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all-the-things-2020 · 10 months ago

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Finding His Way - Chapter Nine

Summary: Din makes a momentous decision.

Rating: PG-13

Note: Some Mando’a words are translated within the narrative; others are defined here.

cyar’ika = darling, sweetheart

riddurok = love bond, specifically between spouses - marriage agreement

riddur = partner, spouse, husband, wife

Din never came to bed that night. After Skywalker’s announcement, he’d scrambled to his feet, reattached all of his armor and disappeared with the Jedi, leaving her and the kid alone. Mariana finally dozed off some time in the wee hours of the morning after lying awake with Ad’ika snuggled against her blissfully unaware as her thoughts raced wildly in circles.

She woke with a start, unsure for a moment where she was. Soft light crept through the chinks in the walls, but she couldn’t tell what time it was. Ad’ika was sound asleep, curled around Froggy. She got up and got dressed as carefully as possible so as not to disturb him. Outside the sun was just rising over the rim of the valley, and the air was chilly. She thought about going back for her jacket but didn’t want to risk waking the child.

A drift of smoke rose from Skywalker’s building. When she opened the door, R2 beeped a greeting and Skywalker looked up from the workbench. “You just missed him,” he said. Mariana felt a rush of fear and it must have shown on her face because the Jedi went on quickly. “He just went to get something from his ship. He’ll be back soon.” He cleared off a stool and offered it to her.

“I managed to talk him out of haring off after Gideon,” Skywalker continued, going back to work on a small piece of equipment. “All Master Yoda could tell me was that Gideon has the Darksaber; we don’t know where he is, what kind of manpower he has … we need intel before we can make any plans.”

“We?” she asked.

Skywalker shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll want to do this alone, but I’m willing to help him prepare.” He raised the object in his hand. “For instance, I’m building him a lightsaber to practice with while I wait for Leia to get some info back to us. The best way to learn how to counter a weapon is to learn how to use it yourself.”

“What is this Darksaber? Why is Din so upset about Gideon having it?”

“It’s a unique lightsaber with a dark blade, as the name implies. It was created by Tarre Vizla, the first Mandalorian Jedi. Many of his clan members wielded it over the years, and eventually it passed to Sabine Wren, and then Bo-Katan Kryze. It is traditionally held by the leader of the Mando’ade, known as the Mand’alor. It disappeared during the Great Purge.”

Mariana understood. To Din, Gideon owning such a weapon was blasphemy. It was his duty as a Mandalorian to get it away from him … or die trying. “I’d better get back in case Ad’ika wakes up,” she said. “Let Din know I was looking for him when he gets back.”

Skywalker gave her a gentle smile. “I don’t think he meant to exclude you. He’s in warrior mode right now.”

Mariana smiled back. “I know. I’m not much use at fighting, so he doesn’t need me right now. He needs you.”

“He does need you, though. Every warrior needs someone or something to keep him human, to keep him from turning into a heartless killing machine. You and the child are what he’s fighting to protect. You are his light. Don’t forget that.”

***************

Din returned to the ruined village with a heavy load of weaponry. If Skywalker was willing to teach him how to fight against a Jedi weapon, he wanted to practice with as many of his own weapons as possible. He hesitated over where to store them; obviously, he wanted them close at hand but it was out of the question to keep them in the same room as the kid, and even though he was certain he could trust the Jedi, he did not feel comfortable storing the weapons in the larger building. He finally settled on the ruin closest to his own campsite. It had a large hole in the roof, but as long as it didn’t rain heavily, his weapons cache shouldn’t be adversely affected.

As he was stacking the last item in the most protected corner, he felt someone approach. His hand strayed to his blaster, even though he knew it could only be Skywalker or Mariana.

“Good thing it’s me,” said the Jedi. He nodded at Din’s hand, hovering over the holster. “She’s upset enough at you already.”

Din sighed. He did not have time for this. “Is the lightsaber ready?,” he asked.

“Not yet. A few more hours. It’s delicate work.” Skywalker leaned casually against the doorframe. He was not going to let it go.

“Then you should get back to it,” Din said, harshly.

“Nope. I was up all night, if you recall. I think we both need some rest. Moff Gideon will still be there.”

Din scoffed. “And every moment he holds the Darksaber is another moment he desecrates the memory of the people of Mandalore. I don’t need rest; I need something to do.”

“Talk to Mariana,” Skywalker said. “Spend time with your son. Take a nap. Heck, take a walk and look for wildflowers. Anything but dwell on this.” He shook his head. “Anger leads to the Dark Side …”

Din cut him off. “Spare me your Jedi platitudes. I am a Mandalorian. We are warriors, not philosophers.”

Suddenly, Skywalker was in his face, his expression still calm, but with a hint of fire in his eyes. “They aren’t platitudes,” he said quietly. “And the Jedi have always been warriors. I’ve seen what happens to even the best of men when they let themselves be tempted by anger, fear … hate. The Dark Side destroyed my father and every friendship he ever had.”

Din tried to walk past the Jedi, but Skywalker stood firm. “You don’t know who my father is, do you?” he asked.

“I don’t care.”

“You should. My father was Darth Vader.”

That gave Din pause. Vader had been the Emperor’s right hand man. And Skywalker … “You killed your own father.”

“No,” Skywalker said firmly. “Palpatine killed my father. Or rather, Palpatine killed Darth Vader. The man who died in my arms was my father, Anakin Skywalker. He redeemed himself in the end, rather than turn me over to the Emperor.” His gaze searched Din’s visor and for a moment he could have sworn the Jedi was looking directly into his eyes. “Don’t make the mistake my father did. Don’t let your anger consume you. He … he lost his wife, he lost his chance to be a father to me and Leia, he lost so much. Don’t lose your family, Mr. Djarin. Don’t lose your soul.”

He turned and walked away, leaving Din alone in the darkened room.

************

Mariana was feeding Ad’ika some breakfast when she heard a tap at the door. Skywalker poked his head in. “He’s back. I’m going to take a break, catch some sleep.” He stifled a yawn. “Don’t let him bother me for at least three hours. Sit on him if you have to, but keep him out of my hair, okay?”

“I’ll try. No promises, though. He can be a bit stubborn.”

Skywalker laughed. “I’ve noticed that. And Mariana … don’t be too hard on him.”

“No promises, Master Skywalker.”

“My friends call me Luke,” he said with a smile as he disappeared from the doorway.

She finished feeding Ad’ika, taking a few nibbles herself. She didn’t have much appetite today. When she heard footsteps approaching, her stomach fluttered and she regretted eating even that much. Confrontation had never been her strong suit. “Let’s hope Daddy’s in a good mood,” she whispered. Ad’ika nodded solemnly. “Da,” he agreed.

Din stepped inside. “Good morning,” he said flatly.

“Good morning,” she said carefully. “Have you eaten?”

“Not hungry.”

He sat down at the table, pulled out his blaster, and started cleaning it. Mariana shared a look with Ad’ika, took a deep breath, and pulled out the other chair. She reached out and slid the blaster away from him. His helmet tilted up sharply and she braced herself for a rebuke, but he simply said, “What?”

“I should be asking you that. Or rather, you should have told me without me having to ask. But no, you just took off without a word and I had to ask Luke what the hell is going on.” She shook her head and reached out to place a hand on his glove. “I was worried. You can’t just … it’s not just you anymore, Din.”

“I know,” he said quietly, laying his other hand on top of hers, sandwiching her fingers between warm leather. “Skywalker already told me off. I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I have to do this, Mar’ika. Please understand.”

“I do,” she said, biting on her lower lip to keep it from trembling. He’d never used that form of her name before; she knew enough Mando’a to know it was an intimate term of endearment. “I really do. I wouldn’t try to stop you. But I would appreciate being kept in the loop.”

He nodded, squeezing her hand gently. “I promise I won’t do anything without telling you first.”

“That’s all I ask,” she whispered. It was all she would ask of him, but it wasn’t all she wanted.

****************

The lightsaber felt strange in Din’s hand. He knew how to use a sword — Mandalorians knew how to use just about every weapon ever conceived — but because the blade wasn’t physically there, it felt off. There was no weight to it, so it was impossible to feel the blade. Every other weapon he’d ever used felt like an extension of his hand, of his body, but this … this was different.

“Try to feel the blade,” Skywalker said.

“I can’t. I can see it but I can’t feel it. There’s no balance.”

The Jedi smiled. “Don’t feel the weight of the blade, feel the essence of it.”

Din scoffed. “I’m not a Jedi.”

“You don’t have to be. Everyone can sense the Force to some degree. When someone walks into a room, even though you can’t see them, you know they’re there.”

“Because I hear their footsteps, I sense a change in the light level as they block the doorway, I feel the air currents shift … those are all physical things.”

“But you don’t think about them, you just feel them. The Force exists all around us, within us. Sometimes it manifests in physical ways. Sometimes it doesn’t.”

Din lifted the hilt again. He could see the vibrating pulse of the blue laser in front of him, but it felt no different with the saber switched on than it had when it was off. He moved the blade through the air and heard its hum, but he couldn’t feel it moving through the air. If he had to keep his eye on his weapon every second to keep from chopping off his own toes, it was worse than useless. He was used to using weapons without thinking, as easy as breathing. This was clunky and awkward and …

Skywalker swung his own blade and Din parried automatically. The two beams of light vibrated against each other, shearing sparks into the air. “See,” the Jedi said with a grin. “Don’t think about it. Let the Force guide you.”

He lowered his weapon. Din took a step back, nodding. “Yes. It’s like when I was little, before … before I became a Mandalorian. I had … friends … and we played pretend. We didn’t have swords or blasters, just our imagination.”

Skywalker nodded eagerly. “Exactly! And even though none of you could see the weapons, you knew when they clashed, or when you got a direct hit, or when you missed entirely. You felt it.”

Din took a moment to absorb the lesson. It went against everything he had been taught, but it felt right. It wasn’t just about physics and leverage and strike angles and velocity; it wasn’t about practicing endlessly until muscle memory took over. It was about being aware of everything around him, not narrowing his focus to the task at hand.

“How do you do it?” He asked.

“Do what?”

“Feel so much, all the time.” Din had learned to suppress feelings, to shove them aside until a more convenient time, or to lock them away entirely. Life was easier without distractions.

“What’s the point of living if you don’t feel the life around you?” Skywalker waved his hand around, indicating the landscape around them. They were further down the valley from the village, in a clearing beside the small stream that had carved the valley long ago. Trees and shrubs grew along the water and there were a few bright yellow flowers growing among the grasses. Birds and insects swooped around the meadow. Just a moment ago, it had simply been a convenient spot to spar. Now it was a world unto itself.

“I see your point,” Din conceded. “But how do you keep from being distracted? How do you keep your focus?”

“Choice. Each and every moment, you choose what to focus on. If I need to fight, I focus on my opponent, his weapon, anything in the area that can be used to my advantage or to his. But if I don’t need to fight at that precise moment, I can relax my focus, take in the bigger picture, remember why I’m fighting. And if I’m safe, with friends or allies, I can relax even further and meditate, let the Force itself lead my thoughts.” He laughed. “It’s not always profound, Mr. Djarin. I’ve spent plenty of time daydreaming about what I’m going to do the next time I see my sister, what we’re going to eat, what gift I should bring for Ben, wondering if Han’s gotten a hold of any of that Corellian reserve that we’ve all learned not to ask questions about …”

Din took the not so subtle hint. “You think I’m obsessing about Gideon. You think I should be spending more time with Mariana and Ad’ika. And I’m trying. I am.”

“But …”

“But I need to do this, Skywalker. I can’t explain it. I want to get it over with, finish it one way or the other. I can’t move forward, I can’t go back …”

The Jedi clapped a hand on Din’s armored shoulder. “Be patient. We’ll be able to move forward with a plan soon enough. It’s entirely possible you won’t survive this fight, Din. We do our best but sometimes it’s not enough, sometimes the Dark Side wins. It’s temporary, in the grand scheme of things, but that’s no consolation to those we leave behind. Cherish this moment of peace, my friend. And don’t be afraid to move forward.”

He clipped his lightsaber to his belt and walked away, pausing to pick a flower before he disappeared into the trees.

I liked you better when you were the enemy, Din thought ruefully. He clipped his own lightsaber to his belt and took a moment to soak in the beauty of the meadow. Then he followed the Jedi into the trees, heading back toward his family.

