#kyber tears

[to-proudly-go]

Brushing his hand over the other's temple, Anakin smiled slightly when Obi-Wan's worried mind settled under the familiar and warm touch of Anakin’s remaining flesh hand, soothed by Anakin's own emotions turning quiet.

Dream on, precious star child

Based on Kyber Tears by Ancathepurple

It's so 🥹😭😢🥺 (I truly have no coherent words for this fic it's just amazing and it hurts)

[a-asterias]

— micaela's february recs

ty to all these amazing writers who have left me with butterflies in my stomach and/or tears rolling down my face, much appreciated <3

GRISHAVERSE

— nikolai lantsov.

young royals by @clairecrive

currents by @lantsovsupremacist

↳ you are in love

the art of pretension by @fleurspun

↳ sick and stubborn

↳ healer's duties

love language by @fishley

speak up by @prince-septimus

sugar cube by @magpiencrow

a dare for a truth by @sumsebien

— kaz brekker.

when am i gonna lose you? by @crowsmybeloveds

confrontations in a lonely club by @curseofaphrodite

what do you want from me? by @romeomontaague

silent birthdays by @amourology

↳ schat

you are done for by @sumsebien

this is what happens by @fishley

MARVEL

— peter parker.

you more than anything by @nghtwngs

↳ you love me, i love you

on that rooftop by @nezuscribe

skateboards, the force, and a lack of pants by @damnedparker

secrets and skateparks by @earthgirl616

aurora by @mgparker

scenes from a modern romance by @dameronology

— marc spector.

just let me dream a little more by @the-archxr

— matt murdock.

green is the color by @courtforshort15

the defence rests by @dameronology

OUTER BANKS

— jj maybank.

hot for a pogue by @butgilinsky

meet me at our spot by @amourology

— rafe cameron.

midsummers by @butgilinsky

so gorgeous it actually hurts by @folkloreslovechild

HARRY POTTER

— fred weasley.

after all this time by @httpbakugou

MARAUDERS

— james potter.

five times james wanted to kiss you and the one time he did by @moonlitmeeks

— sirius black.

all your fault by @heloisedaphnebrightmore

↳ absurd ideas

'cause i don't want you like a best friend by @evermoreal

grand scheme by @fishley

— remus lupin.

it's time to go by @godlessandwrecked

BRIDGERTON

— benedict bridgerton.

en garde by @delphispoeticals

show me love by @romeomontaague

— anthony bridgerton.

should've never let go by @writeroutoftime

illicit affairs by @marwritesgood

— colin bridgerton.

alone together by @romeomontaague

TOP GUN

— bradley bradshaw.

delirium by @kyber-crystal

↳ head in the clouds

ENOLA HOLMES

— sherlock holmes.

invisible string by @marwritesgood

AVATAR

— lo'ak.

in full bloom by @loaksky

— neteyam.

warm hands by @loaksky

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

— aemond targaryen.

corridor kisses by @flowerpotmage

[mitchellpete]

Warmth

summary: Ethan has been gone more frequently. You try to cherish the sleepy morning with him.

pairing: ethan hunt x gn!reader

tags/warnings: established relationship, you don’t know ethan’s an imf agent, mild angst, mostly fluff, cuddles and kisses, very light suggestiveness

word count: 1162

dedicated to @kyber-crystal!

- 

A sigh of content against your shoulder.

Having already been on the verge of awakening, Ethan’s lips on your skin seal the deal. The sunlight is hard on your eyes, your lids heavy with sleep. Eyelashes flutter against your undereyes, and then you’re staring straight at the light seeping in through the curtains, and your eyes close again.

Behind you, Ethan notices you’ve awakened, and the tight grip around your waist loosens just enough for him to tilt you towards him. You lazily help roll yourself over, his scent making you hum in delight. He’s shirtless; had gotten into bed after a fresh shower the night before. Home late from whatever they had him doing at work. It was getting a bit sad, frankly, having to pretend he was in bed with you by hugging his pillow. It was the only way you could get yourself to sleep without him lately; that and the fact that he would slip into bed eventually. Sometimes it was just an hour later, but sometimes it wasn’t until morning. 

It ashamed you to say, but this had pushed you over the edge a few days ago. You were doing laundry, separating the colors from the whites, and, while looking down at the clothes, realized most of it was yours. One pair of his pants, a pair of his socks and three of his shirts. One of them had been worn by you. A tear had slipped down your cheek before you could even process it. Why wasn’t he here?

He was so perfect to you. You couldn’t possibly keep asking him. He was at work. Studying, learning, providing for the department. He couldn’t always be home. 

But when he was home..

It was a struggle between wanting to appreciate it, and remembering that he was going to leave eventually. And who knows if he’d take longer to return the next time?

The thought crosses your mind when you meet his eyes. They’re glossy with sleep, a gentle smile on his face as he takes a good look at you in the morning light. 

“Morning.” His voice is raspy, the way you like it. 

“Good morning,” you whisper, bringing a finger up to twirl his hair. The strand lands on his forehead, and he pushes it back into place with a chuckle.

“You sleep okay?” He leans in and pokes your cheek with his nose, arms tightening around your frame again.

Scooting closer, you stretch in his grip, ridding yourself of the knots in your body. And then you sink into his warmth, and nothing has ever been more perfect. Hands sneak around his waist, nails lightly raking his back. “Better than okay, actually.” 

He grins; likes your touch. “That so?”

Your forehead against his clavicle, you close your eyes again and nod with a smile. “It’s been a while.”

His fingers weave between your hair. “Since?”

You frown. You’re torn again. You immediately wonder if he’s bound to get up any time soon. If you won’t see him until the following morning, after he’d slipped into bed at 3AM again. Swallowing hard, you think maybe the warm and sleepy circumstances will make for an easy conversation. You think maybe he’ll give you the reassurance you very desperately need, and then you’ll go back to sleep and spend the day together. If only.

“I just missed waking up with you. Like this.”

For a moment, silence. You shift a little to ease it, moving downward so that you can lean your cheek on his chest.

Ethan doesn’t overcomplicate things. Never has, never will. “I know, I’m sorry,” he says quietly, pressing two kisses to your head. 

You exhale, having expected a more elaborate response, but anything from Ethan is always more than enough. Because, even hardly around, there’s nothing he’s better at than making you feel okay. Safe. Comforted. 

Missing him is a pain. But he’s yours. It’s your body he wraps himself around every night. You’re never going to doubt his loyalty to you. 

And he shouldn’t ever doubt yours, either.

“It’s okay,” you mumble against his pec, lips meeting his warm skin. 

He knows, though. Can read you better than anybody. And he’s most likely been in a tight spot, probably overworking himself. Your finger bumps into a spot on his back, and he winces. Definitely overworking himself. It’s alright with you, if he hadn’t noticed. You haven’t exactly communicated the problem. Haven’t told him how lonely you are without him. Don’t want him worrying about you at work. 

Ethan takes your chin between his fingers; gently lifts your face from his chest to meet your eyes. You sink into his gaze, into his pretty green orbs. He leans in then, soft lips pressing against yours. You feel like you’re melting as he kisses you. It’s soft and slow, and wet. It’s always so good it makes you moan. He shudders when he hears you. 

Strands of his hair fall to his forehead as he leans into you, kissing you like he’s doing it for the first time. Seeing what works, what doesn’t. But he knows you. You feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper into the mattress, like you’re becoming one with it. 

You whimper against his mouth, a sound delicious to his ears, and he pulls away to look down at you. 

You lean up to peck his lips one, two, three more times, and cup your hand around his cheek. 

He grabs your wrist; brings your hand to his lips for a kiss there too. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again.

You blink slowly, hazy from his kisses. Wanting to be engulfed in his warmth again. You pull him down from the back of his neck, and half of his body ends up on top of you. His weight feels nice, his heat returning. 

“Why do you take so long to come home?” you blurt out, voice soft. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, leaning to meet his lips again.

He kisses you back eagerly, and then trails his mouth down your jaw. “There’s so much I want to tell you.” Lips against your neck. “And I—” A kiss. “—I promise that one day this’ll all make sense.”

A small, lazy bite to your skin. A dirty moan escapes you, and he shudders again. “Those noises,” he whispers.

“I trust you,” you assure him, fingers toying with the back of his hair. “I just want to sleep in with you more often.”

He grins again. “I will most definitely arrange that, actually.”

“Good.” 

Your grip on the back of his neck brings him closer, his face planting on your chest. He melts into you this time, strong arms wrapping around your torso as he makes himself comfortable. The sheets are tangled between your bodies, but you’re warm enough without them; Ethan’s body doing all the work. The position lulls the both of you to sleep again in the late morning.

[queenariesofnarnia]

plan 99

the bad batch x f!jedi reader

warnings: death, sadness, itty bitty angsty work, plan 99

wc: 450

“Tech let me make the repairs” she said placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you positive you can do it?” he asked, ignoring the sounds of displeasure from his brothers.

“More than anything, talk me through it and we can get it done. Just let me do this” she pleaded with him. The squad came to an agreement on letting her go out there. “Just keep them off my ass. we’ve done it plenty of times before. this isn’t any different” she reminds them through the coms as she heads to fix the power.  The sounds of the enemy fighters are closing in.

“General we need power!” Hunter yelled into the coms.

“Almost done sarge!” she yelled amongst the blaster fire. Her datapad flashed green with completion. “Hit it Echo!” she hollered through the coms. echo powered the tram back up as she made her way back to them. Knowing her chances of survival are slim she ignites her saber deflecting as many shots as she could. The tram creaked beneath her, the metallic snapping as the one she was on ejected her back. Her screams barely reached her own ears as she fumbled for her grappling hook. hanging on for dear life as she began climbing back up.

“General hurry!” Wrecker’s voice was filled with worry.

“wreck you’re going have to go on without me!” she informs the giant clone.

“Not without you being up here” he firmly replied.

“Wrecker listen to me. you need to get out of here! go find crosshair!” she yells her voice cracking. “Clone force 99 it has been a true pleasure with you all” the squad listening to their general’s breaking voice. “Plan 99" the sob wracks her body.

“Don’t even think about it!” Wrecker’s request goes ignored.

“May the force be with you, always” she ignites her saber one last time, the glow of her kyber illuminates her wet face. Glancing at her squad one last time as she severs the line beginning to free fall the clouds.

Omega screams her name as the person who she grew to see as a maternal figure disappears before her eyes. The tram they’re on picking up speed as they continue to safety. Hot tears fall down her face.

Finally back at the marauder to make a quick departure, they sat in silence. Your plea to them to find Crosshair rang in their ears, they could imagine your tear-stained face as you gave them one last glance before falling to your death. They made the decision to fly back to Ord Mantell to pick up AZI, sever their ties with Cid, unaware of what’s to come. They’ll do it for her whatever it takes.

[lightasthesun]

I feel like something terrible has happened, she'd said, running up to her Captain to seek out comfort and reassurance; a friend to soothe her worries. But all she had found were tears, rage and trembling hands; a blaster aimed at her head and a voice screaming at her to stay back.

Ahsoka had watched, frozen, as her men—brothers, who had chosen to wear her face as a sign of loyalty—transformed into cold-blooded killers. In a matter of seconds, their force-signatures skinned of all individuality and any sense of free will. When they opened fire upon her she'd defended herself without a second thought. The bodies had fallen whilst she dodged another bolt.

She still doesn't think about their names.

Months had passed since then. Operation Knightfall had ripped the Galaxy of thousands of its brightest souls in one night. The darkness that followed it hardly conceals the blood oozing from various planets and tainting surrounding star systems. The force is a gaping black hole. Nothing left of its radiant embrace to calm her pounding heart. It had left her with stains of darkness—sticking to her like Nubian honey— after the first time, she had tried to submerge herself in meditation. She hasn't touched it since.

Ahsoka sighs.

Breathing in the salty air, she lets her eyes wander across the endless widths of the ocean and clutches the lightsaber shoto to her chest. The Kyber crystal inside whimpers and she shivers.

The screams and whispers of the dying follow her every waking moment. And the corpses—broken on the floor like puppets with their strings cut—haunt her dreams. She's not able to shake the guilt weighing down on her shoulders and she knows she never will be.

The shoto feels hot pressed against her chest. It's painful to hold on to it and if she didn't know any better she would let it fall into the yawning abyss. But she does. She recognizes the stinging sensation of the blisters on her palms for what it is: Phantom Pain.

The crystal carries her memories.

Continue reading

[blackkatmagic]

Trade your heart!! I’m still not over how amazing it is!! I’ve reread it three more times in celebration of the newest chapter and it’s absolutely brilliant! You have such a gift for writing evolving relationships between characters, and it shines in trade your heart with all the different growing dynamics between Jon and our Mandalorians, and between the Mandalorians themselves. So good! I love how everyone’s views of Jon are slowly changing over the story as their understanding grows. Thank you for writing and sharing!!

<3

Jaster can't quite tear his eyes away from the sleek lines and warm glow of the crystal set into his new armor.

There are a thousand things to do in the aftermath of the wedding and Aga Kast’s attack, enough that Jaster dragged himself out of bed and away from Jon's warm, tempting body well before the sun rose, but—

Kyber, he thinks, rubbing his thumb across the elegant edges of the cut stone, still awed by it. He’s never actually seen a kyber crystal in person before, though he’s heard tales, read accounts. Just the other day he spent hours in bed with Jon, trying to wring out Jedi knowledge, and the peculiarities of kyber was one of the most confusing, most intriguing.

It’s more beautiful than Jaster would have expected, just hearing about it. The glow is soft, strangely ethereal for so solid a thing, and Jaster tips the vambrace, watches the play of light across the facets.

