the fact the man was taller—by a few inches or so—than her. His heaty aura was tainted with hints of magnetism, and her adjacent back only acted as a raw and fresh piece of metal, whose every morsel and fragment was being hauled by this said magnet.

Her body seemed as if it were frozen when she felt hot and tensed air fanning over the exposed expanse of her shoulder blade. Her force signature could feel his crafted hands roaming around, mere centimeters away on the curves of her hip and dips of either side of her waist, but most importantly the downwardly bent head, whose darkness-dripping eyes gazing ever so guardedly at the moments before him. As much as she hated the way her body was reacting to the heightened senses, she couldn't help but tug her lips with a faint yet smug smirk, which merely translated to a 'gotcha'.

Between the red and blue transition there faltered a second-long white flash, which rhythmed perfectly to the thumps of both their hearts, but yet he didn't proceed on with his actions. She could only feel his hands roaming and eyes studying her every movement, but his tentative being didn't do as much as hold or even move closer. The brunette felt a tang of uncomfortable feeling, crawl up her being. She couldn't possibly decipher what it was.

It seemed somewhat similar to the slighted ones she would feel when she had failed her master a mission or didn't reach the level of brute and excellence he always craved. Her fellow apprentice called it something in the terms of 'disappointment'. It meant a sort of displeasure caused by the non-fulfillment of one's hopes or expectations.

Currently, the Sith inquisitor didn't like this term. But most importantly she didn't like it when her target barely reacted to her bolded moves. Which made her question the terms of 'Why isn't it working? What am I doing wrong?'

This disappointment only turned into a fit of bristling anger when she took notice of what he had just done. He had, although very faint, drawled out one of her weaknesses, this 'disappointment' from deep within. This only made her eager to commit pitiless manslaughter, then and there, without leaving any witnesses behind.

She needed a different plan. A distraction. It was only a matter of milliseconds before her gaze fell upon the neon sign of a close by washroom. She took a step forward, but before she could do as much as take another one forward, she felt her body's entirety being turned around as if she was twirling top, and it was the actions of a pair of two roughened hands that seemed to have done so.

As if on cue, the reds and blues of the strobes now fully transformed to a bright white, and it started to spotlight the ones who were in pairs. And the music stopped altogether. It all seemed so swift to the woman. One moment she was trudging forward, in the hopes of reaching the neared washroom, and in the next, the insides of her palms were pressed flat against the muscular shoulders of the man before hers, whereas his roughened ones were now residing shamelessly against the arches of her waist, which seemed to be the part he had twirled around, With an unfazed stature, she let the pair of her siren and confidence eyes flicker towards him.

The loss of music only made the patrons whine and grunt pathetically. But almost instantly a new track seemed to start. It seemed as though, the change of music ensued due to a request. Cannot helping herself, the undercover woman let her trained eyes scan the room's whole before it faltered upon a couple. Ornaments and jewels sparkled off the wife's neck and ears, whereas the husband wore the finest of silken robes. And by the looks of it, they looked like they were from the planet Shu-Torun. And the pace and tune of the music only confirmed the woman's hunch that it was The Shu-Torun counter-bore waltz.

It involved couples, usually from the Shu-Toran planet twirling together with their arms outstretched, with the man switching between facing his body away from, and towards the woman, but usually, it consisted of the couple gliding across the floor in an intimate and sensual embrace. The woman would wear glowing spheres on the ends of her fingers, which would create trails of light as the couple spun. The King of Shu-Torun, Duke Rubix encouraged his ore-dukes to take part in the ceremonious ball in his palace's subterranean abyssal rooms, which included the dance, as it helped to keep the nobility compliant with the authority of the royal family.

She knew this, seeing that she had accompanied her master to this planet, accompanying him in his survey as a representative of the Galactic Empire as an emissary of the Emperor, persuading the nobility into joining their allegiance. But back then, their waltz was interrupted terribly when her master refused to dance with Bixene, the daughter of Duke Rubix, and twirled the duke in the air using the Force when he continued to insist. Soon her master and she were attacked by a number of the king's men, which caused the other guests to flee and inevitably put an end to the dance.

*Taking her slightly distracted stance to his advantage, Cassian let his hand smoothly slither the top of her side, which only caused the woman to redirect her gaze back at him. She bit the inside of her cheeks to suppress the breath that was about to shudder out when she felt his warm hands make a gentled contact with the spine of her back, which remained open from how lowly against her hips the dress had cut into. A slight sense of tremors and goosebumps raked her body, as heat convulsed her entirety from the way his strong hands had now gently slid and held onto her back.

The music had its first drop in the beat, and almost in synch with the said drop and light flicker, the man dipped the woman down with dominance seeping through his every fierce but at the same time gentle move.

When it had its second drop, he brought her back up with the same force. The vigor of the motion only caused her to heave an inaudible gasp. In no time, she harbored eye contact, as if showing who was at dominance here. She let her right hand which was lying on top of his right shoulder first glide its way upwards of the side of his head. Her hand was only millimeters away, but never once did it touch his neck or hair, as it continued its journey. She made sure to keep her gliding palm sprawled out, having enough distance between each finger, which gave out an aura of the same professionality and sensuality as her dance partner, whereas his hands were still on her back. She kept her eyes trained, staring into his.

She couldn't help but shudder inaudibly when she couldn't quite decipher the storm brooding in his eyes. It seemed to have gotten darker when she continued her actions. But there was something else, something unbridled and wild that ran in those iris off his, she couldn't identify if it were hatred or passion that whirled throughout, which only made a slicked and tingled sensation reach in between her legs. Her hands having glided up, slowly glided down with the same vigor, before her thumb touched the side of his cheek and the rest of her fingers buried themselves in the side of his hair. He slightly clenched his jaw, but nonetheless let her push his face slightly and gently to the side, all the while letting his gaze never leave hers.