**************

Mariana tried to concentrate on her data pad, but she knew Luke had gotten a message from his sister and she was afraid of what that meant. Din had been sparring with the Jedi for several hours each day, and even though he’d made a point to spend the same amount of time with her and Ad’ika, she knew he was itching to go after Gideon.

Ad’ika was singing a little nonsense song to Froggy in the corner, but he suddenly stopped and pricked his ears toward the door. Mariana put down her pad and swallowed hard.

Din appeared in the doorway and she instantly knew from his posture what he was going to say. “Gideon is on Bardos. I’ll be leaving as soon as I can get the Crest ready.”

She closed her eyes briefly, then looked back up at him. “Okay.” She’d hoped he’d give her more warning that this, but she understood why he wanted to leave immediately.

“The sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll be back,” he said quietly as he crossed the room to sit across from her at the table.

“I know.” Ad’ika toddled over and Din picked him up, cuddling him in his lap.

“I will come back,” Din insisted.

“You don’t know that.” She hated herself for saying it but she couldn’t help it. She wanted to support him so badly, but she was terrified that they were going to lose him.

“True enough,” he admitted. He pulled off his gloves and reached out to take her hand in his, cradling Ad’ika against his chest with the other. “But I still have to go.”

She sighed. “I know. I don’t like it but I know.” She lifted his hand to her lips, pressing a kiss against his wrist, like that very first kiss that seemed simultaneously to have happened only yesterday and a thousand years ago. “Can’t we come with you?”

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. If I fail … Gideon can not get his hands on our son. I can’t risk bringing him.”

It was stupid, but she said it anyway. “Then leave him here with Luke. Let me come with you. I know I’m no good in a fight, but … if you fail … at least we’ll have had that much more time together.” She tried to hold back the tears but there were too many.

“Mar’ika,” he said, wiping her tears away with his thumb. “I can’t leave him without the protection of his clan.”

“You’re going to do that anyway,” she retorted. “You’re a clan of two, remember?” It was petty and mean, but she couldn’t help it.

“Clan of three,” he said quietly.

“What?”

He sat Ad’ika down on the ground beside his feet. “We haven’t said the riduurok out loud, but we said it in our hearts long ago, cyar'ika.” He reached up to undo the locks that held his helmet in place. Her heart began to pound. “I think a wife has the right to see her husband’s face,” he went on a bit unsteadily as he pulled the helmet off and placed it carefully on the table.

She couldn’t speak. She knew this face, she’d felt it a thousand times in the dark, knew the shape of his lips, his nose, that mustache that tickled when he kissed her, but stars! To finally see his eyes. To see the emotion that welled in their warm brown depths. She would never have asked for this, never pushed him for this, but it was what she’d hoped and dreamed for.

“I will come home to you,” he said firmly. “I have to do this, for the Mando’ade who saved me, but I promise you, when I am done, my life will have one meaning only: to cherish you, riddur. Aliit ori'shya tal'din.”

Family is more than blood. The words rang in her ears. “I’ll hold you to that promise, riddur,” she whispered, leaning forward to kiss him gently. “And we’re having a proper wedding when you get back. Rings and everything.”

“Whatever you want, cyar’ika,” he murmured against her cheek. He kissed her softly, then pulled away. “But now, I have to go.” He picked up his helmet, but hesitated before putting it back on. She picked up Ad’ika and held him up.

“Kiss Daddy goodbye,” she said. The child leaned forward, touching Din’s face gently. “Buir,” he said. Then he reached out for Mariana’s face. “Buir,” he said again, touching her with his other tiny hand. “Ad,” he said finally, touching himself on the chest.

“That’s right,” she said shakily. “Father. Mother. Son.”

“Aliit,” the child said firmly. Family.

Din crushed them both in a fierce embrace, gave her one last exquisite kiss and slipped his helmet back on. Then he was gone.

Mariana sat down on the bed with Ad’ika. There was so much to say and no words to say it, so she just held him close and stroked his fuzzy ears. He snuggled against her, finally falling asleep. After a while, she heard a tap at the door.

“How are you doing?” Luke asked.

“About as well as you can expect considering my husband just flew off to almost certain death,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

Luke raised an eyebrow. “Husband?”

“Yeah, apparently we’ve been married for a while. Of course, I can’t complain too much about not being told; I have the feeling he just found out, too.”

“Mandalorian culture is weird,” Luke chuckled. “But seriously, are you okay with this?”

“Yes,” she said. “I am. I’m not happy about it, but I’m okay with it. Don’t worry about me. Worry about him.”

Luke shook his head. “I’m not worried about him. He’s ready for this. I think this may be what he was always meant to do.”

#the mandalorian #star wars #grogu #din djarin #baby yoda #pedro pascal character fanfiction #din djarin x original female character #din djarin fanfiction

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jamalgripperton46290 · 1 year ago

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Banging Into You (Bing x Bang)

Jamal Gripperton's Masterlist

A/N (if you haven't already read it go read it now then come back)

A/N: See what I did there? >:) Either way, enjoy little chickadoodles! <3

....

The average day of a storybot was quite the hefty to say the least, but at least most were employed and didn't end up like Jimmy, selling balloons down the road for 5 bucks. Word on the street was that Jimmy had convicted rape and did hard drugs, but storybots were quite the gossips, so that might've been a myth.

But enough about Jimmy, let's talk about answer team 341B. This is their story after all.

"Answer team 341B reporting for duty sir!" Beep beamed with joy, Boop just didn't understand how Beep could be so happy and outgoing with this shit of a job at around 8 in the morning. But oh well, life is life, or some stupid quote like that, I don't know.

I'll just cut to the chase and tell you that it was yet another mission to find out "Why do I have to wear my seatbelt?". And GOD, these kids came up with the most random ass questions, but it was their job to find out, so out they went in search of why people had to put on their seatbelts to ride a goddamn car.

And so, they eventually found out, and arrived, and told Hap, and Hap replied with the same "That's actually pretty good", and they told the child whose name was Maddie? Addie? no one really cared, and she ended the call with a "Thanks storybots! You guys are the best!", and Hap eventually snapped and said "Enough dilly-dallying storybots, get back to work!" or something along those lines, the usual.

And after what seemed like a never-ending day at work, they were all on their way home in the gloomy darkness of the night.

"Dude, I swear these questions are getting more useless by the minute" Bing sighed, looking up at the starry night sky with the hopes of having his dream life one day, but with the way things were looking up right now, that was FAR from happening (At least that's what he thought)

"Well, at least we have a job Bing, let's not be too harsh on ourselves here" Bo replied patting the short, yellow midget on the shoulder.

"I'm with Bo here, stop being so uptight Bing, you just gotta love life! Because what's there not to love?" Beep exclaimed, being annoying as hell, and Bing just wasn't having it today.

Bing just mumbled a soft "Whatever" and let this one slide, because he cared for his friends at least, especially one tall, blue hunko who would run around in his mind all day, rent-free. But he obviously kept that one fact to himself, or else Bo and Beep would never shut up about it.

"Either wayyy... I sure do miss Bang, why didn't he come to work today?" Bing asked, obviously worried about his big-dicked, blue, handsome boo.

"Oh yeah, he called me today saying he wasn't feeling well, and MIRACULOUSLY Hap let him take the day off" Beep replied.

"Poor little Bang" Bo said with a pout across her purple robot face.

"I guess I can visit him tomorrow, I think I have a day off" Bing responded, already happy at just the thought of his big-dicked bae.

"You're lucky you get days off on Sundays Bing, I have to wait till Thursday, ugh, I guess that's one thing I don't love about life" Beep sighed.

"See? Now you're getting it!" Bing chuckled, nudging Beep on the shoulder.

"Whatever Mr. Emo pants, see you at work. And keep me posted on Bang tomorrow alright?" Beep requested, standing right outside Bing's doorstep.

"Will do" Bing replied. "Bye guys"

"Bye Bing"

"See you later alligator!"

"Boop"

Bing closed the door behind him and simply smiled to himself at the thought of Bang.

He didn't exactly know how or when his 'thing' with Bang started, he figured he just decided to like him one day. But no, it was way more than just that...

(Buckle up for some cheesy shit cuz it's a critical part of the story, character development amirite?)

Bing just didn't like Bang, he LOVED him, he loved his smile, his passion for the things he loved, the way he always managed to add the words "Dude" or "Man" in every sentence, Bing found it effortlessly cute, his carefree way of being, his eyes, the way he was so caring, how he was always so chill with just being himself, the way he bit his blue, robot lips when he thought hard of something, the way he fiddled with his fingers when he was nervous, his voice. And to put it all simply, he was obsessed with him, longing him at every morning and second of the day.

Bing went to sleep, hugging his pillow, in his pyjamas, and the thought of Bang at the back of his head.

Bing woke up rather tired, but with the motivation of a certain someone (I'll let u guess dat one). He had a day off, so all went pretty chill from then on, until he decided it was an appropriate time to check up on Bang.

The hour 5:00 struck the clock, and Bing began to get ready, making sure his robot skin was clean, making sure his wiring was organized, and spritzing a dash of his special cologne used for only special occasions, he always made sure to wear it around Bang, because every moment with him was always a special occasion UwU (Someone has to cut down on the cheese, I'm sorry)

Bing, being the soppy romantic he was, got Bang some Starbucks, some flowers, and a fruit salad (Cuz ya gotta be healthy when ur sick, and also idk what to fill in dat last part). He thought the flowers were a bit overkill, but he just went with it because he was a cringey and cheesy romantic.

He had to be lying if he said he wasn't scared out of his robot brainz, but priorities first, and his priority right now, was to spend some much-needed quality time with Bang. As he made his way to Bang's doorstep, his heart was about to pop right out of his chest and fly out to heaven, because GOOD LORD, he was going to see BANG right now, the Bang himself.

And God, the ways Bang made him feel. He eventually got the remaining courage to touch that damn doorbell and wait, hoping for the best, the best being - Bang opening that door.

After what seemed like an eternity, a tall, blue, and dare I say handsome figure appeared on the opposite side of the door.

"Uhhh... Bing? What are you doing here?" Bang croaked, with the lingering raspy tone of a sore throat.

"U-umm, hey Bang, I-I heard you were sick so I got kinda worried and decided to check up on you... A-and I'm sorry It's such short notice, B-but I thought I'd just walk by and g-get you something, I d-don't mean to barge in like this, ugh, I-I should've texted beforehand. I-I'm sorry" Bing babbled like an autistic baby with ADHD.

"Dude, relax, it's okay man. Like, come right in" Bang reassured Bing.

"T-thank you..." Bing stepped inside.

"What can I get ya amigo? Water, juice, vodka?" Bang asked, with slight emphasis on the vodka.

"Oh no, that's not necessary, I came here to check up on YOU mister" Bing replied with a cheeky smile.

Bang tried to look away to hide the blush forming across his blue robot cheeks, "O-oh thanks..."

"How about some Netflix and chill?" Bang asked, not realizing the deep meaning behind the words he had just let out of his mouth (iykyk)

Bang was dumbfounded, but decided to play the innocent cards, with a soft "Sure!"

They eventually made their way to Bang's room which had some random tissues scattered all across the floor, but Bing didn't quite notice, as he was distracted by the gorgeous, blue hunka-chunka in front of him.

As they made their way to Bang's bed, Bang decided to break the dreaded silence with a "What do you wanna watch?"

"Oh, anything's fine really" Bing stated. The two settled on some random rom-com they stumbled upon. How romantic.

As the movie started, Bing, being the cheesy ass bitch he was, tried his absolute best not to stare at the tall, blue figure beside him, and he soon found out that the task was quite complicated, almost impossible. Who couldn't just gawk at this glorious, other-worldly, extraordinary, godly, beautiful, wonderful being all day? Definitely not Bing of course.

Midway through the movie, which was actually quite boring to say the least, Bing jolted at the feeling of Bang's godly head resting on his supa-dupa robot shoulder.

"Bang... are you asleep?" Bing whispered, but received no response in return. Bang was in fact sleeping.

Bing silently chuckled and smiled at his blue bae.

"God, you're so cute" Bing confessed, not aware that Bang wasn't fully asleep just yet. And oh welp, shit's about to go down (or up for that matter, iykyk)

"You really think so?" Bang spouted.

"WHAT?! I T-THOUGHT YOU WERE SLEEPING, FUCK I'M SORRY, I-I DIDN'T MEAN IT-" Bang practically screeched.

"So you don't think I'm cute?" Bang innocently asked, secretly joking around. And oh, how he loved making Bing nervous.

