#needs u inside with him makes u sit on his lap in the cockpit while he’s running tests

[ghostbeam]

I am in fact cooking up pilot!touya who’s reckless and arrogant and does not think he needs a handler doesn’t think he needs anything actually he’s his own mechanic no one touches his mech but him he’s gone through so many handlers he’s stopped counting so when u arrive as his newly appointed handler he thinks he’ll give u a week at most except something about u makes him want to keep u around the longer he spends with u and as much as he shows u every rotten inch of himself u don’t run away which is more than anyone’s really ever given him before

[on-a-lucky-tide]

your nikprice writings give me life. you write their dynamic so well... and in character .... thank u for writing them they're very very beautiful 🙏

Non, thank you so much for alleviating some of my imposter syndrome. You have no idea how much this has helped. Here, a little short before bedtime:

Nik gives John some... flying lessons.

cw: making out.

"Main and auxiliary fuel tanks, altimeter, airspeed indicator..." Price tapped each in turn from his vantage point on Nik's lap, because, naturally, that was where Nik had insisted he sit for the full piloting experience. "What's this?"

"Engine and rotor tachometer, there is a second here," Nik tapped it, "to..."

"...keep the main and tail rotor blades in sync, that makes sense."

"Da, captain," Nik said, and Price didn't miss the fond admiration. It made him want to bloody preen.

"And this?"

"It is uh... the English is... friction control for cyclic pitch. It stops me from accidentally moving the cyclic pitch control."

Price nodded. "Cyclic control changes the pitch of each main rotor blade, which changes the lift and drag on the blade; speed and altitude changes."

"I will make a pilot out of you yet." Nik slipped his hands around Price's waist, kneading him appreciatively as he pressed his nose into the centre of his back. Price could practically feel Nik vibrating with barely contained pride

"I think I'll stick to jumpin' out of 'em, Nik, but yer faith's appreciated... Mm."

"Your back, it is still sore." Nik returned his thumbs to the spot that had made Price coil up, rubbing in gentle circles.

"S'nothin, physio gave me a beatin' yesterday. Said I needed to take up yoga."

"Yoga," Nik repeated, amused. "I can think of some better ways to help with your flexibility."

"Bet ya can, filthy bastard."

Price shuffled, knocking a few controls with his boot as he swung his leg over, and returned to Nik's lap so they were chest to chest and Nik's mouth was well within reach.

Nik's arms slipped tightly around his waist as they kissed, hands rubbing up his back to stroke and squeeze his neck and shoulders, holding him close. It didn't take long for Nik's hands to begin wandering elsewhere, Price's own palms sliding inside Nik's jacket and beneath the white cotton of his t-shirt.

As a young man Price had made out in his share of cars; there was something exciting and illicit about getting hot and heavy in the back seat, where you weren't supposed to, and Price was an adrenalin junkie to his core.

But snogging an internationally infamous arms dealer in the cockpit of his Black Hawk while it was parked in an off grid American base? That would be a hard one to beat.

[joel-millerr]

What’s Your Favorite Color?

Chapter Seven of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.2k

Summary: reader is stuck on the Crest with Mando and the kid. what should be an uneventful trip turns into something that changes everyone on board.

Warnings: SMUT! rough sex, oral sex (female receiving), orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, praise kink(?), aftercare, depictions of death, mentions of mental illness (even though the reader doesn’t explicitly say it--it’s more implied), slight spit play?

A/N: ok so this might be the dirtiest thing I've written but I'm just so proud of where this story is going and I hope you guys enjoy. also, the entire chapter takes place on the crest, and it’s one day :)

also big shoutout to @eznova​ who helped me with this chapter. LOVE U

--

I worry that your own attachment to the Mandalorian will be your undoing.

That eerie reminder echoes over and over in your mind as you wake up from one of the best nights of your life. It’s hard to control the stupid, shit-eating grin plastered on your face as you lie in Mando’s cot. You’re alone, but his scent—a delicious mix of soap and musk, fill your nostrils and if you close your eyes and focus hard enough, you can imagine him laying right next to you, wrapping strong, tree trunk sizes arms around you and placing chaste kisses all over your skin.

You couldn’t have planned falling for Mando so deeply and so quickly as you have, mainly considering that you haven’t known each other for very long, but you know damn well that if given the opportunity, you’d do everything over again.

Stars, you don’t even know what his name is.

What is his first name?

Should you ask him? You don’t want to come off imposing, and there’s a part of you that wants to wait until he chooses to share that information with you, rather than try to wrestle it out of him, but he’s shrouded in mystery, and that just reels you in even more. You really want to pick his brain, figure out what makes him him, but you don’t know if you’ll ever get that chance. There’s the possibility though, that after last night, he’ll be more vulnerable around you. Maybe you’ll both be more vulnerable and inclined to share each other’s pasts. After all, you’ve been pretty intimate with each other.

When you finally decide it’s probably time for you to get out of bed and face the potential awkwardness that could happen between you and Mando, the door to the cubby hole hisses open, with neither the kid nor Mando in sight. Your feet touch down on the cold ship’s floor, and you slip into your boots. Once on your feet, you feel an ache at the apex of your thighs. It stings and you have to basically have to walk with your thighs spread apart in order to ease some of the uncomfortableness between your legs. Every move you make is a reminder of the night before. You can even feel him inside you, stretching your walls to hug him perfectly. Kriff, you’re already wet and you only just woke up.

Hoping a sanisteam will wipe away the crude thoughts from your barely conscious mind, you take to the fresher and wake yourself up with a brisk rinse. Once you’re out and throw on yesterday clothes—you make a mental note to wash your only other garments, you’re about to head up to the cockpit when you hear Mando’s voice. Stopping at the ladder, you listen in on what he’s saying.

“…but you have to agree to go with them if they want you to. Understand?” His’s voice goes quiet for a moment. “Plus, I can’t train you. You’re too…powerful. Don’t you want to learn more of that Jedi stuff?”

It’s a damn shame how last night you had heard his true voice for the first time, unmodulated but still as deep and rough as it sounds with the distortion of his helmet, and probably won’t be privy to it for a while. You wish you could hear him, like really hear him, naked and untapped again but even if you don’t, it’ll just make last night even more significant.

You hear the Child coo in response before hearing Mando’s cadence again. “I agreed to take you back to your own kind, so that’s what I need to do.” There’s a brief pause. “You understand that, right?”

For the first time, you detect some sadness in Mando’s tone. Like he’s trying to reassure not only the kid but also himself that he needs to go through with this, that even though there might be a part of him that doesn’t want to let the Child go, in the end he has no choice in the matter. It tugs at your heartstrings. The Mandalorian, a seasoned warrior, a survivor, a bounty hunter—at war with himself and his own feelings.

You can’t help but feel guilty as well. Ahsoka had warned you that one day, you too would have to make a choice but after last night… It’s no longer as clear-cut as you initially thought it would be. Had this come to you even just six months ago, you wouldn’t have given it a second thought. You’d make the choice of being a Jedi, and forgo all attachments and dedicate your life to the Order. It wouldn’t be hard for you to set all your feelings aside—you’ve had many years of practice on that subject, but now things are completely upside down. It’s territory you’ve never been in before and Maker, that terrifies you. The longer you journey with the Mandalorian, the more you become weaved together like vines wrapping themselves around a duracrete structure. Similar to the ancient temples on Naboo, tightening and gripping in every nook and cranny until it’s impossible to separate one without destroying the other.

When you reach the floor of the cockpit, you watch Mando sit ever still in the pilot’s chair, with Grogu seated to his right. Your boots hitting the ground as you walk alerts the Child, his ears twitching in your direction and he giggles excitedly, holding that little durasteel ball in his hands.

“Morning,” you announce as you plop down in the seat to Mando’s left. Grogu peers at you with big eyes and makes grabby hands at you, so lean over and bring him into your lap.

“How long until we reach Coruscant?”

“A day or two,” he answers curtly, keeping his visor glued to the blues of hyperspace through the transparisteel.

“Oh, okay. Looks like we’ll have time to kill then.”

Mando rises from his seat, turns his body to you for just a moment before announcing his leave. “Does your blaster need cleaning?”

“Uh—maybe?”

He offers you a quick dip of the helmet before leaving the cockpit in one swift movement and heading down the ladder. Your eyebrows pull together as you stare at the empty doorway to the little room you and the Child are still seated in. Looking down at him, you whisper, “Why do I get the feeling he’s avoiding me?”

Grogu bats his eyes at you before gently sucking on the ball still firmly gripped in his claws. It’ll always amaze you how attached he is to that sphere. You might never know why it’s so important to him but then again, you suppose that it’s a secret between him and his caregiver.

“I wish I knew what was going on in that mind of his,” you confess—not necessarily to Grogu, but since he’s the only one around, you feel almost compelled to spew your concerns and confusions about everything that’s happened.

“What do we do, little guy? I suppose since you’ve had training, you’ll probably want to be found by a Jedi, right?”

Grogu mumbles something at you and for just a second, you think he might understand you.

“And you’re okay with leaving him?”

He coos almost sadly, and you can hear your heart shattering. This little creature has grown such an attachment to Mando. It’s exactly what Ahsoka said—Mando’s basically his father and truthfully, if your parents were still alive, you couldn’t imagine leaving them to join a group that shuns on attachments. It would take a strength that you couldn’t muster to pull yourself away from them, not after knowing the kind of pain of having to live without them.

“I’m scared, Grogu. Truthfully, I have no idea what to think about all this.”

Of course, he doesn’t say anything. He’s not even really paying attention, too busy staring at the little ball in his hands. It’s okay, though. It’s enough just for you to express your concerns aloud. Your mind can get cluttered if you think about everything all at once. The moments you convey your thoughts verbally, it forces you to focus on what you’re actually saying, rather than all the hypotheticals that bounce around in your head.

“Should I go down there?”

Again, Grogu says nothing, he doesn’t even look up at you. Eyeing where Mando sat just minutes ago, you feel like a teenager. You’re both adults, you can’t just tiptoe around each other, it’s not like there are many places to hide on the Crest, anyway. If he won’t come to you, you’ll just have to go to him.

Holding Grogu close to your chest, you take to the ladder and head down, being mindful not to accidentally hit his head on the rungs. Just as you reach the hull, you notice Mando facing one of the crates, his blaster completely taken apart, wiping the coil with a dirty rag. Placing Grogu in the bunk to your left, you lean on another crate and watch Mando dissect his weapon and clean every little bit of residue off his gun.

“How’s your shoulder?” Mando asks, back still turned to you.

“It’s fine, kinda aches a bit but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” you answer, transfixed at the way Mando meticulously cleans his weapons. He’s nothing if not thorough.

“Mmm,” he hums low in his throat. The sound reminds you of the mind-altering grunts he made the night before when he was balls deep inside you, causing you to rub your thighs together at the memory. That sanisteam was supposed to get of these filthy thoughts.

It becomes suddenly very awkward in the hull and you get the feeling that you might be lingering. He clears his throat a few times but says nothing. There may not come another time where you could try to learn more about Mando, so now seems like right time. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you muster up the strength to finally ask him, “You were born on Mandalore?” Keeping your eyes down, staring at your feet because you just don’t have the nerve to look at him.

“No, Aq Vetina.”

“Oh… I thought—”

“I was a foundling.”

“Like Grogu.”

“Yes,” he answers deep in his throat.

It suddenly makes sense why Mando saved him from the Empire, and why Grogu’s still in his care. He sees himself in the Child. He sees the vulnerability, the childlike innocence and he understands that he is responsible for this little baby, at least until you find a Jedi that is.

“Do all Mandalorians hide their faces?” You ask curiously.

There’s not much that you know about Mandalorians. The few things you do know about them is that they’re almost impossible to find due to the Empire nearly wiping them all out, and that they’re some of the best—if not the best warriors in the galaxy. Given the fact that Mando hasn’t removed his helmet once since you’ve been around (until last night), you can assume he take his Creed very seriously, and can’t help but wonder if the Child has been fortunate to catching a glimpse of his face.

“No,” he answers methodically.

Already feeling like you’re pushing the limits of how many questions you can ask before he finally decides to shut you down and stops being so forthcoming, the genuine curiosity is sadly too strong for you to pull back. It’s not like you’ve ever had this much time around someone so secretive and mysterious as Mando, and there’s just too many pieces to this puzzle that you want to so desperately put together.

“So, why do you do it?”

“This is the—” he begins, but a chuff of air slips through your lips before he can finish speaking. “What?” He asks annoyingly, turning his body around to face you.

“I don’t know…” Your hands motion around you in an effort to find the right words. “I mean you did take off your helmet in front of me last night.”

“I did.” The words come out through gritted teeth.

“So, is the rule that you can’t take off the helmet or that you can’t show your face? Because there is a difference between the two.”

This must catch him off guard because Mando stays silent for a ridiculously long time. The two possibilities are that he’s considering what you’re saying—which you’re beginning to doubt, or he thinks you’re totally out of line and is choosing to ignore you. You have this bad habit of being pretty blunt and somewhat insensitive with the way you express yourself and that’s caused you some issues with others in the past, but it’s always gotten the results you wanted. Honestly, someone like Mando will probably have tough skin, so you’re pretty sure he can handle whatever you throw at him.

“When did this become an interrogation about what I choose and choose not to do?” He grumbles, resting his hands on his utility belt.

“Doesn’t really seem like you’re choosing…” you mumble under your breath, kicking the ground and keeping your eyes to the floor.

“What did you say?” He asks defensively, squaring his shoulders and then taking a step forward. Out of habit, you lean back further against the crate.

“I’m not trying to offend you,” you clarify, using the bottom of your foot to kick off the crate, and straightening your back. “I’m just trying to understand—”

“Why?”

“Well, we’re kinda stuck with each other for who knows how long, so we should take this time to get to know each other, don’t you think?” Raising an eyebrow at him, you rest your hands on your hips, waiting for him to either deflect or finally let his guard down and talk like two normal adults.

“I don’t see how that matters.”

Your jaw literally drops, completely dumbfounded. It during moments like this that you so desperately wish you could see what his facial expression is. Why does he continuously try to keep a distance between himself and every living thing in the galaxy? Is he scared of being vulnerable around someone else? That his reputation as a hardened Mandalorian warrior would be compromised if he so much as shared a tiny bit of information with you? Does he think a Mandalorian would come and strike him down for having his own opinion about his Creed? That questioning the only thing he knew since he was a child would be considered sacrilegious?

It’s pretty silly how worked up you’re getting right now, but the way Mando dismisses you, it stirs up that anger inside you that is so hard to control. He’s always pushing your buttons, just as you push his—only this time, you simply wanted to know a little more about him. Is that too much to ask for?

Do you continue to press him?

Do you let it go?

Announcing your defeat by drawling out a sigh, your hands drop to your sides, looking down at the ground because you can’t be bothered to look at him in the visor anymore. “All right, well I’m going to head up to the cockpit and um…” You try to come up with a quick excuse to leave the room as it’s becoming more and more awkward with each passing second, but unfortunately, nothing comes to mind. You result to turning on your heel and climbing up the ladder without another word, not bothering to wait and see if Mando comes up with something to say before you disappear.

Once you reach the doorway, the blues of hyperspace nearly blind you, and your hand comes up to give shade to your eyes as they adjust to the sudden change in brightness. You’ll need to find something to keep your mind occupied until you enter Coruscant airspace, because you’ll quite frankly drive yourself insane not doing anything, so you walk over to the control panel in front of Mando’s chair and begin running some diagnostics to see at what capacity the hyperdrive is operating at, see if there’s any leakage that you could fix inside the ship and any little thing that might need some maintenance. After running a few tests, you realize that unfortunately, Peli had fixed pretty much every little issue with the ship, so there really is nothing to fix in order to keep yourself busy.