From his cheek, her hand now slid behind his neck, and traced the muscles of his back, before it resided right underneath his arm and below his shoulder. She slightly lifted that region up, which only caused him to tighten his hold on her back, and for both of their elbows to buck up in an outwarded and professional manner, whereas her other palm resided stoically a little bit upwards on his hip, and whereas his unoccupied left arm which was formerly residing on her back moved to be placed against the side of his thigh.

Breaths mingled and lips parted as their faces neared impossibly closer, but it had enough distance so that the other could feel the rasped breaths. Slowly yet steadily, the woman put a leg backward, her rear swaying against his pelvis, as his leg which was afront hers, followed the action nonetheless and joined hers in the back. Soon she put her leg back and the same action kept on proceeding for a while and the spotlight followed them.

Sooner or later, she let go of his back, creating an arm's distance from him. But Cassian took it to his advantage and yet again twirled her body around so as to place her in the same predicament he had placed a few minutes earlier. Regardless of the previous time, he didn't give her more time to adjust to the new position or take a kriffing breather, because he pulled her body to himself and let his hands fall on her curvy haunches. With the utmost fluidity, he moved her hips alongside his own fronted pelvis;

Darkness comes as strong protective arms, as it always embraced us until the awaited dawn. Within it, strived and thrived the being of a certain sith inquisitor. Yet in this place where there shone the flashy lights of pure colors overhead, where no one would ever really know your true intent, her eyes were as bright and determined as the star before it succumbed to a blasted super nova; where her stardust atoms—which looked much more like the shattered dust of a blasted moon, moondust—felt tainted by the grasps of bodily desire, his touch and breaths were inevitably providing her;

The reek of alcohol and sweat was now tainted with the fuming and raising temperature of the heat and tension between the duo. She could practically feel his breath on the slick of her skin, which only made the air restrict and hinder from even reaching her lungs. His eyes were still boring into hers, and it almost unnerved her how prominent the clasping of his jaw looked beneath all the bearded facial hair he bore. If she weren't going to kill him that night, she was pretty sure, she was going to let him ruin her throughout, but unfortunately, it was otherwise.

She didn't notice when one of his roughened hands left her hips and slinked to bunch itself wildly around the back of her hair. He dipped her yet again, but this time he made sure that the hand that was around her hips traveled down and hooked itself below her knee and pulled it up towards the side of his waistline.

A new set of weird sensations tingled the exteriors of her being and pulsated her core when the skin of her neck made contact with the gracing and fainted trail of his nose and lips, which started from the bottom of her jaw and ended at the start of her ribs. But it was his experienced fingers that were caressing and tracing her thigh which had taken her off-guard. Nevertheless, he knew. He just knew. Because before she even knew it, she felt the crescents of fingernails dig faintly against her upper thigh as she felt the secret knife in her holster being pulled away from its constraint.

Shocked utterly, the woman pulled her head up from its bent position. With the knife being held in his grasp, he just looked at her with the same grim and unreadable face, if you squint, you could see bits of un-amusement sprawled throughout.

"Precaution" the woman shrugged, only now realizing that it was the first word she had ever spoken to the target. Swiftly, she turned around rhythmically and, swaying-ly  bent her body in a sitting position, as he held her fingers, making it look like a dance move. Putting pressure on the edge of her heel, she turned herself around yet again so she was face to face with...well...his groin.

A faint smirk sprawled upon Cassian's face, before he looked to the side when he caught the sight of a couple staring at what was going on. With a bit of smugness, knowing how the ongoing situation May look like to others,  he raised his head in a questioning manner, before he felt his blaster being pulled from his left shoe.

With a raised eyebrow, the woman shows his own weapon to him.

"Precaution." He too shrugged. Swiftly he yanked her up with his hands.

Trailing her nails through the sided voluminous region of his hair, the undercover woman tilted her head slightly to the side, before she rasped out, "Wanna get outa here?"*

But Cassian seemed rather distracted, as his eyes had soon trailed off to the exit. It was as if he wanted them to be anywhere but here. Nonetheless, he gave a nod. A pan formed in his head, as he lead his dance partner to the other exit, very much aware that there was another person coming right in their path, holding a drink in their hand. Discreetly, almost, he forwarded his foot which only resulted for the person to stumble heavily and spilling their drink on both his and his partner's clothes.

The inquisitor didn't even flinch when she felt the rather cold liquid seep through the gaps in front of her dress and move downwards and throughout. She bit down the urge to decapitate the spiller with the blade of her laser sword. Sporting a fake sheepish smile, she excused herself from her partner, her target, and proceeded towards the washroom.

The waxy top of the lipstick sizzled aromatically as the agent dropped a few drops from the venomous vial of glass she usually carried for situations like this. As the sizzling subsided, she pulled out a pocket mirror—from the purse of the woman she had stolen the entire look from—and leisurely yet elegantly almost, coated her plastic-layered covered lips (which was a precautionary measure taken, so that her lips don't obviously burn) with a new coat of toxin.

The pocket mirror closed with a plop as the woman opened the door of the washroom stall she had been using. But when her fingers made contact with the knob of the entire washroom's door, her body froze tentatively. A twisted part of her brain not wanting her to kill the thief. She shook her head sideways in a slighted 'shrugging the idea off' manner as she questioned herself in the terms of Get it together. What are you doing?

Filling herself with confidence and purpose, she flung the door open, in the hopes of finding her target waiting there. Her eyebrows scrunched up heavily when she didn't find him or his browned-dusted jacket anywhere. Searching she found herself back in the drenching rain outside the nightclub. The night had turned utterly chilly and the horrendous downpour was only making the temperature worse. She traced whatever she could sense of him through the force—although she hated using it. But desperate time, meant desperate measures.

The puddles splashed, as her heeled boots stomped on it in a drive of getting to the man faster before he could even leave. She stopped altogether when she heard a wolf whistle being directed her way. Anger slowly started to seep through her veins, as she closed her eyes with a sigh heaving her mouth.