Jon was wearing bits of green crystal in his hair, he thinks, and smiles. Chips of kyber, set to pins and threaded through the dark strands. How like a Jedi, to wear a planetary fortune in their hair so easily, and give their new spouse a crystal that could buy a whole system, as if it were just another gesture of affection.

“You’ll wear it out with your eyes if you keep staring at it,” Myles says, droll.

[paracosm-draw]

Promptober Day 26 - Domesticity + Morning sex ☄️

Tags : post-proposal smut and fluff because I'm extra emotional about those idiots getting married these days, anal sex, top Obi-Wan, bottom Anakin

~

“Good morning, future husband.” 

The words, whispered sleepily against his neck in the first lights of the morning, the first ones he hears when he emerges from his slumber, make Obi-Wan’s heart swell with so much overwhelming love he feels like choking on his own feelings for a second. 

Blinking away the last drops of sleep lingering on his eyelashes, he shifts on his side to face Anakin, whose eyes are already wide open and shining brighter than kyber crystals, anchored to his face while an impossible grin spreads his lips. Obi-Wan leans down to capture it against his mouth, hands wrapping around Anakin’s waist and pulling him closer. 

Anakin gasps softly against his lips, still smiling as he entangles his legs with Obi-Wan’s, pressing their body together until they’re part of the same entity, skin against skin, lungs sharing the same oxygen, hearts beating as one. He slips his fingers on the back of Obi-Wan’s head, gently grabbing a fistful of hair and holding while his other hand rests between their chest, spread against soft hair and freckled skin. 

They kiss slowly, stretching every second until the world seems to stop for them only. Anakin sighs against his mouth, his body hot and pliant against Obi-Wan’s, soft and demanding at the same time. His grip tightens slightly in his hair, tugging at the roots as he presses his hips against Obi-Wan, already hard against his groin. 

Obi-Wan runs one of his hands down Anakin’s back, brushing along the muscles dancing under his skin, cupping around the curve of his ass until he settles on the back of his thigh, fingertips digging in the soft and warm flesh. As Anakin arches and thrusts against him, painting his skin and hair with a streak of sticky precome, he pulls his leg over his hip and grabs his ass to pull him even closer, resting his own cock between his thighs. 

“Fuck.” Anakin shudders, digging his nails in Obi-Wan’s back and clutching him stronger. 

He holds him so tight it almost hurts, the bones of their ribs and hips pressing hard together but Obi-Wan doesn’t care. He would let Anakin cut his body open and crawl under his skin to slip behind his ribs and wrap himself around his heart. He would let his blood flow in his veins, his air fill every lobes of his lungs, his cells invade each corner of his being, consuming him entirely if he asked. And he makes sure to let him know. He doesn’t hold back, pushing his feelings into their already wide open, overwhelmed bond, making Anakin gasp at the intensity of it. 

“Obi-Wan…”

Obi-Wan licks inside his mouth in response, swallowing his whimpers until Anakin is nothing more than a panting mess desperately clinging to him. Then it’s easy to slide inside of him, Anakin being already spread apart and still sticky with Obi-Wan’s seeds after the night they spent making love over and over again until they both fell asleep from exhaustion. 

By the time he’s fully nestled in the warm tightness of his body, Anakin is sobbing, just like all the other times before. 

Salty tears roll down his cheeks, seeping between their lips and pooling on Obi-Wan’s tongue. He swallows every one of them with the same adoration with which he spent the night worshipping every inch of his body. Pulling Anakin’s leg higher against his waist, he reaches down to press his fingers where their bodies connect, brushing reverently along the stretched muscle surrounding his cock. 

Anakin jerks under his touch, another sob breaking past his lips. Obi-Wan pushes inside even more, until the limits of basic biology stop him from getting deeper. Still Anakin clutches him and pulls him closer, even if they’re already as close as they can possibly be. 

“More.” He cries, the metal of his mechano hand digging painfully into Obi-Wan’s shoulder, adding bruises to his already marked skin. 

“I can’t.” He whispers softly against his mouth. 

“Please.”

Obi-Wan starts moving then, slowly pulling out only to press back in as deeply as he can, trying to give Anakin what he so desperately craves. He keeps that pace until his sobs give way to shaky moans he can feel vibrating against his chest. 

Anakin is entirely wrapped around him, limbs stretched over his shoulders and waist, enveloping Obi-Wan in his intoxicating perfume and consuming warmth. 

Obi-Wan keeps pulling him apart, still excruciatingly slow, still exactly what Anakin needs. He kisses his wet cheeks, moaning along with him every time their bodies join, skin against skin, before parting again in a dance that leaves them both out of breath and burning with pleasure. 

Obi-Wan tightens his grip around Anakin’s thigh, angling his hips differently the next time he thrusts inside of him, making them both cry out when Anakin arches and clenches around his cock, toes curling behind Obi-Wan’s back. 

“Yes !” He whimpers, not waiting for Obi-Wan to slam back against his hips again. “Just like th- Ah !” 

Digging his heels on the small of Obi-Wan’s back he starts moving on his own, fucking himself on his cock but soon letting out a frustrated noise when he realizes their position is restraining his range of motion. 

Propping himself up on his elbow, he pushes Obi-Wan on his back and climbs on top of him, not waiting a single second before impaling himself again on his swollen length until he’s fully seated on his hips. 

When he looks down, Obi-Wan is staring at him with so much awe it makes him blush. 

“What ?” He whispers, gathering his hands on Obi-Wan’s chest to start moving again. 

“I can't believe I’m going to marry you.” Obi-Wan whispers back, hands spreading along his thighs to settle on his hips. 

Anakin blushes even more furiously. Obi-Wan’s words make his heart race suddenly, like every time he remembers this is not a dream but the reality. 

“I can’t believe someone wants me enough to marry me.” He admits, pushing his hips forward and gasping when Obi-Wan’s cock presses against his prostate. “Oh, fuck.” 

Whatever Obi-Wan wanted to reply stays stuck in his throat when Anakin starts fucking himself on him again, mouth open and brows furrowed as he rocks back and forth on his cock, chasing his own pleasure. 

Obi-Wan simply watches, letting Anakin use him as they both get closer to the edge. His eyes and fingers roam over his body, admiring the muscles of his thighs and stomach flexing under the effort, bronzed skin glistening with sweat, covered in red marks Obi-Wan left on him a couple of hours before. He brushes the little hollow of his belly button, making Anakin shiver and open his eyes to look at him. 

His eyelashes are dark and heavy with tears again, eyes clouded by pleasure and overflowing with so much love Obi-Wan struggles to breathe for a second. 

“Anakin…” He murmurs, pinned down by the intensity of his gaze, feeling the sudden urge to tear his own heart from his chest to place it inside of his hands. “I-” 

“Say it again.” Anakin demands, moaning louder as he hits his prostate relentlessly every time he sits back on Obi-Wan’s cock. 

He’s so close. They’re both close. But Obi-Wan knows what Anakin wants to hear before coming. It’s a promise, one they sealed with their lips and souls when Obi-Wan kneeled in front of him the night before. 

“Tomorrow.” He breathes out, intertwining his fingers with Anakin’s on his chest. “Tomorrow, I’ll be yours for eternity.” 

Anakin comes then, breaking eye contact for a second as his body tenses, a broken sob escaping his lips as he spills hard on Obi-Wan’s stomach and chest, coating their tied hands with his seeds. The way his body contracts is enough for Obi-Wan to come a second later, buried deeply inside of him. 

Anakin whimpers, eyes rolling back and muscles spasming as Obi-Wan fills him for the seventh time in less than twenty-four hours, his already oversensitive body flaring up at the sensation. 

When they both come back to their senses, Anakin shivering on top of him, Obi-Wan gently slips out of him and coaxes him back onto the mattress by his side. 

For a moment he doesn’t move, doesn’t try to hug him as he knows how raw Anakin feels right now, the slightest brush against his skin being almost unbearable. He just holds his hand, letting him calm down and recover. 

“How are you feeling ?” He asks after a moment, when Anakin’s tears have dried on his cheeks. 

“Well fucked.” Anakin replies, turning his head to him. 

Obi-Wan can’t help but snort. Anakin looks, indeed, well fucked. His curls are a mess, half sweaty and sticking to his face, half pointing in different directions. His cheeks and chest are bright pink, skin adorned with bite marks and bruises, his eyes puffy and shining with the afterglow, lips swollen from Obi-Wan’s abuses.

“I’m glad.” Obi-Wan nods seriously. 

“Yeah ?” Anakin turns on his side to look at him better, playing with his fingers. 

“It’s important.” Obi-Wan says. 

They look at each other for a while, each of them keeping a straight face until Anakin opens his mouth again. 

“I hope my husband will keep fucking me like that.” He hums innocently before grinning like madness when Obi-Wan lets out a low grunt and pulls him closer to press his mouth against his neck. 

“Stop saying that, I need some rest.” 

"Saying what ? Husband ?" Anakin smirks, then screams when Obi-Wan bites his neck.

"I warned you."

“It’s not my fault if you want to fuck me every time you hear the word ‘husb’- mmf !”

Anakin bursts out laughing when Obi-Wan presses a hand against his mouth with a pained expression on his face. He licks his palm, which works every time because Obi-Wan pulls his hand away with a yelp, even though Anakin has licked worst parts of his body. 

“I’m begging you.” 

Anakin giggles and rolls his eyes. 

“How are you going to do when we’re going to be officially married ?” 

Obi-Wan bites his lip, looking at him in such a way Anakin stops laughing to swallow hard. 

“What ?” 

“I can’t believe it’s happening.” Obi-Wan confesses softly. “I never thought I would be lucky enough to meet and marry my soulmate in this lifetime. It's… I always thought I would die alone.” 

“Can still happen before tomorrow.” Anakin teases with a grin. 

“No.” Obi-Wan groans, pressing a kiss against his hot skin. “The end of the world will have to wait until I put a ring on your finger.” 

“You have a fucking ring ?!” Anakin shrieks, propping himself up on his elbow. 

“Of course.” Obi-Wan laughs. 

“Why didn’t you give it to me when you proposed ?” Anakin whines. 

“Because I want to give it to you tomorrow.” Obi-Wan smiles, lifting his hand to brush his knuckles against his jaw. 

“I want to see it now.” Anakin pouts. 

“Mm mm.” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Tomorrow.” 

“Why ?” Anakin whimpers. 

“Because.” Obi-Wan smiles wider. “You know I’m immune to your puppy eyes since you're like, twelve ?” 

Anakin huffs and squints at him, thinking about a way to make him give in. Then suddenly a grin spreads on his lips. 

“Tomorrow ?” He sings mischievously. “When I'll be your husband ?” 

“Oh, kriff you.” Obi-Wan growls, pushing him back on the bed to crash their lips together. 

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 18}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader) ; brief Force Sensitive! Reader and M!OC

Summary: There are restrictions for entering the main city, some of them Din could agree to and one he absolutely could not. His helmet would need to be left behind, but isn't removing it what caused this entire situation to begin with? Meanwhile, you wake to a new environment, cautious of the things around you and the words of your mother.

Word Count: 10.5k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, we meet readers betrothed and he needs his own warning, reader's mother also gets her own warning, kidnapping, reader is being kept against her will, hostage situation, use of narcotics, use of drugs, sedatives, self-depreciating thoughts, thoughts of self-harm, ptsd symptoms, medical trauma, past medical trauma, feelings of inadequacy, sexual themes, sexual content (not detailed), there are a few more but they will spoil the chapter!

A/N: more din pov! because it's so much fun and there are some things y'all need to see through his eyes before some explanations are given c;

all of you were right to think din is gonna need a disguise! but i don't want anyone to think that the desert environment and the choice of clothing is ignorant on my part in light of what is going on in palestine. i've had this original arc planned before the first chapter was even published. here are some resources for aiding those that need help. i've also provided a link to the moodboard for this particular arc, which does include a visual for din's new attire

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Maker, your mother was really doing her best to keep you to herself. It was smart to warn the protection around you of him, to anticipate that he would make an attempt to take you back. But he loathed how much harder it was going to make even just getting into the city.

The weapons he could forgo, but his armor? She knew from her past experience with Akiz that it was a punishable offense for a Mandalorian to remove their helmet. And it was frustrating that she was using his religion, his Creed, his culture, his way of life to keep him at bay and to keep you under her control.

It was an injustice he couldn’t wrap his head around. It was just so conniving, and it was hard to believe how you had turned out so drastically different when being surrounded by someone capable of such extremes. He only hoped that your mother hadn’t done anything drastic to you, caused you to take matters into your own hands. He only hoped that you knew he had spent the last several weeks tearing through the galaxy in search for signs of what had happened to you. That he had rushed toward the planet you were taken to the second he had found it out.

Din needed you to know that he was trying, that he was searching for you, that he missed your presence by his side and aboard his ship. And not simply for the fact that you were a strong, capable fighter. But because the things he had whispered and promised you before he ruined it all were true. He did care for you. He had begun to care for you alarmingly fast after that first encounter.

And maybe it should’ve scared him, been a warning he heeded, the way his heart had lightened and opened up to you. Even despite the circumstances and the breaking of his contract with the Guild. He had been willing to change the circumstances, to do away with the contract he took on when his fingers closed around your offered tracking fob. Because it had felt right to do so, despite the inherent break of what he stood for in that moment. His willingness to do so, it only made him realize that this was real, because he had never felt like this with anyone before. Had never wanted to provide for anyone aside from those that made up his covert before. He had meant it when he had choked out those words back on Nevarro.

“I can’t wear that.” Din had been cautious as he looked out the cockpit viewpoint and down into the hangar space. The looming racetrack just beyond it, offset from the main city. Crowds and clusters of people swathed in billowing layers and a severe lack of weaponry was a worrisome observation. Upon her return from the markets, offset from the other side of the city, Cara had held out a bundle of clothing to him.