"N-no, of course you are, I mean no, but like not in that way y'know? No homo haha..."

"Well that's a shame, because I think you're quite the hottie Bing, and that's saying the least. You're a goddamn hunko with an astronomical man schlong" Bang said casually, maintaining eye contact with the short, yellow "Hunko with an astronomical man schlong"

"Y-you're joking..." Bing said in denial.

"Will this answer your question?" Bang then proceeded to JUMP on top of Bing, wrapping his tiny yet thick robot thighs around Bing's fragile waist, and headbutted his lips onto Bing's with no warning whatsoever. And holy black jesus, turns out Bang did indeed like Bing! Hooray!

Their tongues glided and twirled in a beautiful rhythm and pattern together, Bang went the extra mile by practically shoving his twirlay girlay tongue DEEP into Bing's tiny robot throat, earning himself a half moan-half gag kind of sound. Spicy (?)

After making out for about 20 minutes, Bing and Bang's lips were swollen af. "I'm rock fuckin hard lil chickadee, wanna help me out here?" Bang asked. Bing went WILD he wrapped around Bang's schlong as he sucked and stroked him repeatedly getting moans and whines out of him.

Bing, not wanting to disappoint, simply sucked and stroked harder having no mercy. "Fuck lil dude, how are you so good at this" Bang whined. Finally, after a while Bang came in Bing's mouth, Bing being Bing, swallowed it. Bang flipped them over and SLAMMED into Bing pounding into him mercilessly.

Bang cried out unable to contain the immeasurable amount of pleasure he was feeling, it was other-worldly. Multiple rounds of Bang going absolutely ballistic on him shoving in and out with all his might and energy as he bit and sucked on Bing's thighs leaving hickeys and bite marks everywhere.

Soon enough Bang released his secret sauce inside of Bing as they both gasped for air. "I thought you were more laid-back Bang, not that I'm complaining, but wow- that was a surprise" Bing said breathlessly. "Well, it's my turn now" Bing spoke, and a split second later, positioning himself on top of Bang and lemme tell ya, all of Bing's hyper-ness was unleashed.

Bing was grinding on Bang as he let out groans and laid his head against the bed, letting Bing do all the work, and boy did he do a good job. The 20 minutes soon turned into hours of restless grinding, pounding, sucking, licking, kissing, and basically anything you could think of when it came to bed yoga.

Bing grabbed Bang's waist as he hopped up and down his disco stick, already panting. Bing cried out as tears pooled in his eyes, he was on cloud nine there was no place better than this.

Soon enough their bodies, the bed, and everywhere else was covered in CREAM. "Wow that was-" Bing started "Absolutely amazing lil dude" Bang finished for him as they cuddled up on the bed and finished their movie as the sun rose above the clouds.

Bing then decided he wanted to make this moment memorable and...

Picturesque, per say.

He ended things off with leaving a trail of sloppy, wet kisses along Bang's neck and sharp robot jawline, which he went absolutely crazy for, cuz GOD, Bing had never seen someone so godly with a godly jawline and a godly smorgasbord chode-a-licious dick.

And after all that, it still felt somehow surreal, and curiosity eventually got to him and made him start wondering, when did this all start? When did Bang catch feelings for such a tiny, yellow midget? How did he catch feelings?

"When did you find out you had feelings for me?" Bing asked his new fuckbuddy and potential future husband.

"Oh, long ago if I'm being honest little chickadee, long ago" Bang replied with a smile.

"Oh, b-but why me? Why did you choose me out of everyone you could ever have and have had? I'm really not that special..." Bing blurted.

This is the part where the character is in denial and everything is all soppy and shit even though they JUST FUCKED for like 2 hours straight, but the soppy, cringe ass character is all uwu and senpai and just doesn't want to believe it bcuz they're a little shit that don't know how to be grateful. And honestly, I personally hate those parts of stories cuz it usually just messes shit up and then the other character is just like, "Oh no, I guess I'll leave dem alone cuz it looks like dey don't like me :(", but I'm bored and character development exists and also I gotta add more content for this scrumptalicious book so you're welcome bitch (: <3

"S-so you're saying you didn't want for this to happen?" Bang asked, hurt by the way it had sounded to him, shards of glass shooting as his heavy heart (#poeticasf)

"N-no, it's just like... I think you deserve better, I'm not good enough for you-" Bing was interrupted by a pair of blue robot lips caressing his, and a feeling of unconditional passion and love arise in his body and Bang's.

"Listen little dude, I don't know what exactly you mean by that, but I..."

"I love you Bing, b-but if you don't feel the same way, I understand, and I'm not gonna force you to do something you don't want to" Bang sighed, trying to avoid all eye contact with Bing and fiddling with his fingers, a thing Bing went CRAZY for.

"I love you too Bang. I-It's not that I don't- It's just, ugh. I'm just horrible with words, but I do want this to happen and I do see our lives together, and I do see us having a home, a life, kids..." Bing blushed.

"Well, we can get started on that last one right now if you want..." Bang said, giving Bing a wink (;

And in all honesty, round two didn't sound so bad right about now...

And so they did, they fucked, licked, penetrated, smashed, screamed, creamed, panted, moaned, sucked, used their dongs, schlongs, sticks, dicks, chodes, loads, the whole deal.

And Bang did indeed give Bing something in return.

Potential herpes, and the cold he once had.

....

A/N

Whatup chickadees, (Beezy B here) I wrote this one mostly by myself, Jamal helped greatly with the smut part, but other than that, I randomly came up with this weird, random daydream I had while eating noodles. Stay tuned for future issues/updates chickadoodles :) Always look both ways before you cross the street and never eat yellow snow <3

-BeezyBee and Jamal Gripperton <3

#bing #bang #storybots #jimmy

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tobythesudriantram · 2 years ago

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sharting with fingle and mriends: shart (A.K.A. my excuse to make a shitpost) [CW: Quite a bit of swearing, death, dark humor and random sex jokes.]

*mingle wakes up at 6:09 AM on a thursday night on the 26th of January 2023 in the Pirate's Den RV Resort and Marina in the state of Colorado, United States... A.K.A. fancy people talk for "her house" and walks downstairs (even though she lives in a one-floor house i'm pretty sure) to go talk to her friends dingle and donk.*

mingle: hey guys its me mingle i just sharted in my pants

donk: shut the fuck up im listening to crazy frog

*mingle puts on some nerd glasses* mingle: uhhmhmh actually crazy frog isnt the name of the song its the name of the band 🤓🤓🤓🤓🤓🤓🤓🤓

donk: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA *fucking explodes*

dingle: mingle i want to go outside to play with boyfriend but im dummy thicc so my fat ass and thighs get stuck in the doorway!!1!1

mingle: just fucking jump out the window lol its not going to hurt you

dingle: oh yay!!!! *he proceeds to jump out the window only to smash his head against the concrete and get concussed lol*

*mingle walks outside* mingle: holy crap lois dingle is fucking dead i think

*boyfriend appears* bf: beep bap bo boo bpe shart

mingle: hey boyfriend!11!1!!

bf: i just fukcing sharted

mingle: SAME BESTIE!!!1!1!1!

bf: beep bop boop hey you wanna fuck in the back of a hot topic or smth lol

mingle: ayyyyy yes!1!1!

eduardo: well well well

mingle: holy shit its eduardo from fnf!!1!!1

eduardo: bitch im from edwuud the fuck are you talkin bout

mingle: stfu you are from fnf now

eduardo: ok

bf: beep bop boop i found a gun *shoots eduardo*

eduardo: ACK BITCH YOU JUST FUCKING KILLED ME ack am dying...... tell jon..... his ass is flat....... *dies*

mingle: rip eduardo

bf: anyway uhhhh beep boop skdoop beep lets go have sex in the hot topic now lol

mingle: ok lol

dingle: GUYS I AM ALIVE AGAIN!!!!!

donk: i am too because yes

mingle: ayyyy guys your alive again!

dingle: you're*

mingle: dingle shut the fuck up

donk: lets go have a orgy at the back of the hot topic

dingle: and lets also go make crack

mingle: yes

bf: beep boop shart

azerbaijani spongebob:

Credits:

@friendlyfox34 - The OG Mingle and Friends (I'm sorry for this).

Edd Gould / The Eddsworld Crew - Eduardo.

JerryWannaRat/The Basement Show Team - The WB Splatter Tom sprite in the title card.

And, unfortunately, me - Bringing this nightmare into a reality.

(I'm genuinely sorry for this nightmare... But at the same time i'm sorta not lol).

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myers-meadow · 2 years ago

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Ambrose summer vacation: Vincent x OC x Bo

Title: The Ambrose Summer Vacation

Ao3 link Chapter 2 here. Chapter 3 here.

Summary: On vacation in southern Louisiana, a friend is seduced by a handsome southern man to visit his museum in a small town called Ambrose. The vacation lasts longer than intended. During her stay, Katyusha tries her best to get a hold of the Sinclair brothers, to understand what is going on, and perhaps to claw her way to freedom. Their receptiveness to her soon causes a complicated predicament and her struggles grow as she gets in over her head.

Contents: Vincent x OC and Bo x OC. OC is female, named, but has otherwise little specified backstory. Slower burn than my usual stuff, and it is dark. It is a poly fic, but no threesomes and the brothers aren't involved with each other.

Warnings: Kidnapping, canon-typical violence.

Wordcount: 1283 words.

Divider by @/firefly-graphics

Ambrose was never on the list of places to visit that summer, yet it is where we eventually went. The wind was warm that day, and it was almost unbearable in Johanna’s car with the broken AC. We made fans out of magazine paper to have at least a bit of breeze. Visiting a small town’s wax museum had seemed stupid and frivolous even then, but Maxim had decided on going. Nico and I were not big fans, but what could it hurt? It was after a handsome man gave Maxim the tip and the directions, and we all knew how Maxim could not resist that southern accent…

When the murders started, I was asleep in a bedroom at the old Sinclair house. Stupidly, stupidly asleep. A migraine had made it impossible to be in the sun any longer, and the handsome man had offered to walk me to his home, so I could lay down for a bit. Maxim went with me, becoming the first to be caught in their grasp.

After waking up, taking another dose of all possible painkillers I had on me and drinking a good glass of water, I felt better. In my hazy, romantic mood, I was touched by the kindness the stranger had provided us. Southern hospitality. I found the kitchen, with a plan taking form.

To bake something sweet, sand cookies; the way I made them when I was little. And to leave some cash for the ingredients, which were only flour, sugar, milk, cinnamon. I shaped them with a chipped beer glass and pressed the edges with a fork.

A voice sounded from another room deeper in the house, Bo’s. Something was up. My movements halted, but then the cooking alarm beeped, and I was spurred into action. Shut off the alarm, finding oven mitts.

“I told you to take care of her,” Bo said, deep, almost hushed but much too loud. Something mean to his tone. Getting closer. “Well, if she’s not asleep, where is she? Should’ve been too easy. Just surprise ‘em like you always do, what do you mean you don’t-”

Pushing the oven door open, I squatted and quickly took out the baking tray. Plating the cookies I put so much love and gratitude into, hissing at the heat of them.

And when I turned around, plate in hand, I came face to face with Bo. Next to him stood a masked man with long, black hair. The energy in the kitchen had shifted. In every way, the men demanded attention, intimidating me with their broad shoulders and tall postures. The table in between us provided little sense of safety, as the men blocked any possible exit.

“There she is,” Bo smirked, the smirk that had caused us to come here in the first place. I cursed his face inwardly. “And what have you been up to, darlin’?”

With eyes like that of a deer caught in the headlights, oven mitts still on, I wondered if this would be the end. “I-“ Voice croaked. “I baked cookies, as a thank-you for being so kind. Were you… looking for me? Where’s Maxim?”

I held the plate out to both men, neither made a move to take one, so I put the plate down on the table, threw the mitts on the counter. They shared a look. The masked one signed something, the other one shook his head. I wiped my hands on my skirt, fisting the material to ground myself.

Bo shifted his attention to me. “Change of plans, sweets. It seems Vincent has taken a liking to you, so there’s a few options.”

“Oh, I don’t like the sound of that,” I mumbled, then raising my eyebrows to let them know how to continue. Vincent signed something, looking at me. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak American Sign Language. Can you perhaps write it down?”

With fast scribbles, he did so. ‘I would like to draw you’, was all it said as he held up the small sketchbook. I leaned forward, hands on the table, to read it.