"You new around here, sweetheart?" the rather plump catcaller's disgusting voice echoed from her right side. He seemed to have exposed himself from the shadow as soon as he got a notice of her. A disgusting smirk engulfed his thin lips, as he took a step forward.

"Come on darling, I don't bite." The man laughed and took a few strides forward when he noticed that she hadn't even moved a bit. Plastering, a faux and flirty smile, the brunette turned around and started to slowly walk towards him. This only seemed to excite the creep. When she was just a foot distance away from him or so, she slithered her hand to the back of his thin hair and kissed the smug off of his lip. It was only a matter of milliseconds before the man started yelling and screaming, although it was all muffled to her lips. She pulled his head away from hers and shoved him down as if he was some discarded robe, before she left in search of the browned jacket man, all the while leaving the man to writhe in pain, as his body burnt with a searing sound.

After many turns and such, she finally reached a tunneled opening. She could feel it, he was somewhere nearby. But much to her surprise, when she reached a dead end, it wasn't the bearded man she found, instead, she came face to face with that one mistake that she knew would change his life forever, the bodies of two imperial guards in a planet filled with authority. The inquisitor couldn't help but feel a rather impressed smile sprawl faintly around her lips. She knew she was going to meet him soon because now, his name and being would be forever tainted with the bloodied sins of the Empire.

[yaydads]

I nod a little and kiss his cheek, “I miss him. Maybe after Palpatine is back I’ll give him his memories, too.”

Jet and I stay for an entire month, in which he leaves married and happy in new beskar armor. He shines, both literally and figuratively.

On the last day, I regrow the entire planet of Mandalore.

I didn’t get a chance to in the last timeline, and what better marriage proposal to the king?

I finish growing the very last flower, mountain’s away, and head into the throne room, folding my arms smugly at the body language of Kaz’s council, “so?” I keep my eyes on him, “Will you marry me?”

Kaz breathes a wet laugh, nodding quickly. "You didn't even have to ask, ner cyare. Of course."

"Should we start putting together a celebration feast?" Cole asks, studying the two of you in pure curiosity and excitement.

[archieimagines]

Imagine Din Djarin finding you asleep with Grogu.

i just wanna nap with grogu. this whole thing is entirely self indulgent, sue me. written by: archie

He emerged from the refresher after an hour, body and beskar finally squeaky clean. Sand was always too good at getting inside his armour, and after being swallowed whole by the krayt dragon outside Mos Pelgo, he knew he’d stunk of stomach acids and monster’s insides. As soon as the Crest was in hyperspace, he’d excused himself away to save both you and the Child from living with scrunched noses.

He felt much better now as he climbed up the hatch into the cabin, only to be met with a sight that brought out surprising warmth in his chest.

There you were, curled up in the Crest’s passenger seat, fast asleep. Your boots on the edge of the seat and knees drawn to point at the roof. With a stray blanket draped over your form and head bowed as you dozed, you’d never looked so cosy.

He stayed quiet and turned to the other seat to check on the Child, too- But he wasn’t there.

His brows furrowed behind his helmet. He glanced around, wondering if he was hanging by his feet like he so often was, but no. He was nowhere.

A gloved hand reached out to your sleeping from, about to shake your shoulder to ask, but-!

A soft gurgle. A twitch beneath the blanket over your chest.

The building panic melted away like it’d never existed.

He stepped in close and took the corner of the blanket, lifting it ever so carefully to not disturb either of you… And was greeted by a sight that brought surprising warmth to his chest.

His troublesome green blob was bundled safely in your arms, eyes closed and ears flopped against the fabric of your shirt. His head was nestled into your chest as soft babbles and gurgles spilled from his mouth, a little thread of drool attaching him to your shirt. It left a tiny patch of wetness that was uncommonly cute. He’d never looked so peaceful, Din mused.

He raised his eyes to your face. Peaceful, tired. It was clear you loved the Child like he was your own. With that, Din trusted you like no other.

In a pure moment of affection, he extended his finger to run a knuckle delicately down the bridge of your nose, then touched lightly on the kid’s hairy head. Each of you shuffled slightly at his touch, but didn’t wake. It was no surprise: he’d put you both through a lot that day.

He smiled to himself and tucked the blanket back the way he’d found it, soon settling into the pilot seat. He leant back and crossed his arms, allowing his eyes to fall closed, too.

With any luck, he’d see the two of you in his dreams.

[mellowswriting]

did you miss me?

pairing || Din Djarin x f!reader 

word count || 4.2k

summary || Din proves just how much he missed you while he was away. 

content || pure poetic smut, rough but loving sex? is that a thing?, blowjobs, deepthroating, face fucking, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms Din is pussy whipped and painfully in love, thorough aftercare, dorks in love

a/n || not me coming back from my mini hiatus with pure smut 🤠 no one is surprised, right? 

It’s been too long since Din has felt your lips against his skin. By too long, he means just a little over a week. Call him dramatic but he’s certain it’s a miracle he survived without you at all. He wasn’t meant to be gone for so long. He’s far too used to waking up and falling asleep next to you, teasingly smacking your ass as you walk by, dragging you close and fucking you against whatever surface is available. Din can feel your absence tugging at his skin, pulling him taut and tense. He’s grown… attached. More attached than he imagined himself capable of, in fact.

So when Fett came to him for help, Din was less than enthusiastic to leave the little world of calm you created together. It took a bit more cajoling than usual. It will take two days at most. We can compensate you. Then you can take your pretty little lover out somewhere nice. Din rolled his eyes at the light teasing from his fellow Mandalorian, but he couldn’t deny the prospect sounded like… fun. Something he hadn’t sought out in a very long time. So Din looped you in on the plan, fucked you nice and thorough, and very begrudgingly left you in his bed to help his friend.