“I did enough recon to know the guards are the only people permitted into the palace without verification. That Sarad’s always surrounded by at least two of them when outside of the palace, though her mother never joins her outside the walls.”

“Because she knows I’d kill her on sight.” Din can’t help the growl of his words, knowing the truth behind them was all too real. Because he would, without hesitation, take out the threat that had presented itself after lying in wait. Striking at the most opportune moment even months after having first contracted your return to her when it seemed like it was fruitless.

“This the only way you’ll get close enough to her, by blending in.” Cara shimmied the bundle at him, wanting him to take it from her despite his trepidation.

“My face will be exposed.” He argued as he stepped away from her. His mind and thoughts at war with the notion of having to remove his armor and the one of doing it in order to save you. He picked up a grumbling ad’ika from where he had been settled in his pod. Taking a pack of dried jerky from the pouch attached to his belt and handed it to him. Happy coos filled the hull of the ship, Din helping to reach into the pouch for each piece the child devoured.

“They wear head coverings and cover their faces. More than a third of the people I saw. Both men and women. I know it’s not ideal, Din,” Cara risked using the man’s real name. Wanting him to hear her and believe that this was the best way, the only way to move about with having to worry about being stopped or appearing suspicious. Hoping to convince him it was the best scenario to avoid showing his whole face should he have to forgo his helmet. She didn’t seem too keen on having to don similar clothing that left little room to conceal a weapon. “Some have mesh over their eyes.”

Din reached out, taking the outfit from her. He would try it on, get a sense of how he felt in the clothing before making his decision. He had half a mind to fly the ship directly into the palace grounds and open fire until you were safely back in his arms. But realistically he knew that was a terrible plan. The man who you had been promised to was entrenched in the New Republic, someone of high standing and to attack him would bring on a whole new level of concerns into his life, into your life.

Setting ad’ika back down into the pod, Din tucked your cloak around him before making his way to the room.

What use was all his armor and weapons if he couldn’t keep you safe? The thought was sharp in his mind as he set about removing each plate, the clasps snapping in the silence of the ship. He stored them in a crate he had brought from his own ship. In it was the pair of pauldrons you had left behind. The armor settled together tugged at his heart, making his chest tights as he wished for you nestled beside him in his bed much like the beskar in the crate. Closing it and setting a lock on it, he already missed the feel of his vambraces, of the weapons hidden over his frame.

Despite being alone, he kept the cowl about his neck in place. The necklace of his people hidden beneath it and he wondered where the one he had gifted you ended up. The ship foreign to him, giving him pause in removing it as he looked over the robes Cara had collected for him. They were all black. Made of a light, flowing material that would cover his entire body. And he began to pull the wide legged pants over his legs.

The top was less a shirt and more of a tunic, cut shorter in the front to fall just below his waist. It offered coverage of his crotch, while the length billowed out down to his knees on either side. He wondered if he should chance donning the chainmail he had retrieved from your home on Tatooine underneath it. He felt exposed, too vulnerable even as he set about fastening the brown leather harness to cross over his chest from his shoulders and the belt that had an empty pouch fastened to it on his left.

Two arm braces made of bronze had been folded up in the clothing, and he slid those over his forearms, grateful for at least something similar.

Thankfully Cara had been able to find something that would allow him to cover his face- mostly. His eyes would be exposed, and he wouldn’t be entirely comfortable forgoing a visor or something similar to hide them behind.

But he set about containing his trimmed curls underneath the cover, wrapping it around twice before securing it with a black leather tie around his forehead, letting the rest of the fabric fall over the back of his neck and shoulders. The smaller black kerchief was secured over the cowl, adding another layer to hide his identity from the world, fastened behind his head and tucked into the leather keeping the head cover in place.

It would be harder for him to track you, to pick up on threats without the settings of the helmet, but he knew that it would immediately warrant attention. He had to leave it behind, depart from the ship without it. It was the only way he would be able to do his own reconnaissance.

Sighing, he turned to face the mirror set into the wall beside the door.

He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him. He was swathed in flowing black from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. His boots no longer weighed down with a hidden blade or the ring of bullet casings for his pulse rifle.

Sharp brown eyes set under thick, dark brows the only visible part.

Still far too much to be seen. To be witnessed so easily by those around him. By you.

Worry spiked in him, you wouldn’t know it was him. At least, not at first glance. He hoped you would feel a pull to him similar to the one he felt when around you. A comfort in the closeness of your body and presence. A familiarity and sense of connection, the things you had found in each other allowing you to recognize that it was him beneath the different clothing, what was always beneath the armor and helmet.

Self-consciousness, he realized, was the feeling making his stomach flutter and his nerves jittery. He hadn’t been outside of the ship and around people without his armor since he had been inducted into the training corps. He hadn’t been without his helmet since swearing the Creed. The thought of this breeching such a commitment crosses his mind. And while…yes, he had removed his helmet, his face was still concealed.

It was much like the unspoken loophole of removing it in the cover of darkness. The intention of which would have allowed him to give into your pleas for his lips on yours. That he had wanted to do, despite the skimming of lines that should not be crossed. The lines that defined his Creed.

He looked…like one of the natives of the planet. And that was the only consolation he could find in the need for the outfit.

They’re merely walking through the marketplace, when they see you among the stalls. Din’s instincts urging him to turn onto the street.

You’re right there.

You’re real.

You’re okay.

His heart skips a beat and then quickens, nearly vibrating it’s so fast a pitch. His breath stolen from his lungs as he sees you moving among the crowds. You…you’re so beautiful and luck seems to be on his side as you look unharmed. You seem to be at ease, moving from stall to stall with a pair of guards trailing behind you by a few yards. Black flowing robes much like his own, but the rapier style swords fastened to their sides acted as a silent threat. Weapons in the main part of the city were forbidden.

But you…you were so magnetizing, and Din’s feet were carrying him toward the stall you had stopped in front of. Distantly, he heard the hush of Cara warning him to be cautious. But it was as if the world had shrunk down to just you, his eyes tracking you as if you would vanish should he look away for the barest of seconds.

The fabric of your rather elegant dress a mix of soft white and pale cream. It highlighted the natural golden hue of your skin, though the only part visible was the length of your neck down to your chest with a rather low neckline. The supple skin of your breasts was accented by sparkling golden beading along the collar, creating a dip between them where it was concentrated. The bodice of the dress was cinched by an intricate belt made up of diamond jewels set into gold that created a floral shape right over your stomach before the skirt of the dress billowed out in flowing layers.

The sleeves were long, bishop in style, allowing for the fabric to be loose before cinching around your wrists. Allowing for you strong, capable hands to be exposed. Golden designs of lace woven into the fabric of them and the front of you below where the belt rested on your front. You were sparkling, from the bangles around your wrists to the delicate headpiece that kept your hair away from your face. He could see it as you moved about to take in the fruits of the stall, the way that thin netting was laid over the length of your hair, stones glittering in the sun as you did so. You were a vision bathed in white and gold, his brain short circuiting at the sight of you after so long apart.

But you didn’t look to be a captive, aside from the guards keeping close. No, you looked like you were free of worries, complicit in the life you had been stolen away to be a part of. It was as if this was just another day to run errands and take in the sights of the city, no undertones of eyes glancing around to look for an escape. No tension in your muscles as if poised to run at the first chance. And alarm bells sounded in Din’s mind, loud and harsh. Stirring unease in his middle, bubbling up to tighten in his chest.

He couldn’t help but approach you, even if he had no clue what words to breathe should he be able to find his voice. Even if he had no clue how you would react to seeing him after the emotional fallout from so many days ago. But when you turned to him with a smile, lips closed and eyes kind, they only flitted over his face before they moved down along his body toward where ad’ika had popped his head and chest over the top of the bag slung over his shoulder.

He certainly hadn’t expected you to recognize him, he was without his armor. And though you knew the shape of his body and the way it reacted to your touch; you didn’t know him as he stood beside you now. In flowing black robes and brown leather, a head cover secure over his curls and a flowing material hiding his face aside from his eyes. He realized you wouldn’t be able to recognize them, having never seen the brown of them before. And he greedily drunk in the sight of you without his helmet, delighting in the way the sun lit up the features he had come to admire.

But your attention wasn’t even on him, it was on the small form that had reached out for the bundle of berries in your grip. Plucking one and popping it in his mouth with a satisfied hum. But there was no recognition that flickered over your face upon seeing ad’ika either. It was as if you were seeing him for the first time, a polite curiosity in your gaze. And Din’s gut lurched.

It hadn’t been long enough for you to forget the child, forget him. Forget the life the three of you had carved out from circumstance. Unless you were playing along to not alert the guards of being reunited, not wanting them to suspect anything was amiss. But…but Din didn’t think you were pretending. There had been no fast glance back to him upon seeing the child crop up, there had been no hitch of your breath as realization of him standing beside you set in.

It was as if you didn’t know him at all, know the small form of the child holding your adoring attention.

“Well, hello there, little one.” Your voice was so smooth and calming, like silk against his ears after having not heard it in so many days. He watched as you tilted the bowl closer, making it easier for a tiny green claw to retrieve another berry. A laugh bubbled from you as the child smacked on the fruit, happy sounds flowing from him unbidden.

And then, with a simple question, Din’s heart shattered.

“He’s rather cute, is this your child?”

You had focused your attention back up to him, though you avoided his eyes again. Something he was beginning to think was just a part of every version of you. Because the one standing in front of him was not his own. It couldn’t be.

Words, so many of them, burst to life and died on his tongue in the silence between you two. None of them making it past his lips, his voice lost in injustice of finally being reunited with you and you having no clue as to who he was. Of how much you had been through together, the promises you had whispered to each other, the soft sighs of waking up together, the harsh grunts and desperate whimpers shared between yearning bodies. You had no clue what you meant to him. The only thing he was certain of, was that he was a stranger to you.

Clearing his throat, he managed to utter an affirmative to your gentle question.

“I’ve never seen any like him before, he seems like the sweetest thing.”

And he wanted to tell you that you allowed for him to be so, for the child to have the protection of your skills and caring heart to be just a child after being held a captive for so long. That he had stolen him away from those who wished him harm with your aid. But suddenly, you were being approached by the vendor, your attention splitting from them both beside you.

“Ma’am, you’ll have to pay for- oh, Princess Cala. I’m so sorry.” Strict words and steal façade falling as the man approaching realized who you were. Princess. Because that’s what you were, had been swiped from him to be another’s wife. All memories of your commitment to him forgotten in a cruel twist of fate that Din was determined to get to the bottom of. To rectify. Though he had no clue how to even begin such a daunting task as he was still struggling to accept that it was so. “I was unaware you were in the markets today. Please, take whatever you wish. I will send for payment from Sir Cala at the end of the day.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright.” You appeased gently, hands digging into a small pouch hidden among the layers of your dress. Credits clinked as you set them down atop the table, the jingling of your bracelets catching ad’ika’s attention and he reached for them. “It’s just a little snack today, nothing too crazy.”

As the vendor turned back to duck inside, away from the bright sun and the watching eyes of the guards, it happened.

Ad’ika’s skin connected with your own and you were buckling at the sudden energy that Din could feel flow between you both. Ripples of is cascading through the air. Body overwhelmed and knees weakening at the onslaught as a strangled gasp fell from your lips. Just as you had done back at the compound, history repeating itself in a way he hadn’t expected. He was quick to close the distance, to wrap his arms around you and hold you up. You allowed him to pull you close, your chest flush with his as heaving breaths matched his stuttering ones.

His body igniting at the feel of you against him once again. Of the way your hands gripped his arms to support yourself. The prick of your fingers digging into his muscles and the way your mouth had fallen open in surprise. It was all so normal, the reactions of your body against his. Natural, the magnetism between your bodies making everything feel alright even if it was just for the barest second.

“I’ve got you, mesh’la. Are you alright?” Voice low, he felt it robbed from him when your lashes fluttered, and your eyes met for the first time.  They glinted with something and then –

“Unhand the princess, no one is to touch her!” Twin forms of the guards watching over you were suddenly closing in. It took every ounce of strength he possessed to not take all your weight securely into his arms and run. Hush of swords being pulled from their sheaths had you tearing your eyes away from him, had you shifting your footing to hold yourself up a little better though you didn’t let go of him. And he was grateful for the prolonged seconds of getting to feel you in his arms.

“It’s alright!” You assured the guards, halting them in their steps with a polite smile. “I just tripped is all!”

Loosening the hold he had on you, his hands remained steady as you stepped back from him to stand on your own once again. He was aware of the hard looks aimed at him, as distance bloomed between your bodies.

Endlessly considerate and caring toward the ad’ika, even if you didn’t know it, you carefully handed the bushel of berries into his small claws.

You were bidding him goodbye with an impersonal bow. And he wished to feel the unspoken greeting and departing habit of your forehead nudged against his own you two had established over the course of your time together.

He fell in line behind them, a safe distance away to not attract their attention or suspicions. His focus so completely on you, the captivation you held over him even now, especially now, spelling his feet forward through the last of the market and through the streets. He was silent as Cara fell into step beside him, questions flowing from her that fell on his straining ears. You were talking with the guards, though it seemed like you were merely confirming the rest of the plans for the day.

And they would know, they would be by your side every time you left the palace, he mused as he watched your trio wait outside of the large wooden doors that led into the place you now called home. It was surrounded by a large, easily fifteen-foot wall made up of decorative tiles and white stone. He caught a glimpse of large gardens, complete with bright blue ponds and lush plant life making a beautiful backdrop to your form. But his eyes snapped back to you, taking notice of how the guards had begun to walk away and toward a small building that must act as their command center. They were replaced by two young women, dressed in long pale blue layers that followed your every step.