“Alright, that should be possible, certainly,” I said slowly, still unsure. A glance at Bo unsettled me even more. “But what was that before, what-“

Bo answered, smirk growing wider. “Perhaps you’ll find out soon enough. Now, off you go, Vince’s workshop is in the basement.”

Basement? That did not bode well. Vincent grabbed my arm before I could protest, and without thinking, I grabbed a few cookies - determined to enjoy my last moments on earth - and followed him. His grip was strong enough to bruise.

The workplace was dark, lit only by candles. Shadows flickered over the walls. There was a bed in the corner, on it laid a dog. She perked up her eyes when she spotted her master.

There was a wooden table in the middle of the room, with all sorts of stains, and workbenches against two of the walls. The man let go of my arm, pinning me in place with a stare instead. He sat down on the stool by the workbenches and pushed his hair behind his shoulder. He found a pencil, larger papers. I set the cookies down on the edge of the table, instinctively wiping the crumbs off. Vincent gestured to the bench, assuming I needed to sit down, I hopped on it, dangling my legs. With anxious eyes I followed his every move.

He studied me. Endlessly, before putting pencil to paper. Attempting bravery, I met his gaze. Quickly I grew used to the white mask and its expressionless face, framed by the long hair. Suddenly he stood, putting paper down and his hands were on me again. Positioning me. Close enough so I could feel his overbearing warmth, his masculine smell. He made me pull up my legs into a tailer’s sit, to lean back and look away from him. Somewhere to the right of the basement. His hands lingered as he positioned my chin. He pulled away, sat down again.

With a glance at him, I asked: “Can I talk still?”

Only a nod. He started sketching.

“The dog, what’s her name?”

On the top of the paper, he wrote ‘Jonesy’, before bending over the paper again.

“Thanks. She looks very sweet.”

Silence. Just pencil on paper. My throat felt dry. After this… What then? ‘Surprise ‘em like you always do’, as Bo had said?

“Is your back okay like that? Wouldn’t it be better to rest the paper on the table?” I asked, scratching my head, then resuming position again. He barely looked up, but did adjust his posture.

It didn’t take long for anxiety to make me visibly restless. I wonder how many people he has drawn, whether he was used to such a jittery subject. Standing up once more, he stood in front of me. Towering over me despite the height of the table. One of his eyes was dark, as if it wasn’t there, hidden deep behind the mask. Warm hands kneaded my biceps, made me feel caged. Then up, to the back of the neck, the other hand on my shoulder. My hair, pushing fingers into my scalp. I bit my lip. What is he doing?

A scream sounded in the distance. I jolted, although that caused me to lean into Vincent’s grasp, bumped my knees against his hips. More screams, different ones.

“Johanna!” I gasped, then pressed my hand over my mouth. With a last look to me, Vincent stepped away. I pushed myself off of the bench, looking towards the hallway behind me. How long was that corridor? Overcome by panic, I ran. A hard hit to the head ended that quickly.

#house of wax #house of wax (2005)#slashers #slasher community #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #house of wax 2005 #house of wax fanfic #vincent sinclair x oc #bo sinclair x oc #vincent sinclair x oc x bo sinclair #poly sinclair #poly sinclairs #polyamory #ambrose #vincent x oc x bo #the ambrose summer vacation

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unknown-fairy · 2 years ago

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springtrap and deliah X fem reader

ρυяρℓє fiяє~

reader pov:

*beep beep beep beep*

*click*

«8 am already?» I said then got off the bed walked to the bathroom, I looked at myself at the mirror after washing it and brushed my teeth «looking good hoti~» I said to myself then giggled

welp I'm (y/n) Edwards a Psychiatry student who is 22 years old living at my own near my College but since I'll take this year an off because of my heart surgery I'll move to my big brother's house nick and his daughter deliah gosh I missed them so much!

now I'm ready to go~ I took my travel bag with backpack going to the airport

_-_-_-_in another place-_-_-_-

nick's pov:

what am I going to do??? what am I going to do!? I thinked nervously while geting ready to work «dad you oki» deliah asked I sighed then answered «(y/n) is coming tonight..» «REALLY!? AUNT (Y/N)!? THATS GOOD.. but whay do you seem very nervous??»

«of course its because of-» then I cut of by springtrap «morning! you guys are awake early?» «oh.. umm I dont think auntie will maind springtrap!» deliah said «who?» springtrap asked surprised «my sister...» I replied

springtrap started making pancakes «well thats seems nice..» springtrap said with uncomfortable voice I turned to deliah and wispred «I'm going to the work I'll try not to be late but.. deliah be cearfull and call me if anything happened» «dad don't worry no need to make a fuzz over nothing!»

I said nothing then leaved if its not for deliah Springtrap wont be here.. I dont trust him

꧁꧁꧁꧁Τiмє sĸiρ꧂꧂꧂꧂

(y/и) ρσv:

*knock knock knock *

«nick? are ya home??» I asked

*door open*

«AUNTIE» deliah said with happy tone «deliah you grow up!» I said then giggled while Hugging her «I missed you!» «same little teen gurl hehehe,...... welp hi big furry bunny?» I said confused «wait.. springtrap I told you to wait at the kitchen!» «we was about to meet sooner or later» the big bunny said

«yes but my auntie has heart problems what if she had an heart attack??» deliah said then springtrap put his ears down sadly «sorry..» «deliah its fine your aunt still strong is she was» I said and extended my hand to springtrap «hello there I'm (y/n)!» then he took my hand and shake it «hi.. my name is springtrap deliah's best friend»

I tested springtrap's Reactions and he seems not happy about me but I ignore it and intred the house «is nick at work??» I asked and deliah noded «I'll show ya your room auntie!» deliah said then took my hand leading me

«dont you guys have only two bedrooms?» I asked «yupp but you will share me mine!» «thats cool we are going to have fun haha» I said

springtrap pov:

cool now she is going to make deliah busy and she will forget about me! I dont like this.. I have to make a plan... but after cooking the spaghetti.

꧁꧁꧁꧁꧁꧁꧂꧂꧂꧂꧂꧂꧂꧂꧂꧂єиɒ cнαρτєя 1꧂꧂꧂꧂

꧁꧁꧁꧁꧁꧁꧂꧂꧂꧂꧂꧂

hello all! hope ya enjoyed my fan story for springtrap and deliah comic by GraWolfQuinn on Deviantart.

cнαρτєя 2:

#fnaf #x reader #springtrap #springtrap x reader #springtrap x you #springtrap and deliah #springtrap and deliad x reader #yanderes springtrap x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #fnaf x reader #yandere fnaf #yandere fnaf x reader #yandere springtrap and deliah x reader

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shroomish-art · 2 years ago

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Miscellaneous Stanley Parable Headcannons

Narrator hates math and is more of an artsy/writing nerd. He is not bad at math by any means, but he is not interested in it. He calls it ‘humanity’s futile attempt to categorise the universe’.

Stanley is a non-verbal Autistic. He uses sign language but is usually happy with Narrator speaking for him. Even though he doesn’t get it right when going with the story, he gets what Stanley is really trying to say.

The Curator and Narrator have a sibling dynamic with The Curator being slightly older. She thinks that Narrator is a whiny child. Narrator thinks she is uptight (but desperately craves her validation)

Stanley’s full name is Stanley ‘Parable’ Walker.

If the Narrator ever watched The Good Place or Inside by Bo Burnham he would cry

Narrator likes watching Sorting Algorithms despite not knowing the coding behind them. He just likes the organisation and beep boops

Stanley sometimes gets up and starts dancing on desks, to music only he can hear. Usually ABBA or Queen

The Infinite Hole is actually a pocket dimension. Narrator accidentally created this by spilling coffee on the fabric of reality.

To make sure that his human doesn’t starve. Narrator gives Stanley some chicken nuggets every now and then. This conclusion was reached after much trial and error.

This isn’t a headcannon, I just think that Narrator pogging would be funny as fuck

Whenever Narrator watches a movie, he gets really invested. He thinks that what is happening is real and gets upset super easily.

#the stanley parable ultra deluxe #TSPUD #btw I pronounce TSPUD as T-Spud #thestanleyparable #The Stanley Parable

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gailytine · 4 years ago

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FNF Family AU/Headcanons!

Quick reminder: I do NOT consider the monika mod as “canon”. Not all of the mods are automatically canon in friday night funkin just because, you know, its a mod!

I am stating this because some people say “they are not siblings because senpai called monika ‘a hot chick’”. Which it is completely understandable! You do you bro. Just don’t ruin the fun for the others who likes to headcanon them as siblings or friends!

This also applies vice versa! If they want to ship them, sure! Let them be. That being said, this AU will bend some of the rules of canon and is completely self indulgent.

Strawberry blondes!

the epitome of “you can’t sit with us”

Do Not Separate Them At All Cost™️

hopeless romantics

every saturday they go shopping together and drink at starbucks while gossiping about their classmates

they all ordered a grande pink drink

they are all binary

Monika

hehe oldy

“nobody can mess with them except me!”

she is the class president, also the president of a club, and is always the top of the class

actually the most long tempered among the three

in college taking up creative writing

really good at coding, for evil purposes

she’s only genuinely kind to the younger two!

does giffany, senpai, and her own hairdo

have a crush on miku

lowkey tired of senpai’s pettiness

“horrible job everyone”

tries to stop senpai’s bullshit

GIFfany

Middle Child Syndrome

ask about how her name is pronounced correctly and she’ll pronounced you dead

to senpai, “a twink with homophobia in his eyes 😻”

she’s always get compared to Monika but she never lash out on her. She actually looks up to her!

dyed her hair pink with matching pink eye contacts

her actual hair color is strawberry blonde like Monika and Senpai and her actual eye color is blue

really loves pink

wishes to be a star idol!

ironically uses cat emojis

probably has a squirrel fursona hidden in her sketchbook idk

goes to claire’s

encourages senpai’s bullshit

Senpai

don’t hurt him! he’s just baby!

possessed by a demon

“you know what? Fuck you” unballs your cock*

is a bit meaner and vulgar than the two

dont fuck with him, he has simps on his side

Monika and GIFfany refuses to call him senpai so they just call him “Sen”

heterochromia! one is green and one is blue

wears fake ear piercing at home

always get baby talked by the older two

very cheesy and romantic, likes to mimic the people in romcoms

potential theater kid

causes bullshit

Bluberry heads

always chants “Mcdonalds” every time they are on the backseat of the car

has a band and it only has a guitarist and two singers

musically inclined

usually very busy so every time they are able to get together, they make the most of it!

they are all bi as well

Miku

“Mikudayo :)”

VERY intimidating

cause you know?? everybody knows her! everybody loves her!

the oldest

is taking a rest from concerts and is spending time with her lil buddies!

childhood friends with Monika

likes to style Sally and BF’s hair!

The Hypewoman

teaches the lil dudes some music stuff!

Sally

“Excuse me, they asked with no pickles”

GNC AS FUCK

Larry is still his step-bro

the least popular of the two but he’s genuinely fine with it

The Translator

is really into supernatural stuff

uses “:|” as an emoticon for. every. emotion.

something funny? XD is old :| is better. genuinely happy? fuck smiley faces its :| now

goes to hot topic

Boyfriend

“beep boop skeed bo bop bep bo”

only speaks english with the people he is comfortable with!

has an energy of a toddler with sugar rush

hehe manlet goes brrrrrr

The Quiet Kid

when he noticed that he’s getting popular, he choose to stay a bit anonymous

he decided to not to use his real name in public

this led to his many nicknames and many debates about his name

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amiedala · 3 years ago

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SOMETHING DEEPER (a mandalorian story)

CHAPTER 1: There's Always Three Things

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, hints of voyeurism

SUMMARY: HELLLOOOOOOOOOOO AND HAPPY SOMETHING DEEPER SATURDAY MY LOVES!!! this is the first chapter in Something Deeper, the

second installment in the Something More series. in this one, Nova is her established character, they're still trying to save the galaxy, and the spice is racketed up even hotter ;) more notes at the end, as always, and until then, ENJOY!!!

If you're a newcomer, my fic "Something More" is the first installment of this story! <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HELLO MY LOVES HAPPY SOMETHING MORE SATURDAY!!!! this chapter is quite the whirlwind, i hope you love it! more notes at the end as always <3

Novalise Djarin is absolutely certain of three things. One, that the strongest thing in this galaxy is the green alien baby she calls her son; two, that her gorgeous, commanding bounty hunter husband is an excellent leader but a fantastically horrible diplomat; and three, that she is by far the most skilled person she knows at getting out of a particularly sticky situation.