Fuck.

Feeling defeated, you fall back onto your bum and sit on the cold floor, back leaning against one of the walls, resting your right arm on one of the passenger seats. You’ve always hated silence. With nothing to distract yourself with, your mind always ends up wandering, overanalyzing every little minute detail of your life, meticulously going over each moment in time and thinking of all the ways you could have done something different, how the choices you made were wrong, how things would be better off if you did x instead of y. It gnaws at you, until the only thing you feel like you can do to stop the voices inside your mind is to scream and lash out, causing pain to yourself and everyone around you.

Is this the work of the Dark Side or is it just your unstable mind?

Is it both—working together and tearing you apart from the inside out? Slowly picking your brain apart, section by section, nerve ending by nerve ending until all that’s left of you is the worthlessness of your existence, a make-up of atoms and tissue that can’t be controlled or understood?

Stars, you’re doing it again.

You can feel your mind retreating deeper and deeper into itself, wanting to disappear from all of this. Making yourself as small as you can, you pull your knees close to your chest, head dropping down between them while your palms rub the back of your head, grabbing fistfuls of your hair and clenching so hard you think you might end up ripping some right out of your head.

The harder you pull, the more anxious you become. Heartrate picking up steadily and the lump in your throat growing in size, it’s as if the space around you is screaming, that everything is spinning, which could explain all this anxiety you suddenly feel when in reality, it’s all just in your head. The cockpit is dead silent, there isn’t even the slightest sound coming from down in the hull. Everything is deafeningly still and yet you feel it’s all too loud, and you just want to scream. Scream until you feel your vocal cords explode or until there’s no air left in your lungs. Your body no longer feels like it’s yours, and instead it’s as if you’re just living inside of it, watching everything happen around you but not having any actual control over it.

Fuck fuck fuc kfuck fuck fuck

Being so wrapped up in your own mind, you don’t even hear Mando coming up the ladder. You don’t hear his heavy boots clanking against durasteel. You don’t even hear him speaking to you. All you feel is a presence and when you finally lull your head back and peek through heavy lids, you see Mando—on his fucking knees, trying to comfort you. One of his hands hovering over your figure like he’s not sure whether to touch you or not.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks as softly as he possibly can. It comes out smooth like honey but still sitting at a low register through his helmet.

“I’m fine,” you answer curtly, no longer feeling particularly chatty.

He sighs deep in his throat, and you can tell he wants to ask you again, maybe hoping he’ll get the truth this time, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes a step back and sits down on the chair opposite the one you’re closest to and stays as silent as a statue. While normally you appreciate the company, right now you want to be left alone, but you don’t have the heart to tell him to leave. So, you stay where you are, both acting like the other isn’t there.

As time ebbs on, your breathing has slows down. Mando being there—despite not saying anything, has you distracted. Your mind’s starting to settle on what’s going on at the present time, rather than all the thoughts that clawed at you just minutes ago. Without even realizing it, he’s helped you significantly.

“How old are you?”

Taken aback by his sudden engagement in conversation, you lean into the wall behind you and feel your shoulders touch the cold durasteel.

“Sorry?” you ask, pulling your eyebrows closely together. This might be the first time he’s ever asked you something personal. When Mando asks a question, it’s usually because he’s searching for clarification, not because he’s genuinely curious.

“How old are you?” He repeats.

You tell him your age and he hums in his throat.

“What about you?”

Something like a chuckle emits from his helmet before answering. “Older than you.”

That’s as close to an actual answer as you’ll get from him.

Okay, since you’re back to asking trivial questions about each other, “Is there anything you like to do for fun?”

“Fun?” He echoes.

“Yeah. Like, what do you do for enjoyment?”

He stays silent for much longer than you expected. Maker, does he not know how to have fun? Maybe it’s the way you worded the question?

“What brings you pleasure?”

His head turns to you and cocks ever so slowly to the side. It’s impossible to hide the annoyance on your face. Rolling your eyes and crossing your arms against your chest, a chuff of air releases from your nostrils.

“Forget it.”

“I…don’t know,” he answers somewhat defeatedly. The idea that Mando doesn’t know what having fun is comes as quite a shock to you. Even though you didn’t have much knowledge on Mandalorians, you didn’t expect that they were unable to have fun.

“Okay, forget that question. What’s your favorite color?”

“Who has a favorite color?”

“People, Mando. People have favorite colors.”

“I don’t.” Letting out a gentle laugh, you use the palms of your hands to push against the floor and rise off the ground, slipping into the chair you were leaning on previously. Turning your body in the direction of the Mandalorian sitting across from you, you sit cross legged.

“There isn’t a color that you gravitate towards? One you look at and think, ‘I like that’?”

“I suppose I never thought of it.”

He’s been missing out on so much. How he’s been going through life without having these mundane preferences or opinions on things is…almost unfathomable. Every person you’ve ever met has had these frivolous details that made them different, giving you an insight into their personalities but Mando has no preference on anything. He just…exists.

“I’m assuming you have one?” he asks through the modulator.

“Yellow,” you begin to say. “But not a flashy kind of yellow, more like a dusty, pale yellow.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is that your favorite color?”

“I don’t know, Mando,” you answer with a smile on your face. “I just like how it looks. It’s warm and inviting.”

“Hmmm.”

“I guess… It reminds me of the sun. Back home, the sun would shine so bright, and it was so big. I used to stare at it even though my mother warned me not do that.”

He doesn’t say anything more but given that this might be the longest casual conversation you two have ever had, it’s quite the improvement from just saying a couple words to each other.

“Why do you always wear your armor?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… We’re in hyperspace right now and you’re geared up for battle. Doesn’t it get uncomfortable always wearing your armor? Isn’t it heavy?”

“It is heavy.”

Eyebrows knitting tightly together, your lips press into a thin line, unamused by Mando dancing around your question.

“Are… Are you not even allowed to at least take off your armor in front of another person?”

“I never thought about it. I’m usually alone so it makes sense to keep it on; in case.”

“In case what? We’re not going to get attacked in hyperspace.”

“It’s not impossible.”

“Seriously, Mando. You need to loosen up a bit.”

“I do not need to ‘loosen up’. I’m fine,” he says, a hint of derision in his voice.

“Says the guy in full body armor all the time.”

“It’s practical.”

“Oh, it’s practical,” you mock, a grin creeping up on your lips.

“Yes.”

“Even when you’re fucking someone?” You remark, eyebrow raised.

The visor burns into you. He’s definitely caught off guard by your brass question. Your lips curl into a sly smile, your tongue darting across your bottom lip.

“No one’s complained about it.”

Oh.

It’s kind of silly how angry that statement makes you. Okay, not necessarily angry but it definitely stirs something deep inside you. It’s clear by the way he fucked you last night that you weren’t his first—he’s obviously experienced in that area. However, you can’t help the way your jaw clenches at the thought of someone else crying out his name while he fucks them senseless.

You’re mine.

Thighs rubbing together as you remember Mando’s confession from last night, it’s quickly replaced by the thought of him saying that to someone else. Has he said that to anyone else? Are you reading into this too much? What if the only reason he said it was because it was in the heat of the moment? People say things during intimacy that they don’t necessarily mean… You’re definitely overthinking things, right?

“What are you thinking?” He beckons, voice hitting that part inside of you that nearly has you fucking moaning on the spot. How can a voice be so intoxicating? It’s not even his true voice, it’s distorted and cuts up like static but it has you nearly soaked in your seat.

“Nothing,” you lie, hoping he’ll drop the subject and move on.

He doesn’t.

“You’re quiet and from what I can tell, your heat signature’s gone up.”

Your what? “My heat sig—? No, your helmet must be malfunctioning.”

“Oh,” he rises from his seat slowly, squaring his shoulders as he does but doesn’t take a step towards you. He stays painstaking still, visor never once breaking away from you. “Is that right?”

Stars. Your heartbeat is picking up, palms starting to sweat, and your throat is beginning to close up. Your eyes maintain their gaze, trying to regain some kind of control over the situation. It’s childish, really—always attempting to have even the slightest amount of authority over whatever situation you’re put in with Mando because you never actually have any control. He may fool you into thinking you do, but at the end of the day, Mando is always the one in control.

“Your heat signature is burning up, pretty girl,” he taunts.

Kriff, this is not going the way you want it to go. You can’t be the only one looking foolish right now. If he wants to play the game, you can play it too, and you’ll make damn sure you play it better.

Looking him up and down trying to pinpoint any indication that he may not be as calm and collected as he’s playing off, your eyes drop to the bulge in his pants. As your vision pierces into him, you notice him shift his weight slightly, his hands balled tightly into fists by his sides.

“Why so tense, Mando?”

“I’m not—”

“Oh,” you echo his words from just minutes ago. Slowly slipping out of the chair, you stand to face him, squaring your shoulders. Pleasure heats up deep in your stomach, travelling down to the apex of your thighs, reminding you of how sore you actually are. “Is that right?”

“Stop that,” he warns. You got him.

“Not doing anything,” your voice sounding as innocent as you can while your eyes convey the opposite. You want him to know that you won’t give in so easily.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Do—” he starts but quickly composes himself. Craning his neck, his next words drip out of him slowly. “Drive me crazy.”

“Any of your other friends ever drive you crazy?”

Okay, that was a low blow, but you can’t shake the thought from your mind. For Maker’s sake, you’re an adult. Obviously he’s had lovers before, why is this so hard for you to accept? It’s not like you guys are together, you’re simply stuck with each other for the time being. Not only that, but you’ve had your fair share of men. He doesn’t seem to be jealous about that.

I’ll kill anyone who comes close to you.

“Mmm, are you… jealous?”

“Maker, no.” Lie.

“Then why are your cheeks red?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuckkkkfuck

Why does your face always have to give you away? You can play sabacc with the best deadpan expression in the galaxy, but right now you can’t even hide your resentment. How is Mando able to get under your skin and expose your every emotion, every thought? He pulls it out of you and basically presents it to you on a fucking platter.

“Because you annoy the shit out of me.”

“Your body is telling me otherwise.”

“Stop cheating! I can’t read your body heat, that’s not fair.”

“I’m not trying to play fair.”

All right, if this is how he wants to play, you’ll just have to be bolder. Taking a deep breath and exhaling through parted lips, your left foot moves forward, taking one big stride towards Mando, stopping just inches from his breastplate. You can practically feel his own heat vibrating off of him. His fists tighten even more, and you swear you can hear his breathing quicken, cutting up in the helmet.

“You’re not the only one who can play games, Mando.”

He makes a noise in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a groan. Stars, the air is getting thick, you’re all but drunk on this feeling. Your undergarments are stuck to your pussy, drenched with slick, waiting for someone to make the first move. The blood is pounding in your ears, but you try to maintain the best stony stare you can muster. This is a fight you’re not willing to lose. You bite down on your bottom lip, staring into the ‘T’ of his helmet through hooded lids. His chest pushes out slightly and his head angles to the side, just enough for you to see the underneath of his jaw. There’s some stubble poking out from the bottom of his helmet, and you lick your lips at the sight. Wanting to put your lips to his jawline and trail wet kisses along it, gently sucking at his skin. Maker, you might end up losing this if you don’t compose yourself.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice hoarse and low.

“For you to lose,” your answer is honest. You want him to break down and give in, just to give you the slightest bit of power.

Mando lets out this sound, a joyful sound you’ve only heard once or twice before but it nearly throws you for a loop. Hearing him laugh, even if it’s quick and low, fills you up with the greatest amount of delight. To see someone who’s always stoic and serious let out a sound of pure pleasure, it makes up for all the times he purposely chooses to get under your skin. All the moments he infuriates you, it all goes away with the sound of his laugh.

At this moment, you’re grateful that his face is covered because you definitely would have crushed your lips together by now. His helmet actually works to your advantage, holding you back from doing the one thing you would have otherwise done by now.

“I’m not touching you,” he whispers. It sounds less like a statement to you and more like a reminder to himself. He’s fighting his urges just as much as you are, but you will continue to fight this until he breaks, he has to break.

“Then don’t.”

All of sudden, you both hear a disturbance coming from the hull. The kid must be getting into trouble down there.

“I’ll go check on him,” you tell him, choosing not to wait for Mando to say anything in return before making your way to the ladder of the cockpit. Fighting the urge to take one last look at him before disappearing down the rungs, you head down to the hull and see Grogu rummaging through the various crates placed around the Crest. Once he sees you, he shows you a big toothy grin and runs straight for you, arms stretched out. You bend down and pick him up, holding him close to your chest.

“Hey, kiddo. What trouble are you getting yourself into down here?”

Grogu babbles something at you and you smile in return. A small grumble, something like an animal growling, comes from the baby’s stomach and his ears droop down.

“Hungry, little guy? Let’s see what we got for you.”

Walking down the hull with the kid in your arms, you stop at the small closest Mando keeps his ration packs. There aren’t many packs left, just enough to hold all three of you down until you land on Coruscant. After that, you’ll need to buy some more packs. Grabbing one of the packages and a bowl from one of the shelves, you prop the kid on one of the smaller crates and begin emptying the contents of the pack in the durasteel dish.

It’s a dark green looking blob. Quite frankly, you hate ration packs. They always look like food that’s been mashed together into a jelly bar and even despite the fact that once you add water to it so that it actually looks like food, just the sight of it in its raw form is enough to ruin your appetite. The kid doesn’t care about all that though; he’d eat anything you give him. Back on Sorgan, you had seen him eat a frog whole—just swallowed it without even a second thought. It was impressive and yet totally gross at the same time.

Leaving him on the box momentarily, you walk over to the sink in the privy and let a few droplets of water touch the blob in the bowl. Within seconds, the bar transforms into a small bread roll. It’ll hopefully be enough to tie him down for a few hours.

Passing by the ladder, you call out to Mando. “Hey, I’m about to feed the kid. Do you want to come down for a meal?”

“Not hungry. Thank you,” you hear him answer. He never eats with you two. Given that he needs to take off his helmet in order to feed himself, he chooses to wait until you’re both asleep or nowhere in sight, but that doesn’t stop you from asking each time. Part of it is so that he feels included but mostly you hope that one day he’ll choose to sit with you both. One day, you think to yourself.

When you hand the bowl over to Grogu gently, he takes it with both hands and begins eating the bread like it’s the first meal he’s ever had. Your brows pull tightly together as you watch him devour his food. For such a small creature, he sure eats like a bantha. He could probably eat for a whole day without stopping to catch his breath.

It’ll never seize to amaze you just how strong this little guy is. He’s so tiny and somehow, he possesses a power stronger than you could ever really understand. This is the same kid that saved Mando’s life from a mudhorn. This is the kid that swallowed a whole frog that was half his size. A child this small is somehow a Jedi.

Once he’s done eating, he peers up at you with big, black eyes and coos at you.

“Nah, I’m not hungry right now, kid,” you answer as if you understand what he’s saying to you. Then again…maybe you can understand him.

Ahsoka said she and Grogu could feel each other’s thoughts. You should be able to do the same, right? Granted you have no training in the matter, but you were able to communicate with him once, surely you could do it again.

Your hand reaches out to him and you hook a finger around his hand. He grips around your index and squeezes you tenderly. Closing your eyes, you try to imagine what he could be thinking, what he might be trying to tell you. At first, you don’t hear or see anything—just darkness. A part of you wants to give up, nothing that it was worth a shot anyway, but you choose to press on. Focusing hard on Grogu, you relax the tension in your shoulders and take a deep breath, exhaling through your lips.

By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind…

A woman’s voice fills your mind, but you can’t make out any of her features. Focus, you tell yourself.

You are as its father.