Two days quickly became a week. He really should have known that this would happen but Din is a man of his word. He stays and fights by his friends’ sides, and undeniably wins the entire ordeal for them. The celebration afterward would have been tempting if he didn’t know exactly what was waiting for him back home. Fett didn’t even bother trying to convince him to hang around; he just tossed Din a bag of credits and a knowing grin, which Din pointedly ignored. He took a quick shower before he headed off, all too aware that he wouldn’t be wasting a second once he has you in his arms again.

Din sees you before you see him. He half expects you to startle when he wraps his arms around you from behind - an elbow to the ribs, a kick to his shin, something. But you just lean back into his chest with a surprised but happy sound, the blaster you were stripping abandoned on the counter. Your hands rub down his forearms until you reach his hands and deftly tug his gloves off, carefully setting them aside before lacing your fingers with his. Ease trickles down his spine as he takes in the feeling of your skin against his. Din never realized just how much he needed this. He’s so starved for affection that he feels like he just might die without yours. It doesn’t help that you’re just so… you. Soft against his scarred hands, firm against his stubbornness, so understanding of his inexperience.

“Did you miss me?” There’s a thread of humor in your tone that sends a flare of want burning through his body. He wants to sink his teeth into your shoulder, a small punishment for your teasing, but his hands are too busy to reach up and take off his helmet.

“Of course,” He says instead, the modulator in his helmet doing nothing to hide the raspiness of his voice.

You turn in his arms and Din is graced with your beautiful smile. A thread of concern laces through him as he takes in the tension that lingers in your body and the exhaustion-induced darkness under your eyes. You never sleep well without him. It must have been a late morning for you; you’re still wearing the tiny shorts and old shirt you love to sleep in. He catches a glimpse of the peak of your nipples through the thin material of your shirt just before your chest presses against his beskar. “Yeah? How much?”

“Help me out of my armor and I’ll show you.” That’s all it takes to encourage you to lift his helmet off.

Din drags you in for a blinding kiss the moment the helmet is out of his way. It’s a far cry from the first time he pressed his lips to yours. There is a confidence that surges through him - it ignites his need for you into something palpable and ferocious. Unrelenting. He digs his fingers into your thighs as he hauls you up into his arms and blindly stumbles his way into the small bedroom. Your bright laughter fills the air as he drops you on the bed and for a fleeting moment, genuine fondness soars over his lust, mixing into one devastating need. The two of you eagerly strip away each other’s layers, armor and clothes falling into a pile on the floor.

“Come on, get the fuck - get off.” You grumble under your breath as you finally unclasp his pants enough to strip him out of them. Din’s chuckle dies in his throat at the feeling of your fingers around his aching cock. Fuck, it feels so good it almost hurts - but that doesn’t stop him from greedily chasing more. His hand wraps around yours and guides it along his length in long, tight strokes, and the intensity of finally feeling your touch has his eyes fluttering closed. You huff a quiet laugh at his antics but don’t hesitate to give him even more - little kisses peppered along his belly and gentle caresses to his sensitive inner thighs. He’s so lost in the weight of your worship that he doesn’t even notice when you slip to your knees in front of him.

Din jerks in surprise at the warm, wet slide of your tongue along the head of his cock. A guttural sound rips through his chest as his fiery gaze meets yours, his jaw slack, lips parted as the heat of your mouth slowly envelopes him. His hand falls away as you work him further, instead coming to rest on the crown of your head. He doesn’t pull your hair or try to push; he just rests his hand there, gently caressing your hair as you roll your tongue in practiced swirls. Every inch you take further sends him reeling, pulls out those desperate little sounds he knows you love. Pride swells in his chest as your nose brushes the short, curly hair at the base of his cock. It isn’t easy; Din isn’t exactly a small man, in any sense of the word, but you still work him until your jaw aches and drool drips down your chin.

“Fuck… you’re so good,” Din’s voice is gruffer than usual, all deep and gravelly, and it does something to you. He watches with rapt attention as you go all soft and pliant for him, a muffled whine vibrating against his cock. His hips jerk unbiddenly at the feeling and an apology is poised to fall from his lips - but you just whine again. “Oh, is that what you want? You want me to fuck your pretty little face?”

You nod as best you can and Din has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. It ignites something almost animalistic in him when these moments align so perfectly; his need to be in control rises to meet your need to be taken, and the two of you become one. Din’s wide palm settles at the back of your head to steady you against the slow, steady pace of his thrusts. His free hand grabs one of yours and laces your fingers together, and the familiar unspoken agreement passes between you.

Squeeze my hand if you want me to stop.

The muscle in his jaw jumps at the sight you make. Unshed tears shine in your eyes as you gaze up at him, your lips stretched around the thickness of his cock. His fingers drift across your cheekbone and the steady pace he’s built falters as you instinctually lean into the familiar touch. Din’s heartbeat stutters. It's so simple, the absolute trust you show him. Even as your throat flutters around the almost too-big stretch of his cock, your eyes glimmer with so much love that Din nearly drowns in the overwhelming wave of intimacy. His stomach tightens, his stamina dashed in the wake of your beauty. It's enough to force him to pull you away. He can’t finish now, not like this. Not until he has you laid out beneath him, trembling and sweat-slick under his nimble fingers. He has been fantasizing about it for days, the idea taking the front stage of his mind and consuming all of his attention.

“Fuck, wait…” Din grits out through clenched teeth. His blunt fingernails dig into the thick muscle of his thigh as he tries to drag himself away from that edge. You just smile up at him, all too aware of the effect you have on him, and Din can’t help himself. He guides you up with a hand on the back of your neck and kisses you fiercely, completely unbothered by the taste of himself lingering on your tongue. He grumbles against your lips, “You’re too good at that.”