Nova is excellent at getting out of things, period—her husband would argue that she’s an expert at getting the both of them out of their clothes and Mandalorian armor, respectively—but she excels at somehow, miraculously, wriggling herself free from between a rock and a hard place. And, right now, the asteroid belt that makes up Polis Massa is the abundance of rock, and the TIE fighters right on the tail of Kicker’s infamously sporadic power is the hard place.

They’re relentless. Nova squints her eyes, making the starry backdrop of the Outer Rim split and fractal into a thousand more glittering balls of light. There’s only three of them, this time, but this is the closest they’ve ever dared to follow her to Mandalore, and there’s something dangerous and electric kicking around somewhere inside of her chest. They keep shooting, jarring bolts of blasts that do their best to try and knock down Kicker’s very stubborn shields.

“Stupid,” Nova whispers, her breath low, the ghost of a smile stretching across her face, even in the crush of space. A year ago, she wouldn’t have recognized herself—this fearless, feisty pilot, the fully-formed reconstruction of the girl she used to be. On the ground, even with the Force on her side, she’s clumsy, an amateur. But up here? This is where Novalise shines. She has the upper hand out in the stars, and, besides, even if she were being chased by an artillery of a hundred more, there’s reinforcements on her old, lovable beater of a starship.

“Surrender,” one of the mechanical, ordered voices comes over the comm, and Nova giggles to herself in the darkness.

“Does that ever work?” she asks, flipping the right switches to make Kicker drop down and over itself, sending one of the fighters careening into the nearest asteroid. It doesn’t deter whoever’s in the cockpit for long, but it’s enough to utilize her infamous barrel roll to twist up and away from the other two fighters close in tow. “You know, asking impolitely for whoever you’re chasing to surrender?”

Silence. Nova smiles again, biting her teeth down against the fullness of her bottom lip. Her stomach grumbles. It was a sleepless night and a long day she spent back on Hoth before making the short trek back home—Mandalore, which isn’t the kindest of planets to call your own but is undoubtably better than some of the other alternatives—and the broth-based soups and dried legumes that frequent the base there are not nearly as filling or delicious as the feasts that being Mandalorian royalty entail. Still nothing from the other fighters, which is perfectly fine, because she’s about to feign dropping into warp and leading through a wormhole that’ll lead nowhere but the barrenness of the Mid Rim, but usually, they’re much more demanding.

“Surrender,” comes the voice again, and Nova sighs, cracking her neck, readjusting the familiar, worn helmet still stamped with the orange Rebel insignia. Kicker beeps angrily, and she lends a soft hand to the worn metal of her beloved ship’s dashboard, coaxing the metal to just go a tiny bit further.

“I’m just saying, you might have a stroke more of luck if you’re a little bit nicer. Less demanding, more asking. Who am I surrendering to?” she asks, and even though the TIE fighters are still volleying an array of blasts at the back end of the starfighter, they’re not quick to identify themselves. Nova squints again, catching a glimpse of one of them as she swoops to avoid a larger chunk of asteroid. It was stupid to come here, she admits internally to herself, even though it makes her heart drop a tiny bit inside of her chest. All she wanted for the hours she spent on Hoth was to get back to Din, to hold Grogu against her heartbeat for as long as she could before she reluctantly had to relinquish him to the one and only Luke Skywalker, but when Wedge called, it seemed urgent. “Hello?” she whispers, only to dare the strange, affected voice on the commlink to rattle back across the stars.

“Andromeda Maluev,” the comm blurts, and the sound of her name—her birth name, still heavy and pearlescent with the weight of losing her parents—makes Nova’s heart drop even further. Everyone left in this galaxy that Nova associates with—Din Djarin, Luke Skywalker, Wedge Antilles, Bo-Katan Kryze, Boba Fett, Cara Dune, Greef Karga, and every person she met along her trip with Din through the galaxy and back—knows that Andromeda Maluev is dead, and that Novalise Djarin rose from her ashes. But every single bounty Nova’s had on her head has slammed that full weight of her first identity back into her bones, like a brand, like something she can’t escape. It makes the force of people after her—the shadowy legion of the obscured First Order, and all of their cronies—feel just a bit more insidious.

“Not my name,” she volleys back, but the brace in Nova’s voice doesn’t sound like anything dangerous, anything sharp enough scare them off. “I’ve ran into enough of you by now for you to get it right.”

“We’ve got you surrounded. Surrender or be killed.”

Nova snorts. There’s three fighters on her tail, and they’re nowhere close to surrounding her. It’s so ludicrous, so unexpected, that the laugh catapults out of her mouth and echoes in the small hull of Kicker. She wishes Din and Grogu were here to equally share in her utter disbelief—she can practically see the helmet cocking and the baby’s giant, intuitive eyes crinkling—but she dodges another set of shots, which are almost completely aimless and hardly land on the tail end of the ship. “Be killed?” she repeats, swerving and ducking through another large chunk of asteroid, seamlessly, barely paying any attention to the terrain around her. She doesn’t need to. Even in a field this littered, space is Nova’s strongest suit. She could do this with her eyes closed. “As far as I can see, you’ve landed what, three shots? I don’t think you’ll be getting anywhere near close enough to even do damage to my ship. You’re three fighters strong, and one of you has a wounded wing. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“The First Order demands your services.”

Nova’s blood runs ice-cold. It’s a familiar request at this point, but still, the name sends a very real shiver all the way down her spine, rocking and rattling her vertebrae. She swallows, blinking furiously, avoiding the tailspin of a smaller asteroid as she lurches out of the chase. That wasn’t the lowly voice of some sorry stormtrooper that got the shitty job of trying to wrangle her out of the skies. It sounds evil. Dark. Mirthless. It wasn’t Moff Gideon’s voice, but it was something close to the memory of the dark timbre of it. Fear forms wet and cold on the back of her neck, curling up through the bottom of her hairline, seeping underneath the warmth of her standard, Rebel-orange jumpsuit. She swallows, but the air feels like it’s evaporating out of her mouth.

“The First Order,” she manages, finally, trying to detach the nervousness from her voice, “will not be getting my services. Not now, not ever.”

It’s only been two weeks since Din’s coronation. Two hectic, packed weeks in which her big, brave bounty hunter boyfriend got forcibly turned into a very reluctant diplomat under the watchful—and perhaps slightly resentful—eye of Bo-Katan Kryze. Din never seemed to really need sleep the way a normal human being did, but Nova watched as the bags under his eyes darkened and grew as he spent long hours in the war rooms, buried somewhere in the giant, stark palace they’d moved into, eyelids pressed into the warm hollow of her neck in the early hours of the morning when he made it to bed at all. In the meantime, Nova was spending every single precious second of her waking hours with Grogu, who she knows is on the verge of needing to go back to Jedi training, trying to absorb as much of his small, green light as she possibly can. When Wedge called the other day, though, he sounded desperate, which didn’t happen often, and she had wrenched herself away from her family on Mandalore to try and stop the impending doom of the First Order on Hoth, but it had been yet another dead end. Polis Massa was a pit stop—an impulsive, foolish one—because Nova ran furiously out of the library archives the last time she was here, and she wanted to pick up books on the history of Mandalore for Din and herself, and a small star of yearning in her chest was to spend a little more time in the shelves like her father used to before the Empire killed him.

And as much as Nova wants to put Andromeda Maluev to rest, longing for the days when she was tiny and growing up on Yavin with her parents alive and happy beside her outweighs the alternative. She swallows through the lump in her throat and closes her eyes to shake the starshine of her past lives away. The time to focus on getting the hell out of here is now, all yearning and ache can blossom fully formed when she’s away from the reaches of the First Order, safely back on Mandalore.

“Surrender,” the voice says again, only this time it is the timbre of some sorry stormtrooper and not the one that still haunts her nightmares, and Nova sighs, flipping all of the switches on Kicker’s dashboard to feint left and fake drop into hyperspace.

“I’ll ask you again. When,” she exhales, straightening up in the pilot’s chair, “has that line ever worked?”

“We are granted permission to obliterate your starfighter under Order Number—”

“Obliterate?” Nova interrupts, stifling another giggle. “Is the Order giving you vocabulary lessons? I’m impressed, trooper—”

“Andromeda Maluev,” the voice comes again, and Nova tries her absolute hardest to ignore the pulsing and aching in her heart that comes with the punch of her previous identity, “you are to surrender to the First Order. Failure to comply will result in termination. This is your final warning.”

Nova sighs, pulling Kicker to a temporary halt. If she stares, the ghostly outline of Mandalore, embedded forever in her memory, will flash in front of her vision, even out here in Polis Massa’s gigantic asteroid belt. She knows that the troopers, whoever they are, whoever they’re working for, will understand that she’s intending to go straight back to the strange palace she’s started calling home, but she also knows that any force in this galaxy, no matter how dark, no matter how strong, is smart enough to know they can’t take on a planet full of Mandalorian warriors without all the strength they’ve got. From the way Kicker is paused in the middle of space, she knows it looks like she’s about to surrender, or at least like she’s weighing her options heavily, and the satisfied, smug silence of the trooper on the other end of the commlink is enough to assure herself that her plan—hasty and rash as it may be—is working.

“Okay,” she whispers, feigning resignation, into the comm. “I understand I’m dealing with forces a lot stronger than I am. I don’t surrender, but I’ll come with you. But first,” she whispers, silencing the clicking that the switches to go into hyperdrive with the muffler of her right hand, “I need to tell you something.”

There’s a pause. “So be it. Reeling you in via tractor beam now.”

The unmistakable whirring of a ship forcibly being dragged onto another’s power starts up, and Nova swallows, pushing the second to last toggle into place, keeping a steady eye on the rocketing meter on her dashboard that indicates the ship is fully charged. Under the noise of Kicker being pulled into the largest TIE fighter’s proximity, the beeping goes unnoticed by the other party. Nova slips her hand off the switch and finds the necklace Din gifted her back before he accepted his role of Mand’alor, pressing hard enough that the symbol embosses itself into her thumbprint. “First of all,” she starts, trying her hardest to keep her voice level and even and not reveal a single ounce of the glee that she’s concealing, “my name hasn’t been Andromeda Maluev in a decade. You want me to answer to you, to answer to the Order? You’ll call me Novalise.”

The sigh from the trooper is short, clipped. “Noted.”

“Second,” Nova continues, leveling her jaw with the center of the dashboard, watching every single thruster lock itself into gear, “I am married to the galaxy’s most ruthless bounty hunter. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than the word surrender to scare me into submission.”

Kicker grinds to a halt in midair. Nova straps herself in tighter, just enough to ensure that she won’t be sent reeling across the perfectly aligned dashboard when she breaks free of the tractor beam and shoots Kicker straight into the stars, back to Mandalore, back to Din, back home, and steels herself.

“Stop,” another voice says, tinny and nervous over the speaker. “She’s—she’s screwing with us, sir—”

“I’m assuming,” the original trooper speaks, trying to intimidate Nova with the ice in his voice, “that there’s a third thing?”

“Oh, there’s always a third thing,” Nova volleys back, eyes catching the light of what’s been powering up the entire time the troopers thought she was weighing her options and deciding the First Order’s clutches sounded warm and delightful, after all. “Not only am I a commander in the New Rogue Squadron, not only am I the wife of the reigning Mand’alor, I contain multitudes.” She grins, her teeth bared and gleeful in the low light of space, knowing this is by far the most badass exit she’s ever attempted. “And do you know what that means?”

The trooper in the largest fighter sounds defeated. This was barely even a scratch compared to the narrow scrapes Nova’s been entangled with before. She bites down on her bottom lip, cracking her neck, taking advantage of Kicker’s stationary position to break free of the tractor beam, and as the angry clamor of the three troopers in the fighters trying to reel the ship in starts to filter across the commlink, Nova does what she does best.

She barrel rolls the entirety of Kicker, flipping downward and over so that she’s facing the three fighters, staring through her Rebel helmet at the floodlights drenching her whole ship in florescence that shouldn’t be possible in space, and shows every single one of her teeth, smile stretched so far across her face that it hurts, “My starfighter is Rebel-made, sure, but it’s gotten a few upgrades in the past few weeks. The only reason you got this far was because I was waiting to unload the artillery loaded up in the guns that are pointed at you right now. And you know what they’re made of?”