As you began to move along the paths lined throughout the garden, a figure approached you. And the tension Din had been worried to not see in your shoulders seemed to slam into you. The figure moved from beneath the shade of a large palm, having been waiting on a bench. It was a woman, one who bore a strong resemblance to you from tone of skin to the color of your eyes. Your mother.

Arms were slung together and Din could see even with the distance how her touch made you uncomfortable. And it was all so confusing. You remembered your mother, memories of her intact but you had somehow forgotten who he was, who ad’ika was. Forgotten who you were enough to not make an attempt to escape, submitting yourself to the life your mother had created for you.

And then, a man in elaborate robes adorned with jewels and lace designs much like your own approached you both. He was dressed in colors that complimented your own clothing. His own jewelry fastened over his head cover much like yours, though decidedly heavier, more masculine to the dainty feminine of yours. Matching.

A hand came over his shoulder as he realized he was breathing harshly, no helmet to disguise the deep push and pull of it as he watched you disentangle from your mother and step into the man’s personal space. The front of your bodies touching together as his hands splayed wide on your shoulders, as your own wrapped around his neck. As you perked up to press your forehead to his, in the way that was Din’s.

His chest hurt, his hands clenched, body alight with the need to rush forward and tear the two of you apart from each other. His ears hurt with the silence pressing against them too firm to shake. To press his own forehead against your own and plead with you to see him, to remember him. Remember what you meant to each other.

It was a small blessing of the Maker that your back was to him, because he didn’t think he would be able to take the way your gaze had softened as you looked into the eyes of the man holding you. The same one he would find aimed at him throughout the day, mirth in your eyes as your lips pulled into a soft smile. Adoration and admiration soothing the concentrated look you normally held. Not when the man looking back at you held the same exact expression.

The one always hidden behind his visor.

The same face that was now hardened in a flurry of emotions, his jaw clenched tight, teeth grinding, and eyes ablaze as he watched the man dip his face and press his lips to yours in a kiss.

A kiss.

The very thing that had unraveled the entire life you two had created out of circumstance and connection, the very thing you now shared with another.

Your easy laughter was what brought his senses back, though it was cut off from him as quickly as it had been delivered as you began to walk hand in hand with the man down the path leading to the palace entrance.

Din’s mind was working, working, working. Trying to figure it out, trying to come up it a way to figure it out. To rectify it. To make it right. To make everything right.

And as if a chip was falling into place, he realized. They could fall into line as a guard and a handmaiden.

It was so obvious, so easy, the plan coming together in his mind as the wooden doors swung shut and stole you away from his watching gaze.

“Mando…” Cara’s voice was gentle, as if she was worried she would startle him. Spur him into movement toward you, tackling the obstacles that stood between you both despite the consequences. “I don’t know exactly what-“

“We’ll talk back at the ship.” His words were rough, voice rumbling as if he had just swallowed gravel. It felt thick in his throat, coating his tongue and making it hard to speak.

“It’s customary for visitors to stay in the tourism sector.”

“I’m…low on credits.” He admitted, aware that his words were carried on deep exhales, air hard and solid when breathed in. Aching, hurting, stinging in his throat as he closed his eyes to rid himself of the image of you embraced so intimately with that man, with your husband. But the image was burned into the backs of his eyelids, pressing on him even as he clenched them shut.

“Good thing I’m not. Let’s go, I have a feeling you’re going to tell me this isn’t going to be as simple as sneaking in at night and whisking her away.”

Din followed the woman’s lead through the city, through the gates and toward the collection of tourism amenities. The sounds of the ocean waves getting louder the further they moved away from the palace.

The suite was grand, decorated lavishly in soft earth tones. Bright jewel tones accenting it all around.

But Din’s eyes were unfocused, unseeing as they stared down at the carpet, his head in his hands as he sat rigidly on the couch. With a deep breath pulled in and then let out, he deflated. Chest tight like he was being retrained with ropes, his limbs tingling as if the blood was having trouble flowing through them. His nerves felt both numb and overwhelmed all at the same time.

Cara just paced around the room, searching for potential bugs while she ensured ad’ika was settled in a chair with the fruit you had bought for them in a bowl for him to occupy himself. Din’s voice returned to him when he felt the couch shift with her weight on the other side.

“She doesn’t know who I am.”

“I wouldn’t recognize you, Mando, it’s just the clothes. I’m sure she was just pretending to be clueless to avoid suspicion. She saw ad’ika and even got him those berries.”

“No. Cara.” He surged up, feeling the need to move. To be on his feet, his mind hurling endless self-depreciating thoughts. This was all his fault, you were in the arms of another man because of him, your mother had been able to snatch you away because of his carelessness. His lack of speed when chasing after you, his lack of ability to have tracked you down and bring you back to the Crest as quickly as possible. He had failed you, he had failed you beyond comprehension and you didn’t even remember it.

He meant nothing to you, he was a stranger to you. While you willingly lived alongside that man who had every intention of letting you know how much he wanted you, desired you, who kriffing kissed you.

Aware of her eyes on him, Din paced back and forth in front of the couch. Feeling the need to move, to run, to chase, to track, to fix. She was watching him, a conflicted look about her features as she thought over the things they witnessed. The blatant issues that they had to move around in order to get to you.

Maker, what if…what if you shared the man’s bed. That would add another layer of complication to breaking you free of your imprisonment. Was it even imprisonment anymore? Did it qualify if you didn’t know the people who surrounded you were the ones who had manipulated you so completely, so intricately that they had somehow wiped your memory and fed you a story of what they wanted their lives to be in order to make it a reality?

Even if he could manage to convince you that you weren’t meant to be a dank ferrick princess in a palace, how would he prove to you that you were meant to be with him? His ship was old, needed repairs too often, his way of life, it all paled in comparison to the residence you had now, the quality of life you had now. How was he supposed to make you understand that he cared about you and that you cared about him if you didn’t know who he was?

Your mother certainly knew what she was doing. From the wiping of your memory to make it harder for him to convince you that your life was a sham, a lie, a false thing made up by those around you to the warning posters of him plastered around the city. The version of you he knew was wary of strangers and he would bet everything in his name that you still held that reservation. That anything he or Cara had to say wouldn’t be taken lightly, most likely result in their immediate order of removal should you find them guilty of trying to manipulate you.

“She doesn’t remember me. Or ad’ika. Her mother must’ve done something to her. There was no recognition in her eyes.” Heart thudding hard in his aching chest, Din couldn’t stop the sob that wracked through him. “I’m nothing to her.”

Darkness and the pull of the cold feeling drumming through your veins lightening ever so slightly as you begin to rouse, body limp and not heeding your commands to move. Alone. You’re alone. Metal clinking and heavy around your wrists and ankles. Around your neck.

You’re shackled, restrained, drugged.

Like so many times before, like you had never wanted to be again.

It’s quiet, unnervingly so.

Opening your eyes doesn’t allow you more of the setting you’re in, only darkness of the room you’re hidden away in. Gravity lurches and you know, can sense it: that you’re aboard a ship that has just taken off into the air. Traveling and distance growing, taking you away from them. From him.

Had he even realized you were gone? That you had been seeking solace, a way to return to him without shame prickling your skin and guilt flooding you, body tight and mind remorseful.

Everything was a haze. Everything jumbled up into a messy recollection. The pleasure that had been igniting you, the feel of his fingers deep and hitting that spot just right, building you up and tearing down your inhibitions. Enough so that you had pleaded with him for the one thing you knew he wouldn’t give you. And then it was gone, shifting to rejection. The blank, emotionless helmet shielding the way he must’ve been so repulsed by your question, your desperation to have more of him when he had already given you so much. Needy, selfish, you had been so wrapped up in him that you had offended him beyond words. Warped the path you two had been traveling together, guiding him without realizing it, off the distinguished trail and into the unknown. To the forbidden. Toward sin.

You had tried to convince him to break his Creed.

Heart heavy and mind trying to piece everything back together, you convulsed. Shocks ripping through you at the sudden movement.

Whimpering, you felt it was more than deserved. This punishment, being forced to submit once again at the hands of your mother. All of it was because of the temptation you had dared to whisper to a man so devoted. He would’ve lost everything had he followed you into it. From the very identity of himself to the new standing of a clan he had just been granted. All gone.

And for what? A measly kiss with someone who didn’t even know how to want without asking for too much. A shared mingling of breath and teeth and tongue with someone who should’ve been long dead for their own sins.

Brightness burst into the room, assaulting your senses as footsteps shuffled close.

The prick of a needle sharp, the swoop of your nerves being calmed and then raised to tingling heights.

A gentle caress of a hand on your cheek and the last thought you had before you were pulled back into the darkness heart more than anything your mother could do to you:

He hadn’t come after you. He had let you walk away.

We can’t…I-I don’t...

Through the hull and off the ship, let you slip into the crowd where he hoped you would disappear from his sight. Vanish from his life and taking the sins you had tempted him with.

Compliant. You would be compliant this time around. Now knowing that there was nothing else for you, the entire galaxy making a mockery of your attempt at finding a life other than this. The blood of so many on your hands and cleaned off the hilt of your saber, the reason as to why you didn’t deserve happiness or comfortability. That you hadn’t deserved him.

And it hurt. More than the throbbing high spurred on by the drugs in your system. More than the memories of everything you had ever known being ripped from your desperate hands, not once but twice. The thought of him simply sat on that cot still, slowly dressing, gathering the things you had left behind and shoving them in a crate to never be opened again, hurt. The thought of him climbing toward the cockpit and bringing the ship to life, of guiding it up into the air and leaving the planet behind, leaving you behind, hurt. It was devastating.

Because you knew, you know he would’ve come to your aid if he had known what had happened. That you had been on your way back to the ship with an apology on your tongue when you had been ambushed. You know he would’ve protected you, even if he didn’t want you. Out of some sort of personal obligation, out of the empty commitment he had made to you that now felt like a ploy to get you into his bed.

He had known your past, seen the evidence of it in your words and nightmares. He had known to how use it to his advantage, to whisper sweet nothings and notions of care beyond what you could provide him with your body to get exactly that. He had known to not pressure you, to let you come to him and he would get what he wanted all along. The same as every man, only seeing you as a body to warm your bed.

But…he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. I love you.

He had said it first, as he bled out on that dirty cantina floor as the building crumbled around you both.

Anything spoken by a man of few words had to mean something. Had to be genuine. Had to be real.

And that hurt far worse, that he cared and had still let you walk away. Disappear into the crowd of the planet, only to be taken hostage and away from him. That he had let it happen.

The confusing and painful thoughts circling around in your sluggish mind were cut short, turned to smoke that wafted away when the metallic clang of what had to the locking mechanism on the door to where you were being kept. Artificial light filtered into the room, blinding you as your eyes tried to adjust to the sudden shift from near blinding darkness. A soft voice was speaking to you, thought you couldn’t make out the words. Brain scrambled and too loaded up to understand.

It was astonishing, really, even through the haze, that your mother’s hands were gentle on you despite the things she subjected you to. Comforting caresses and fingers moving your hair and clothing in ways to avoid pinching or pain as she removed the shackles and began to untangle you from the chains that had wrapped around you. It felt like a loss, to no longer have them pressing into your skin, no longer holding you up as your head rolled on hard to hold up neck.

“Oh oh oh, it’s okay, sweetie, I’ve got you.” Your mother’s voice was syrupy sweet, coating you in its allure. The only thing you truly knew was real in this moment of time. Her hands helped you up on weak legs, arms going around your waist to hold you to her, support most of your weight. “We’re home, my darling. I think it’s gonna treat us well, this time around.”

Confusion colored your senses and prompted a warbled sound to fall from your lips as she led you to the fresher. She helped to disrobe you, carefully peeling the clothing from your scuffed and sweaty skin. The weight of your hair being let loose from its braided updo stirred the beginnings of a headache. Trying to establish itself even in the presence of the drugs thrumming through your veins.

She washed you free of the sweat and grime that had built up on your skin in the time it had taken to guide your sluggish and unaware form onto a ship for travel.

Hands that didn’t feel like her own filled your senses. Larger than hers, rougher than hers, more intentional than hers. The feeling being washed away along with the suds and bubbles down the drain as you felt the prick of something in your neck and everything became fuzzy.

Things slowly returned to you as you felt the hum weighted over you lighten. Gravity shifted and a feeling of foreboding bubbled up in your stomach, prickling the instincts compressed inside your mind until they could do nothing but trigger ever so slightly. The hush of the door opening had you shifting atop the bedding, looking toward it to see the shadow of your mother approaching you with a cloak.

But it wasn’t yours, because the one you had been gifted, the one with the beautiful floral clasps to keep it closed, had been left behind in your haste. Haste to run from the feelings of inadequacy and heartbreak that threatened to overwhelm you even if you couldn’t piece together the specifics. Too overcome with the things your mother pressed into your veins to have you sluggish and heeding her commands.

The flash of a shiny reflection of sunlight against the metal of a sword stirred something in you as you walked alongside her. She was supporting most of your weight, guiding you along down the ramp of the ship and you paused at the sight before you. Blinking, ensuring that the image wouldn’t melt away and that it was real, you couldn’t believe your eyes.

A garden. Lush and green, was stretched out before a grand palace of white and sandy stone. Pillars and domes accent the different parts of grand sight. It was magnificent and entirely too complicated for you to be able to find a way to escape once within the walls. Guards cloaked in black were stationed at the main entrance and along entryways within the halls. Women in rich jewel tones scattered about the palace as your mother guided you through it, being led herself by a man who held an air of authority about himself.

Your heart beating fast, dizzyingly fast and your breath becomes labored, pitchy. It garners the attention of your mother, the shift from quiet to increasing panic as your led further into the maze of halls and buildings. She holds the control to the shackles about your wrists and ankles in her hand, waving it at you to quell the twitching of your muscles as you tried to resist running, of harnessing the Force to send everyone around you flying through the wide hallway. The silent threat of the electricity sparking through your synapses paired with the way the world didn’t feel quite right, everything off kilter and slightly blurry, fuzzy all around you had you obeying her without a word.

