#solus tome

[gloomwitchwrites]

Say Yes

Bounty Hunter Boba Fett x Female Reader

Content & Trigger Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, heavy suggestive themes, protective!Boba, Mandalorian!Boba, light angst, non-descriptive sex

Word Count: 2.5k

A young, handsome bounty hunter on Tatooine makes it a daily intention to ask you to marry him.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // fluffuary 2024 masterlist

Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart riduur – partner / spouse “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde” – marriage vows

“Marry me, cyar’ika.”

You glance up from the worn open tome resting on the counter in front of you. “Again? Really, Boba?”

The Mandalorian helmet, dented with flaking green paint, tilts slightly to the right. “You called me ‘Boba’ this time,” teases the bounty hunter.

You roll your eyes and push off from the counter, cheeks heating even as you grumble in false irritation.

Boba Fett, Jabba the Hutt’s favorite mercenary for hire, has asked you to marry him every day for several weeks now. And each time, you have refused him. For the first few, you were overly polite. But as his attempts continued, your polite rejections transformed into snarky quips and blatant dismissals.

It’s not like you don’t find the man attractive. Underneath the armor is an incredibly handsome man, and his attention has always been sincere. But Boba Fett is a dangerous man, and you’re just a simple shopkeeper trying to make a living in Mos Espa. In that regard, the two of you are incompatible no matter how much he persists and chases after you.

“I like how you say my name,” continues Boba, his voice a soft purr. “Sounds beautiful on your tongue.”

“And you are too forward,” you snap, knowing that your sharpness is just a cover. Which is silly, because you do like him, and Boba seems to understand this. Boba burrows beneath your skin, and you cannot dig him out.

“Am I?” he asks with mock offense. You really want to throttle him, but you also really want to kiss him.

“Yes. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, Fett,” you emphasize, deliberately using his last name. “But a ‘no’ is a ‘no’ even if you don’t like it.”

Yep. Push him away. Keep pushing. Maybe he’ll take the hint this time.

Boba Fett stands tall, arms crossed over his chest, one hip slightly popped. With the helmet on, you have no idea what his expression might be or what he’s feeling. Not knowing is maddening, and it quickens your heartbeat, a growing tingle buzzing in the tips of your fingers.

“So, all those touches meant nothing to you?” he asks with just the faintest hint of roughness in his tone.

“Yes,” you lie.

Boba shifts on his feet, shoulders straightening. “What about all the kisses you’ve given me? Hm? Nothing?”

Kriffing hell, why is this man always so direct? It’s nice that Boba is good about telling you what he wants and what he’s thinking for the most part, but it always catches you off-guard. It makes you weak, melting you into goo that he can mold however he wishes.

“Those are not enough to build a marriage, Boba,” you shrug. “There has to be more.”

“But there is more.” He steps around the counter, stepping into your space. “Isn’t there?”

Boba is right. There is more. There has always been more. Whenever Boba is on Tatooine, he is visiting you, talking with you, bringing you gifts, fixing things around the shop without you having to ask. He has offered to take you out after you’ve closed shop. He routinely takes a personal interest in your safety and security. Because of that, no one bothers you or tries to harass additional credits out of you. They stay away and respect you because they see you as Boba’s woman.

And it isn’t only that. He only ever speaks softly to you. He only ever treats you with respect and shows general interest in your life. The most maddening thing is how many women have actively shown their interest in him to his face, and he has brushed them all aside. Even after all these refusals on your end, Boba still declines their advances, and shows up at your shop each day insisting that you marry him.

“Why do you keep denying this, cyar’ika? You know I’d make you happy.” Boba is standing too close, almost on top of you.

“The shop is closed,” you reply. “If you’re not going to make a purchase, you should leave.”

Boba nods his head and backs up, reaching for an item off the shelf without looking. He deposits some credits on the counter, much more than what the item is actually worth.

“I’ll return tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder, tapping the counter as he makes his exit.

The soft chime that alerts you to when the front door opens echoes throughout the room.

You’re in the backroom organizing. It’s the next day, and Boba hasn’t shown himself yet. This might be him, but it’s likely not. There are times when Boba does not come, and you are fully aware that those are times when Jabba sends him off for a job.

“Sorry. We’re closed.” You step out from the backroom and immediately freeze.

Three Nikto bikers loiter in the middle of the shop. It’s evident that they are not here to purchase anything. Their dark eyes roam over the shelves and tables, but once they notice you, they focus in, drawing closer.

“Apologies,” you say, attempting to project your voice, to sound tougher than you are. “We’ve closed for the evening. If there is something you need right away, I can ring you up. Otherwise, you’ll need to leave.” You do your best to keep your voice steady and calm, but you hear the gentle shake.

“This street is our new territory,” hisses the leader of the group. “We were stopping by to offer our…services.”

Services, meaning protection, meaning “pay us or you’ll be a target.”