A Mandalorian. She looks different than Mando. Her helmet looks to be made of gold, with horns erecting from the very top. Her armor appeared to be different as well. Unlike Mando’s shiny, chrome beskar, her cuirass is a reddish brown and instead of a cape, she wears a fur coat on her back. Immediately, you got the impression she’s a warrior of her own nature, just as cunning as Mando, but in a swifter, more agile way, unlike Mando’s brash style of battle.

Just as the moment appeared, it vanished, filling your mind with images of sand dunes. Suddenly, you’re back in Mos Eisley. Only this time, you’re much younger, playing on the outskirts of the city with Tye.

--

“Tye, I’m tired,” you whine out to him. He’s running around the sand, punting a ball at you and then taking it away when you opt not to kick it back to him.

“Oh come on, we have to head back soon anyway. Just a little bit longer.”

It’s hard to hide your disappointment. Really, you just want to be inside. Today is such a blazingly hot day, and water is at its peak in scarcity. Most folks will be inside all day, avoiding the scorching heat. Less time outdoors means less water consumed, but Tye never listens to what he’s told. He does whatever he wants and drags you along with him and unfortunately, you have a hard time saying no to him, so you’re almost always roped into his shenanigans.

“Tyyyyyyye,” you drawl out. “I want to go inside! It’s too hot!”

Just as you say that a giant spacecraft enters the atmosphere, covering the entire surrounding area in shadows. You look up at the giant structure in awe. You’ve never seen a spacecraft so grand before, jaw dropping as you watch two smaller vessels appear from the hovering fortress above your heads. They drop down a little less than a click away. By now, Tye is at your side, both of you watching men in white uniforms exit the ships, charging towards your direction. An immediate fear washes over you, grabbing Tye’s wrist and running to hide behind a nearby moisture vaporator. Your heart is racing, and you feel Tye’s own panic coursing through your veins.

“Wh-what’s going on?” He whispers, voice shaking as he speaks.

“I don’t know…”

The men pass you by, not even taking a second to look around them. Their heads stay glued to what’s in front of them, hands gripping onto giant guns you’ve never seen before. Just as fast as they came, they disappear into the city. Screams and shrieks suddenly break out. People scatter, running out of the city walls in mass hysteria. Your legs itch to run, to find your parents, but Tye senses your urgency and grabs your forearm.

“We have to stay.”

“But—”

He whispers your name. “We don’t know who those people are. We’re safer here.”

Your bottom lip begins to quiver. Tears form in the corners of your eyes as the screams of the villagers echo through the city walls, causing you to wince. Tye wraps his arms around you, and you embrace each other, weeping silently in each other’s arms, praying to the Maker that these soldiers leave. The sound of Tye repeating, “It’s okay. We’re okay,” echoing in your mind.

It’s only when the sun begins to set that the town becomes quiet. The spacecrafts are gone, leaving no trace that they were even here. Your eyes are swollen from the tears, and you feel overwhelmingly exhausted. Body still shaking, burning off adrenaline and fear. Standing up is difficult, your knees are buckling but the need to see your parents is stronger than the quaking of your legs. You wake Tye up by shaking his shoulder gently.

“They’re gone. We have to head back.”

He rubs at his eyes with the heel of his palms. At first it doesn’t seem like he fully understands you, but when he looks up and doesn’t see the ship from before, he all but jumps up, dusting the sand off his clothes and charging right into the city.

“Tye! Wait up!” You shout after him, but he doesn’t relent. Taking large strides, you attempt to catch up with him, running past weeping elders, hysterical children, and what appears to be dead bodies all around you. Your mind doesn’t allow you to process what you’re seeing, you’re just too focused on catching up with Tye and then finding your parents.

His name being called in the distance stops him dead in his tracks.

“Mama! Papa!” He cries out, pivoting around in hopes to see someone he knows. When you finally manage to catch up to him, his mother appears from the shadows, tears streaming down her face. From the faint streetlights, her cheeks are dark red, and her eyes are just as swollen as you assume yours are.

“Sweetheart!” She shouts as she races to you both, wrapping you up in her arms and squeezing you until the air is all but knocked out of your lungs. It hurts, but you hold on to her anyway, feeling her warm, motherly touch.

“Where’s Papa?” He asks in the crook of his mother’s neck. Tye’s voice is hoarse from crying and yelling, and she attempts to soothe him by gently shushing him.

“It’s okay, son. We’re okay.”

“I have to get home,” you say, pulling away from her grip.

“Honey…”

The look on her face… you’ll never forget it. Tears welling up in her eyes, her jaw slacking because she wants to say something but not knowing how to say it. The pain you see in her green eyes, it’s like she’s just watched a loved one die right in front of her. Fear and anguish hit you in waves, crashing down on you more aggressively with every second that goes by.

“No…” Your voice is barely above a whisper. Taking a step away from her, her arm reaches out to you.

“Sweetie…” she tries again.

Shaking your head in panic, you turn on your heel in one swift movement and disappear down one of the quieter streets and make for your home. As you race in the direction of your dwelling, your heart bangs against your ribcage, tears flying down your cheeks. You can’t even see where you’re going due to the water in your eyes, but you keep trekking on. Nothing’s going to stop you. Throat unbearably tight, you can barely let in little breaths as you turn the corner to where you live.

When you reach the street, you stop so suddenly that you almost tumble down on the ground, somehow managing to catch yourself at the last moment, your breathing ridiculously erratic. There’s a horde of adults crowding the front door to where you live. Your feet carry you to them at a painstakingly slow pace. Blood pounding in your ears, you can barely make out what anyone is saying. When someone finally catches sight of you, they rush towards you, dropping down to their knees to meet your eye level.

“Sweetie, we can’t let you go in there.”

“But t-t-that’s my h-ho-me,” you manage to say through shaky breaths.

“I know, but we ca—”

You push passed them before they can finish speaking and dart passed several other people trying to stop you until you squeeze through the half-open door into your house, pressing a button on the control panel by the doorway. The door hisses shut.

There’s only a bit of light offered inside. To your left, you see the table you’d sit at with your parents for supper. The chairs are tucked neatly under the table. You’re not sure if the banging you hear is from someone outside trying to get in, or if it’s your heart thumping against your chest but it doesn’t deter you from searching for your parents.

As you continue to scan the area, there’s a couple of cups lying around on the counter, but other than that, nothing is out of place. Relief begins to settle in but is rapidly replaced by sheer terror when you finally shift your head to the right. Then, you see them.

Your parents lying face down on the floor.

“No!” You cry out, running to them and dropping to your knees to hover over their bodies.

There’s a blaster sized hole in your father’s back, heat still steaming off his wound. Your screams could be heard from the other end of the city, clutching onto their lifeless bodies as you beg for them to wake up.

“Please, wake up. Mama, Papa. P-please!”

Someone pulls you off of them, wrapping their arms around your torso. Your arms flail around, clawing and scratching at whoever’s holding onto you. “Let me go! My parents! Let me go!” Your voice is shrill and hoarse, becoming more hysterical, but they never let go. Your parents become smaller and smaller as you’re carried away from them. The last thing you remember is seeing the door to your home whoosh shut…

Your body jolts, and you’re not on Tatooine, anymore. You’re on the Razor Crest. Grogu sits just a foot away from you, peering up at your shivering body. Somehow, you exposed a memory you had sworn to never remember. After that day, you locked that memory up in a part of your brain and shut it off, choosing never to think about it again. The pain was too much for you to handle. Instead of facing your pain, you always chose to ignore it, to pretend it didn’t exist. Once again, compartmentalizing your trauma and locking it away for good.

Grogu fusses and when you look down to him, his eyes begin to flutter. Poor thing gets so sleepy whenever he messes with the Force. You pick him up and hold him close to your chest, making your way to Mando’s bunk. As you pass the ladder, the kid fusses and makes grabby hands for the ladder.

“You want Mando?” You ask him, and Grogu babbles in response.

Climbing the ladder with him in your arms is a bit difficult, but you’re able to get to the top without too much of a struggle.

“He wants to be with you,” you tell him.

Mando swivels his chair around to face you. Extending his arms out to you, you hand Grogu over to him and your hands briefly touch. The brushing of your hands suddenly reminds you of the game you were in the middle of playing just before the kid decided to explore the cargo hold.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Turning on your heel, you head down the ladder quickly. How is it that over the course of just a few hours, you could go through so much emotional turmoil? Honestly, you haven’t even been awake for that long, but you’re already wanting to take a nap.

Fuck it, there’s nothing else to go in this hunk of metal, and Mando’s probably busy with the kid, so you decide to let your body rest. Crawling into the little cubby hole and shutting the door closed, you close your eyes and hope your body will allow you some peace of mind.

--

You’re reminded of why you hate naps so much when you wake up. Instead of feeling refreshed, you always end up feeling much worse. First off, you always wake up in a cold sweat and feeling super groggy. Quite frankly, it does the exact opposite of what you hoped a nap would do. Secondly? Mando’s cot is unbearably hard. It shouldn’t be considered a bed; it resembles more like duracrete than anything else. As much as you like finally being able to sleep not sitting up in that kriffing passenger chair, this is another struggle of its own.

Pushing the button on the control panel by the door, it opens with a swift motion. The first thing you clock is that the Crest’s lights are almost all out, making it damn near impossible for you to even see your hand in front of your face. How in the hell is Mando able to walk around here not being able to see a single thing? The second thing you notice is the sound of running water. He must be taking a sanisteam.

To think that just on the other side of that wall, he’s naked and wet? If it were anybody else, you’d strip out of your clothes and join them, but things aren’t that simple with Mando. There are boundaries you wouldn’t dare cross unless he gives you his consent. Rather than frustrate you, it entices you even more. It keeps you wanting more and more, especially because he can’t just give you everything you want, whenever you want. No, you have to work for it.

Realizing that now you’re basically just standing outside the fresher like a creep, you head up to the cockpit in search of the kid. Just like you suspected, he’s sound asleep in one of the passengers’ chairs, wrapped up in what looks to be Mando’s cape. The thought of Mando taking off his cape to wrap Grogu up makes you stupidly giddy.

Treading carefully as to not make any noise to wake him up, you tiptoe back to the ladder and shut the cockpit door, your feet barely touching the rungs as you descend back down to the hull.

Something in your stomach growls, and you’re suddenly reminded that you haven’t eaten since… yesterday? Kriff, has it really been that long since your last meal? You head over to the pantry where the packs are kept, extending your arms out in front of you so you don’t bang into anything on your way there, and grab the first pack your hand touches, not having a preference as to what you’ll be eating today—tonight? You don’t even know what time of the day it is. Time in hyperspace can be difficult to keep track of. The only way you’d know what time it is is if you checked the control panel back up in the cockpit and right now, it’s just not worth the trip.

The pack itself feels sloshy in your hands; it’s probably some kind soup. Reaching into the closet again, your hand searches for a bowl to put your meal in.

Mando will be out of the fresher at any moment now, given that the water’s been turned off for a minute or two. The door to the fresher wooshes open and out of reflex, you shut your eyes but are quickly reminded that the hull is so faintly lit that even with your eyes open you wouldn’t be able to see him, but just to be safe, you announce your presence.

“I heard you,” is all you hear back.

“Can you turn the lights on a little bit more? I can barely see a thing and I really don’t feel like dropping my soup all over your ship.”

He doesn’t answer but within seconds the Crest transforms from a dark abyss to a twinkling, starry night. Not unlike the ones you’d spend hours staring at with Tye in the sand dunes during your teenage years.

Your head spins to your left, selfishly hoping to catch a sight of Mando, and Maker do your eyes latch onto him.

He’s not wearing a shirt, first of all. This is the most of his skin that you’ve ever seen before. The warm lights flickering off his back accentuates the curves of his muscles, concaving in certain areas and then protruding in others, outlining every bit of toned tissue. You can vaguely make out a few water droplets trailing down his golden skin, and it’s seriously taking all the self-control you have not to close the gap between you both and lick them off his back. An ache begins to build in the apex of your thighs, and you start to rub your legs together in an effort to alleviate some of the heat stirring inside you. Still wearing the kriffing helmet, though.

The second thing you notice is the vast amount of scarring on his skin. Each scar representing a different battle. You could probably lay him flat on his stomach, and his back would appear like a visual biography of his life, each mark giving you an understanding into his past, and the tests and trials he’s had to overcome over the years.

What were you trying to do, again?

Food.

You need food.

“Do you—” you squeak. Pull yourself together. Clearing your throat in hopes your tone will go back down to its normal octave, you repeat yourself. “Do you want any soup?”

“No t—” he begins to say but you cut him off before he can finish. You knew he’d say he wasn’t hungry.

“Have you eaten today?” Your eyes stay glued to the bowl in front of you. You’re certain that if you so much as looked at him again, you’d forget about the damned soup and pounce on him like loth cat.

“No.”

“Then you’re eating.”

Taking a second bowl from the shelf, you divide the soup evenly between both cups and begin making your way over to Mando, keeping your head down in the off chance he’s still not wearing a shirt, you don’t want to seem like you’re gawking at him.

“You can look,” he clarifies, noting the way you refuse to look up from ground.

When your eyes finally shift from the ground to look at him, he’s now wearing a black long-sleeved tunic that hugs his figure in ways that should be illegal. Your jaw is practically hanging and swallowing the lump in your throat causes a sound somewhere close to a moan to expel from your mouth, but you’re quick enough to stifle it with a cough.

As you hand him the bowl of soup, you’re feeling incredibly shy for some reason, your hand extending out and trembling as he takes it from you.

“I’ll eat in the cockpit to give you some privacy,” you tell him as you put your hand on the railing.

“No,” he says immediately, grabbing your forearm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Stay.”

Lips curling upwards into a smile, you end up biting down on your bottom lip to keep the smile from growing and growing as you replay that in your mind.

Stay.

Moving away from the ladder, Mando pulls out one of the smaller crates and seats himself down on it. As you begin to look around for another box you could sit on yourself, he watches you closely.

“You can sit here, if you want.”

“Oh, okay.”

Once you’re seated, you begin to take small sips of your soup. Mando reaches over to where his vambrace is—scattered somewhere on another crate and presses a button on it. The Crest’s lights fade even more, leaving you both in almost complete darkness.

A muffled hiss fills the air, and you hear beskar touch the durasteel ground. You eat in silence for a few minutes, hearing only each other’s sips as you continue to fill your bellies with food. It’s incredibly domestic. A Mandalorian and a…well you’re not really sure what you should label yourself as, but you’ll stick with smuggler for now; the two of you eating together like an actual couple—even if that’s far from what your relationship actually is.

“No amour?” You decide to ask, trying to make a bit of small talk in the pitch-black abyss.

“Someone told me I had to ‘loosen up’,” he jests, knocking his elbow against your arm. Maker, you’ll never get tired of hearing that unmodulated voice of his. Something as simple of a voice shouldn’t make you feel the way it does. For a man who kills for a living, he speaks with such a gentle intonation.

It’s such a juxtaposition, really. In full body armor, Mando is definitely one of the most feared hunters in the galaxy. He’ll kill if something threatens his life or the kid’s life. Impossible to read, impossible to predict. But right now? He’s the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him. No helmet, no amour. His guard is as down as you’ve ever seen and is willing himself to be naked with you, even if he’s still fully clothed. How you were able to find yourself in this situation is something you might never be able to fully understand, but it is truly the greatest gift you could have ever been given.

“I’m sorry about before,” you whispers, feeling guilty about how you approached the question about his helmet. “I didn’t mean to pressure you about your Creed.”

It’s not fair for you to come down so hard on him. You might not understand why he chooses to live his life with such restrictions, but it really isn’t any of your business.

“It’s fine.”