“All aim to kill—”

Nova can’t resist. She tries, but this whole royalty thing, the whole leading the New Rogue Squadron thing, this whole being a Jedi thing—well, all of it has been tallied up enough to recognize she can stand to be the tiniest bit cocky to the people trying to kill her or bring her in as a slave. She raises a single middle finger, making sure that the pilot of the largest fighter catches her elongated, elegant bird with the floodlights. “Same thing as my resolve is. Beskar, bitch.” And with that, she punches all the thrusters, Kicker dazzling and evaporating through hyperspace, gone before the first trigger even pulls.

Mandalore is quiet. There’s a strange serenity that lives on the horizon, pulsing and shifting, but never quite tangible from the planet’s surface. It’s hard to look at the place where the greatest warriors in the galaxy are born and bred and not see anything but a whetted, sharp arena, but so much of this planet is soft around the edges. The blue architecture in the capital, for one—something Nova knows is much newer than the ancient history of the land here—and there’s a silence here that teeters on eerie but mostly stays in a strange sense of tranquility.

It doesn’t hold the feeling of abandonment, like so many other planets do these days, but it seems like the rest of the world around the city is disconnected. Inhabitable. Nova parks Kicker in the nearest landing bay, watching the strange haze that hangs over the atmosphere, trying to find other places where lights are lit, where people live, but so much of the planet is quiet. It’s the same sort of stark contrast that Yavin had when her and Din got engaged all those months ago, or Hoth’s anesthetic brutality, but Mandalore’s environment feels different.

And, Nova reasons, as she disembarks off Kicker’s gangplank, running the tips of her fingers over the Rebel insignia hidden under the outermost coat of white and silver detailing, it’s likely because this isn’t home. Not yet, anyway, and it might never have that feeling of belonging that the Crest did, that Kicker does, that her and Din found on Naator and Kashyyyk and Nevarro. Nova climbs the marble steps to the palace, smiling at the stoic Mandalorians stationed outside as she slips up the stairs and through the main entrance, immediately cutting sideways up the hallways to the left, watching as her shadow traipses behind her in the blue dusk, trying to not stake stock of the silence that most of the building holds. In true Mandalorian fashion, their holding cells are built into the palace itself, alongside training arenas and the war room where Din spends most of his time. Nova moves as quietly as she can through the halls, up the other marble staircase, and when she bursts into the chambers twice the size of the starship that she and Din usually call home, a gurgle from Grogu on the floor makes the entire day turn around.

Nova grins, dropping to her knees. Grogu beams up at her, his big bug eyes full of nothing but love, and she scoops him up, pressing his tiny, warm body against her chest. It chases away all the chill of Hoth and the crush of space, and for a second, she just runs her fingers over the top of his fuzzy head, pressing kisses to his green skin, soaking in every second she can.

“I missed you, lovey,” she murmurs, and Grogu’s giant green ears perk up. “What did you do in your day here?”

Grogu pulls away from her chest, pressing a three-fingered hand against Nova’s temple. The visions that used to terrify her, the ones Grogu put into her head, filled with screaming and loss and desperation, fall away as he shows her the bath he took, the feast he got for dinner, sitting on Din’s lap while in the war room. As he drops his touch, Nova grins down at him, all teeth and excitement, all of the panic and isolation of the last few hours melting away.

“He terrorized Bo-Katan,” a familiar voice rings out from behind her, and Nova pushes herself up on the heels of her hands, her heart flipping over with the same butterfly menagerie Din’s always given her. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop.”

“Hi,” Nova whispers, giddy, watching as Din steps forward out of the shadows. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s been lucky enough to gaze over his handsome face, it doesn’t matter that he’s been spending more time helmetless here on Mandalore, every time she sees him, it’s like the first time. In the moonlight, obscured by the permafrost of Mandalore’s blue twilight, Nova’s eyes roam over the valleys and mountains of her husband’s face. His hair is the length it was when he proposed, long enough for the ends to curl up gently. His mouth, even in the near darkness, is pink and gorgeous, his lips slightly parted in the unconscious way they do when Nova’s the only thing in his eyeline. His scruff is there, long enough to scratch her chin—or her thighs—up something terrible, and the ghost of the mustache she used to feel in the dark is strong, dark, manicured. His eyelashes are longer than the length of her thumbnails, and his eyes, his gorgeous brown eyes, soften around the edges the second Nova smiles.

“Hi,” Din echoes, bridging the gap between the two of them with two quick strides, and Nova feels her breath catch in her throat. Din’s hands, gloved in black and twice the size of her own, balance on the curve of her hips, his fingers digging into the loops of her orange jumpsuit, pulling Nova over her own feet, anchoring her body right up against hers. The way he kisses after only being separated overnight is desperate, longing, filled with words he doesn’t always know how to say. Nova leans into his embrace, head fuzzy, waterlogged, like everything else fades away. It does. She loses track of time, how many minutes pass, the stars behind her eyes dazzling, supernovae, regenerated.

When they break apart, Nova’s hand trails over the regalia Din’s wearing. It’s his familiar beskar, the armor he’s worn since they first met, but it’s been cleaned, and underneath, where his typical black undergarments used to cling to his build, he’s wearing Mandalore blue. It’s the color of the skyline at dusk, a faded azure that signals something more than warrior, something a shade closer to royalty. The material is lightweight, practical. It’s the same kind that every single one of her matching outfits are made out of—Mandalorians don’t have much use for aesthetic, it just gets in the way of practicality—but it seems more vibrant on Din. “How was today?” she whispers into the hollow of his mouth, and Din exhales, low and slow, tipping his bare forehead against hers.

“Long without you,” he admits, his voice barely anything. Nova’s eyes search his deep brown ones, trying to figure out where his exhaustion is hiding. “Come with me. I—I want to show you something.”

Nova nods, catching sight of the dirty orange jumpsuit stretched over her tan trousers, the black tank top she’d spent the past year replacing every time Din tore it off of her body. “I should change.”

Din’s eyes flick hungrily over her silhouette, and when he speaks again, his voice is husky. “No,” he says, finally, digging his thumb slightly into the flesh on her hip, “you shouldn’t.”

The trek downstairs is quiet. Both of them move in the shadows, lulled into an easy silence, their hands knitted together in between their two bodies. Nova watches as the low light of the corridor flickers as they cross over another staircase and down a side hallway, entering through the war room by the back entrance instead of the front, even though there’s no one left in here to try to hide from.

Nova’s been in here at least ten times, but the decoration steals the breath straight out of her mouth every time. A glittering holotable, top of the line, at least twenty years more advanced than the one on Hoth, sits in the direct center. The ceiling looks more like a cathedral than it does anything else, which is perfectly fitting for a group of people who treat fighting as their religion. Nova looks up through the sheer domed ceiling, watching as the moody dusk falls into a silent, quiet night. Stars dazzle and shine from above, and even though they’re not nearly as poignant and powerful down here as they are out in space, the direct line to the cosmos is bright enough to make her throat ache. “Wow,” Nova whispers, voice barely anything at all, staring straight upward, mapping constellations under her breath. Eventually, her eyes slide off of the ceiling, traveling over the careful architecture, the shrines in the corners, the murals painstakingly hand-painted across the circular walls, all of beskar and helmets and Mandalorian history. It feels so ancient, even though the palace was recently rebuilt, reconstructed from nothing during both of their lifetimes. She’s been in here a handful of times before, but never as night is on the horizon. There’s something transcendent about this place, this holy center of Mandalorian worship. Something deeper, something divine enough to make a Jedi believe in them, too.

Din’s standing across the other end of the holotable, fidgeting with the controls until a map of the galaxy sparkles to life in front of them. Through the light, Nova watches the peaks of her husband’s face getting caught in the reflections, letting everything except his face blur out to stardust. “Did you get anything from Wedge?” he asks, and Nova blinks her eyes to refocus on the map. “Anything new? Anything…useful?”

Quietly, Nova shakes her head. “He thought—he called me back to Hoth because of a prison break in one of the sectors Cara doesn’t have jurisdiction in, or I’d suspect she’d have already taken care of it. It was small, just a few criminals with nothing more than petty charges breaking out of a hold somewhere, but he thought it might be related to—”

“The First Order?”

“Me,” Nova finishes, quietly. Her eyes narrow just a fraction, refocusing on Din’s silhouette through the glitter of the galaxy between them. “Yeah, the Order. We couldn’t prove anything, but I—”

“You feel something is coming,” Din interrupts gently, stealing the words right out of her mouth, bracing his strong, gloved hands on the side of the holotable, and Nova nods, watching his grip, starting to get a little dizzy, with lust or with the reflections above them or both. “Don’t you?”

“I do,” she echoes, confirming his theory. “I—I took a detour coming back here. I went to Polis Massa, to try and return to the library archives so I could learn more about Mandalore and bring you back something other than a dead end.”

Din stares at her, his face partially hidden in the glow of the rotating image of the holotable. “You brought yourself back here,” he says, finally, and Nova’s knees buckle a little under the husk of his voice. “It’s hard to care about much else.”

Nova bites down on her lip, butterflies swirling up a storm inside her tummy. “Din,” she whispers, leaning forward on the table, cocking her head in the signature way he always does, lifting her chin slightly with the tilt, “we are tasked with the incredible privilege of saving the galaxy, you know—”

“Fuck the galaxy,” Din breathes, and despite the fact that what he’s wanting to shirk is their top priority, and really has been for months, it buzzes inside Nova, wet and hot. “Let someone else handle it for once. I don’t care.”

“You do care,” she protests, weakly, but his tongue slides out from the hollow of his mouth, and everything else seems to evaporate. “I know—fuck, I don’t know, I know you missed me when I left overnight, I know we’ve been apart more than we’ve been together, but it’s for good reason, and when we save, y’know, the whole galaxy and everything, it…it’ll be all the time in the world for the two of us.”

“I’m impatient,” Din counters, roughly, and then he’s around the table in three quick, determined strides. Nova sighs, letting her body crumple a little as Din moves forward, his hands on her hips, anchoring her pelvis against his. “Don’t make me wait any more for you, cyar’ika, I won’t be able to stand it.”

Nova inhales sharply, feeling him harden against her leg, and she lifts her chin a touch more, enough for their lips to only be an inch apart, enough to make eye contact, enough for all of this to let the rest of the world fade right out. “You know,” she whispers, finally, blood pumping furiously, “you’re the leader of this planet. You could order me to do anything, and I’d be helpless to do anything but comply.”

Din lets out a groan, low and desperate, a choked off, guttural one. “And if I told you I wanted you right here on this table?”

Nova grins, her teeth glittering against the quickening darkness, pulling away only to drape herself over the holotable, face down, letting the spots where her body occupies the space filter out of the reflection. The glow of the lights is disrupted by her figure, and she hears Din’s voice catch in the dark behind her as she arches her back, still fully clothed, an invitation for him to come closer, to take what’s rightfully his. “Then you’d have me right here on this table, Mand’alor.”

She feels Din press up against her, hard against the soft, voluptuous curve of her ass. He inhales, heavily, she can hear it whine through the darkness, not hidden under the evenness of the modulator built into his helmet. Nova knows she’s an expert at getting out of things—sticky situations, clothes, everything in between—but right now, she wants to make Din wait beg for it before she complies. Something to prove that even while he’s the one on the throne, her neck is holding up the crown. At least here. Especially here.

“And if I told you I wanted to fuck you on the floor?”

“Then you’d take me on the floor, Mand’alor. I quite like the floor, you know.”

“You—” Din’s breath cuts off again, and Nova lets the timbre of his voice soak into her. It turns her heart over, first, that excitement tangling up with the knowledge that she’ll let him do anything. It’s been over a week since the last time they fucked, because he’s been spending most of his time in this room, trying to prove to the rest of the planet that he’s worthy enough to hold the throne, and she’s been splitting her time between Grogu and saving the galaxy. All of them necessary evils, deserving distractions, but it’s nearly impossible to think about anything other than the feel of Din up against Nova, his mouth on her neck, his hands on her hips, concerned only with burying himself as deep into her as he possibly can. “I brought you down here to show you the stars. You’re distracting me.”

Nova smiles, then braces her palms on top of the holotable, pushing herself up, gliding her body backwards up against her husband’s. “What an honor,” she purrs, quiet, low, the same kind of voice Din always uses when he wants her so badly it hurts to breathe, “that the king of Mandalore thinks I am a suitable distraction.”

“Novalise.”