She commanded the people around you both as you were ushered through a door into a sterile room, medical equipment and first aid supplies collected in a large cabinet. The medical center, you guessed through the haze and worry spiked through you. What was she going to have them do to you?

With soft words, she urged you to lay down atop one of the cots. Smoothing your hair away from your face with gentle hands as the prick of a needle startled you. An attendant, a man dressed in dark red billowing layers, had stuck you with a syringe.

Before you could form your lips around a question, a plea, the edges of your vision blurred. Within seconds, the room was spinning and your eyes fluttered shut. The last thing you thought of before being pulled under the influence of the sedative was a plea for Din and ad’ika to be safe, wherever they may be.

“Alright,” Your mother chirped once you had fallen unconscious. The man in red regarded her with a blank expression, knowing that he was here for one reason and one reason only. Being paid generously for the use of his skills and the machinery that he possessed. He was one of the few who had been sought out by the New Republic to recalibrate and repurpose something used by the Empire that would prove useful for them as well.

Rumors of such a machine were whispered across the galaxy, most believing them to have been destroyed. But they would be wrong, they were very prevalent in the reformation and reintroduction of the Empire’s countless forces back into the general population. To break the spell of indoctrination imposed on them with low force electric vibrations. The Six-O-Two Mitigator, otherwise known as a Mind Flayer. Curtesy of the royal families firm standing within the New Republic and their generous donations to help fund their endeavors.

“Is it ready?”

“Yes, it’s been calibrated to perform at a higher voltage to achieve what you’ve requested.” He spoke as he watched two attending medics wheel the cot you were laid upon toward the doorway that lead into another room. He followed them, with a wave of his arm to allow for your mother to proceed him. She did so with a dip of her head.

“I’m sure you know how to oblige what is being requested of you. From me and from the Prince. We will settle for nothing less.”

“I do, you want me to target the memory glands.”

“Yes, eradicate anything that sparks in response to the Mandalorians and the Jedi. Warp them if you have to.”

“I will do my best, it may take multiple sessions.”

“That’s quite alright, we are here now. We have the time.”

Something was wrong. Something was missing.

And your head was pounding, a dull pain throbbing at your crown and moving down, down, down to coat your entire body. Groaning, you realized you were laying in a large, plush bed. Pillows and soft blankets surrounding you, having allowed you the comfort to sleep deeply. Deep enough that you couldn’t recall the location of where you were.

The room is beautiful, all pale, soft tones that match the way you had always wanted to decorate your own home one day. But it was a lost thought, something that would never come to fruition. A personal home that you would never have, a home that you would never share, because the people that you love no longer exist to you, faded into blips you can’t recall. But there was one shadow that you could sense in the back of your mind. And it was making you worry about the way you couldn’t fill it. The underlying feeling of something wrong settling low in your gut.

The room is completely foreign as is the scene of a desert city surrounded by large, formidable walls of stone. You now stood on the balcony, having crossed the spacious interior decorated with tapestries and thin beaded curtains to take a look outside. Your body protested the movements, sluggish to respond to your need to figure out where you were.

The door creaked open, a pair of young women with a tray froze as they say you out on the balcony.

And then, a familiar figure shouldered past them with a wide smile.

“Mother?”

“Yes, my sweetheart, how are you feeling?” She was across the room, her arm over your shoulder as she guided you to take a seat in one of two chairs that surrounded a small, low table. Across from them, on the other side, a long, curved couch that looked to be velvet stretched out.

“I feel okay, I’m just a little confused. When did we move….here?” You felt like something was missing still, aside from the curiosity of the foreign environment. You were looking around the room, trying to nudge that vague shadow of whatever it was into a more concrete form. And then it did, the shadow took the form of a man and your heart skipped a beat. “Is he okay?”

“Who, honey?”

“Um…the man I’ve been traveling with. He- he was injured, his…his head!” You felt panic ripple over you, very real and so overwhelming. You had been traveling with someone, that much you knew. But the name, the specifics of him weren’t coming to you. But it felt so real, the phantom feel of the man who you had been with, you carried him with you, and you needed to know if he was okay.

“Honey, he wasn’t the one that fell. You were.”

“Where is he?” Her words didn’t shake the panic settling into your bones. A memory of kneeling in front of an injured man, cradling his face in your hands as he lay before you flashed in your mind’s eye. The feeling of heat washing over you, as if trying to consume you.

“He’s a very busy man, he was going to visit this afternoon.” You mother tried to console you, moving to sit on the arm of your chair and reaching out to cusp a hand over your shoulder.

“I need to see him now!” You stood, anger spiking. Lungs aching for air, for the vision of the man whose touch was ghosting over your skin, whispers of promises and comfort filling your ears. All coming back as the shadow in your mind grew larger and larger, taking space and becoming all consuming,

“Alright, honey, hold-“ She caught your hand as you walked past her, set on searching for him. Needing to see him, to ensure that he was okay. The feeling of warm blood thick on your hands.

“That’s quite alright, Lena.” A deep voice spoke from the open doorway and you felt your knees buckle as you looked over toward it. The tall figure of a broad man was standing there, dressed in orange and gold. He had dark, thick hair on the top of his head and decorating his face. He looked healthy and relief replaced the panic. The feeling of comfort at his few words urging you back up from where you had reached out for the couch. Memories of laughter and teasing, of time spent together coming back to you as if he had brought them into the room with him. “I had a spare moment today, is everything okay here?”

“I-I just…I needed to make sure you were okay.” The words left you in a shaky breath. His image filled the form of the shadow, pushing you toward him. He opened his arms and you moved into them, lifting up on your tip toes to press your forehead to his own and everything whirling around in your mind calmed.

“My heart, are you alright?” His breath fanned over your face and your eyes focused on his lips. Waiting for an answer to flow from them. For all the memories that had flooded back when you first looked at him, you couldn’t recall the feel of his lips on your own.

“I’ve got you, beautiful. Everything is going to be okay.”

Before the last word was uttered, you were surging up and pressing your lips to his.

Weeks go by, the days spent with your mother and the maidens assigned to look after you and ensure you had everything you needed. Prince Cala was accommodating, doting almost when he was free from the responsibilities that came with running a successful city. He was a prince, you learned. Set to inherit his royal standing of king and full control over the city once the marriage he had proposed to you in your murky past came to fruition. He was all soft, casual touches and kisses pressed to your temples. He hadn’t kissed you fully since that first day you had woken up and you could understand his hesitancy. You were still struggling with your memory, no exact recollection of your lives together.

Assurances spoke from both him and your mother that this was indeed your life, even if everything seemed so new and part of a routine you didn’t quite feel like you were a part of. You were…slightly uncomfortable in your mother’s presence, when alone. An almost fearful undertone as you watched her movements closely, feigning focused interest in the things she told you and shared with you to mask the way your eyes catalogued everything. There was a faint weight that pulled in your gut when she would touch you, her hands always gentle but it was as if… it was as if your body was waiting for the gentle to give way to something more sinister, more ill-intentioned.

You felt more at ease with the man who had filled the shadow in your mind, his presence calming and kind. You weren’t waiting for his touch to sour, though it didn’t spring forth any feelings of desire or yearning from you. A causal intimacy between you both. Slightly disjointed in the way that you had separate room when you could recall sleeping beside a warm body before your accident. In the way that he would press his forehead to yours in greeting each morning and departure each night, the warmth of his skin against yours feeling….wrong as you recalled a coolness in the memories of the practiced motion. In the way that your flowing gowns and light layers looked beautiful in every color provided to you helped to alleviate the heat of the planet but felt too…impractical when you could recall feeling different clothing against your skin, practical, durable.

But for all the things that felt slightly shifted, you also found familiarity.

The ever present heat and bright sunshine of the planet, so unlike your own world of K’ath and yet it was almost comforting in a way. The food you enjoyed at the words of your mother and fiancé to the kitchens to keep on hand. Fresh fruits, crispy vegetables, and warm bread slathered with salted butter fresh from the ovens. Plenty of soups served over rice and easy broths for you to sip from ornate china, never anything too heavy or slathered in rich sauces. Sweet treats in the form of artisan chocolate, decadent cakes with frosting covering them in intricate designs and an endless supply of fresh, strong caf.

But you took it all in stride, spending time in the gardens, memorizing the walkways that wound through them and around the cerulean ponds filled with colorful fish. Spending time in the library and reading through the history of the planet and the city. Spending time in the lush sunroom decorated with plush rugs, overstuffed seating, and a nice view of the grounds just beyond it. Spending time overlooking the beautiful sights of the city and the distant ocean from your balcony, unable to shake the feeling like you were supposed to be somewhere else.

You tried to ignore the guards hovering around you as you explored the streets of the market. You had earned the outing after your good behavior, showing restraint in the questions you had wanted to ask but didn’t want to repeat yet again the night before. Shaking those thoughts from your head, you reached up and adjusted the dainty crown atop your head. The beautiful netting sprinkled with jewels fanning the base of it cascading over your hair in quite a nice way and it would look beautiful if the piece weren’t a deadly threat. It was a little overkill, you thought. Even if you had been nothing but willing to play along to your mothers and husbands’ words despite feeling like something was wrong, missing, like this wasn’t your life. But they were all that you knew right now, the figure of your mother familiar from childhood and you heeded her words.

You were at a stall that had an array of colorful and fragrant fruits, the sweet perfume of them blending together too tempting for you to bypass without checking out. A creature of habit, your mother called you. A woman of expensive taste, teasingly aimed at you from your husband. They knew you

You paused to hold a bundle of sunset orange berries up to inspect. A small green hand with three fingers suddenly reached out for the bowl in your hand and you jumped only slightly at the sudden company you had as you perused the stalls offerings. You turned a cautious look over but a smile broke out on your face at the cute visage of a small, wonderous face peeking out from a canvas bag that seemed to be his safe space.

“Well, hello there, little one.” You lowered the bowl for the small creature to reach for a berry, the fruit stuffed into his mouth with a happy sound that had a laugh bubbling up from your chest unbidden. “He’s rather cute. Is this your child?”

You canted your attention up, at the broad man dressed in all black who was wearing the child’s bag over a shoulder. His clothing was nondescript, matching that of the priests who littered the town. Flowing cassock and wrap atop his head. His face was obscured, much like their own by black gauzy material draped from underneath it. His dark brown eyes were the only thing visible, and you smiled at him trying to come across as friendly. You didn’t want to anger anyone in town lest they had a connection to your new family.

The figure didn’t speak for a moment, seeming to take stock of you, gauging if you were a threat or not, something everyone seemed to be doing when interacting with you. A newcomer, an outsider, not one of the many tourists visiting the city for their own amusement, but someone brought in to be a part of the ruling family. Confirmation sounded through the fabric masking his face from you and you nodded to show you heard. “He is.”

“I’ve never seen any like him before, he seems like the sweetest thing.” The child let out small coos, as if knowing he was being talked about. He reached for another berry but held it out to you this time. You shook your head lightly and another laugh bubbled up even as you felt the heavy gaze of his father on you.

“Ma’am, you’ll have to pay for- Oh, Princess Cala, I’m so sorry. I was unaware you were in the markets today. Please, take whatever you wish, I will send for payment from Sir Cala at the end of the day.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright. It’s just a little snack today, nothing too crazy.” You smiled wide at him, hoping your behavior will be relayed back to your new family and they will lower their intensity. But you also genuinely appreciated this man, he treated you like a person while everyone else in the market kept a wide berth around you. Afraid of either you as a newcomer or the guards that tailed you, you hadn’t been able to work it out yet. You reached for the small pouch attached to your belt, the jingling of the bracelets on your wrists drawing the attention of the child.

You felt the tug of on them as you reached out to place a few credits for the bowl of berries on the stand, nodding your thanks as you turned to face the child again. He was gripping the bracelets tightly, his skin touching yours as he did so and a clash of emotions flooded you, causing you to gasp and your knees buckled. Before the guards could reach you, the tall man had stepped close and his arms were wrapped gently around your back, holding you to his chest to help steady you.

“I’ve got you, mesh’la. Are you alright?” His head was pitched so his voice was right beside your ear, and it sent a shiver through your body, the timbre of it so alluring. It was all you could hear though you were aware of the soft babbling of the child close to you and the harsh voices of the guards. You felt completely calm with him, like returning to your home after a long day. Comforted, safe, cared for. His touch was so familiar, the way he held you feeling like a faint memory though you had never met him in your life.

“Unhand the princess, no one is to touch her.” The guards closed in around you both, trapping you between their bodies and the stall.

“It’s alright! I just tripped is all!” You raised your voice even though it was rather hard to concentrate with the strong body pressed up against you and holding you. You felt the man loosen his hold and step away as you stood straighter. You weren’t quite sure what happened, but he had been quick to help you, even at the expense of drawing the guards’ attention. You smiled at him, something genuine. The feelings he had stirred in you were confusing but not unwelcome. You had no idea why. He was a stranger after all.

“We must return now, Princess Cala.”

When his touch retracted, the warmth that had blossomed in your chest and the quickening of your heart beating against the cage of your ribs didn’t wane. 

You retrieved the bowl of berries and held a few out to the slightly dejected child, his large ears turned downward. “Here you go, little one. Make sure to share those with your papa, okay?”

Another glance roved over his face, a soft smile just for him, and you were bidding him a good day with a bow of your head. The urge to press your forehead against his strong, but you resisted, knowing that it felt too personal a thing for the stranger standing beside you. Your brow furrowed slightly, unsure of where the need to do so rose from. The comfortability and underlying feeling of complete and utter safety that the man stoked in you confusing you, he was a stranger, and yet it felt like there was a string wrapped around your heart that pulled taught and uncomfortable as you began to move away from him.