You still feel angry with yourself for acting the way you did, but if Mando says it’s fine, the last thing you’ll do is continue your self-loathing and make him feel uncomfortable about the whole thing.

Taking the last sip of soup and feeling satisfied with your meal, you push yourself to your feet. “Are you finished?” you ask him.

“Yes, thank you.”

You search aimlessly in the dark for a moment in search of his dish and accidentally knock the bowl right out of his hand, hearing it tumble on the ground.

“Shit, sorry,” you curse, dropping to your knees in search for it. While frantically searching for the dish, you feel his hand caress the small of your back, sending shivers through your spine.

You’re starting to feel pretty flustered, the fact that you’re both in the darkness doesn’t help. There’s no way of anticipating what could happen and that’s exhilarating and unnerving. Of course, you eventually find the bowl and Mando’s hand disappears from your back once you get back on your feet.

Walking over to the pantry where the ration packs are, you place the bowls on the shelf, making a mental reminder to wash them later. Just as you’re about to turn around and head back to where you think Mando is, you suddenly feel a presence behind you. Two hands grip onto either side of your hips and he presses his body against yours, pushing you right up against the little closet. A moan escapes your lips without even realizing it, and you can feel his hot breath tickle the crook of your neck.

“I’ve wanted to touch you all fucking day,” he growls in your ear.

Holy Maker, the heat in your stomach is somehow already becoming too much. You’re basically panting, the blood in your ears is almost deafening.

“I’ve been watching the way you’re walking. Did I hurt you? Do you still feel me?”

“Stars,” you breathe out.

Mando presses his lips to your skin, sending shockwaves through your entire core. You can feel his stubble prick your neck and it’s everything you didn’t know you craved. It feels deliciously rough.

Your hands brace themselves against the door, it’s the only way you can keep yourself upright. Knees already buckling, feeling the heat pooling from your cunt and drenching your underwear with slick. One of his hands begin to trail away from your hip and trace the waistband to your trousers. Instead of teasing you though, his hand wastes no time pushing passed your pants and panties, finding his way down to your cunt and cupping it with such force you jerk forwards, groaning as his hand finds your clit.

“Already so wet for me.”

Fingers leaving your bud, he slides them between your folds, gathering your slick on his calloused fingertips and then he’s shoving a thick finger deep inside you. His free hand flies to your throat, applying slight pressure with his thumb and index on that sweet spot underneath your jawline.

“Fuck,” you cry out brokenly. It doesn’t fill you up nearly as much as his cock does, but the way he moves inside of you, hitting that spot inside you no one has ever touched, marking it as his, causes you to see fucking stars.

Mando nips at your neck, alternating between sloppy kisses and bites hard enough to cause bruises, you can already feel an orgasm stirring inside you. You clench around his digit, feeling yourself climb higher and higher.

“Are you already close?” He mutters in between kisses and nibbles.

“Shit, fuck I-I think so.”

Your hand finds its way to the back of his head, grabbing fistfuls of his soft, damp locks and pulling hard, causing Mando to groan in your ear and buck his hips into yours. You can feel the outline of his rock-hard rock against your ass, and you grind into him, feeling his length burrow between your cheeks. You’re so close to your climax already.

Without missing a beat, he pulls out of you and his hand disappears from between your thighs.

“W-why?”

Grabbing your hips, he flips you around to face him.

“Up,” he instructs.

You linger there for a moment, unsure of what he’s asking you to do. When you don’t move, his hands grab onto your waist and lift you off the ground without so much of a groan. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist and your arms cross around the back of his neck, your head leaning on his shoulder. He walks over to the little bunk in the corner of the hull and lowers you onto the mattress gently, being mindful not to hit your head on the small doorway.

Feeling your heart pound against your ribcage, the thrill of not being able to see him at all and not having a clue as to what he’ll do next, it’s incredibly sensual. Your legs unwrap themselves from his waist and dangle off the edge of the cot. His hands trail up to the waistband of your pants and tugs them down off your ass. Lifting your hips up to help him, he takes them—along with your underwear, off and you hear them thump to the floor.

Hands returning to your skin, he hooks thems under your calves and lifts them up so your bent at the knees, feet resting on the edge of the bunk.

The anticipation is getting to you. He continues to take his agonizingly sweet time running the tips of fingers on your naked skin, causing you to shiver and goosebumps to form on your skin. Lifting one of your legs and placing it over his shoulders, he peppers kisses from your ankle all the way to your inner thigh and repeats the same taunt with the other leg. Both of them now resting on his shoulders, he drops to his knees in front of you. Suddenly feeling nervous, you try to close your legs and end up squeezing his head by accident.

“Shit, sorry,” you whisper, propping yourself on your elbows.

“Shhh,” he hushes, placing a large hand on your sternum and pushing you back down on the cot gingerly, and then his lips are on your skin again, leaving a trail of kisses and gentle bites all over your inner thighs, slowly getting closer to your throbbing pussy but never getting close enough to relieve the pressure building.

“Mando, please,” you whimper.

“Do I have to gag you?”

Shit… How is he able to make that sound so fucking hot?

“I’m going to take care of you, but you have to be quiet. Can you do that?” His voice is gentle but commanding.

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“Good girl.”

His tongue glides over your clit and there’s no controlling the moan that rips through you. Pulling away immediately, Mando stands up and presses his body into yours, his mouth merely inches away from yours, his large hand cupping just underneath your jaw.

“What did I say, pretty girl?”

You can feel his hot breath on your lips. If you just moved even the littlest bit forward, your lips would meet his. Licking your lips, you wrench your eyes shut to keep you from closing the gap.

“To be quiet,” you manage to say through ragged breaths.

“So be quiet,” he hisses, feeling his teeth sink into your bottom lip for just a second and then his weight is off you, returning to your thighs. His arms wrap around your thighs, keeping them pinned over his shoulders. Now, he wastes no time lapping you up, flicking your clit with his tongue with such a mind-blowing rhythm you have to throw your arm over your mouth and bite down on your skin to keep from making any noise. Mando never relents, developing the perfect torture. He plays with your bud then practically shoves his entire fucking face in your cunt, pushing his tongue inside you as far as it can go. It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to bubble up to the surface, threatening to burst. It’s all too much, your body starts to shake from the sensations.

You’re close, you’re so fucking close. Dropping your arm to your side, your voice hoarse from stifling all your cries, you’re somehow able to find the strength to say, “I’m gonna come.”

“No,” is all he answers.

No?

“W-w-what?”

“Hold it,” he says hastily, then continues his assault on your pussy.

How in kriffing hell are you supposed to hold it? You’re basically already there and he’s denying you it. You can’t hold on; you can’t stop it.

“I c-can’t,” you confess.

And then he stops. His tongue leaves you, his hands leave your skin, and you’re left there on the bed, legs hanging off the cot, chest heaving from being so fucking close and then being denied at the very last second.

“What the fuck?” You ask breathlessly, a hint of anger but mostly disappointment in your tone.

You hear him make a noise and then something wet trickles down your clit down to your entrance. It’s…sticky and warm. Did he just spit on you?

Lifting your legs back up and letting your feet balance on the very edge of the bunk, his cock rubs against you, angling the tip of himself to slide between your folds, mixing your slick, his spit and precome all over his length and you. Mando continues to tease you, lining himself up with your entrance but never sheathing himself inside you. It’s driving you fucking insane, even angling your hips whenever he does, hoping he’ll lose his self-control and plunge into you, but it only spurs him on. He knows how much it’s annoying you and he’s fucking thriving on it.

“If you don’t start fucking me soon…” you warn.

Mando actually laughs at you, like this is all a big joke to him. Anger begins to mix with your arousal, this is maddening. Why won’t he just fuck you already?

All of a sudden, he slams into you with so much power, you actually slide up the cot, and you wail feeling so fucking full and tight, your cry filling the small space you’re in. You’re still sore from the night before and feeling him stretch your walls again is almost unbearable, but it feels too fucking good. You’ll take every fucking inch of him without a single complaint. Then, just as your pussy begins to acclimate to him, he pulls out, hiking your shirt up just enough for him to grab onto your naked waist and pulling you back down closer to him.

“Mando!”

He leans over you once again, a hand cradles the back of your head while his thumb rubs your cheek tenderly. “If this gets to be too much, just tell me to stop and I will.”

Letting out a deep breath through your lips, you nod.

“Words.”

“I’ll tell you to stop.”

“Good.”

Thrusting his hips against you, his cock continues to grind along your slit, making you dizzy from both the lack of touch and the taunting of his cock against you.

“Maker, you’re so fucking wet. You sure you didn’t come?”

Words aren’t something you’re capable of forming so you’re stuck resorting to answering him with broken sobs. Practically writhing from all the overstimulation and lack of, from him toying with you, the pressure in your cunt actually fucking hurts, you’re nearly begging for some release. Adding onto the fact that you can’t see a fucking thing, it heightens all your other senses. They compensate for your lack of vision; everything feels so much more intense than you ever could have imagined.

No one could ever drive you to the brink of madness and pull you back in at the last second. No one could possibly make you feel so satisfied yet deprived. You’re convinced you’ve traveled the galaxy in search of him, that your soul was missing a piece so small, you didn’t even know it was missing until Mando filled that void. He’s etched into your skin, your bones, your veins. Every nerve ending tissue has been electrified by this enigma of a man. A man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill those who’d try to come between him and his clan.

Kriff, you’re drained already. He hasn’t even begun to fuck you, but waves of exhaustion are coming over you. Mando’s still fucking teasing you, only ever prodding the tip of himself inside you and then pulling away before he can truly fill you up.

He said if this became too much for you to handle, all you had to do was say the word and he’d stop. You’re starting to consider it; you don’t think you can handle much more of the slow torture he’s inflicting.

Just as your jaw slackens, he slams into you in a sift motion, fully immersing himself inside your swollen walls.

“Fuck!” You pant out, wrenching your eyes shut and feeling tears trinkle down your cheeks. Mando doesn’t move one bit, just sits inside you like he’s waiting for you to adjust yourself to the size of him.

“Shit, you’re tight. Gonna train that pretty cunt of yours to mold to my cock,” he grits out. Big hands hold you down by the waist, and he ever so slooooowly eases out of you only to ram into you again, all the way to the hilt. You’re seeing stars, every move, every thrust bringing you closer to euphoria. The only thing your mind can process is how fucking amazing it feels to be clenched around his cock. It’s mind bending, it’s intoxicating, you’ll never get used to the way he fucking tortures you.

He develops a downright brutal pace, pulling out just enough for his tip to pierce your walls and then pounding into you, growling every time he touches your cervix. Once he’s fully immersed inside you, he bucks his hips and practically jackhammers his cock inside you. A sheen of sweat covering both your bodies causes the sound of skin slapping against skin to sound so wet and fucking obscene. Still pounding into you, Mando’s hands leave your waist to grab under your thighs, lifting them up to hang off his shoulders. Pushing down on the backs of your thighs, he practically bends you in half at the knees, an arm on either side of your head, and then begins a pace so fast and brutal, you’re sure you’ll be sore for weeks. The spot he’s hitting right now is one you didn’t think was even possible. It knocks all the air out of your lungs, you can’t even make a goddamn sound. Your throat is bone dry, and whatever pathetic sounds that escape you are barely audible and breathless.

“Stars, you feel fucking amazing,” he mutters in your ear, and then he’s sucking at your neck, bruising the skin.

Mouth agape, you’re so fucking close to coming, a part of you doesn’t even want to tell him how close you are in case he stops. You don’t think you could physically handle it if he denied you again.

“Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how much fucking noise your little cunt is making?”

On a normal day, Mando says as little as possible, giving you a quick sentence in response or even a one-word answer, but when he’s balls deep inside you, he can’t seem to shut up. He turns into a blabbering mess, offering you praise after praise like it’s a fucking prayer. Mando makes a note of everything. He comments on your gushing pussy, how your walls clench around him as you get closer and closer to your orgasm, how no one will ever touch you again.

How you’re his.

And you? You can barely throw two words together. You’re on the brink of losing your goddamn mind. Is this what being on spice is like? Feeling a sense of euphoria that hits you wave after wave, each one stronger and more intense than the last, teetering the line between sanity and insanity.

“…mine,” you hear him snarl. Reality doesn’t even feel real anymore, you can barely make out what he’s saying to you.

Something like a whimper slips through your parted lips.

“Now, come for me.”

He barely finishes speaking before your orgasm tears right through you. It begins deep inside you and is quickly shattering the earth around you. Crying out so loud Mando has to slap his hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds expelling from your lips. He continues to pound into your pussy, riding out the ripples of your climax, not relenting even for one moment. There isn’t any fucking air in your lungs—Mando’s weight is still pressing you into the cot and your climax is so strong, your chest is way passed heaving now.

You’ll be chasing this high for the rest of your life, the feeling of Mando unleashing his feral instincts on you, and you just helplessly letting him take control of you—it’s unlike anything you ever could have imagined.

“Good girl,” he praises. When you don’t immediately answer, still in a haze from the mind-shattering orgasm that just expelled out of you, Mando stills, cupping your face with his hand and murmurs, “Are you okay?”

Your lips part, and your brain desperately tries to find any word that might help him understand that you’re okay and also anything but okay. Only being able to breathe in quick, sharp breaths, Mando places a kiss on your jaw and repeats in the gentlest tone you’ve ever heard him speak, “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

Shaking your head frantically, you attempt to moisten your throat by swallowing, and it gives you enough to answer, “I’m okay.”

“Do you want me to stop?” He reiterates.

“No,” you croak.

“Are you sure?” Stars, how can he be so relentless in the way he fucks you and switch into a nurturer so quickly?

“Mmm. Please f-fuck me,” you mewl against him.

His cock twitches at your plea, and he obliges. In an effort to help you climb down from the overstimulation, he eases in and out of you at a deliciously hard, but slow pace, and then he does something you couldn’t have been prepared for. Your lips are slightly parted, letting in little bursts of air to help calm your breathing, and suddenly, you feel wet, soft lips clash onto yours. Instinctively, you yelp into his mouth from the unexpected touch, but you quickly acclimate to it, feeling your lips move on his. It’s a little awkward at first, you get the impression Mando hasn’t kissed many people in his life, because your teeth end up clashing together a few times. He fucking giggles into your mouth and you all but melt into the cot. His tongue slips passed your lips and meets yours and you can taste yourself and broth on his tongue. Your hands find their way to his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it, pressing your lips even deeper on his. Mando moans low in his throat and you can feel the vibrations ripple in your own mouth.

He makes to pull away, but you keep his lips locked on yours, using your hands to keep him where you want him. He gives in without hesitation, letting you take control of the kiss as he continues to ram into you. The dreams you’ve had of this moment, the moment you’d feel his mouth on yours doesn’t even come close to the feeling of it happening to you right now. It all makes sense now. Every kiss you’ve had previously was just practice for this. It was all just preparing you for this defining moment, the moment you’d finally be able to break through Mando’s heavily guarded walls. Every smack of your lips, every flick your tongues, every broken moan in each other’s throats, they’re all just feats breaking down the duracrete barrier that he’s forced himself to build over the years.

Bodies intertwined, every part of yourselves wrapped up in the other, it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins, and you suppose that’s how this is was always supposed to be. Each of you were missing the same piece— the inability to be perceived as anything but a person of strong will. Believing that vulnerability was a weakness, instead of something that should be treasured, and without knowing it, your paths crossed and challenged every part of your identity.

Foundling, Mandalorian, bounty hunter, father.

Orphan, mechanic, smuggler, Jedi.

Those shouldn’t mix together as perfectly as they do, but stars, does it feel like everything finally makes sense.

A second orgasm begins to brew in your stomach, but you don’t dare pull away from Mando’s lips. You’ll never pull away until he forces himself off of you.