You don’t have long to preen under his praise. Din has the body of a hard-working man; he’s thick, all well-built muscle and startlingly fast reflexes as if he was handcrafted by the highest divinity. He’s powerful. And he has no issue in using that power to manhandle you onto the bed. Din kneels on the bed and uses his broad stature to his advantage, your thighs forced to part as he braces them against his own. The opportunities feel endless with you lying so close, so exposed beneath him. Din aches to worship every inch of your body. He wants to tease you with his tongue and fingers until you beg him, until his name falls from your lips, all sugared and desperate and ethereal.

Din hums a pleased sound as he finally lets his touch gravitate between your thighs. You’re so warm, so slick. “I haven't even touched you and you're so wet…”

“Yeah, well,” You chuckle breathily. “I missed you, too.”

That whispered confession makes his heart lurch. He has to sink his teeth into the delicate, already sore flesh inside his cheek to rein in the instinct that rears its head; that old animalistic instinct that screams at him to bend you over and fuck you, raw and unrelenting until he has his fill. He knows he’ll give in to it soon, but first… first he needs to show you the devotion you deserve. A shudder wracks through your body at the insistent exploration of his fingertips as they delve deeper into your pussy, teasing at your entrance before sliding up to brush against your clit. He’s entranced by the petal-soft feeling of your skin; so soft, so warm. He could stay like this for hours.

But then your breathing goes unsteady and you grind against his hand in a feeble attempt for more. “Please, Din.”

The fragile hold on his self control snaps.

Two fingers sink into your pussy and Din moans at the feeling of your wet heat tightening, trying to draw him even deeper as if he isn’t already buried knuckle deep. His other hand braces against the pillowy flesh of your inner thigh to keep your legs spread wide. He isn’t letting you hide from him, not tonight. Those two fingers curl up, driven by muscle memory and an overwhelming need to make you see stars, and he’s rewarded with your cries of pleasure. His fingers are thick and calloused from years of hard work, and he knows just how to use them to make you scream.

Din works your pussy in eager strokes, easing his fingers out of you only to introduce a third on his way back in. He watches with bated breath as you devolve into a whimpering, writhing mess. The sheets are your only anchor against the onslaught of pleasure. Your fingers twist the expensive fabric so tight that your nails threaten to tear right through it, but you can’t help it - not when his thumb is rubbing precise circles over your clit until you see stars. Your hips roll and a strangled whimper falls from your lips, and Din can feel it. He can feel the intensity that radiates from you the closer he draws you to a devastating orgasm.

You’re just so easy for him to read. Every hitch in your breath, every jerk of your hips, every rhythmic pulse of your walls. The siren song of your body is impossible to resist. You whisper his name, lovesick and aching, and Din knows you’re close. Some small, cruel part of him wants to leave you right there on the precipice with euphoria hanging just outside of your reach. The bigger part of him, though? It won’t rest until you break for him.

“Let go,” Din rasps, leaning closer to kiss your thigh. The roughness of his stubble makes you jerk in surprise. He can’t take his eyes off of your face, too enraptured by the sight of you falling apart just from his touch. “Fuck, you look… you’re so beautiful, cyare.”

The praise sends you trembling. You manage to meet his eyes for a mere second before you throw your head back into the plush pillows, a broken cry choking through the clench of your teeth as you rock your hips down into his touch. Din lets you take and take without hesitation until you finally shatter. The violent arch of your spine forces Din upright to give you the space you need, his hand still working you through your orgasm in steadily slowing strokes.

“Fuck, that - you… so good, you did so good for me.” Din trips over his words in his haste to praise you but it still affects you all the same. You give him that love-drunk smile as he presses closer to hover over you, his broad form caging you in against the bed. He knows you’re still lost in the bliss of it all but he just can’t help himself from dragging his lips along your jaw and neck, leaving sloppy kisses and teasing bites in his wake. It has been days since he had the chance to properly shave and the rough feeling of his stubble against your skin makes you squirm and laugh brightly. “You have no idea how - fuck…”

He can’t even find the words to tell you just how much he needed this, how much he needed you, but he doesn’t need them. You whisper ‘I know,” before kissing him, your tongue teasing his soft lower lip, and Din whines. A sound of pure need and adoration. He crowds closer to deepen the kiss and he can’t help the small canting of his hips as his neglected cock nudges your thigh. It isn’t easy to ignore the ache that has been building but he wants to give you time to really come down and recover - he is an excellent lover, after all. But he isn’t the only one who has been impatiently awaiting this moment.

The shock of your fingers wrapping around his cock has Din breaking the kiss with a rough gasp, those dark brown eyes widening as they lock with yours. He can see his own lust mirrored in them as you guide him closer and line him up, too impatient to wait for him to move of his own volition. You’re breathtaking in your need for him. It never fails to stroke his ego, to make him feel like the most desirable man in the world. An unspoken question passes between you, one you answer with your thighs wrapping around his waist, and Din’s willpower to ignore his urges vanishes.

Din sinks into your wet heat, doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt and the head of his cock nudges your cervix. He usually pauses there, just to give you time to adjust to the obscene stretch, but the animal instinct that burns between you is too much to ignore. His blunt nails bite into the soft flesh of your hips as he pins you beneath him, keeping you still and unable to escape the sharp, fast shove of his hips - as if you would dream of trying. The entire bed shudders and jerks under the weight of Din’s strength.

It doesn’t take long for Din’s large hand to find its way to your throat, his forefinger and thumb digging into the hinges of your jaw. He doesn’t restrict your breathing; Din just wants to keep your eyes on him as he fucks you brainless. Your lips part with a small gasp and an awed, pleasure-struck smile blooms across your face, and warmth unfurls through Din’s body at the sight you make. So beautiful, so intoxicated by his touch. He can’t deny you when your chin tilts, your wordless request for a kiss met by a soft brush of his lips. Such a soft, gentle thing should seem out of place in the deliciously harsh treatment of your body, but it doesn’t. It feels so right that his chest aches with it.