And with that you were turning and walking away from the stall, two guards leading you back to the palace and two behind you. You could feel the kind man’s brown eyes watching you as you did, daring to look over your shoulder to get one last look at him yourself.

Your breath hitched as your eyes met his even from the distance of the street and you felt the heat from his intimate touch and soft words encompass you completely. A dull pain throbbed in your temple, forcing you to turn away.

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dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

taglist: @clevergirl74 @strawberri-blonde @js-favnanadoongi @littlemisspascal @moonknight-s-cumdump @bookloverkat @golden-mando @beskarandblasters @feral-ferrule @bearsbeetsbeskar @76bookworm76 @anoverwhelmingdin @sarap-77 @picassopedro @sawymredfox @jessthebaker @genetics4life @mosssbawls @vivian-pascal

[bits-and-babs]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 — 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃!𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍

» SUMMARY: When your impatience bleeds into contempt, The Mand'alor thinks you're deserving of a valuable lesson. On your knees.

» PAIRING : Haunted!Mand'alor Din Djarin x Reader

» CONTENTS : 18+ MDNI. DARK Mand’alor Din Djarin, talkative Din (he’s haunted, I get to play with him a little 🤭), power play, temperature play (heat), hair pulling, Din grinds against your face, sloppy, aggressive, hard, NASTY oral sex (m receiving), gagging, vague illusions to masochism, oxygen deprivation, cumming untouched. A little May The 4th celebration that got a little out of hand...

» DIN MASTERLIST : here || MAIN MASTERLIST : here

Crackling warbles radiate from the midnight black blade that rests just beside your temple. The glitching edge of the dark saber flickers in the corner of your eye, and the heat of the razor edge singes the baby hairs on your cheeks and burns your skin as The Mand’alor stares down at you from his seat, gaze piercing the darkened visor of his helm.

Having situated yourself between Din’s spread thighs, you kneel before him in supplication. The fissuring dark saber rests just above your shoulder when he removes it from your charred skin in some kind of debauched knighting ceremony. You hear the whistling tones of the kyber sword as Din pulls it from one shoulder to the next.

“I beg your forgiveness, Mand’alor,” you whisper, the tremor of fear in your voice betraying your indifferent expression. You cringe inwardly, noting the way his back rises from the throne he occupies, having caught the tremble in your tone.

“You do?” The modulator in Din’s helmet distorts his voice slightly, sizzling tones matching the crackle of the unstable dark saber blade. “We have far surpassed expressions of regret being rewarded with absolution. Don’t you think?”

Wincing slightly, you note the searing heat of the blade focusing on your collarbone. Din angles the blade close to your flesh, the pain unbearable as the weapon cooks your skin. Adrenaline buzzes down your spine at the threat of the white-hot weapon cauterising your throat.

“How do you suppose you would go about earning exoneration instead?”

You advance without question. Your hands settle on the cold metal pauldrons at Din’s thighs. You note the condensation shadows that take the shape of your palm against the reflective surface of the beskar.

Already kneeling, you dip your head lower, resting your temple on his knee. You are careful to move slowly, the persistent threat of the dark saber made evident by its unsteady trill. Din shows no outward display of approval besides inching the deadly weapon away from your vitals.

Humming, you press your nose to the evident bulge in the trousers of his flight suit. It’s thrilling, the buzz of adrenaline that cracks across the length of your body to know that no matter how impassive Din may appear, his body will always betray his sensibilities for you. His cock stands to attention against the canvas fabric, twitching beneath your hungry gaze.

“I can think of something,” you admit, looking up at his visor through your lashes. A rumble in his chest matches the frequency of a growl despite the crackling distortion, and his hand settles firmly on the back of your head. He gives you no chance to explain, nor to dispute his advances, before pushing your face into his crotch.

Moaning loudly, wantonly, you drag your tongue over the canvas material as Din crushes your face into his cock. He groans, enjoying this compromising position he has you in while he pushes his hips up. Your nose is pushed flat, and you can hardly breathe, but you continue your ministrations with your tongue, desperately lapping at the curved outline of the insistent, twitching shaft.

It isn’t long before Din loses his patience, hoisting the blade of the dark saber high above your head and out of the way. He yanks on your hair, and you gasp for oxygen, watching through the blissful tears that well in your eyes as Din sinks a gloved hand into his flight suit trousers and pulls his angry cock from them.

He fists his dick a few times, hissing sharply at the dry drag of the leather against his sensitive skin. Din always did like it if it hurt a little.

You’re barely afforded time to part your lips before Din manages to grab the crown of your skull once more, using the ‘o’ shape of your shocked, gaping mouth to plunge his cock deep inside your throat without warning. You gag around the intrusion, heaving as your nose pushes deep into Din’s pubic bone.

“Yes,” he groans out, voice strangled through the vocoder as he raises your head from his length for just a second. You manage a quick intake of oxygen into your burning lungs before he shoves you down onto him once more with a haggard moan of your name. It’s dark and gritty, and the sound skitters down your spine and pools in your stomach.

As Din sets a gruelling rhythm, you lack the ability to inhale. His curved cockhead thumps against the back of your throat with each heavy thrust of his hips, bruising the tender flesh there with repetitive blunt force trauma. The lack of oxygen burns your lungs linings, dizziness swaying your mind as Din angles your jaw just how he wants it.

“That’s it,” he praises, and his affirmations curl inside the pit of your stomach. There’s a throbbing ecstasy settling between your thighs, the pressure building in your skull from the lack of oxygen, causing your pulse to thud rapidly against the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Yes, look at you-“

The slurping, wet sounds of your throat relaxing against his brutalisation and the slap of his balls against your chin drives you forward, your abdomen tensing against the threatening orgasm. Din, your Mand’alor, growls your name, pressing his fingers into the soft flesh of your cheeks and forcing you to look up at him.

“Filthy slut. You’re going to cum, aren’t you? Go on,” he urges, picking up his pace. His hips are lifting from the throne now, putting his force into each devastating thrust down your fluttering throat, “Go on. Repent.”

It bursts through you, the blistering orgasm matching the heat of the singing blade above your head. It’s as though Din has plunged it into your abdomen, twisting it sharply and seering it deep into your nerve endings. You sob around his length, tears spilling down your cheeks as the sensation overwhelms you.

“Stars,” Din wheezes when the blood stops rushing in your ears. You feel his seed spill down your throat, drenching your tongue— absolving you of guilt.

Your crime? Wanting him so badly, you would fall to your knees in forgiveness for the disrespect.

Of course- punishment meant getting exactly what you wanted.

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[not-so-allegiant-general]

Force sensitive Hux au

Kylo discovered that Snoke was suppressing Hux's abilities just to keep them apart. It is General Hux who was his dyad in force. Not Rey. But now without Snoke there is no one between them. And there is no one between Hux and force. And it is painful but Hux doesn't want to learn from Kylo. He doesn't trust him nor the force. He can't sleep, he hears voices, everything vibrates. And he feels emotions that aren't his. Its getting worse and worse. And he hates that the only thing that helps is being close to Kylo. But he can't deny It any more, or he will go mad. So one day Kylo found him curled up on his bed. Hux got up.

"Mh... Sorry. I was waiting for you"

"In my bed?"

"Yeah. Everything else vibrates and It made me want to vomit"

Kylo sat down close to him.

"You can go back to sleep. We will talk later. I can stay. " He answered Hux thoughts. Hux rubbed his face and laid down again. He was too tired to protest and having Kylo so close felt wonderful, so he just went back to sleep. After "okey Ren you can teach me but I will not call you master" talk they started immediately next day.

And Hux was indeed a fast learner. And after few weeks its kinda started to bother Kylo. A lot. Force was listening to Hux as it has never listened to Kylo before. Hux built his own saber. And it was flawless. Elegant. Pure white blade. How the fuck did he turned kyber white? Kylo didn't know. He knew that Hux was an kyber expert because of Strakiller, but he was never really interested in his research. Hux could meditate for hours. Kylo couldn't last even two. And it was tearing him apart because Hux was everything that he wasn't. Everything that he wanted to be.

Navigation consoles began to suffer again from his rage.

"Ren! Ren stop it immediately! Ren! Supreme Leader it is you own ship for the fuck sake!"

Kylo breathed out and deactivated the blade.

"What's going on? Ren?"

" am sorry"

" I Hope so. But i don't care about you being sorry i care for an explanation" and Kylo explained. And Hux was looking at him with disbelief.

" Oh come on. Enough of this whining Ren" he stopped him " Can you even hear yourself?"

"Hux..."

" You alone told me that force is a path aren't you ? "

"Yes but..."

" So there is infinite number of paths. You can't blame me that i chose a different one. Actually if we are what you called It a dyad? Its perfectly logical that we are opposites. Let's say it clear there is nothing in control, in order about you. Just chaos. I could never live like this. "

" Yes but..."

"But but ... I told you stop whining like a child. Look at yourself. You are pure, raw force. You could go against Rancor with this red thing and ego of yours. And you're siting here and whine because i have a prettier lightsaber?"

"I... "

" And what? That my abilities are better? Are you joking? I didn't beat you in a duel even once. And how the fuck did you cracked kyber Ren? Because if i could do that Starkiller would be ready at least few years faster!"

"How the fuck did i cracked kyber? How the fuck did YOU make it WHITE!?"

"Wouldn't you like to know huh?" Hux smiled "Why don't you just ask?"

"What?"

" I'am not Snoke. i'am not going to hide things from you. Do stop breaking consoles and start verbally communicating what's going on because i am tired of this hide-and-seek" Kylo was blinking at him. Hux sighed. "Come. I will show you kyber."

They did not arrive to laboratories because Kylo pressed him to the wall and kissed. Hux just moaned tilting his head back.

"Is it verbal enough Hux?"

" Its suggestive enough. First my quarters. Then kyber. " He said when he regained breath. " But enough of destroying my ship"

" Oh. Now it's yours ? "

" You just said i am better than you at basically everything? Shouldn't i be Supreme Leader then? " He mocked. He had never learnt that you have to be careful what you wish for. Kylo smiled amused and kissed back of his hand.

"You know what Hux? You are right" Hux blinked.

"What?"

"I can see It now. Crystal clear. My destiny is to conquer, bring down empires. And lay them at your feet. Yours is to rule. "

And Hux for the first time in his life was absolutely speechless.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by: @cassieuncaged (this week) and @josephseedismyfather @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @kyber-infinitygems and @g0dspeeed (last week) thank you all so much <3 *tagging all of you back as well*

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Writing Tag List here to be added/removed

welp after a brief writing hiatus and wanting to tear my hair out, i'm back with a continuation of the cod prequel fic tending to wounds scene! (I should be working on chapter 4, instead I have nearly all of chapter 11 written. don't look at me I go where the muse takes me and that apparently included one angsty "first" kiss and Price slipping into "dad mode" with the woman he has feelings for *smooth*)

(I know most of you don't go here so no pressure to read of course)

Rory found herself rubbing at her throat once more, her fingers tracing over the indents she imagined to be there from phantom hands that still wrapped around her. “Thank you, John.”

“For what?”

“Looking out for me, and cleaning me up.”

“‘Course.”

She cleared her throat, trying to cough out the tender swelling in her trachea. Her eyes lifted to look at him once more, a sincerity in her eyes that her words couldn’t truly express in the moment. “I appreciate it.”

“I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.”

“It’s not your job to protect me.”

“You have my six, I have yours,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Right,” she said, shaking her head. 

John’s brow furrowed at her reaction. It was clear her ego was still bruised after the fight she went through. Caught off guard, made to feel weak – she didn’t deserve to feel like that. She was no lamb, despite the call sign, she had that beast in her just like him. Nose wrinkling as he tightened his jaw, he had to say something. “Hey, I didn’t save you, Rory. You did that all by yourself. Don’t go thinking that I don’t know you can hold your own, because I do. You’re tough. I mean that. You don’t become a Sergeant ‘cause of a pretty face. You have the experience. Not everyone could have done what you did in that situation.” He moved closer, shifting his weight on his feet. “You don’t need me protecting you, but I’m happy to do it.”

There was so much earnestness in his words and his expression, that she couldn’t help herself. Her hands lifted to cup his jaw and trace her fingers through the whiskers on his cheeks before rational thought could even hit her, bringing his face down to meet hers in a kiss. It wasn’t hungry or rushed like the last time they’d been this close, it wasn’t hormones and alcohol fueling it, it was soft…and safe. His forehead pressed to hers, but he didn’t dare touch her with his hands, not after what she’d been through. Grabbing the sink ledge instead, he leaned down into her, letting her take the lead, happy to let her steal the very oxygen from his lungs. 

Her lips were soft, more tender than anything he’d felt in years, and he did his best not to get too carried away, lost in the sensation of a mouth he’d thought about when he’d been away on duty. That random encounter he’d never planned on making as much of an impression on him as it did, especially as they had come back together after so long. Knowing just how kiss-bruised he’d left her mouth the last time, full lips left that much plumper. God, she was gorgeous then and having gotten to know her now as the hard ass soldier, she was even more stunning now. 

But as quick as the kiss happened, it ended.

Her hands dropping as her lips pulled away from him, but her forehead remained pressed to his as she looked down at her feet. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Do you see me complaining?” The grizzled soldier was made soft, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  

She closed her eyes and pushed her hands through her hair. Pulling the limp, wet locks back and refusing to make eye contact with him. 

“It’s okay. Shit happens,” he kept his rasping voice low and quiet, the way someone would speak to calm a frightened animal. “We can just chalk it up to stress.”

“But what if it’s not, John?”

It was his turn to clear his throat, pulling back as he crossed his arms over his chest and rubbed the back of his neck, the lines in his face creasing as he grimaced. 