He leaves your lips for just a moment, panting and his own chest heaving against yours. “Maker, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Shhh,” Tugging desperately at his hair, you close the small gap between you and slosh your mouths together. You both whimper brokenly on each other’s lips, and Mando slams into you three more times before his hips still, feeling his cock pump his seed into your soaking pussy. Just as he begins to come, your second climax reaches its peak and crashes into you. His hands are back on your waist, digging his fingernails into your skin. Whatever moans you both cry out are muffled by each other’s’ mouths, catching the sound and swallowing it, burying it deep inside one another.

When you come start to come down from your climaxes, Mando drops his head to the crook of your neck, burying his face into your skin and pressing sloppy, chaste kisses right where your jaw meets your neck.

“I—” You attempt to speak, but your vocal cords are so raw, it hurts even just making a sound. You’re still practically bent in half, and your legs are burning up. Resorting to stir around hoping he’ll get the message, Mando pulls off of you, using both his hands to very gently bring them down his shoulders, one by one, once again giving each of your inner thighs some tender pecks. Pulling out of you, his come seeps out of your completely worn out slit. He peppers a few kisses along your waist, and then you hear his footsteps retreat.

“Where—” You begin to say, making to slowly prop yourself on your elbows.

“I’m still here,” he assures you.

You can hear him moving things around, and you seriously wish there was some kind of light allowing you to see what he’s doing but given that your eyes have gotten used to being in complete darkness, you’re sure you’d be blinded by even the smallest amount of light right now.

A few minutes go by and then you feel his hands on your hips, pulling you down the cot. Once he feels like your head won’t hit the top of the bunk, he lifts you off your feet, wrapping his arms around your back, and in turn you wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you for a couple steps and then brings you down onto what you expect will be the cold ground. Instead, you feel cotton on your back as he lowers you down.

“Where did you—?”

“I have a couple of extra capes in case one gets too battered,” he says, answering your question before you can finish asking it.

As soon as your head touches the ground, you feel your eyelids shut, exhaustion overpowering you. Turning over on your side and hiking up one of your legs up so that your knee lines up with your chest, you don’t even care that your own slick and his seed is practically dripping down your legs. You don’t care that you’re still naked from the waist down. The only thing you care about is falling asleep, preferably in Mando’s arms.

“Don’t sleep yet. Need to clean you up,”

“Mmm,” you protest. “Later.”

Mando chuckles lightly and then he’s wiping the slick off your legs and entrance with what feels like… a pair of trousers.

“Are you using my pants to clean that up?”

“It’s the first thing I grabbed. I’ll wash it.”

“Mmm, you better,” you mumble into your arm.

Now, you’re starting to slip in and out of consciousness, fatigue taking you over. Mando rummages around the hull for a bit longer, and then joins you on the floor, throwing what you assume is another cape, over your half naked body. You don’t even have the energy to move your body over towards his, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You’re both still close enough to feel the heat radiating off each other’s skin.

“Hey, Mando?”

“Yes?”

“I won.”

Things are quiet for a few minutes after that, and you’re on the verge of falling asleep when his velvety smooth voice breaks through the silence of the Crest.

“Blue,” his voice is low and barely audible.

“Mmm?” You mumble, desperately trying to stay awake.

“I…like the color blue.”

Okay, now that puts a stupid, hazy smile on your face. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Any particular shade of blue? Bright… dark?” You may be barely conscious, but you hang onto every word he says.

“I guess… dark.”

“Mmm,” you hum. “Why do you like that color?”

He lets out a deep breath, like he’s about to confess something to you that he hasn’t told anyone else. As if in this very moment, he’s about to give himself to you completely. “The Mandalorians that saved me from that battle droid in my village. Their armor was blue.”

Mando doesn’t elaborate any further, but he doesn’t have to. Feeling your heart tighten in your chest, you imagine what a young Mando must have been feeling when that droid pointed its guns at him. How he must have been utterly terrified and convinced that he was about to die. And then to be saved at the last moment. Seeing these warriors in blue armor coming to rescue him, to save his village from an even worse massacre. They were his saviors, it only makes sense that after all these years, that color would bring him solace and comfort.

It’s quite ironic, actually. Blues have the reputation of representing sadness or pain and you too have been accustomed to associating blue with your own trauma, and then here comes Mando.

The color symbolizes the exact opposite of what its known for. To him, it brings relief and reminds him of being saved; representing the beginning of a new life that he’s exemplified through and through. It’s a beautiful confession, and you’ll forever be searching for him in all the shades of blue that the galaxy has to offer.

Two opposites.

Yellow and blue.

One representing happiness and light. The other representing sadness and melancholy. Blend those two together and you create the fiercest of combinations. A beautiful balance of both extremes.

And when you think about it, what color does blue and yellow make?

[catsnkooks]

You Deserve It (The Mandalorian x Reader) [SMUT]

hello!!!! this is my first fic for this fandom (and of course it had to be smut lmao)

based off of a drabble by @mandadoration and probably an ask sent to @zeldasayer (i love both of them please check them out!!!!)

so anyway:

summary: You are a mechanic for the famed Mandalorian, but in a typical hyperdrive jump, your relationship changes. (porn w/o plot...yeah)

warnings: smut, cockwarming, swearing (obvs), breeding kink if u squint

lmk if u want to be tagged in future things!! i have a few in planning rn and more on the way!!!!

here it is on ao3!!

---

The Mandalorian was sitting in the captain’s chair when you returned from putting the child to sleep in the hull. You sighed and plopped into the copilot’s seat. Mando hired you as a mechanic for his hunk of junk he called his ship, but inevitably you turned into a jack-of-all-trades with the kid and the bounty hunters after it. You two were now heading for one of Mando’s contacts who could offer a haven for a couple of days.

“Kid’s asleep,” you said, propping your legs over the armrests of the seat. “You need me for anything?” You let your head fall against the back of the chair. It had been a long day and all you wanted to do was fall into your cot down in the hull and sleep through the hyperdrive jump.

“Yeah,” Mando grunted from the control panel. “Take off your clothes.”

Your head snapped up and you raised an eyebrow, your mouth open in a silent gasp. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Mando said in the voice he only uses when he interrogates his bounties, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t send a shiver down your spine. “Take them off and come here.” He beckoned to you with one gloved hand, still not looking in your direction.

You closed your mouth but still kept the skeptical look on your face. It’s not like you wouldn’t want to take your clothes off for him; for many long nights you have studied his broad shoulders and chest, wondering what they looked like under the armor, but the beskar was growing on you as well. And, you assumed the helmet stayed on, which made it even more intriguing. You slipped out of the chair and stalked to the captain’s chair, placing a hand near the Mandalorian’s shoulder. “What’s this all about?”

He spun around in the chair and you gasped lightly. He had taken off his belt and you could see the large bulge that was growing in his trousers. You guessed he wasn’t messing around this time.

“Take them off,” he commanded, his voice a deep growl from behind the helmet. “Now.”

You inhaled sharply at his command but didn’t back down. Your hands went to the hem of your tunic and began pulling it up. “Yes sir.”

A contented growl resonated from behind the helmet and you could tell he was smirking from behind it. You slipped out of your boots and socks then worked your trousers off, tossing them into a corner of the cockpit. Mando settled into the seat, languidly pulling off his leather gloves. Once you took off your tunic and underwear, he beckoned to you with one finger and patted his lap with the other hand.

You sauntered over to his chair. Mando had already removed his pauldrons so you gripped the rough fabric of his tunic and settled into his lap, feeling the sinewy muscles of his shoulders under your fingertips. Your fingers glanced down his shoulders and over his beskar-clad chest, down to his groin where you released his cock from the band of his pants. You sucked in a breath as you stroked your hand up Mando’s length, eliciting a small groan from behind the helmet.

“Fuck, Mando,” you gasped, holding him with both hands. “I didn’t know you were hiding this behind the beskar.”

Mando chuckled. One of his hands caressed your inner thigh and the other danced up your side to your breast, the pad of his thumb skimming over your nipple. You made a small cry and arched your back as his thumb and forefinger worked your nipple into a hard pebble. You steadied yourself with one hand digging into his shoulder and the other grasping the fabric between the beskar of his arm. Mando’s other thumb caressed your slit and made lazy circles around your clit. You bit your lip trying to stifle a whimper and the Mandalorian hummed contentedly.

“How long have you been looking forward to this, sweet girl?” he asked, his hand moving further down to lightly graze two fingers at your aching, wet hole. “How long have you wanted my thick cock inside you?”

“Fuck, feels like forever,” you moaned, hands scrabbling and searching for the bit of skin between his tunic and his helmet. You rocked your hips against his hand, trying to get those two fingers inside of you. “If you don’t get in me soon I feel like I'm going to burst.”

The Mandalorian hummed and inserted his fingers finally. You moaned and scratched at the warm skin of his neck, pressing yourself closer to the throbbing cock that was resting against your stomach and feeling the heat pooling deep inside your core. Mando slowly thrust his fingers in and out of you, spreading them apart when they were inside you, stretching you for him. Looking down, you grasped his cock in one hand, spreading the slick precum over the head, eliciting a distorted moan from the Mandalorian.

“Are you ready for me sweet girl?” Even though his voice was distorted behind his helmet, you could still make out his tense tone, betraying that he was just as eager as you to have him inside you.

You nodded and guided the tip of his cock to your entrance as he withdrew his hand. “It feels like I’ve been ready for forever.”

The Mandalorian slowly pushed into you, still circling your clit and nipple with his hands. You moaned as his thickness filled you and you let out a whine when your hips met his, gripping the rough material of his tunic below his breastplate.

“Fuuuuck, M-Mando,” you moaned. “I can feel you here.” You placed a hand on your stomach where you could feel his pulsating member spearing through you, sending shockwaves of pleasure up and down your body. You slid your hand down to grasp the Mandalorian’s hand that was still circling your clit.

“Such a sweet girl for taking me all the way,” he cooed into your ear. “So eager to take all of my cock.”

You flushed at his praise and began to rock your hips against his. Mando gripped your hips with his large, calloused hands, holding them still. You whined, desperately needing to feel his cock glide in and out of you, which only caused Mando to tut at you, increasing his grip on your hips.

“Oh, no, sweet girl,” he said. “You said you’ve wanted to feel my cock inside you for forever, so you’re going to do exactly that.”

You groaned, half out of frustration and half out of the aching that was growing with every second Mando remained inside you. Your core clenched around his cock unconsciously. “Mandoooo,” you whined. “Please. I need you….” You trailed off with a whimper as the Mandalorian growled and gripped your hips even tighter, spreading his palms out to grasp your ass in his tight hold.

“No moving,” he said. “You wanted this, remember? So you’re going to take it like a good girl.”

You huffed and collapsed into his chest, gripping his shoulders. You almost sobbed into the crook of his neck out of frustration and from the lack of friction you wanted. You tried to rock your hips slowly, only for Mando to still them again and slap your ass, causing you to yelp and jump slightly.

“I said no moving,” Mando growled. “Stay still and be a good girl while I pilot the ship. You’ll get what you want later.”

“Fine,” you huffed again, wrapping your arms around his neck and collapsing into his chest, the beskar of his breastplate achingly cold against your breasts. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and tried not to think about the way his cock filled you so perfectly. The Mandalorian kept his hands at your hips, loosely gripping them, occasionally caressing and grasping your thighs and ass. Your breath came out in small puffs as you unconsciously clenched around him, until the ache became a dull lull in the back of your mind and you fell asleep.

---

The Mandalorian was sweating under his armor and clothing. It had been a couple of hours since you fell asleep against him, your core occasionally clenching around him, causing you to make soft whimpering sounds in your sleep that drove him crazy. He’d said earlier he had to pilot the ship, but he hadn’t done much of that. He could only revel in the feeling of your tight wetness, the soft grip of your fingers against his neck, and the small mewls teasing out of your lips.

The Mandalorian groaned and leaned his head back against the back of his chair. He had already removed his vambrances and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He needed to feel your skin against his, more than just your soft, pliant hips under his palms and your inner thighs resting against his hips. He decided you had slept enough and he began to palm your ass, fingers digging into your soft flesh, probably making bruises, one hand snaking its way up to cup your breast and tease your nipple.

You whimpered louder this time and shifted in place, a groan escaping from Mando’s lips as your movement created the friction he needed. He let out an amused huff. You drove him crazy.

---

You floated in a hazy dream state as you rested against Mando’s chest. Your breath came out in small puffs, still relishing being filled to the brim with his cock. Soft touches brushed along your thighs and up your sides to cup your breast, a thumb extending to tease your nipple. You whimpered, shifting in your sleep, eyes fluttering open. You heard Mando groan above you and you leaned up, your hands now resting on his shoulders.

“Did you have a good nap, sweet girl?” he asked, one hand still teasing your nipple while the other brushed closer to your clit.

You nodded, rubbing your eyes. You tried to rock your hips against his, only for his hands to go back to your hips, holding them in place. You whimpered again. “Mando, please—.”

“You’ll get what you want soon, sweet girl,” the Mandalorian said, shushing you. “First, help me get out of this.”

You realize he had taken off his vambrances and had already rolled up his sleeves, exposing the bronzed, scarred skin of his muscled forearms. With shaking hands, you unclipped his chestplate and slid it off of him. It hit the floor of the cockpit with a loud clang. Your hands were too busy scrabbling at the rough fabric of Mando’s shirt, eager to expose every inch of his skin. The Mandalorian pulled it up over his head, one hand resting on his helmet, and slung it over in the same corner your clothes rested in.

Your hands immediately went to the large expanse of his chest, fingers tracing the contours of his muscles, mouth placing hot, feverish kisses up to his neck, causing the Mandalorian to groan under his helmet. His hands gasped at your ass and hips, holding them as you rocked your hips, desperate for any friction.

“Ohhh, you’re so tight around me, sweet girl,” Mando groaned. One of his hands traveled back down to rub your clit in small, tense circles, while the other guided your hips as you rode on top of him. “Are you going to cum for me like a good girl?”

You gripped his sweat-slicked shoulders in a tight grasp as you rode him, your nails probably leaving marks. You thought you were going to burst at any moment, oversensitive from the hour you spent clenching around him. You threw your head back in the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, hitting that sweet spot as you drove him deeper inside you. A constant stream of moans and whines left your gaping mouth rivalled by the constant grunts and groans coming from behind the modulated voice of the Mandalorian.

“Yes, Mando, please!” you whined, so close to ecstasy. “I need—I need to—.” You cut off in a primal cry as he thrusted up at the same time you rocked down, hitting deep into your sensitive spot.

“Then cum for me, pretty girl,” he growled, both of his hands gripping you tighter, and you could feel the muscles of his shoulders tensing under your desperate grip. “You deserve it.”

You could feel your orgasm quickly coming after those words. With his hard, decisive thrusts and his large, calloused hands holding your hips in place, one thumb circling your clit in frenzied circles, you were soon coming undone on top of him. You arched your back, palms flat against the tense muscles of his chest, as your orgasm ripped through you, a scream tearing out of your throat, leaving it sore.

“Ohhh, good girl,” Mando moaned as he rode out your orgasm, your walls clenching and spasming around his cock, milking out his own release. He slammed his head against the back of the captains chair with a final groan and you felt the evidence of his release spurt inside you.

You collapsed against his chest, pressing flushed skin together, panting against his neck. You could barely make out the line of his stubble-covered jaw peeking out from under his helmet. Mando caressed your hips and up your back, pulling your sweaty hair away from your face. You sighed and snuggled against his shoulder, content at the feeling of him going soft inside you.

“I don’t want a drop spilling out of you, do you understand?” The voice was soft, but commanding, the words sending a flush up your spine. “Or we might have to extend it next time.”