Din’s nose brushes yours as he hitches your hips higher and suddenly your back arches, his name cried out right against his lips. He drinks in the sounds of your ecstasy, the very nectar of the gods he needs to go on. The slight shift in angle only deepens as he damn near presses your body in half, your knees pressed back into your chest. The sharp shift makes you feel even tighter, especially as your pussy throbs deliciously around his cock. You whimper a broken sound because you know just how fucked you are. The position isn’t easy for either of you to hold but it just hurts so damn good, a perfect pinch of pain against endless waves of pleasure that makes you gush around him. Din doesn’t fuck you like this until the very end, when you’re both eager for release and clawing for that last little bit to throw you over the edge.

The earnest press of his thumb against your clit sends you reeling, the sensitivity almost too much to handle, but you both know he won’t rest until he hears you scream his name again. It’s sharp and electric, and Din knows just how to play your body until you break. Your hips jerk away on instinct before surging forward once more, driven by greed and pure, unadulterated pleasure. A whisper of ‘just like that’ is all the encouragement he needs to work through the burn in his thighs and keep his sharp pace, his violent thrusts shoving you further up the bed. It’s so fucking worth it just to feel your pussy tighten around him so hard you nearly force his cock out. Your thighs tremble and your hand flies up to press against his chest as you choke out a vague warning, your words nearly unintelligible as the surge of your orgasm gushes from you to wet his thighs and belly.  

The feeling makes his rough pace stutter in shock and Din growls your name, fascination and lust burning hot in his tone as realization washes over him. It’s the only thought playing on a loop in his mind - he made you fucking squirt. He’s always wanted to see it, to feel the wetness of your cum on his skin. Delight and pride sing in his veins as he falls into a sloppy pace of short, rough strokes. Your slick drips along his thighs in little rivulets down to soak into the sheets and Din finally breaks. He doesn’t pull out - some filthy part of him wants to see his cum mixed with yours, dripping from your fucked out hole just so he can shove it back in with his fingers. He wants you marked as his, just as you have marked him as yours.

“Was that…” Din asks, his dry throat making his voice even rougher. “Did I really make you…”

“You did,” You answer his half-finished question with a breathy chuckle - as if you haven’t just rocked his entire fucking world.

You welcome the heavy weight of his body sinking into yours. Even with the ache in your thighs and back from his rough manipulation of your body, you let your legs shift back down to his waist and stroke the soft curls at the back of his head. Din kisses the valley between your breasts, a small offering of appreciation as he buries his face in your chest. The exhaustion of the last days - hell, of the last hours - vies to take over. Din lies in the embrace of your arms and your cunt, your overstimulated walls pulsing around his softening cock, and he finally feels at peace. At home, safe in the bed you share. But the urge to care for you is much stronger than the urge for sleep.

Din carefully untangles your body from his. Your disgruntled little groan is shushed with promises of a quick return and a fleeting kiss to your forehead. He has his own little ritual for those moments after he’s fucked you senseless. Water, a soft robe, maybe a snack or two, and a small cloth soaked in warm water. He catches a glimpse of the little smile on his face in the bathroom mirror as he wrings the excess water into the sink. It all feels so… right. For once, he isn’t searching for somewhere, for someone. He feels lucky. Din takes his armful of goods and that little smile of his back to you - and he nearly drops it all at the sight of you.

You are glowing in the aftermath. A light sheen of sweat illuminates your body in the low light, shows off the curves of your body as you lie prone in the expensive sheets he bought just for you. The crook of your elbow hides your face from view, but he already knows the blissful expression that is tucked away there. It is seared into his memory, one of his most beloved memories. Every ounce of tension has left your being; you’re loose and relaxed without a care in the universe. Elegant and beautiful with the evidence of his presence drying on your thighs, darkening the curve of your hips in the shape of his fingers. You are a goddess in your own right and Din knows he will spend every moment of his life worshiping at the altar of your body. He revels in that knowledge, takes the utmost peace in it.

Life may be chaotic and uncertain, but this… this is eternal.

In these quiet moments, he knows you crave his touch more than anything. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, skin on skin as he eases you through the submissive haze. Din settles close to you, propped up on his elbow, and sets about taking care of his lover. You wince just slightly as he passes the cloth along your sore cunt. Murmured apologies are met with dismissive hums. No words need to be said for your message to get across. I loved it. Don’t apologize for giving me what I want. Still, he pays close attention to the marks he left on your body. The soft floral scent of your favorite lotion lingers in the air long after he’s finished using it to ease the knots in your muscles.

Din loves taking his time with his aftercare. Once he has you cleaned up and rehydrated, he snuggles in close and lets his hands wander. His fingers trace nonsensical patterns into your plush thighs, over your belly, and up your sides. You shiver as his fingertips trail over your ribs and shoot him a warning look that he knows all too well. His sweet little woman, so sensitive to his touch. He does know better than to tickle you, so he instead slips his fingers beneath your jaw and tilts you up into a soft kiss. While he has you enraptured by his lips, his hand falls to your chest, cupping your breast in his large hand and groping you shamelessly. It's so silly that you pull away with a playfully incredulous laugh and Din can’t help but smile, one eyebrow raised as he takes in how beautiful you look.

“I really did miss you, you know.” You say as you reach up to brush his hair away from his forehead. Din sighs and captures your hand in his, drawing it up to his lips to kiss each of your fingertips, your knuckles, even your palm.

“I love you.” The words fall from his lips without thought. It startles him, his own candor. The vulnerability of it. But just as anxiety begins to crest, it’s burned away by the bright grin that blooms across your face.

You tug him closer, your lips brushing his as you whisper, “I love you, too.”, like a little secret, just for the two of you - and you kiss him. You keep kissing him, pulling him down until his body is pressed fully against yours. Din doesn’t know how long the two of you lay there, languidly kissing and whispering little confessions of love, but he knows he would stay there forever.

[the-scandalorian]

NSFW hc for our tin boy😏

When his cowl slips down a lil too far while he's fucking you and a sliver of his neck gets exposed. Out of instinct, you put your mouth on it...