“I saw the way you were looking at me earlier. It’s not just me feeling this either, is it?”

“It’s being in close proximity with someone you –” He paused, staring into her eyes. “Rory, I –”

“I’ve explained it to myself a million different ways. Trying to remind myself that we’re professionals, that this is just another mission. That whatever I’m feeling is some residual from that time we had together…and who knows, maybe it still is with us trapped in close quarters. I know that even bringing up this conversation with you is stepping out of bounds. You’re my commanding officer, this is fraternizing with a subordinate…I don’t do this sort of thing.”

“We seem to have a history of going outside of our norm with each other.”

She groaned and rubbed her hands over her face. He wasn’t wrong. “So what do we do? Finish out the rest of this mission like nothing’s happened and then we go our separate ways again?”

He stepped back from her, severing the tie as much as every muscle in his body wanted the exact opposite. His hands instinctively rose to where his tactical vest would normally sit on his shoulders, wishing he had that sort of protection right now. “I don’t think this is the right time to be bringing this up, eh? You’re worn out. Have your shower, get some rest. We’ll start fresh in the morning,” he said, giving her a friendly tap on the shoulder.

Rory nodded, her eyes dimming as they fell once more. “Yes, Captain.”

And just like that, the floodgates between them were shut once more. 

Leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind him, John sat on the edge of his bed lighting up another cigar. Rubbing at his brow in a concentrated effort to ignore the taste of her on his lips, trying to drown out the pervasive smell of iron that clung to her and filled his nostrils as the sound of water spraying from the shower head began. His heart and head were telling him two very different things. It was a dangerous game to get tied up with someone you worked with, especially as a soldier. Things weren’t supposed to get personal. Taking his mind off the mission, off the task at hand, meant people could get hurt, or worse, killed. 

She was almost killed. 

He heaved out a sigh, blowing out smoke with the intensity of a dragon. There was no denying the fact that he’d already let her get close, closer than most. And God help him, he’d been jealous. He wanted her. It was as simple as that. But nothing about what they might have felt for one another was inherently simple. She was right about fraternizing, they were edging up to the line and if they crossed it, if even a whiff of that reached their superiors they could lose everything. The only saving grace was that this was just one mission. One mission, and then she could go back to the SRR and he’d be back with SAS and no one would be any the wiser.  Christ, he shouldn’t have been thinking like this. Trying to come up with ways to work around the rules, but it’s what he was used to. Skirting around the red tape to do what was necessary, going above the law to make things right. What was happening here though, it wasn’t the same thing. This wasn’t about what served the greater purpose for others, this was about him. And her. God, the things he was already willing to do for her.

[breakfastteatime]

Today's request is for @serena-darrin, who chose 'Are you okay?' (¬‿¬)

Sometimes, Cal wonders if the Force is punishing him, because of all the cabins he had to walk into on the entire Venator they’re scrapping, he’s stepped into a long-dead Jedi’s bedroom. It’s dark, the power long since cut, and yet that doesn’t stop Cal from seeing the single bunk identical to his own, a desk covered in study materials and the training tools, and a robe hanging over a locker. All of them are markers of a life torn away.

And now Cal’s got to gather it all up and throw it away.

The echoes in here hum and sing, voices bleeding into the present. He’s not getting through this without smashing into the past. It’s too loud, too demanding. First things first though. Cal sticks his head into the hallway. Good, no one’s coming. He blocks the door with the trash can anyway. Better safe than sorry.

He goes through the room carefully, tossing the training aids he wouldn’t be able to use anymore away, feeling the determination and pride clinging to them. His body wants to move with the memories, feel the satisfaction of perfecting a new skill. He still remembers how easily it all came to him compared to the others in his clan…

It hadn’t helped at all in the end. All that studying. All that training. For what? Master Tapal’s dead and the Jedi are gone.

Cal makes good progress, tossing the past into the trash. He knows this was a Padawan’s room, although she’d been far older than him and preparing for knighthood. Her life slips through his mind in a wash of emotion and chatter. She was so sure she’d pass the Trials, so excited for the end of the war and a return to peace. Cal throws away her mementos: a holoimage of her and her master with their troop, a carving depicting a bird Cal’s never seen before, a selection of pressed flowers, more clothing several sizes too large for him along with space for arms he doesn’t have… It’s all useless now. Anyone seen wearing it would probably be shot dead on sight.

The dead Padawan’s datapad lights up when Cal touches it, a half-finished message popping up. ‘Be back on Coruscant soon, according to Master Day. Can’t wait to see you! Maybe we’ll head to the lower levels and –’ Cal tosses the datapad into the trash. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. She’s dead. Her friend is dead. Their masters are dead. All the Jedi, except for Cal it seems, are dead.

Cal’s deep in the storage locker when he feels something unexpected buried under a pile of wrinkled robes. His hand slides under cloth, fingers closing around something cold. Metallic. Wrapped in leather.

“Master, I think it’s time.”

Master Day looks up at her, brown eyes crinkling with a smile. Not so long ago, it would have been the other way around, but she’s had a growth spurt and all the aches and pains have paid off. She is taller than her beloved master, and it is time for another change.

“My lightsaber hilts are simply too small. It is affecting my performance. With your permission, I would like to spend some time redesigning them.”

“Of course, Padawan. After all, I can hardly enjoy beating you in sparring if your lightsabers are so small they fall from your hand, and you burn yourself on the blades.”

She is nowhere near Master Day’s level, and such a thing will not be happening anytime soon. But someday, maybe… “Master, when I beat you at sparring, you will have to petition the Council to knight me on the spot.”

Master Day’s laughter is rich and full. “Young one, if you are still a Padawan by then, you will be the oldest to have ever lived.”

Cal breaks free of the memory. He can feel himself smiling, heart swelling with love and joy that do not belong to him. They fade steadily, leaving him in the dark with a pair of hilts that no longer house kyber crystals and the Jedi who built it long gone.

He tosses them in the trash and pretends it doesn’t tear something out of him to do so.

By the end of his shift, the cabin is empty, ready to be stripped tomorrow. Cal pushes his trash cart outside. Cold rain pelts him as he tips its contents into the ever-hungry Maw. He trudges back, ready to catch the train. Prauf’s there, and he waves him over. Cal joins him.

“Hey Cal.”

“Hi, Prauf.”

Prauf stares at him. “Are you okay?”

Cal shakes himself. Nothing can be done. The past is the past, and he must accept that. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He makes himself smile. “Long day.”

“Hah, ain’t it always!” Prauf pats him on the back. “C’mon, let me buy you a non-alcoholic beverage of your choice at the Rust Bucket.”

“Feeling flush?” Cal asks as the train pulls onto the platform.

“I wish! Nah, you look like you could use it.”

Cal blinks back a sudden rush of tears. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Prauf.”

“Attaboy. No booze though. I’m not dragging your drunken ass back home.”

“No booze,” Cal says, even though a few hours of oblivion sound pretty sweet. “You got it.”

[snowywinterevenings]

Several Sentence Sunday

A sneak peek at some whump for Febuwhump. I made Obi-Wan the immortal for a past whump fic, so this time it’s Cody’s turn, and Obi-Wan gets to be the one who comes back in multiple lives. In the life shown here, Obi-Wan was not found by the Jedi but ended up enslaved and was recently freed by Cody and his brothers.

“I got you some tea. This one is supposed to help with sleep.”

Cody set the small box on the table, keeping his distance as he always did, ever mindful of respecting Obi-Wan’s space. Obi-Wan could feel the care in the gift and appreciated the gesture given his struggle with nightmares, but he was uncertain as to how he should proceed as he had never been presented with the opportunity to drink much beyond water. “I have never had tea. Will you show me how to prepare it?”

Shock rippled through the Force followed by deep sorrow and guilt before Cody wrapped his shields so tightly around himself Obi-Wan could feel nothing from him save the barest hint of sunshine warmth that made him long to reach out and draw Cody closer so that he could once more be awash in his light. Instead, he watched as Cody took a kettle down from a shelf, drifting nearer as he went through the motions of preparing the tea. Obi-Wan’s eyes caught on a small chip on the lid, and something possessed him to snatch it up and run his finger over it, and he felt laughter and love bubble up in his mind, the echo of memories from long ago brushing against his thoughts but not revealing themselves.

When he glanced up, a tear slid down Cody’s cheek, and Obi-Wan realized there was something at play he was missing, something in the way Cody watched him and knew him better than he knew himself, something in the crystal he had tied around his neck, something in the familiarity of the teapot now heating on the stove, something that ran so deep it transcended time and space. He did not know how to put words to the feeling, but he knew he wanted to soothe the pain in Cody’s chest, even as Cody tried desperately to hold together shattering shields. He brushed his fingers over the kyber that sat beside Cody’s heart, and a shiver ran down his spine as a real memory crystallized in his mind, the two of them in this very kitchen partaking in this same ritual. But the Cody there didn’t ache, and the Obi-Wan in his vision was healthy and whole, smiling sheepishly as he held up a newly chipped teapot lid.

“We’re supposed to protect the Jedi. I’m supposed to protect you. And I didn’t even know you weren’t safe. I’m sorry, Obi-Wan. I’m so sorry.”

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

frostycatblr-fandom-files Art Masterlist

Art tag(s): #frostsfanart | [WIP] Denotes work in progress | Updated: 11/1/24

The Domino Twins - The Clone Wars

The Blue King - The Clone Wars

How Dominoes Fall - The Clone Wars

99's Legacy - The Bad Batch

KYBER//COLOR

Last of the Pack - The Clone Wars

Simpler Times - The Bad Batch

Troops of the Tribunal - The Clone Wars

Clone Helmet Collection I - The Clone Wars, The Bad Batch

The Little Mudhorn - The Mandalorian

"Plo's Bros" Nose Art - The Clone Wars

Snowclone - The Clone Wars

Clone Helmet Collection II - The Clone Wars

How Good A Man - The Clone Wars

Clone Helmet Collection III - The Bad Batch, Republic Commando

Jedi June: Balance - Jedi: Fallen Order / Jedi Survivor

Big Boom Bros

Other Art

In a hole in the ground... - Tolkien (LoTR)

Sun Lanterns - Disney (Tangled)

Haunted by 42 - Marvel (Spider-Verse)

Tears for Her Kingdom - Legend of Zelda (ToTK)

Godzilla's Fins - Godzilla / Monsterverse

Halloween 2024 Doodle Showcase - Mostly SW

Original Art

Sea otter + fish

**Not all of my artwork is added to my masterlist so be sure to check out my art tag for everything!**

[tropes-and-tales]

Shadow and Light: Chapter Three

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x F!Reader

WC:  3312

Other Pieces:  This is part of a larger miniseries that can be found here.

CW:  Slow-burn; plot-building; canon violence; non-canon fighting; pining.

Channeling always left you drained, and it was doubly so when you used Ashla for healing.  It was like a fast-moving river:  when you opened the gates and let it flow through you, it wasn’t the using that wore you out – it was closing the gates, turning it off. 

You’d heard about entire orders of people who could use the power.  You own adopted people had mystics who used it for guidance or healing, and you’d heard of the Jedis and Sith, and darker sects like the Nightsisters.  You knew that those who were trained in it could channel it specifically, but for you, it was just torrents of raw power that coursed through you.  Neither good nor bad.

And because you couldn’t really control it, there was always a spillover effect.  When you healed Mando that evening, the deluge of power also showed you visions upon visions that cycled through your head as you slept by the fire that night.  Visions of the past, visions of possible futures.  None of them really making sense.  The strongest vision – the one that stayed to the forefront of your mind even when you woke – was the most unsettling.

You were still exhausted the next morning, so when you and Mando and the floating pod exited the canyon and saw the Razor Crest being dissembled by Jawas, well….there wasn’t much you could do other than sigh and watch Mando pursuit them pointlessly.  Once he was out of sight, you sighed again and guided the pod with the child into what was left of the ship.

“He does things the hard way,” you told the Child, who twitched its ears and held its arms out to you.  You lifted it out of its pod, and it snuggled into your arm with a pleased coo.

Jawas were canny scavengers, and you and the Child inspected the damage:  they had taken almost everything of value, tearing out components that could be repurposed for other vehicles.  The frame of the ship was intact, though, and they’d left most of the personal effects behind.  Mando’s sleeping quarters had been tossed and searched, but they’d missed the little nook you’d carved out for yourself in the cargo hold.  Your pack was still there, untouched, and you knelt down and rooted through it now for some food.

You had a package of preserved nutrition bars – they tasted terrible, but they were food.  You gnawed at one and pressed little bits to the Child, who ate them but frowned so mightily at the taste that you couldn’t help but laugh.

“I know,” you told it.  “They’re bad.”

Then there was nothing to do but wait, so you took the Child to the cockpit, settled into one of the remaining seats, and curled up.  The Child made a sleepy grumble as it burrowed against you, and before long, it was asleep. 

It wasn’t a weapon after all.  You had truly thought it was some thing, maybe a cache of kyber crystals that the Empire used to power its awful death machines.  But it was just a child, a sweet little thing from what you could tell, and every moment you spent with it, the more certain you were:  your original plan only needed a little revision.  Instead of destroying the asset to keep it from the hands of the Empire, you were going to protect it.

*****

Mando was discomfited, so when he caught the Jawas destroying his ship, running after them in a blind rage seemed perfectly reasonable.

You’d thrown him off his center when you healed him the previous night, and he had been uncomfortable ever since.  Maybe uncomfortable wasn’t the right word.  He was a man of few words, after all.  Maybe bothered was a better word.

His arm was perfectly healed.  Even in daylight when he inspected the wound closer, it was completely mended without a single scar to mark where it had been.  It didn’t mean that the spot didn’t burn with the memory of where you had touched him for that too-short moment.