You bit your lip to keep yourself from grinning against his shoulder, but you nodded slightly. “Yes, sir.”

It seemed like you needed to start testing the patience of your Mandalorian.

[anjanettexcordonia]

Living Proof AU

Book: The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir A/U

Catch Up Here Living Proof AU

Rating/Triggers: Mature (18+); NSFW; some language; suggestive language; infidelity 

Pairings: Liam x MC; Drake x MC; Drake x OC 

Word count: 1631 (+/-)

A/N: Please excuse any grammatical errors. 

**Disclaimer**: Some characters and scenes belong to Pixelberry.

Song Inspiration: 

If you would like to be tagged or removed please let me know! 

PermaTags: @yourmajesty09​​ @gkittylove99​​ @kingliam2019​​ @texaskitten30​​ @hopefulmoonobject​​ @mom2000aggie​​

Series Tags: @tinkie1973​​ @cordonianroyalty​​ @txemrn​​ @marshmallowsaremyfavorite​​

Chapter 1

I want to run after Liam but my feet are frozen in place. Five years of memories shot through my mind like a slow motion film reel. “You should go Brooks,” I barely made out Drake’s words over the sound of my heart thundering in my chest. “Just go,” he whispers. I could hear the sadness and anger in his voice. My feet felt like they were cemented to the ground. “I’m sorry Drake.” I choked out before pushing myself out the hotel door. Why was Liam in New York? How did he know? What did he know? The questions swirled through my brain like a tornado. It didn’t matter though. None of it did. The damage was done. 

I made my way back to my hotel, the streets of New York City bustled even in the wee hours of the morning. I constantly searched the sea of faces for Liam. I slid the key card to my hotel suite into the reader until the light turned green. Liam was sitting on the small sofa in the living room. “Liam?” I asked, stunned that he was here in my suite. “Riley.” His soft voice saying my name immediately calmed me. “We’re leaving in the morning.” Liam’s voice suddenly turned cold. “Liam.. I..” Liam raised his hand to silence me before I could go any further. How he could be so calm yet commanding after five years of marriage still baffles me. “No Riley. Just stop.” Liam shook his head. I knew better than to pester him. It was my fault. I broke his heart. I made my way to the bathroom of my suite and stripped my dress off. I stared at myself in the mirror. Who was I? I could see the woman I was so clearly but did recognize her? 

Liam was in my suite bed. I half expected him to take the sofa. “Liam,” I whisper, “I’m sorry.” “Every marriage has secrets Riley. I just didn’t realize they were from each other.” Liam murmured. We fell asleep with what felt like miles between us. 

“Riley get up.” I slowly opened my eyes with a groan. The bright bedroom lights stung my eyes as I tried to open them. “Flight leaves in 45 minutes.” Liam was already up and dressed. He was packing my belongings from the gala the night before. Fifteen minutes early, we arrived at the tarmac and boarded our flight. Drake was nowhere in sight. “Drake’s flying back on another flight. Bastien is with him. If that’s what you're wondering.” Liam spoke. He could always read my expression even at my most stoic. I nodded my head. 

Liam had dismissed all staff from the flight other than the necessary personnel that would remain in the cockpit unless told otherwise. “I thought we could talk about..” his words drifted as if he couldn’t let the revelations of last night slip from his tongue, He sat across from me in the plush chairs. I nodded my head. “I need to know why, Riley?” I stared in his deep blue eyes. “I thought we were happy?” “We were, we are Liam.” “Then why? Why did you have sex with my best friend?” Liam’s eyes locked on mine. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles had formed under his eyes. He looked weathered and worn almost as if he had aged a decade overnight. 

“There was a time when Drake and I…” “Wait.. are you telling me this isn’t the first time?” Liam interrupted. “It’s not.” Liam’s entire body tensed at my words. I could see the change in him. His eyes darkened into a deep navy almost black. They filled with shock and surprise. His chest was visibly rising and falling. “I’m going to need a drink if we’re to continue this.” Liam mumbled. He poured two glasses of scotch. “Here, I’m not the only one that’s going to need a drink or three.” Liam finished off his glass in one swallow and poured himself another. “Continue.” Liam commanded. “It was before we were married. During the engagement tour with Madeleine.” I took a large sip of my scotch. “I thought it was pointless. I tried to go back to New York, Max & Drake wouldn’t let me. House Beaumont needed my help. I didn’t care about clearing my name after the scandal. I thought you and I were over.Drake and I started to spend time together while we were traveling from house to house. Things just... happened. When we got engaged, I ended it with Drake.” 

I took a deep breath knowing the worst was yet to come. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Liam whispered. “I didn’t want to hurt you and neither did Drake.” I could feel the sting of tears threatening to fall. My usual stoic face failing me miserably. My face was expressing every emotion I was feeling in the moment. Liam was reading me like a book, I could feel it. 

“You didn’t want to hurt me Riley, really? That’s the best you’ve got?” Liam waited for my response that didn’t come. “What about our children? Or are they even mine?” I felt like he had ripped a knife through my heart with his words. As quickly as the sadness came, the rage followed right behind. I jumped to my feet. I felt my hand raise and make contact with his stubbled cheek. My palms stung from the force behind the swing of my arm. 

I ran to the small bedroom on the jet and shut the door behind me. I sank to the floor with my back against the door. I knew it was my fault. Liam had every right to feel the way he felt. The sobs and convulsions overcame me until I was laying on the floor drifting to sleep. 

I could vaguely feel the door being nudged open and pushing me further away from the door. I’m completely delirious and groggy from crying myself to sleep on the floor. I felt a set of strong arms lift me from the floor by my shoulders and my knees and place me gently on the bed. “Riley?” I heard my husband whisper. I felt the bed sink down beside me as he climbed on next to me. I opened my eyes slightly, the room was dark but I could still make out Liam’s blue eyes. The darkness had left his eyes making them crystal blue again, his cheeks were tear stained from his own tears that he shed. 

“I’m so sorry, Riley, I shouldn’t have questioned Eleanor and William’s paternity.” Liam murmured. I felt the tears return to my eyes, a knot formed in my throat as I remembered his words that broke my heart. “I’m so sorry Liam.” Liam crashed his supple lips onto my dry chapped lips. My arms instantly came around his neck and pulled him closer. He shifted his body on top of mine and pulled my knees apart with his. “I don’t want to talk anymore.” Liam whispered against my lips. His tongue gained entrance into my mouth, his familiar taste sent a tingle down my spine. He kissed me with a hunger I’d never felt from him before. It was a need more than a want. I tugged his t-shirt over his head revealing his soft abs, they weren’t as defined as they were five years ago but still prominent. 

Liam moved his lips to my neck, he always found the spot that drove me crazy. He intentionally made sure not to kiss me in the spot I loved so much. His hands roamed every curve of my body looking for any exposed skin. “Liam..” I moaned at the sensations he was giving me. “Stand up” Liam growled. I stood from the bed in confusion. He stood in front of me. He placed his hands on either side of the zipper and pulled until I heard the fabric ripping into shreds. “Did Drake do this?” 

I stepped back from him in nothing but my bra and plain white thong. “What did you say?” I asked, in my mind I imagined what Liam had just asked. Liam stepped toward me and gripped my hips tightly. “Did Drake make love to you like this?” He asked again. “What, Liam, no… why… why would you ask me that?” “What does he have that I don’t?” The anger started to boil in my veins. “I’m not doing this.” I snapped. “So you’ll make love to your husband’s best friend? But not your husband?” Liam snapped back. I picked his t-shirt up from the floor and threw it on over my head. “I never made love to Drake, Liam. I love you.” “You never made love to him? I was there Riley. I heard everything that happened inside of his hotel room.” Liam’s voice raised an octave.

“I fucked him, Liam. I never made love to him.” My heart shattered at the words I had said, knowing they weren’t true. I loved Liam and I loved Drake in different ways. Liam sat on the bed with his head in his hands. “How could you do this to us?” His deep baritone voice shook. 

“Your Majesties, we are beginning our descent into Cordonia, please take your seats and fasten your seat belts.” The pilot came over the intercom. 

Liam sniffled and attempted to stop his tears at the destruction I had caused. “We will finish this later. Drake has been banned from the palace upon our return.” 

“Does Lindsay know?” Liam shot a look of disgust in my direction. “I suggest you worry about the damage you’ve caused your family and kingdom before you worry about his family.” 

I took my seat, fastened my lap belt and lowered my head. Liam was right. 

[buckyodinson]

The Reveal (Mandalorian x fem!Reader)

Summary: You and Din are about to be married, and Din is anxious about revealing himself to you.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I saw a tweet by @/pascalsdiaries and was inspired??? Let me know what you think?

The tweet: ‘just thought abt din being self conscious after he takes his helmet off in front of u so u pepper his face with kisses everyday to make sure he know's how handsome he is to u’  (@/pascalsdiaries on Twitter)

It was the day Din was finally going to marry you.

He was stood in front of the mirror in the fresher. It wasn’t massive, since the fresher is so small. But it’s bigger than it used to be. Before you came along, he only ever really needed a mirror for when he’d shave. And the shaving was just for convenience, otherwise his face would itch underneath the helmet, which isn’t a particularly fun experience. But once you joined him, and offhandedly mentioned that you didn’t understand how he got on with such a small mirror, he bought one at a market and installed it for you. Now as he looked at his reflection, the significance of the day hit him. Today, you were finally going to see his face.

He looked at the bags under his eyes. As he looked at them, he realised how tired he looked. He felt tired, sure, but he’d never really looked at himself like this before. He looked old and weathered. He looked at the scruff that littered his chin and jaw, and rubbed it with his hands, debating its presence on his face. He eventually decided to keep it, but just tidied it up a little around the edges. He looked at the mop of hair on his head, trying to neaten it up, but ultimately giving up. It was a pointless exercise, given he’d be putting the helmet on again for the meantime before the actual ceremony.

As he studied his face in the mirror, he grew anxious. He turned and angled his face every which way, worry etching his features as he did so. What if you didn’t like his scruff? Or the colour of his eyes? Or the shape of his nose? Do his ears stick out? He’d never really taken notice of other people’s ears before, but the longer he studied his own, the bigger they looked. He sighed deeply and dragged his hands down his face. 

Frankly, he was terrified that once you saw his face, you were going to be disappointed. He didn’t consider himself much of a looker. He’d never thought it was something important, figuring he’d never have to be helmetless, so who cared what he looked like, right? But now he has you, he wants you to be happy. And now he’s incredibly self-conscious. Din thinks you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met, both inside and out, and he’s worried you won’t feel the same once you see him.

He snapped himself out of it as he placed his helmet back atop his head. He knows he’s being unfair. You’re not as shallow as he’s making you out to be. He knows you love him, despite never having seen his face. But he still worries that he’s not good enough. 

The door opens and he walks out into the hull of the ship, observing you sat feeding the Child, and smiling down at the little womp-rat as he babbles up at you. Din’s heart aches at the sight, and he can’t believe he’s lucky enough to be marrying you. By the evening, he’ll be able to call you his wife. It still doesn’t quite make sense to him that you said yes. He’s still waiting to wake up from this wonderful dream. He’s pinched himself on several occasions to make sure this is actually all real.

You turn around to look at Din once you notice the Child watching him, “Everything okay?” You smile brightly at him.

“Y-yeah. I’m good.” He nods slightly at you and climbs the ladder to the cockpit. You sigh as you finish feeding the Child, wondering if he’s having second thoughts about today.

Once you get the Child asleep, you climb to the cockpit and sit in the co-pilot seat. You sit in silence for a few minutes before Din puts the ship on autopilot and turns around to face you.

“Are you ready?” He asks softly through the modulator, and you nod in reply, smiling at him.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Your question catches him off guard, and he doesn’t answer you immediately.

But he’s reaching a hand out to you, and encasing one of your hands with both of his and you feel the visor of his helmet bore into the depths of your soul, “I’ve never been more sure of anything, cyar’ika.”

Your eyes water at his statement, and his gives your hand a gentle squeeze as he stands and beckons for you to follow him to the hull. Once you reach the middle of the hull, he kneels on the ground and you join him.

He’s told you a little bit about the ceremony. It’s not like a traditional marriage ceremony you’re used to. There’s no officiant. There’s no witnesses. It’s just the two of you.

“So I will say the vow, and you repeat it back to me, okay?” He takes your hands in his and holds them against his chest, and you nod.

“Mhi solus tome.”

“...Mhi... solus t-tome.” You repeat back to him slowly, and he gives the faintest of nods.

“Mhi solus dhar'tome.”

“Mhi solus... dhar’tome.” You say with a little more confidence this time.

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

“Mhi me’dinui an.” You’re somehow looking straight into his eyes through the visor, and Din almost falters on the last vow.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

“Mhi ba’juri verde.” Din lets go of your hands and moves his own to cup your face, and you fall into a silence.

“My wife.” He finally says after what seems like an eternity of just staring at one another. You let out a small chuckle and a tear rolls down your cheek. He catches it with his thumb, before pulling his hands away. They find your own hands once more and he brings them to the sides of his helmet, taking a deep breath as he presses the release mechanism and waits for you to lift it up, moving his hands back to his lap, where he wrings them anxiously.

You take a deep breath yourself as you slowly lift the helmet. You honestly don’t know what to expect when you remove it, but when you see Din’s face for the first time, your breath hitches and you’re at a loss for words. You place the helmet softly on the ground, not breaking your gaze with him. More tears form in your eyes as you reach your hands back up to touch his face.

You smile as you touch the scruff littering his jaw, and you feel his jaw tense underneath your touch. Your fingertips trace his features, committing then to memory. You subconsciously lean closer as your fingers ghost across his face. Din opens his mouth to speak, but you lurch forward and kiss him. He’s stunned at first, but quickly responds, placing his hands on your face, as he feels your hands move to his hair, where he feels your nails scratch at his scalp slightly.

You pull away breathlessly, with a big grin on your face, and Din fully appreciates your beauty without the filter of his helmet. He thought you were stunning before, but now... oh man, he couldn’t get over it. You blushed under his gaze, and he was definitely blushing under yours. Your hands make their way back to his cheeks, where your thumbs gently graze the skin there, and you both stare lovingly at one another.

“So... do you like what you see?” You gasp at the sound of his unmodulated voice, but you hear the worry lacing his question, and your heart bursts thinking about him being anxious to show you his face.

“Din, you’re beautiful.” You sound almost breathless as you speak, and it calms Din ever so slightly. You see him let out a deep breath, and you watch as his shoulders relax and his head drops slightly.

“Were you worried?” You lifted his chin with your fingers and you saw tears forming in his eyes. He nodded at you, not trusting his voice.

You pulled him to you, resting your chin atop his head. You wrapped one arm around his torso as the other made its way into his hair, gently stroking through it. He wrapped his own arms around you in response and you sat like that for a few minutes before you placed a kiss on the top of his head and spoke quietly, “Honestly, you could’ve been a Gungan under that helmet, and I’d still love you, Din.”

You feel him laugh quietly against your chest, and you lean back and he loosens his grip on you. When you see his face again, there’s still the remnants of the few tears that escaped his eyes, but now there’s a smile on his lips, and it only gets bigger as you speak again, “I guess I’m pretty lucky though, because I get to look at this face for the rest of my life.”

“Really?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Din.” You repeat his earlier statement and it makes him smile even wider.

You lean in again, and he closes his eyes in anticipation, but furrows his eyebrows and opens them again when you kiss the tip of his nose, then move to pepper little kisses all over his face before finally landing on his lips. He pulls you towards him and kisses you deeply, and you feel his worries dissipate.

You stroke his hair as he pulls away from you and rests his forehead against yours, “My handsome husband.” You mutter against his lips.