...and ofc our touch-starved little Mando loses his fuckin mind🤭

oh anon, my sweet, YES. thank you for this!

f!reader explicit smut under the cut

cw: unprotected p-in-v

The only parts of him that are exposed are his wandering hands—his gloves were the first thing to go—and the delicious expanse of skin revealed by his open belt and fly. The rest of him is concealed by duraweave and beskar. Like always.

He fucks you slowly, the rhythm of his hips a languid cadence, like a lazy tide lapping at the shore. You can tell that Mando has been denied skin-to-skin contact for so long that he is determined to savor you. He wants to memorize the pliant give of your curves and the velvet clutch of your pussy.

So he fucks you slowly.

...until he drops his helmet back, and the fabric of his cowl slips down his neck just the tiniest bit.

That's all it takes: one glimpse of golden brown skin and every shred of your self-restraint evaporates. On pure instinct—or lust, maybe—you lean up to kiss that enticing strip of warmth.

Mando's entire body immediately goes rigid under the plush touch of your lips, he moans, and then with no warning, his pace kicks up to a rapid slap slap slap. You can't help but set your teeth against his skin and moan with him.

Mere moments later, with an agonized grunt and one last jerk of his hips, he cums. His grip on you turns just shy of painful as his cock throbs, and liquid heat spreads inside you.

When he pulls back and fixes his blank visor on your face, you know you crossed a line.

"I'm—I'm sorry," you say. "I shouldn't have—I just—"

"Do it again," he growls, reaching up to rip his cowl down further.

ask game: send me a head canon and i’ll write a ficlet

[omgreally]

Hi there!

Could I please make a little request for Din?

"I didn't know where else to go"

Thank you, hope you're doing ok today! ❤

Hey lovely! First off, I am SO SORRY this took so long. I know it's been months and I have nothing but terrible excuses. Hopefully this makes up for it at least a little?

Shelter M, Din Djarin/Smuggler F!Reader, 2.1k words Warnings: Angst, drinking, unhealthy coping mechanisms, swearing, Helmetless!Din, lil bit of making out, brief almost-but-not-quite questionable consent, unresolved sexual tension (but who knows, maybe I'll do a Part II?) Summary: Mando has nothing left, nowhere to go. Except to you.

He stands on your doorstep, a soaking wet mass of metal and muscle. The rain falls in rolling sheets, sliding through his hair, down the back of his neck, underneath his cloak and in shining rivulets over his Beskar breastplate.

Without the helm, the Mandalorian looks...smaller, somehow, deflated, but maybe that’s just the defeated look lurking in the dark space behind his eyes.

He looks drained. Empty.

It’s him, though - nobody can fake pure Beskar armor, much less the set he wears. It’s mirror-finish, reflecting your stunned expression in rain-blurred steel.

You open your mouth to say something, but fail to find the words. They all seem so inadequate to address Mando standing in front of you, maskless.

He’s not quite looking at you, his gaze alternating between the ground and somewhere beyond your left ear. You resist the urge to glance behind you, instead taking him in, cataloguing the changes since you last saw him.

It’s been months, but it usually is. His circuitous route of bounty hunting doesn’t intersect with your parts of the Rim very much, which is fine; this way your businesses don’t overlap. As a smuggler, you’re far too likely to be on the wrong end of a tracking fob, so you stay away and so does he.

Once, you were a useful connection. You’re not sure when you crossed the line into ‘ally’, much less ‘friend’. Yet here he is, staring at you through the pouring rain. Helmet off, tucked almost protectively underneath his arm.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he says, dully, and his voice sounds so different yet familiar that you experience a sense of disorientation, of the planet’s surface tilting beneath your feet as you re-orient yourself to this strange new reality where the Mandalorian comes to you for help.

Once, you would have asked for credits first. Now, all you say as you recover from your shock is, “Are you all right?” He shakes his head mutely as you step back and allow him access into your planetside flat.

It’s small, so small that his arm brushes you as he steps over the threshold. You resist the odd urge to put a hand on his shoulder; you’ve never had to comfort him before, save for buying him a round at some space dive or other after a job gone bad. This is something different. This is something else entirely.

You don’t ask what happened. You doubt he’ll give you a straight answer anyway. And you don’t ask about the helmet. He takes a seat at the kitchenette counter and sets it down on the counter in front of him. The black, empty visor stares at you silently as you fetch a bottle of something cheap and strong and hand it to him, knowing he won’t need a glass.

Mando uncaps it and takes a long drag without a word. He makes a face - so strange to see the expressions that are usually hidden by the mask of the helmet - and suppresses a cough as he hands the bottle back to you. You shake your head and set it down next to the Beskar headpiece.

You’re not known for your empathy, and neither is he, so you settle on practicality which you know he appreciates. “Are you injured?” you ask, businesslike as you examine his face a little closer. There’s the bloom of a bruise on one temple, underneath the damp plaster of his dark hair.

“Not permanently,” he says, that trace of dry sardonicism that you usually find irresistibly hilarious now making you frown. “I’m fine,” he adds gruffly as he reads your expression. You huff, crossing your arms, but he says nothing more. Just picks up the bottle again and swigs with an audible “Ahh,” from his throat.

“Why are you here?” you ask, at last, after watching him drink for a minute in silence. Mando looks at you, at your eyes, and holds your gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment before he finally answers.

“I lost him.”

“The kid?” It feels like you’ve been hit, the air punched from your lungs. You assumed he was back on the Crest, asleep, not - gone.

You had only met the little gremlin twice, once when Mando needed fuel and ammo on the cheap, another for a place to lay low for a day or two. The weird green creature...grew on you, like a very cute fungus. His nonsensical babbling, insatiable appetite, and obvious love for the Mandalorian was infectious. You admit it; you were weak. You got fond. And, in turn, fonder of Mando himself.