“Use me as a distraction, then,” Nova continues, taking hold of one of Din’s gloved hands, guiding them against the curve of her chest, making sure he feels how her nipples harden under his touch, a soft, mewling sound with her mouth completely indicative of the flush of warmth rushing between her legs. “Show me anything you want, oh worthy Mand’alor, please—”

Her breath is cut off as Din whirls her around by her throat. It’s sudden, desperate, the kind of electricity he used to greet her with whenever he finally tracked down the bounty he was hunting and could let loose with her on the Crest.

“Get on,” Din starts, voice raggedly, both hands clenching against Nova’s cheeks, puckering her lips, “the fucking throne, cyar’ika.”

“The—throne?” Nova repeats, breathless. “You want—”

“I want to fuck you on my throne,” Din interrupts, and stars above, she can feel the way that his cock is throbbing in his pants, through the regalia, through the beskar, all of it. “You said anything I want. I want to make you scream my name on the planet we rule while I’m seven inches inside of you. That work for you?”

Nothing but a strangled moan comes out.

Din nods. “Good. Get over there.”

Nova reels back as he releases her. It takes more than a few seconds to collect herself enough to move, and when she does, her legs feel like they’re made out of rubber, elastic and wobbly. She can feel his heavy gaze on her as she makes her way around the holotable, and when she takes the few steps that lead to the ironclad, menacing chair that sits atop the highest point in the room, Din’s voice rings out.

“Stop,” he commands, and she does, feeling her heart hammer. “Face me.”

Nova turns, her breath caught in her throat, staring down at Din. The few steps she’s scaled make her just a tad taller than Din is, and she watches as he slowly moves forward, crossing the tile of the floor with quiet, intentional steps.

“Take your clothes off,” Din manages, and Nova’s almost a hundred percent sure that he’s whispering, even though it might just be that she can’t hear anything over how loud her blood is pumping, over how hard her heart is hammering.

“Now?”

He raises a single dark eyebrow, and Nova nods, trying to peel off her shirt and her trousers as fast as she can. She kicks off her shoes, and they land at the bottom of the steps with a very incriminating thud, but Din just kicks them out of the way as he presses the soles of his beskar boots deliberately against the tile. Everything in here is blue and reflective, even after night has fallen on Mandalore, and Nova catches sight of her silhouette in the floor. Her breath stutters in her throat, suddenly very aware that she’s completely naked and Din, save for his forgotten helmet, is fully clothed, but with the way his eyes are roving over her body like he’s starving and she’s the only thing in this galaxy or the next that can satiate it, she forgets how to care.

“You,” he starts, trailing a single gloved finger down the curve of her body, “are so beautiful.”

“Stop,” she whispers, smiling, everything burning and in flames. It’s the opposite of what she means—she never wants Din to stop calling her beautiful, stop revering her, stop treating her like something holy—but when they’re in a public room that just about anyone left on this planet can walk on, and she’s the only one naked, the risk burns hotter than her desire. “Din, I—”

His finger is on her lips before Nova even realizes he’s moved. “Do you believe me?”

Nova blinks, stuttering over the dying words hidden somewhere between her teeth and the back of her throat. The answer is yes, because Din Djarin never utters a single word that he doesn’t mean, because he uses so few of them to begin with, and also because he’s seen every single inch of her body and worshipped it, but in this reflective room, usually full of figures so much more athletic, razor-sharp, warrior-grade, a tiny bead of insecurity spools down the back of her neck. Nervously, Nova’s gaze filters off of Din’s, flicking over to the ornate door on the other side of the room, and when she looks back, he’s staring at her.

“Nova?” he repeats, gently, and something about the way he’s saying it makes tears spring up in her eyes. “Here. Come here. Look at yourself.”

She lets him guide her over to the throne, which is made out of the shiniest, most reflective beskar she’s ever seen, polished so effortlessly it doubles as a mirror, and Din pulls curls of her dark hair away from her collarbone, fingers grazing the new necklace he gifted her, one hand curling around her jaw, the other sliding down the side of her body.

“Look at yourself,” Din repeats, his touch still so light, and when Nova doesn’t immediately obey, his grip tightens. Not hard, just filled with enough desire to snap her back to her senses—that he took her into this room to fuck her senseless, that his eyes don’t meet anyone else’s, that Din Djarin isn’t a pious man in any other capacity than his Creed and all the rules he broke to worship Nova instead. She relaxes under his touch, her eyes glazing as they travel over the valleys of her naked body. Her skin doesn’t glow in the darkness like it does during the daylight, but it’s a rich brown, three or so shades darker than Din’s. Her eyes, a deep sage green that dips into brown in the darkness, glitter as they flash against the beskar. Her eyelashes, dark and tangled up in the corners from where her laughter lines are. Her nose, not as prominent as Din’s hooked, curved one, but big, slightly upturned, and anchored in the center of her face. Her mouth, plump and perma-stained deep pink from where she bites hard on it in concentration. Her hair, so long now that it trails down to where her curved hipbones protrude, woven into a deeper curl than the natural wave of her hair from the braids it’s always tied back in. Din’s hand on her hip clenches gently at his knuckles, and she lets her gaze shift off of her face, down the stocky muscles of her upper arms, slightly sore from twirling Grogu around and from flying out of her skirmish with the TIE fighters. Her hands are long and elegant, princess fingers, her mother used to call them, dainty and slender, nails kept short to flip all the necessary switches on whatever vessel she’s flying, thumbs worn down with callouses from fighting and twirling Luke’s lightsaber around for the last two weeks, trying to conjure the power he radiates on her own. Down the left side of her tummy, which is rounded and collects weight around her bellybutton, is the scar that Jacterr Calican left in an attempt to rip her soul out of her body, and Din’s finger traces over the bump of it, gentle, endearing, protective. Her hips, which are wide, the curves of her upper legs, the muscles that pack on more weight in her calves. Nova looks at herself and sees, just for a glimpse, just for a split second, that sure, she’s not shaped like a Mandalorian, but she’s certainly desired by one. Din pulls her hair back from where it’s settled against her throat, pressing his lips to her skin.

“What do you see?” he murmurs, his voice deep and electric.

“The girl you love,” Nova whispers, grinning at him in their reflections. Din spins her back around, much gentler than he did a minute ago, all the fire gone, his eyes gentle like the oceans on Yavin.

“Damn right,” Din affirms, the timbre of his voice in her ear making goosebumps spark up across Nova’s bare arms. “Now get on the throne.”

She’s giddy. Her heart is, as usual, racing a thousand beats per minute, threatening to hammer right out of her chest. It’s cold—the throne—cool to the touch. As Nova slowly slides down onto the beskar, she watches Din’s brown eyes flash with lust and longing, and his look alone is enough to take away the chill against her bare skin. The beskar warms to her touch, and she crosses one thick thigh over the other, trying to quell the nervousness that’s still whining at the back of her mind.

“Don’t look at the door,” Din orders, his head cocked to the side. It’s been a few months now since Nova’s seen every single contour of his face, but every new expression not hidden behind the helmet makes her stomach lurch up into her throat. Right now, she can see the tenseness of his command in his clenched jaw, but his eyes soften as they roam over her body. “Look at me.”

“Din—”

“Look at me.”

Nervously, she does. The second her eyes meet his, everything else fades away. In the back of her mind, she’s aware that she’s completely naked, her skin up and against something divine, something not meant for her, this throne that she’s about to be desecrated on.

And sweet Maker above, she doesn’t even care. Din slowly canvasses the distance between the two of them, the intensity of his gaze never once wavering off of Nova’s face. The pure look of animalistic desire on his unmasked face makes her whimper under her breath. If she were weaker, she would cower away, avert her eyes, but by this point, she’s earned her brazenness. There are exactly two things in this galaxy that the ruler of Mandalore, the most ruthless bounty hunter, and the man in front of her would do anything for. Grogu and Nova.

He doesn’t make a noise. Everything is an electric wire as he finds his secure, silent footing on the first step, and Nova’s heart catches in her throat. She wants to say something, to make a silly comment, to cut through the tension, but she knows that whatever’s about to follow Din’s ascent will be worth her quiet. Instead, Nova bites down on her trembling lip, watching the rest of the throne room disappear as Din steps closer, still not making a single noise, pulling his body weight up the lip of each step, staring at her.

“What?” she manages, finally, the word all air.

Din moves closer. Nova’s seated against the throne, the beskar suddenly warm against her bare skin. Everything in her is burning. “What do you want?” Din asks, his voice deep, rumbling through her like a honeyed thunderstorm. He doesn’t even have the modulator to filter his words, and even though the deepness of his voice through the helmet runs rivers through her, Nova’s suddenly glad for the bareness of all of this. It makes it easier, dirtier, better.

“I want you,” Nova manages, hollowly, the words surrender out of her parted lips. “Just you.”

“You want me?” Din repeats, and a flash of lust sparks up behind his beautiful brown eyes. There’s something dangerous in his tone, something deeper, something electric. She stares at him, unwilling to break his gaze. If it were anyone else, Nova would think that the timbre of Din’s voice was teasing, but the edge to it suggests towards pleading.

“Yes,” Nova echoes, and Din moves forward, towering over her. She stares up at him as one gloved hand easily notches against her right cheek, eyelashes fluttering as the pad of Din’s fabric-laden thumb traces over the mountain of her cheekbone. “I want you, Mand’alor—”

“I’m not Mand’alor right now, cyar’ika,” Din interrupts, his voice low and ragged, sparking somewhere in his throat. “Look at who’s on the throne.”

Nova gulps. Air is suddenly impossible to come by. Everything in her is electric, alive. Everything else fades out except for Din’s touch. Her doubt, her insecurity—it’s all been chased away and zapped into obliteration by the way Din’s speaking, touching, breathing. “I—”

“Say my name,” Din says, hooking his free hand under Nova’s chin. She swallows, letting the roughness of his gesture manipulate her body in any way that he wants, pliable against Din’s weathered hands. “Say you want me.”

“Din,” Nova squeaks out, and a single one of his dark eyebrows quirks up against the celestial darkness of the throne room, daring her to speak. “Din Djarin,” Nova rectifies, her voice suddenly loud and clear. It booms out, fills the throne room with sound. For once, the buzzing in her head completely drowns out her fear of being discovered. This palace doesn’t exist. Anyone walking the strange, ornate, blue halls doesn’t exist. Stars above, Mandalore itself doesn’t exist at this point. She’s emboldened, as if her will has flooded back, full-force. “Three things. There’s always three things included in how I want you. I want you without armor. I want you without titles. I want you like I had you back on Dagobah.”

“And how,” Din whispers, his voice running through Nova like heat, “is that?”

She gasps as Din’s hand slowly slips down to her throat, bracing itself there. He barely squeezes, and without all of her senses screaming at her that Din’s hand is against her, she thinks his touch would feel like a ghost, like nothing there at all. “Like we belong to each other,” Nova manages, and Din’s grip intensifies. It’s a slip. She can tell, with the way that his eyes roll back, with the way that a moan slips out from the hollow of his open mouth. Stars blur through her vision—some refracted from the open sky up above, and some from the restriction to her airflow, and she leans into the pressure just as Din retracts his grip.

“Cyar’ika—”

“I belong to you,” Nova whispers, the words sounding like a confessional, deeper and darker than she intended. Her hands find Din’s, wordlessly pulling his hand back to rest like a vice against her throat. “Everything in me is yours. Remember?”

Din squeezes again, and the grin that was hiding slowly spreads across Nova’s face. She knows that in the darkness, her teeth glow white, framed by the plump pinkness of her mouth. Din’s standing, still fully clothed, but she can tell by the way his grip tightens against her throat that he’s rock hard under all that beskar.

“Din,” she manages, her voice high and thready through the pressure of his hand, “what do you want?”