“My wife.” He says the words almost in disbelief, before repeating them again with some more strength behind them, and you don’t know if it’s physically possible to smile any wider than you already are.

After you sat for a little while more just enjoying one another’s company, you made your way to the Child’s crib, and you both spoke the adoption ritual, meaning the Child was now your own until you found his home planet.

From then on, whenever Din has his helmet off (which is anytime it’s just you two and the kid on the Crest), you insist on littering his face with kisses to remind him how handsome he is. It takes some time for him to get used to the affection, and he’s still self-conscious, but your actions definitely help him see himself a little better, and the more you do it, the more he believes that he doesn’t look half bad. Now when he looks at himself in the mirror in the fresher, and he starts to feel self-conscious, he thinks about your lips ghosting his features, and he remembers all the compliments you whisper against his skin, and he smiles.

[generallybrontidefeelings]

He Smells like Petrichor

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Pairing: Din Djarin/female reader

Five times the Mandalorian is a protective caretaker to the kid and you, and one time you protect them both.

Rating: T

Warnings: a mild concussion, the Razor Crest not having it, fluff

Thirty-seven solar cycles since you left your home world and everything about the Razor Crest is a surprise. The power lines are messy and corroding, the electrical work is shoddy. The schematic you’d asked the Mandalorian for isn’t comprehensive at all, and you’d privately made it your project to take every chance you set down dirt-side to re-write the manual.

Well. Write the manual.

The green kid loves it. He sits in your lap and happily holds cables you hand him until you’re done cataloguing and ready to re-connect them. It’s grueling, but talking out-loud to the green bean helps stave off your exhaustion. He loves to be held and talked to. You’re happy to hold him against your hip and oblige.

You have no idea if your inquiries to the baby about the ship’s guts bother the Mandalorian. You hardly see him anyway.

He’s a predator, and he acts like it. You never see him sleep. He hunts for hours and brings back bodies walking or dragging-it doesn’t seem to matter to him. You do your part to keep the ship flying and take care of the kid, and leave him food on the dashboard or in the recessed cot he shares with the kid. Sometimes after a long hunt he comes and takes your work buddy from you and recedes to the cockpit. You guess it's how he deals with not carrying the child on hunts anymore.

You have no idea if he eats. He must , you think, he isn’t a droid . You literally wouldn’t know that except for one time he’d shucked his gloves to cradle the kid after a particularly bad encounter with a stick bug and seen his hands. Fingernails and crevices along his knuckles. Human for sure.

There are always three bowls to clean though.

He’s been up in the cockpit for a few hours, hopefully still sleeping. You’d climbed up there to ask where his toolkit was but he didn’t respond, and the kid was trying desperately to climb out of Mando’s heavy grip. You’d sprung him and taken him downstairs to help you track some more wiring. He gratefully cooed at you for freeing him.

“Come on, snack time,” you tell him.

You like digging into the ship. It’s exciting and similar to genetics, finding what makes the organism tick, grow, change, evolve. You could get by as a mechanic, but being around green things was really your strength, and the heat of the greenhouses always made you feel better. You don’t doubt you could do a number of software and hardware updates on the ship over time if Mando let you. But you need a blueprint first.

You’ve only been working for an hour with the baby happily munching on a jerky piece in your lap when Mando’s boots make contact with the hull. You peek at him quickly before returning to your work.

“We’re dropping out of hyperspace soon. The atmosphere on this planet is dense. Could get bumpy,” he says simply. You’re used to the utilitarian way he talks. Just enough and no more. It’s just with you though. You know for a fact he talks nonsense the kid.

“Where are we?” you ask, setting your tools down and latching the box shut one-handed.

“Dagobah-”

Hyperspace falls away and deposits the Razor Crest in a gritty atmosphere, and you’re thrown side-ways at the change. Wild beeping comes from the cockpit, alarms on the navcomp system screeching to alert you something is wrong. You scoop the baby against the u-shape of your body as you try to make it to your knees on the quaking hull floor. Mando has one arm wrapped around the ladder and a boot jammed against the steel. He’s furiously clicking buttons across his vambrace and does get one beeping system to stop.

An updraft kicks the side of the ship up and you’re swearing furiously under your breath as you’re thrown down against the hatch. You hope this isn’t the day it decides to yield to atmospheric pressure whistling against it. The Mandalorian makes another complicated set of beeps in-between furious swearing that pitches the ship forward this time, throwing your curved body directly toward the cockpit opening and into the buckethead’s armor.

Your head contacts the beskar chest plate, and you hear an awful noise rip out of your throat at the impact. The Mandalorian wraps his whole arm grasping around your shoulders, your face squished against him. This kid has never been safer, you think as Mando hitches you against his ribcage. You close your eyes and taste the iron sting of blood against your lip, and between the baby cooing, Mando swearing, and the growl of the Crest encountering-that’s too nice a word, let’s call it battling-the atmosphere, you’re disoriented.

The ship clangs and pitches sideways again. You groan as the grip around you shoulder slips under your armpit and is hard as durasteel, and Mando lets out a pained grunt when your knees clank against the inside of his thighs. You want to curl up and die from embarrassment, but if you do, you’ll drop the baby, so you try to wrap an ankle around the back of his knee, and end up forcing your whole thigh against him.

Fuck  you think miserably, cheek scrunched against the harsh drop off between his chest plate and cloak.

You suck in a breath, too scared to take too much in or you’ll throw up. You close your eyes as the hull screams against the troposphere, g-forces squishing all three of you together, hot and freezing all at once. Mando pulls you tighter if that’s possible to get at his vambrace buttons. You think you’re going to scream. When the beeping finally stops, the ship slows and levels out. The Mandalorian doesn’t let go until the Crest has flown smoothly for a full 10 seconds, and you can hear him breathing deeply through the helmet filter. He releases you slowly, hands off once both feet are planted securely on the full floor. He takes the kid from you, probably to check him over himself. All you can do is hang onto the ladder and slowly, slowly slide down the wall.

It’s a sickening few moments where you’re somewhere between throwing up and passing out. You’ve traveled in space before, but never in such an old ship, and always been strapped in. This is-fucking terrifying.

“Are you hurt?” he asks. Concern laces his voice, enough to sound interested. You try to shake your head but it’s still ringing from contact with his chest plate and you end up reaching up to thumb your lip.

“I think my lip is bleeding,” you say. You can taste it’s metallic richness on your tongue tip. Running your fingers a little higher you feel the indent on your cheek from where your face was pressed into his armor.

“You’ve got a bruise on your temple too,” he tells you, gently handing the kid back to you. “I’ll find a landing site then see about the swelling.”

Once he’s back in the cockpit you move around on shaky legs to find the floating pram in the hull’s carnage. Crates are everywhere, and it takes some effort to free it from the mess. You settle the kid inside it. He keeps reaching up one wrinkly hand toward your head. Even though your stomach is in knots you start moving containers back to where they should be, anything to occupy you away from a bought with burning alive. Your head feels like it's swimming, and you’re moving a little slower than you should be.

“Any luck?” you try to call up. Landing in Dagobah can take the better part of a solar cycle, so you've heard. It’s surprising the ship sets down less than an hour later. You’ve barely moved...three crates? That doesn't seem right. For an hour? It should be done .

When Mando slides down the ladder with a medkit in hand he finds you with your hands on your hips, staring blankly at one crate that...is just too heavy to move.

“You done?” he asks, startling you out of your focused attempt to make the box move .

“I don’t understand. I moved this yesterday,” you say. You realize slowly Mando has your elbow and is guiding you to his cot to sit. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure your concussion doesn’t cause permanent damage,” he says. He jerks his head at the closet he calls a bed, and you lean back against it. “Sit, don’t lean.” You push yourself back further until you’re seated. Shoving your knees to the side with his hip, he stands blocking your escape from the cot and the med-scanner. You pull back a little when the red-blinker shines directly in your eye, but Mando’s quick and not having an argument. He grips your jaw not ungently, and proceeds to inspect your head wound. You stare directly at the spot where you think is forehead would be. He’s leaning heavily into your knees: he knows you will try to escape medical care. Or maybe he just needs something to ground against too. It wouldn't surprise you.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, tonguing the spot you can taste blood on inside your mouth.

“Beskar has been known to kill people on impact,” he replies tiredly. Like you should have known that. “Lucky for you, this is a concussion. You’ll have a bump for a while,” and to prove it he pokes a finger into your still forming egg. “This bounty should take a few hours. I suggest you turn out the lights and sleep.” He holds the cooling pack to your skull, and you reach up to hold it in place so he can release your legs and pack away the scanner.

“The kid has been cramped, he’ll want to play,” you tell him. He snaps the medkit closed and looks directly at you.

“You aren’t much use if you can’t think clearly,” he tries back. “I’ll take him with me. Might find a lizard or something to eat.”

“Mando-”

“Zip it,” he scolds. He’s gigantic in the suit of armor, and you sit dutifully still as he doles out pain medication for you to take. “Take these. Then lie down.” He watches you swallow the gel capsules down, and you sigh in relief as soon as they kick in and settle the nausea in your stomach.

“How long will you be gone?” you know he just told you.

“Few hours,” he says. He shoves a crate away with the flat of his boot and finds your crumpled bedroll on the hull floor. You obediently curl up on the non-lump side, drowsiness overtaking your body. He’s clinking around the armory. You hear the dull snap of blasters and charges.

As soon as you close your eyes, everything is quiet.

.....

The Razor Crest had landed at the vineyard’s loading docks before midday on Pamarthe. You’d heard the push against the sound barrier while in your greenhouse as your shift ended. Sweaty and satisfied with hours put in, you'd gone to meet your neighbor for a tasting of the sample blend. A newly modified vine that you’d all hoped would produce a slightly new taste in the vintage community.

You’d been giggling over the strong draft with your neighbor Anijae when you heard your shift super call your name from behind you. No thank you, you thought about saying.

“I’m off duty, Flitt” you say instead, barely turning.

Her hand clapped down on your shoulder and you almost sent your elbow reeling into their ribs. “This Mandalorian needs a guide,” she tried again testily.

You leaned back to see behind her, and sure enough a full suit of new beskar with a rifle strapped to its back and a tote lying across its shoulder stood waiting. Your brain is wine-addled and the first thing you think is big-

“You need a guide?” you ask, clearing your throat, and hoping to high stars he didn’t see you leering. He did, your second brain chimes in, he one hundred percent saw.

Following him out of the bar, you hear Anijae tell Flitt she’s a fool , and she’s not coming back, and haven’t you heard the stories ?

You led him on a safe path through quarries and rock rubble to a bunker the Rebel Alliance had used for a time, and now was regularly degraded by fugitives and tipsy patrons, who were sometimes the same life forms.

“Do you live here?” he’d asked, one of the few things he’d said the whole trip. You were both lying belly down looking over a ledge leading down into a stony gully devoid of foliage.

“My whole life,” you respond. You think for a second he can’t be that dangerous. He’s got a green critter with huge soft ears tucked in a bag behind his elbow. It reaches a little clawed hand at you. “There are housing units built into the cliff face above the greenhouses.” He tilts his helmet to the side. “Do you need anything else from me?” you asked, ready to ditch your work jumpsuit for something comfy.

He considers for a moment, and you squirm a little under the visor slit. “Yes,” he says, and removes the satchel with the kid from his person..

...and pushes it toward you.

You looked at the kid. He looked at you through big bulbous eyes, and before you can protest, he’s got a little hand tugging on your hair. You sigh and lean into his tiny hand.

“My unit is four-seventeen,” you tell Mando, scooping the baby up, and striding away. You aren’t really sure if this is a gift or a temp job, but the kid falls asleep on the walk home, and you aren’t complaining.

You took a day off of work to watch the kid. A day turns into two, and two turns into three, so you take him to the greenhouse with you for your shifts. He’s happy to walk up and down the rich soil plots, but you have to stop him from eating the pollinating lizards. A...few times.

The Mandalorian shows up late on day four. You and the baby are curled up on your couch, resting after dinner. You had had to gently uncurl the little green bean’s claws from your undershirt while handing him back over to the Mandalorian.

“What do I owe you?” Mando asks when you hand the kid back over.

“Nothing. He was fun to watch. Don’t suppose you need a full time babysitter?” you ask, half-kidding. The kid has one of your fingers wrapped in his claws. In Mando’s arms he looks itty bitty. First big , and now nanny? Get it together .

Mando lets his helmet fall to the side, considering. You feel a blush come over your cheeks, that  was too forward. “What I do isn’t safe for little ones. He seems to like you.”

“I like him too,” you say. The thought of abandoning your little apartment is very appealing all of a sudden. You can't be a wine-geneticist your whole life. “Whatever you’re doing sounds dangerous.”

“It is,” he concedes. You leap.

“Should I pack my blaster?”

“I’d advise it.”

“When do you leave?”

“Now,” he says.

Pamarthe glows violet in space.

.....

The edges of the dreamscape are disturbed by clunking boots and rifle thunks. Your dream about thick pickle-green vines and caves is shaken out of focus.

Mando’s knee sets into your blurry vision. The scrape of his glove against your bruise makes your mouth twist in pain. Who needs weapons when you can just incite enemies to head-butt you and instantly die.

Once you’re out of the atmosphere, he comes back and holds a cool pack against your head with one hand, and the snoring kid in the other. He uses your shoulder as a pivot point.

“You smell good,” you hear yourself mumble. You’re going to blame it on pain meds later, or just deny ever saying it. Forever .

“I smell like a swamp,” he rasps.

“No…” you trail off. “Like healthy dirt. Like ozone.”

“Like I said,” he says, lifting the cool pack to inspect the lump. “Swamp.”

“Was it raining outside?” you ask quietly, barely above a whisper. Your throat is parched, the pain meds must have absorbed all the water in your system. It’s a coherent sentence, and you’ll never be able to deny telling him he smells good now.

“Yes,” he answers, prodding at your forehead.

You hum and let the lull of hyperspace rock you back to sleep.

[loridrabbles]

Ok like Mandoa’s s/o revealing she’s pregnant after they like just met or for a one night stand or something, and she’s really nervous and thinks he’s going to leave her alone or be mad but he’s ends up actually being happy and admits his feeling for her or something like that ;))

One Night | Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: Slight nsfw. I leave you hanging when it's about to get xtra steamy.

     (Y/n)'s heart pounded in her chest and her hands grew cold and clammy as she fidgeted in her spot next to the campfire the Mandalorian had built for the two of them to keep warm for the night while they rested. She'd been working with him for months now, but barely knew a thing about him. Not that he was a cold person, in fact, he had been quite welcoming, but he wasn't one to talk. She knew he was a human, around 40 years old, his parents were killed and he was taken in as a foundling, and that he is never, ever allowed to remove his helmet. That's it. 

     It was evident that he had been lacking the touch of another person from a young age. He'd probably never felt the sensation of another person' under his fingertips, their breath on his skin, or their lips against his neck, felt someone's heart pound in their chest, or hear their cries in his ear. It didn't bother him. It didn't bother him. "It doesn't bother me." He thought.

     He had had enough one night. He returned to the ship after his venture out alone, (y/n) sitting in the cockpit, unsuspecting of his return so early. His breath was heavy with anger from having been bested by an enemy, something that never happened. Was it frustration that allowed him to be so distracted? (Y/n) turned to him, white cotton shirt she would have worn to bed draped loosely over her torso, the lightweight fabric contouring her breasts, her nipples gently visible through the garment. She had never been in anything less than full tactical gear around him. Embarrassed, her chest heaved. He watched behind his helmet. He stared at her clean face, unmarked by dirt and grime from the elements. He had never noticed her features before. They were...alluring.

     "You're back early." 