And now…

“You found his people?” you manage, and it comes out in a croak. You clear your throat and Mando offers you the bottle. You take it, tossing your head back for a deep swig. It burns going down and warms the suddenly-cold cavity inside your chest.

“Yeah,” Mando says. “He’s...he’s safe, now.” The he was never safe with me is unspoken but you hear it anyway. You pass the bottle back to him.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and mean it. “I know...I know it was never a permanent arrangement, but he clearly meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking down at his helmet before fitting the rim of the bottle to his lips, tossing his head back and draining the rest of its contents in several long gulps.

You watch the shape of his throat bob in his neck above the wet snarl of his cloak and look away quickly. A buzz is building in your veins already and he’s had most of the bottle - you’re surprised he’s still upright.

“You holing up in your junker tonight?” you wonder, after casting around for a change of subject. An expression of pain crosses Mando’s face, a grimace not caused by the alcohol, for just a second before it’s gone.

“The Crest is gone. Melted to slag and dust.” He says it without inflection, and that’s how you know it’s hurting him.

“Fuck,” you summarize elegantly. Mando nods.

“I haven’t got anything left,” he states. “No ship. No credits. No more favors to call in. Nothing.”

You reach out, more out of anger than anything else, and grab his hand, squeezing so tightly that the wet leather squelches. “Stop it,” you say harshly. “You have everything you need. You’re a kriffing Mandalorian.”

He snorts, pulling his hand away - with some effort. “Not anymore.” He stares down at his helmet, and beneath the scruff and fuzz and rain, his lips press together in a tight line.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I broke my Creed,” he shrugs, setting a hand atop the smooth dome of Beskar. “More than once. Didn’t matter at the time. All that mattered...was saving the kid. Making sure he was safe.”

“Mission fucking accomplished, then,” you say, shaking your head. “You pick yourself up. You rebuild. You move on.”

“How can I?” He meets your gaze, and you flinch at the dark intensity of his - something molten, furious there that you’re suddenly afraid of. You haven’t forgotten the promise of violence coiled in his every limb. “I have nothing to go back to. Nowhere to go. That’s why I’m here.” He waves a gloved hand with obvious disgust, and for some reason, that hurts, a sting behind your breastbone like something almost physical.

Mando must see the look on your face, for he wilts like damp lettuce. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine. I get it,” you say brusquely, your words clipped. You take the empty bottle from the counter, your fingers curling around the neck and squeezing, hard. “You come in here, beaten-up, drink my alcohol and drip all over my floors - but I’m the last place you’d go. I get it.”

He rises to his feet, and you forgot how tall he is, how broad. And despite - ormaybe because of - the unfamiliarity of his helmetless appearance, Mando is still intimidating. You don’t shrink back, though; you square your shoulders and your jaw and lift your chin in challenge.

“You’re the last person I’d put in danger,” he says in a low voice, a voice that stirs a strange sensation in the pit of your guts that you haven’t felt in a very, very long time.

“You forget what I do for a living?” you manage, your mouth suddenly dry. You swallow past it, tasting the aftertaste of alcohol and your own misplaced nervousness.

“I’ve been hunted from one end of the galaxy to the other,” he continues in that same husky baritone that makes your knuckles go white. “I wasn’t going to bring that down on you.”

“I appreciate that,” you manage, diplomatically - but he’s not having it, staring you down like his life depends on keeping eye contact. “But I’m a big girl. I can handle things myself.”

He looks you up and down - just once - but with such practiced ease that it makes you wonder how many times he’s done the same thing from beneath the visor. You shiver despite yourself.

“I know,” he says, and then before you can move or react or think, he lunges into your space and kisses you.

If you were shocked by Mando’s sudden appearance, you’re fucking floored by this. You don’t know how to react at first but he proves quickly to be competent enough at this to coax your lips apart with his and get you to kiss him back.

He tastes like a distant hint of blood and smoke and his body is solid as his arm snakes round your waist without you noticing and he pulls you to him. He holds you so that you’ll have to twist away to escape and with the confidence that says he knows you won’t want to. 

And you don’t.

Instead you let the bottle fall and it clatters forgotten to the ground as you grab him by the pauldrons and let him lick into your mouth with the answering surge of your tongue and your hips pressing to his.

Mando kisses you like he needs to, and you realize that he’s half-hard already, impatiently nudging a knee between your thighs and pressing you to the wall. You break from his mouth to breathe and wonder if he’s ever had anything but this - a wild, fervid fumble of hurriedly-parted clothes and tangled limbs.

You don’t want to be this for him - a receptacle for his despair, his rage. You have too much of your own to deal with. But you can’t deny that you’ve thought about this, imagined something similar to this very scenario - but you never counted on the weight of emotion that comes with it.

“Stop, Mando,” you say as he sucks bruises into your neck, the edges of his teeth making your breath catch on nothing. He goes still, but his hands are tight on your hips, holding you to him. You can feel his breath, heavy and warm in your ear.

“Not like this,” you tell him. “You can stay, but we’re not doing this. Not like this.”

At first you think he’s not going to let you go, and the thrill that passes through you from the thought is unconscionable. But then his grip loosens and his leg withdraws and he steps back, out of your space. You rub your face with hands you can’t admit are shaking before finally looking up at him.

He looks wrecked. Broken. Staring at the ground, damp hair hanging over his forehead, and you catch the trembling twitch of his bottom lip even as he ducks his head to try to hide it.

“You can take my bunk,” you tell him. “We’ll talk in the morning. Okay?”

For a second you think he’s going to argue, or just...walk out. Relief blooms in you as he nods. He turns without a word to retrieve his helmet before he retreats down the hall.

You watch him go, and the slump to his shoulders breaks your heart. But he’s staying, and that’s something.

You never thought you’d have a broken Mandalorian sleeping in your bunk. 

And you’re not sure if you regret the fact that you’re not there next to him.