Maybe burn wasn’t the right word.  The best word he could use was yaim’la, the Mando’a word for comfort.  But more like familiar, like being home.  Which wasn’t a feeling Mando had felt in a very long time.  He had no home.

You had still been drained by the healing, and he could see the dark circles under your eyes as you trudged beside him.  But you never complained or asked him to slow his stride, and he grudgingly gave you some respect for that.

More curious was how you couldn’t quite meet his eyeline like you had before.  When you spoke, your gaze seemed to fall just a bit short, like you were addressing the top of his helmet instead of the slit where his eyes were.

The only respite was when he chased down the Jawas’ moving fortress.  He had managed to kill a few of the pests and had nearly breached the giant vehicle, but he had ultimately failed and fallen from it.  The fall stunned him, knocked him unconscious for a moment. 

Then he woke up, and his arm burned with the memory of your hand on him.  Irritated, he marched back the Crest to find you and the asset curled up in the cockpit, and you both woke when he tried to turn his ship on.  A useless effort:  the engines were gone, as was the navigation system and the ignition switch.

-----

The evening was spent with Kulil.  Once the situation was made clear to the Ugnaught and a plan was made, Mando pulled back from the rest of you.  You and Kulil chatted amiably – you both seemed to be genuinely curious creatures – and Mando eavesdropped a little jealously.  He wished he could speak as easily as Kulil.

You each spoke about your experiences under the yoke of the Empire:  him as an indentured servant, little better than a slave.  You as a hunted person with the rest of the remaining Lasats, hiding in the craggy mountains and pestering the outpost of imps who staffed the permanent base they built on your adopted planet.

Kulil asked about your childhood and what it was like being raised in another species, another culture.  Mando tilted his head to listen to your answer – he had an idea what that might have been like.  He had been a foundling too.  He wondered if you had felt as lost as he had.  If you still felt lost.  At least he had the Way.  You seemed to be completely alone, drifting whatever way the wind seemed to blow you, or whichever way your so-called channeling seemed to pull you.

“It was fine,” was all you said, but even the Mandalorian could hear the lie in your voice.  You turned inward then, and Mando watched as your eyes shifted to the horizon.  It was twilight on Arvala-7, and you got a sad, faraway look on your face.  Kulil felt the shift in mood too, and the Ugnaught fell silent. 

One by one, you each carved out your own places to sleep and turned in for the night.  Mando just settled in against one of the walls of Kulil’s house – he could fall asleep anywhere.  Besides, his spot gave him a prime view to watch you as you slept.  When he reasoned with himself that he was just watching over you because he didn’t completely trust you, he almost believed it himself.

*****

You were already thinking of the Child as your ally, your co-conspirator. 

When Mando bickered with the Jawas, when he tried to roast one and refused to deal with them, you caught yourself making eye contact with the little green creature, and you swore the two of you were thinking the same thing:  Mando does things the hard way.

And because he did things the hard way, you found yourself tossed into the air and in the mud near the mudhorn’s lair.  You had suggested that perhaps he scan the cave first, but no – Mando stalked into the cave without a backwards glance, and you had tried to step in to help….and you ended up bruised and stunned while the Child lifted the mudhorn into the air with the same power you used to channel and heal.  You could feel that power crackling in the air, even with your head ringing and your thoughts muddled.

When Mando finally made his way over to you, you were seeing double.  The sun glinted off his beskar helmet, and you squinted your eyes at him.

“Cyar’ika,” he spat angrily.  “I told you to stay back with the kid.”  He extended his hand and hoisted you to your feet.  “Are you hurt?” he added, a little less rough.

“Fine,” you wheezed.  You knew you’d have a constellation of bruises in the morning, but you wouldn’t admit that to Mando.  Not when you’d finally exasperated him enough to make him swear in his native tongue.

Besides, the Child was slumped over in its pod, and it needed your attention more than thinking up a witty rejoinder for Mando.

*****

He stayed away from you as much as he could, after that.  After that word slipped out of his mouth, unbidden.  It was seeing you tossed by the mudhorn, seeing how hard you hit.  How you didn’t move afterwards.  How you didn’t move until he stood over you, his heart in this throat, only to be greeted by you squinting and smiling up at him.

Luckily, you didn’t seem to know what the word meant, and Mando tried to forget it.  The job was almost over.  He’d leave you on Navarro, complete the job, and return to his lonely life.

The problem?  The more he watched you – with the unconscious Child, with the Razor Crest as you helped rebuild it (you hadn’t lied – you rebuilt both of the engines) – the more he wanted you to stay on.  He’d readily admit to himself that this job had been made easier by your presence…and he was starting to admit that he liked your company.

By the time he was punching in the final coordinates for the approach to Navarro, Mando was ready to make a proposition to you.  A deal, for you to stay on and work with him.  His stomach was twisted and churning, and he could already feel the blood heating his face.  For the thousandth time since meeting you, he was grateful for the helmet.

Mando landed the Crest, and he heard you leave the cockpit.  He powered the craft down and followed you a moment later, and he found you standing beside the Child’s pod.  Your face was wan but resolute, and you looked directly into his eyes.  You were obviously gazing at the slit in his visor.

“You can’t finish this job,” you said simply.  “You can’t hand the kid over to those…monsters.”

Mando wasn’t surprised.  You had taken to the Child immediately, and after it revealed its power – similar to yours, apparently – you had gotten even more productive.  He had prepared for this.

“I made a deal,” he replied. 

You had prepared for him too, apparently.  You gave a single nod and stepped between him and the pod.  Never taking your eyes off of him, you pulled your bo-rifle from your back and snapped it into its staff formation.  You didn’t turn it on yet.

“I don’t want to fight you, Mando,” you said, and he could hear the trembling in your voice.  “But I will if I have to.”

The helmet hid the small smile that crossed his face.  It wasn’t cruel or taunting – it was almost soft.  “I don’t want to fight you either,” he replied. 

“Why can’t we – “ you started, but that thought was cut off by Mando:  lightning quick, faster than you could turn on your staff, the dart from his gauntlet found the soft skin of your neck.  Your eyes widened a fraction as your hand flew up to finger the tiny dart, but you were already falling.  Mando took two wide steps to catch you, and he didn’t miss the look of betrayal on your face before you fell asleep.

You’d get over.  So would the kid.  Everyone got left behind in the end. 

The sedative should work for hours, and once you woke up, maybe you’d be more reasonable and open to business.

-----

When Mando returned to the Razor Crest, he was ready to check on you and wait out the rest of your long sleep.  The payment for the job paid him enough beskar to remake his armor, plus extra for the foundlings.  If his conscience prickled at leaving the Child behind…he pushed that aside.

You weren’t sleeping, though.

You were waiting for him.

With your bo-staff, turned on and crackling, and when you jumped out of the shadows and shocked him, Mando was taken aback by how furious you looked.

The shock wasn’t enough to seriously stun him, but it threw him onto his heels, and you took advantage of that.  You, on the offensive, and Mando fighting off your flurry of strikes as you shouted at him.

“Was it worth it?” you yelled, hitting him hard in his vulnerable instep with the butt-end of your staff.  “Worth it to turn an innocent creature over to the Empire?”

“You don’t – “ he started, but you cut him off with a hard chop to his forearm.

“They’re gonna kill it, just like they kill everything they touch!”  You spun around to avoid his hand, grasping at you to still you, and Mando felt the shock when it landed on his back.  Muted by the beskar, but still stinging.

“Stop!” he roared, and he threw his weight backwards to pin you against the inner hull of the Crest.  Once pinned, he swiveled around and grabbed your wrist, and the staff clattered from your hand.  The two of you stood like that – your face tilted up at his as you glared at him in pure fury.  Your eyes were shiny with tears, and your chest was heaving – more from the effort to hold back your tears than from the effort of sparring with him.

“It was the job,” he said, a little quieter.  “And this is the Way.”

Your eyes narrowed.  “Oh, the Way.”  You said it so sneeringly, Mando pulled back a fraction.  You noted the movement and closed the gap and then some, until your face was close to his helmet.  Through the visor, this close, he could see your eyes – the flecks of color in the irises that shifted as you blinked away the tears that kept springing up.  Even angry – furious – you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Tell me, Mando.  When you become a Mandalorian, what do they do first?  Give you a helmet or tear out your heart and replace it with beskar?”  You shook your head and pulled your wrist from his grasp.  Swiped it across your eyes angrily.  “What use is a Creed if you don’t use it to protect the helpless?”

You shoved past him to leave, and his hand shot out again to stop you.  “Wait,” he tried, but you pulled against him and he pulled you back and you were stronger than he realized, and you both tumbled onto the hard crating of the Crest.  You tried to scramble away from him, but he grabbed at your ankle. 

Which made you rear back your other leg and kick him directly in the head.  Hard.

It was enough to stun him, and you clambered to your feet and stood over him a moment.  “I thought you were different.  I saw you in a vision, and it didn’t have to end like this.”

And then you turned on your heel – sans your bo-rifle – and ran into the night.

-----

Everything that came after – rescuing you (while you were rescuing the kid), the fire-fight, the escape on the Crest with the aid of the Mandalorian covert – had felt right.  Like his feet were on one of your paths that you had talked about. 

Right now, though, he had to make it right with you.  Even if you had teamed up to fight off the stormtroopers, mercenaries, and other bounty hunters, you sat in the co-pilot’s seat now and glared at him.  As if returning for you and the kid wasn’t quite enough to make up for his betrayal.  His eyes drifted to the lurid bruise on your neck from the dart, and he felt a sting of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.  “You were right.”

You hadn’t been especially talkative before, but your silence now was heavier than the beskar armor he wore.  It was palpable.  It filled the cockpit and made it hard to breathe.

“You were right,” he repeated.  “I don’t know what else to say to make it better.”  He swiveled in his seat to face you.

There was a long moment of the two of you just staring.  Well, you were staring at him, but Mando’s eyes were studying you – from your stony face to your palms laying on your knees.  To your left foot, tapping on the floor.

“Fine,” you finally said, and your face relaxed a little.  “So what next?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.  “We’ll need to stop for supplies.  Then I say we lay low for a bit and regroup.”  You nodded at that, so he continued.

“You were never trying to join the Guild, were you?”  He wasn’t angry at your original lie, but he was curious.

You shook your head, and a faint blush rose in your cheeks.  “I had a feeling about that building and the client.  About the job.”  You glanced at him and then looked past him.  “I had a feeling about you.”

Mando tried to ignore the warm flush that sparked in him.  “A feeling, or a vision?” he joked, though he wasn’t sure if it sounded joking through his modulator.

You smiled at him, then waved your hand.  “Oh, those,” you said dismissively.  “I have so many, it’s hard to tell what’s real.  They’re only possible futures.”

“So no vision of a possible future like this?”

“Are you asking me if I ever saw myself on a pre-Empire gunship with a stubborn Mandalorian and a creature of unknown origins?  No, I hadn’t seen that one before.”  The thaw between you seemed complete now, judging by your teasing tone and the corner of your mouth quirked into a smirking little smile.  After a beat, you yawned, covering it with the back of your hand.

“Come on,” he said.  He stood up and motioned for you to follow him.  You had been sleeping in the cargo hold, curled up on your pack and your cloak like a stray lothcat.  He had started cleaning out the spare quarters bit by bit on the way back to Navarro.  It had been a repository for junk, spare parts, but once cleaned, he hoped you might like it enough to consider it home. 

Looking at it now with you by his side, Mando felt a sudden wave of uncertainty.  Embarrassment.  It was such a small space, just a narrow cot and small footlocker and a pair of tiny shelves.  Far less than he wished he could give you, and that thought made him even more uncomfortable. 

You seemed fine with the space, though.  Happy, even.  You gave a little cry of delight and ran off to gather your pack from the cargo hold, and then you came back.

“Thanks for this,” you said, and you reached out to squeeze his forearm in gratitude.  Then you were in your new quarters, already unpacking your meager belongings, completely unaware how that lone touch of yours – even through the beskar gauntlet and the course canvas cloth underneath – set him ablaze.

[edgessunflower]

No escaping your love

Pairing: Cal Kestis x Fem reader

Description: You and Cal slowly fall for each until finally the two of you confess your feelings in the ice cave on Ilum

You cried in relief seeing Cal wake up hugging him tightly despite both of you being wet and freezing and stuck in a cave of ice on Ilum. The two of you met not too long before all hell broke loose on Bracca leading to the two of you running and fighting against the ninth sister together before being found by Cere and Greez both of you agreeing to help them save force sensitive children from being found and harmed by the ninth sister, the two of you grew closer as you traveled and trained together under cere's wing realizing after two months that you were head over heels in love with the compassionate and kind red head who had fallen just as hard for you within the same amount of time of being on the run as the new generation of Jedi, you didn't necessarily try to hide how cal made you feel but you were also careful with how much you lost control of your composure just being around him not knowing that cere and greez pretty much had already caught on and knew of the real hidden and lingering feelings between the two of you. Cal pulls you out of your thoughts by rubbing your arms and holding you trying to keep you as well as himself warm, you could tell by the look on his face not hearing the words he spoke before that he wanted to give up in that moment realizing that everything that you all had been through was basically for nothing until as you hold the Kyber crystal across your neck that it suddenly started glowing making him stop and both of you staring wide eyed before noticing all the different colors making the two of you cheer and hug each other tightly feeling everything around you stop when he kisses you passionately making you breathless as he pulls away staring at each other, "I love you, I have loved you for force knows how long" you smile with tears as he begins to ramble until you gently grab and hold his face in your hands kissing him softly until you both rebuild your lightsabers with him having an orange one and you having a pink one "Cal, I love you with everything in me" you both smile before sharing another kiss and escape the cave together feeling relieved when the two of you reunite with greez and cere who immediately knew that the two of you had finally told each other and were together awaiting the future the two of you would share once everything was over.