     "I am." He responded, blunt as ever. He watched her hands tug on the hem of her shorts at the top of her thigh, tugging them from where they had ridden up between her legs. He wanted to reach out and stop her. She didn't want to stand, feeling that it would expose more of her body to him. She stayed put, breaking the awkward silence.

     "What happened?" She asked quietly. He never went into details. "You seem upset."

     "I'm not." He assured. His chest was still heaving, but by now it was arousal. 

     "Oh." She said quiet as a mouse. "Sorry if I knew you were coming back I wouldn't be so...u-under dressed."

     "It's ok." He said, taking a step towards her. She shifted in her seat, biting the skin of her cheek upon noticing that his garb did nothing to hide his growing erection. He'd seen countless nude women before at bars and shady joints and they never did anything for him. What was it about her? Her own breathing grew heavier and she ran her fingers through her hair, avoiding having to look at him. She knew he had likely never been intimate before and understood why he was having feelings for her. She wished there was a way to convey to him that it was ok, She could feel his gaze. Hoping he would notice, she licked her lips then bit down, slowly drawing her eyes to him. She couldn't make it to where his eyes would be without breaking, but his chest did just fine. 

     "Up until now I've been so good at pushing this away." He finally spoke. His unexpected words coaxed her eyes to his visor. "I'm sorry."

     "It's ok." She said as he stepped backwards towards the door. "Um..y-you don't have to go. If you don't want to."

     "I just- are you sure?" He asked. She nodded. "I-I can take care o-of myself." She had never in all her days of knowing him heard him so nervous. She'd never heard his voice break. He needed this.

     "You don't have to." She said, finally standing, grabbing his wrists gently, coaxing him to his pilot's seat. She was bold with her next move, but his positive, well neutral, reaction to the prior gave her the confidence. She pushed his legs apart with her hand, sitting on one of his knees. His hands formed uneasy fists on the armrests as her fingers grazed along the gathering of his cape by his neck. Her hand then fell to his, guiding it to cup her breast. He was hesitant, but as her hand left his, he squeezed and kneaded her breast, just as she had hoped.

     "May I?" She asked, tugging at the snap at the wrist. He nodded ever so slightly, so quickly. She undid the button, taking the tip of his middle finger between her teeth removing the glove. As soon as his hand was free of its burden, it fell right back to her breast. She expected it to be calloused and rough from years of work, but it was soft and tender, protected by the thick leather. As she leaned into his touch, her hand pressed against his erection, now hard and prominent beneath the fabric. She heard him let out a deep labored breath, modulated by the helmet.

     "Are you sure this is ok?" He asked.

     "I'm sure." She answered. He was elated.

     "J-just for tonight..." He said, picking her up and placing her back down in his seat. He removed his other glove, followed by the rest of her clothing and as she sat by the fire, the rest of that night was a blur. Their camp was minimal, a couple of bed rolls and their back packs, Mando's various weapons and (y'n)'s pistol. As they settled in for the long night, warming up, he noticed, apart from how gorgeous she looked in the lighting, her discomfort. 

     "Well be back at the ship by tomorrow." He said, taking a guess at what was making her uncomfortable.

     "Yeah I figured as such." She said, trying to hide her nerves in her voice. A man of few words isn't any good at making conversation. "It's nice out here though, under the stars. Even though we spend most of our time up there, I don't think I'll ever get tired of looking at the night sky."

     "Yeah it's nice." He paused. "Y/n), you seem uncomfortable." He said. "If I'm correct, may I ask why?"

     "Actually, there is something I've been meaning to talk to you about, but I don't know how to start."

     "There's something I may want to talk to you about too." He said. She nervously fiddled with her fingers, watching from her peripheral vision as he stood from his position on the ground across from her and moved closer, almost next to her. 

     "What is it?" He asked. 

     "You go first."

     "I asked you first." He said. He was joking, but (y/n) could tell there was seriousness behind it.

     "Well..." She bit her cheek to keep the tears irritating her eyes from falling. "I- I really screwed up. I'm so sorry I-" She failed, and the first tear fell, cold as it hit her wrist where it sat in her lap. He didn't say anything to coax her, he was patient. He noticed her trembling hands and took one into his own, giving her a reassuring squeeze removing it quickly. realizing what he'd done. She collected herself and sniffled back more tears. "I'm pregnant."

     He was silent next to her.

     "I wasn't thinking and I got ahead of myself a-and if you're mad I can leave and never come back and you won't have to worry." She rambled to fill the silence, hoping and praying he wouldn't actually leave her by herself. "A-and I don't care what you have to say about it, but I'm not going to get rid of it. Ever." 

     "Good." He said. She sniffled again and wiped her face.

     "What?" She asked, really not expecting more of a one word response from him. If he did decide to let her stick around, she imagined he would do it because he had to. Their relationship wouldn't progress, she'd go through the pregnancy alone with no support, she'd give birth alone, and she'd just be... alone.

     "I would never ask you to get rid of it." He said, moving closer. "This news is so sudden, but I'm...happy."

     "You are?" She asked. He took her hand in his again.

     "What I've been meaning to say is that I have feelings for you. Feelings I've never felt before. What happened that night between us, I've never shared that with anyone else before. In fact, it's a little taboo in my culture, but...I love you, so it doesn't matter to me."

     "This is sudden to me, too." She said, trying to shake away her tears with a laugh as she turned towards him.

     "I want us to be a family, and if you will, marry me before the baby gets here." He said. "Will you?"

     "I will." She smiled weakly. 

     "Close your eyes." He said. She obeyed and shut them, blackness like the dark sky overtaking her vision. She felt his hands on her cheeks and his warm lips against hers. She shuddered a little, not expecting the kiss, but it made her feel warm inside. His lips left hers and his hands left her face.

     "Ok." He said. She opened her eyes again, and the helmet was back in place. "I love you." He said, both her hands in his.

      "I- I don't think I can say I love you yet, but I will." She said.

     "That's ok." 

     "And if we're going to be married I want to get to know you, like really know you. I don't even know your name. I need you to talk to me. I want this marriage thing to work, but please, just talk to me."

     "I'll tell you my name, first thing when we marry." He said, caressing her cheek. His hand was gloved, but it was still comforting. "I promise. And I'll tell you everything. About my parents, my home, about how I became a Mandalorian."

     "Wait, you weren't born a Mandalorian?" She asked, excitedly, getting up on her knees. He laughed,

     "Nope."

     "Tell me." She sat back down, criss cross, her chin in her hands, waiting for story time.

     "Hey we have to save something for the wedding night." He teased, booping her nose. She scrunched up her nose and scowled playfully.

     "Fine." She sighed, before yawning. He stood again and grabbed his bedroll from across the fire and put it next to hers.

     "Someone's ready for bed." He said, leaning back against the rock at the head of his bedroll. 

     "Yeah." She yawned again, laying down with her head on his lap. She was lucky when he slept, he removed all but his chest plating. "Goodnight."

     "Goodnight." He sighed.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Infinity of Stars (Reader x Rocket Raccoon) CHAPTER 9

When taken from her home planet, Terra from a young age, Y/N L/N, also known as Iris, is taught to survive and becomes one of the galaxies' well-known bounty hunters.

But what happens when rumor spreads that she knows the locations of the rare and dangerous infinity gauntlet; a highly powerful weapon that could destroy all?

She is the only human to know of its whereabouts, something which the Guardians of the Galaxy  need to find, before its too late.

But... Who will get to the weapon of mass destruction first?

Chapter 9

"What the hell do they want?" Peter shouted, steering and dodging the Milano from the incoming bombs and grenades coming their way. "What do you think? Of course they want her!" Rocket shouted from where he sat, "We need to get rid of them, either through destroying their or outrunning them." Gamora suggested.

"They're much bigger than us, we'll be blown up in a matter of seconds if we fight them." Y/N said. "Where do we go then?" Peter asked, Gamora was the first to action, pulling up a panel and scrolling and swiping along the metal screen, "We're coming up to an asteroid belt, 2 minutes!"

"That'll do." Peter swerved as the Milano jolted and spun quickly though the galaxy, avoiding asteroids. Y/N stood to her feet, running/staggering to the back of the Milano as she tried to keep her balance, "They can't get through!" She beamed, grinning as she looked backwards to them, "Wait, WATCH OU-!"

A loud and bright light erupted, glowing Y/N's skin as it reflected from the window. Y/N squinted, looking as her eyes widened, a small grenade flying through the gaps of the belt and flying straight towards them.

Peter jeered upwards, instead of the window being hit, the Milano jolted to the right, and the grenade hit the wing on the right hand side. The Milano screeched, before spinning and spiraling for a moment of utter chaos.

Warning sounds blared throughout the inside, Y/N was thrown to the floor, rolling and trying to stay upright and not hit anything that was flying around in the air. "Get back to your seat Y/N!" Peter shouted, as Y/N groaned, crawling towards a button on the wall. She smashed it with brute force, a yellow force field enveloping around, just so if there was an air breach, no air from the inside would be lost.

Y/N crawled quickly to her seat, before running back to her seat, "WE'RE GOING DOWN!" Gamora shouted, the ship crashing into other asteroids as the ship got more and more destroyed. "Peter, you're sh*t at controlling this thing!" Rocket shouted, "I've been driving this thing since I was 10 years old, I know what I'm doing!"

"I was genetically enhanced to controlling this scrap of metal! If there's one person who knows how to drive it, it’ll be me!" Rocket shouted back. "Guys! Can we leave the bickering to one side and survive this giant space battle?" Gamora interrupted. She's right, we need to calm down, this is the last thing we need to argue about. Y/N thought.

"What does the rat known about driving?" Drax asked, as Rocket shot him a glare, "Shut up!" He shouted, being stopped from a large crash, as everyone nearly fell out of their seats, "Peter! What's the nearest planet to crash land on?" Y/N asked.

"Over there!" Gamora pointed to the left, a bright blue coloured vortex shone just at the end of the asteroid belt. Peter looked around at each other, the looks they gave him told him that they agreed with the decision of going through, "Groot, put you seatbelt on!"

Groot jumped and scrambled around, before climbing quickly up into Y/N lap, clutching to her jacket close to him.

The Milano was steered abruptly, spinning into the blue vortex, the brightness of the light made everyone cover their eyes. Once the Milano had breached the atmosphere of the unknown planet, the ship was still falling and falling, not making effort to stop or break speed.

"Take cover!" Peter shouted, as everyone braced and covered their faces. The landing was harsh and all of a sudden, as everyone groaned, the Milano had crashed and was scraping along the ground, the paint-job was ruining as it made an abrupt stop in the middle.

"Is everyone okay?" Peter called, as everyone mumbled answers, "We need to get out of here, get your weapons and hurry!" Rocket rushed out, grabbing his gun and swinging it around to hold, the others grabbing their weapons and hurrying out of the ship.

The ship had crashed landed in a large clearing, close by to a unknown city and filled with civilians.  "They're here!" Y/N shouted, the six watching the ship crashing closely to where they stood, "Y/N, GET OUT THE WAY!" Y/N was suddenly shoved just at the last second away from the ship crashing in their way.

Y/N looked her way, once again seeing Rocket had knocked her away from being hit and crushed underneath the metal ship. Rocket sensed her staring at him, the two looking at each other for what felt like forever, Y/N could feel her cheeks burning, "T-Thanks." She murmured. Rocket got off, kneeling beside her as they took cover, "Just stay... just stay safe."

Y/N nodded, putting her mask on as the two jumped out, firing their weapons at the large group of enemies their way.

The fight had taken a while to finish, as there were some men that still remained. Y/N was bruised and beaten, "Where's Rocket?" She shouted to no-one in particular, spotting the flash of fur fighting someone, punching them before he was knocked back.

Y/N noticed how battered and bruised his fur looked, as she came running his way, "Rocket!" Once she was near him, she grabbed the gun that he had in his holster, pulling it to clutch it in his paws, "What... you doing?" Rocket growled through gritted teeth, meeting her serious gaze as his own eyes trailed down to the specific gun that she had improved. "U-Use it."

Rocket's eyes widened for a brief moment, and Y/N could see the look of utter pure excitement, his scowl being replaced with a sudden growing smirk, as he wasted no time, turning the safety off as he pointed towards a group of remaining men, firing towards them.

A small bomb hit the ground, as it grew and grew, until a large Plant grew out from the dirt, its vines swarming and grabbing nearby guys and swallowing them whole.

"FOR GOD SAKE ROCKET!! Y/N, WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT MAKING BOMBS WITH HIM!" Peter shouted as he ran back towards the broken down Milano, along with everyone else, "JUST ROLL WITH IT!" Y/N shouted back, picking up a injured Rocket into her arms, as she ran back with them. With a final thunderous roar, the giant plant grew smaller and fit back perfectly into the bomb once again, as if nothing had happened.

It was dead silent outside, the only noises coming from inside once the six had made their way back into the Milano, their breathing shallow and hoarse, as they all stood around, no-one speaking. "Well, that happened." Peter spoke, as him, Gamora and Drax went to the cockpit once again.

"I am Groot?" Y/N didn't notice that Groot was watching, as Y/N still had Rocket in her arms, "H-He said... you were injured." Rocket pointed to her bruised arm, "Should get it checked out." His breathing was much deeper as she realised it sounded like he was struggling to breathe.

"That can wait, some people are more injured than myself." She moved to walk down to his bedroom, with him saying that he was fine, but Y/N ignored his protests, as she managed to find his room.

His room was large, larger than hers, and a complete mess: papers and blueprints were everywhere on the floor, desks and bed, alongside with some empty bottles and crushed beer cans further implied that he would get drunk often in his room.

She cleared a spot on the bed, moving everything to the floor, "Lie down." She demanded, as the small raccoon grumbled and groaned, before lying down on the bed on his back. Y/N searched around his room, nimbly looking blindly until she found a firstaid kit.

She moved back to him, sitting on the bed as Rocket noticed the bed softly dip on his left side, “You’re an idiot for going head on at those guys.” She said, “Look at you now.” She dabbed some rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad, as she softly pressed it into his wounds. Rocket winced quietly, his eyes shut tight as he breathed out, “At least we got to see what that gun could do huh?” He quietly laughed to himself, “The look on Quill’s face.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at him, “Well, besides that, you got the most injured out of all of us.” She sighed, Rocket had noticed that her mask was removed as he could see that he face was just as bruised and scraped. “This carelessness will get you killed one day.”

“Look, I don’t need you worrying ‘bout me!” He barked, sitting up abruptly, and wincing as he grasped his side, “No-one cares ‘bout me, so why should you?” He asked, “Your team cares for you, Groot cares for you. I think everyone wouldn’t be the same without your presence.”

“Well, nice words of comfort sweetheart, but I ain’t buyin’ it!” Y/N smiled, as she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, “Trust me, they would care.” She stood to her feet, “Groot, stay with him and make sure he doesn’t move, okay?”

“I am Groot!” Groot beamed quietly, before climbing onto the desk and sitting in one of the nearest plant pots. Y/N moved to walk to the door, “Y/N?” This made her stop in her tracks, That’s the first time he’s called me by my first name. It felt like her heart was now in her throat, “Thanks... for saving my ass.” Rocket was ashamed in some ways, he didn’t like to be proven something and knowing he was on the wrong side. Y/N smile softly, “Don’t mention it.” Rocket didn’t notice his heartbeat faster when he saw her smile. When she finally left, Rocket breathed out heavily, Groot watching him carefully, “I am-”

“Don’t say that!” Rocket exclaimed in embarrassment, “I don’t like her like that!” Rocket tried to hide those thoughts in his head, ignoring how he smiled at her, how she got his humour and sarcasm the most, “I am Groot...” Groot knew he was lying, a smile on his face, “Y-Yeah... whatever... just don’t say it to the others.”