“I want you,” he chokes out, guttural and dangerous, his voice coming from somewhere beyond the horizon. Immediately, he pulls Nova to her feet by her throat, eyes flickering carefully over her own gaze to double-check that what he’s doing isn’t too far. She smiles back at him, and when she’s fully standing, smile still plastered across her starstruck face, she drops her grip on Din’s wrist and immediately moves to unhook his armor. She could do it in the dark. She could do it blind. By now, Nova’s memorized every single inch of Din’s body, whether he’s armored in all of his beskar or not. Even the new additions to his regalia since becoming Mand’alor are burned into Nova’s memory, bright and gleaming. She doesn’t break Din’s gaze as she undresses him, pulling the pauldrons off, the chest plates, the silver V of covering that protects his lower stomach and his crotch. It’s over in what feels like seconds, and then the only thing covering Din is the soft fabric of his underclothes. Nova tugs at his trousers first, pulling them down to reveal the silky feeling of his boxers. She positions herself in between Din’s legs, grabbing his right hip to anchor his hardness against her, and he groans out again, the desperate, wet sound filling up the throne room. It's loud. Too loud. The kind of loud that Din never reaches, not unless they’re the only two people on a planet, not unless they’re lost out there in the crush of space. If his cheeks redden at the sound, though, Nova doesn’t catch it, because her touch is too focused, her vision still spinning off starry, impassioned, loud. Slowly, she reaches up through Din’s weakening grip to pull the shirt off of his torso, breath catching in her throat as she takes the King of Mandalore without armor, without clothes, without anything. Nova smiles up at Din, blinking away the small tears of pleasure that gathered in the corners of her eyes, and then she sinks back down on the throne, squaring her shoulders, tossing her loose hair out of her face, eyes full of allure and desire.

“I want you,” she echoes, and then her mouth is on his stomach. Din gasps out, the sound of it ringing out like infernal bells, and Nova hides her teeth as she grins against his stomach, tongue swirling up and down his belly, fingers grazing like butterfly wings across the bones of his hips. She can feel him growing harder and harder as she teases, parting some of the faint hair that trails down his stomach with the wetness of her mouth. Din’s hands find her shoulders, and his fingers clench down, leaving small half-moons imprinted on either side of her neck. “Can I taste you?”

“W—want you,” Din chokes out, his voice demanding and desperate, but the rocking of his hips against her chest betrays him, and before he can make good on his command, Nova’s already slid every inch of him down her throat. She moans in rhythm with him, as Din’s hands leave her shoulders in a frenzy and instead tangle in her hair, wanting. Quietly, Nova swirls her tongue around the base before she pulls off of his cock with a loud, slurping, sucking noise, and she doesn’t even have time to be embarrassed before she’s sinking her mouth all the way down over Din again, the tears that have returned at the corners of her eyes springing back to life. They feel like satisfaction. She can feel him trembling, and when she drops one of her hands between his legs, lightly cupping his balls, Din cries out again. “Nova—”

“Shh,” she interrupts, which is truly a feat, considering her mouth is full of him and her saliva and not much else, “let me finish you here.”

“No,” Din interrupts, and his voice is strangled, muddled. Immediately, Nova does, pulling her mouth off of him regrettably, blinking up at him, lower lip slowly jutted out. “I k—fuck, I know you wanted to finish me like this, but—but I need you to break in my throne.”

A jolt of lightning strikes through Nova’s body, and she shudders as Din’s shaking grip finds the small of her back and pulls her to her trembling feet. For a moment, everything else evaporates, just the two of them breathing and holding each other, Din’s forehead stooped low to press against hers, and then he whirls her around.

Nova’s used to Din’s manhandling, the expert way he spins and lifts her, like she’s made of nothing but air. This is much clumsier than his usual vigor, and when she’s done a complete 180 and is facing her husband, Mand’alor, the big brave bounty hunter, he’s seated on his throne like he owns it, and his hands are on Nova’s hips in the same place where she was sitting a second ago. There’s something deeper and more intense in his gaze right now, something beyond just lust. It’s power, Nova recognizes as Din pulls her hips down, her knees splaying to the sides of the beskar throne. The metal is unyielding against her bones, but still, she doesn’t feel the impact. Din has collapsed her on top of him, the only thing keeping her upward is his grip and her knees trying desperately to cling onto the straddling position that Din’s holding her in.

For a moment, she just stares at him. He looks like divinity, here, something deeper than just another human being in front of him. Nova doesn’t know if it’s the starry sky spinning through the throne room, or because this feels like a holy place of worship, or if it’s just been weeks since they’ve had longer than a handful of minutes at the end of the day before they both fall asleep, too exhausted and dizzied by their work to touch each other relentlessly, but she feels like she’s spinning. Like this has been months in the making, even though it’s only been a handful of days since Din pulled her down over his lap and anchored her hips to his. Her eyes are on his, desperate, searching. When a single hand trails up to brush against her throat, she eagerly leans into his touch, nodding before his outstretched hand makes contact with her neck, skin on skin.

“You want this?” Din breathes, eyes fixed on her open mouth, and Nova nods against his question, his touch, everything.

“More than anything,” she manages, voice throaty and high, stars spinning beyond her eyes. Din nods in assent, and then his hand is gone, a claw rounded around her hipbones, his fingernails sinking into the plushy flesh. The way he holds her as he grinds her down on top of him is enough to make the rest of the world—and every insecurity—trickle out of Nova. When he pushes inside her, slick and warm and so big from this position, she gasps, the sound of it wet and obscene, too loud for the silent room.

“Fuck,” Din hisses, and then Nova starts moving of her accord. She can’t really feel her knees as they dig into the smooth, impenetrable surface of the beskar throne, but it doesn’t even matter. This is worth never feeling either patella ever again. There’s something humming low and urgent in Din’s throat, his scratchy face buried in Nova’s neck, tongue licking and snapping at her most sensitive pulse point. She groans. “You—you’re perfect, cyar’ika.”

“Not perfect,” she murmurs, hands wrapping around Din’s neck and tangling in his dark hair, eyes fluttering open enough to catch a glimpse at it, her fingers long and beautiful as they tug at his hair.

“Listento yourself,” Din pleads, one of his strong, toned arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her down over and over. In any other situation it would be embarrassing, the sucking noise coming ceaselessly between her thighs, but she’s so wet and so close to the edge that she doesn’t try to obscure it, and doesn’t try to fight Din’s insistent, guttural words. “You’re perfect. Everything about you. Your hips, the—the way they move. Your eyes, rolling back into your skull as I fuck you. Shit, Nova, everything about your pussy, I—”

She can feel her cheeks burning. It’s not often that Din is this vocal, this unhinged, especially not in this situation. It’s dirty and forbidden, and as she bounces up and down on his cock, eyes rolled back like he loves, everything wet and slippery between her legs, she forgets all about the fact that they’re naked and desecrating the throne of Mandalore. It’s everything. It’s so much, and when she’s right on the edge of orgasm, Din grinds his hips up into her.

“Din—”

“I want to show you off,” he grits out, and before she can ask him what he means, he’s lifting her off of him like she weighs fucking nothing, pushing himself down to the hilt inside her as she watches the empty throne room, the empty seats around the holotable, watched by the lifeless warriors painted on the wall. She doesn’t try to hide any part of her body. Din’s still whispering every dirty sound he can think of in her ear, one broad arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand tangled up in Nova’s hair.

“To whom?” she asks, the words barely even air. She’s on the edge still, eyes blinking, torso trembling. She wants Din to let her cum so bad, she can barely hear what he’s saying over the pumping rush of blood in her ears.

Din lifts up a lock of hair, the same stubborn wave that always falls in her face, tucking it gently behind her year. For a second, she sees red, legs shaking, completely subject to whatever Din’s doing. “Everyone,” he whispers, and the shock of how guttural and feral his voice sounds sends Nova right over the edge she’d been teetering on. He makes her cum so hard that everything explodes out into the same number of stars shimmering above, divine and dangerous, white-hot, so, so alive. And before she has a chance to gain her senses back, Din’s dragging and rushing as deep into her as he can, every inch of him warm and desirable, and when he lets go to follow Nova over the edge of the cliff they’re both standing on, she gasps as he fills her, hot and thick. It’s so much harder than the last time they fucked, both of them devastated, exhausted, fulfilled.

Nova leans back against Din’s chest, heaving, spinning, trying to catch her breath. They’re both inhaling and exhaling intently, trying to return back to the planet they rule, to the throne they just fucked on. “Well,” she starts, pulling the long waves off her back, looking over her bare shoulder at Din, “wow.”

He laughs, and he’s still inside her, slowly softening as he comes back down from the high of it, pressing his pink lips against her exposed skin. “High praise.”

“It’s the truth,” she whispers, giggling, suddenly remembering where they are. “I—I can’t believe we just did that—”

“We’re newlyweds,” Din interrupts, his voice still rough from the aftermath of sex, and something sparks up low in Nova’s belly as he talks, “plus I’m the ruler of this planet, remember?”

She grins, tipping her shoulder back into his bare chest, trailing her fingers over his tan skin, tracing fault lines she’s never seen but knows are there. “I like power on you.”

“Nova—”

“No, seriously,” she continues. “It’s hot. Do you get a crown, maybe? Do I?”

“I think one of us will have to duel Bo-Katan for that one,” Din groans, and Nova laughs again, sliding off of his lap, slowly pulling together the pieces of armor she discarded earlier, tossing them through the dark air for Din to collect. The mention of Bo-Katan, though, sends a shiver of a reminder down Nova’s very exposed spine. She pulls her own underclothes on, quickly whipping her tank top back over her head, suddenly remembering how cold it is in here when she’s not writhing between the proverbial sheets with her husband. She bites down on her lip, hastily zipping her trousers up, the noise loud and discordant. “Nova,” Din continues, squinting at her, “what’s wrong?”

“Oh,” she says, dazed, tossing the last piece of armor back over to him, “you know, we—we just desecrated a holy part of Mandalore, we don’t know how the hell to fight off the First Order, and Bo-Katan is probably standing right outside that door, ready to kick both of our asses.”

“She,” Din answers, pushing against the heavy beskar doors, “is not here. We’re working on how to stop the Order. And this holy part of Mandalore,” he breathes, walking back towards her, one eyebrow raised, as if he’s questioning the way his face is displaying expression, “is ours to desecrate.”

“When you said,” Nova breathes, staring back at him, everything else fading out, “that you wanted to show me off to everyone—”

Din suddenly looks sheepish, and she giggles. “Nova, I didn’t—I was just into the moment, if you don’t want to—you never have to, I—”

She grins, smile glittering in the dark, sliding past him and into the empty hall, drifting in the general direction of their bedroom. “I didn’t say,” she whispers coyly, holding out one hand for Din’s gloved one, “that I didn’t want to.” She winks, pulling a still-stammering Din behind her. “I just can’t believe you want to share me with anyone.”

They’re up the stairs and back to the entrance to the master bedroom, and Din finally finds his words—or his grip—and grabs her, twirling Nova back into his arms with the force of the bounty hunter that he used to be. “You’re mine,” he whispers. “I won’t let a single person in this galaxy forget it.”

Nova grins, heart doing backflips in her chest. By the time they finally make their way into the suite, it’s dark across the whole wide expanse of sky, and Grogu is asleep in their bed, comically small compared to the king-size that takes up most of the room. “I know,” she whispers, looking back and forth from her husband to their son, a smile etched into her lips. “We should get to bed,” she murmurs, after a second, and Din nods, pulling off the armor and his underclothes in his silent Mandalorian way, Nova weaving her hair back into her usual braid, feeling the bruises from her knees banging forcefully into the beskar throne.

“What’s on your schedule for tomorrow?” Din asks, both of them gently pulling the pillows that line the bed onto the ground, until it’s empty except for their usual spread and the baby’s tiny body. His eyes drift down to Grogu, and so do Nova’s. He knows. She knows. Neither of them want to say it aloud. It’s time for Grogu to go back with Luke and resume his Jedi training, even though none of them want him gone. Nova swallows.

“You know,” she tries, halfheartedly trying to lift her voice into excitement, “Back to business.”

Din rolls over, facing Nova in the darkness. “You don’t have to,” he whispers, and she knows losing Grogu again, even though it’s to Luke Skywalker, even though they’ll be able to fix it, is wreaking havoc on him too. Nova settles down next to him, ears focused only on the miniscule snores of Grogu’s open mouth, her hand finding Din’s, her eyes falling over where Luke’s lightsaber is hanging ceremoniously by the door.

“But I do,” she answers, finally, closing her tired eyes. “We have a galaxy to save. And I,” she breathes, snuggling in closer to the baby, “have a Jedi to see.”

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I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!!! whether you're a returning reader or a longtime lover, i m so happy you're here with Din, Nova, Grogu, and me. i just simply could not stay away from this story, and i cannot wait to go across the stars and back with the second fic in the series!! leave all your thoughts in the comments here, or find me over at tumblr @ amiedala, or scroll through my tiktok @ padmeamydala

CHAPTER 2 WILL BE UP SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 11TH, @ 7:30 PM EST!

xoxo, amelie

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