Tatooine might be overrun with crime lords and criminal activity, but the main powers at play are not known to harass the smaller folks just trying to make a living. These are outliers. These are individuals who answer to no one but themselves, and believe they can carve a piece out for their own gain.

Rarely are they ever successful, but that doesn’t mean they don’t try.

Just as you open your mouth to reply, the soft chime comes again. This time everyone turns and you sigh with relief when you see who it is.

“Boba Fett,” says the Nikto slowly. His shoulders stiffen and they all put their hands on their blasters.

The bounty hunter does no answer right away. His helmet moves, scanning the Nikto, and then you, assessing. Even from across the shop, you sense Boba’s anger. There are few things that rile him up, but you’re one of them.

“It’s not smart moving in on Jabba’s territory. Or to harass what’s mine.” When Boba says mine, he growls it. The possessiveness in his tone heats your flesh, sends a sharp spike of desire down to your belly.

The Nikto all glance at each other before the leader addresses Fett. “We didn’t know the female was yours, Boba.” He holds his hands out in a placating gesture, indicating that he didn’t mean any harm. Yet you know that isn’t true. Their intention from the start was to harass you for credits.

You scoff at female but decide to let it go.

“I think it’s best that you leave.” Boba steps to the side.

The duo glance at their leader for direction. The Nikto’s features are impassive, but he eventually inclines his head, exiting as Boba insist they do. When the last one leaves, Boba momentarily glances in your direction. The door stands open, and Boba exits with him.

When it whooshes shut, you sprint over to the wall panel, immediately engaging the lock and shuttering the windows. You stand in the silent shop for a few minutes trying to calm your heartrate. Once it’s manageable, and not beating so hard it might burst from your chest, you head upstairs to your small apartment above the shop.

By the time you’re curled up in bed, you’re no longer anxious, but there is the slightest bit of tension that lingers in your limbs. Sighing, you turn over in the bed, only to hear the brief pulse of a jetpack shutting off and boots on the small balcony outside your bedroom window.

Slowly, you push up to sitting, the bedsheets falling to your waist. You know it’s Boba. He does this some nights. Camps out and protect you in the only way he knows how because you’re too stubborn to take him up on his numerous marriage proposals.

Tonight, it’s obvious as to why he’s out there. Part of you is reluctant to leave him outside. You’d prefer it if he were with you, within arm’s reach, to see him without the helmet. Plus, nights on Tatooine can grow cold. You want him inside where it’s warm.

On quiet feet, you go to the door that leads outside. Opening it silently, you stick your head out into the chilly air, finding Boba as he leans against the exterior wall, arms crossed.

“You should be in bed, cyar’ika,” chides Boba playfully.

You swallow, suddenly nervous now that you’re confronting him. “Do you want to come inside?” you ask, a bit hesitantly.

Maybe it’s the uncertainty in your tone, or the way you shrink back a bit into the interior of the room, because Boba is suddenly alert, all of his attention attuned to you.

Boba immediately pushes off from the wall and approaches you, his hand on the door, pushing it wider. “Are you hurt? Did one of them touch you?”

You shake your head vehemently. “No. I’m fine. Promise.”

Boba’s chest heaves slightly but you’re not sure if it’s from his sudden movement or a releasing of relief. He glances over his shoulder at Mos Espa, the t-shaped visor of his helmet fixated on the city’s skyline. Turning back, Boba nods.

You step away from the door and Boba enters. Even with the door closed and the windows’ shutters slanted to dim the moonlight, some of it still spills over the room like tiny white rivers.

His helmet hisses as the pressure seal disengages. Slowly, Boba lifts the helmet off his head and sets it aside on a nearby table. He runs his fingers through his dark hair, the ends sticking up slightly after he does so. With the faintest movement, Boba turns, and that moonlight cuts sharp glowing lines over his face, highlighting tanned skin and dark eyes.

You don’t even realize you’re moving closer to him until Boba grabs you by the waist and pulls you against his armor-clad body. Instinctively, your hands reach out, locking onto the beskar. Boba’s head dips and yours rises to meet him automatically, and yet there is no connection. It is simply holding, a waiting between two hesitant people.

“You haven’t asked me to marry you today,” you murmur.

The corner of Boba’s lips turns upward in a soft smile. “Will you marry me, cyar’ika?”

“No,” you say automatically, before the two of you start laughing.

“Let’s try that again.” Boba reaches up and cradles your cheek. “Cyar’ika. Will you marry me? Will you allow me to speak the words of my people? And will you speak them back?”

The words of his people. The Mandalorian marriage vows. You are distinctly aware of what they are and what they mean. Which is why Boba’s earnestness isn’t fake to you. Mandalorians take their weddings vows seriously even though the process of exchange is simple. It is the intention behind the exchange that is most important to them.

That is how you know Boba speaks the truth, that him asking you to marry him is a genuine desire of his.

“Passion does not make a relationship,” you reply.

The answer is a shift away from actually having to answer. How many times have you and Boba ended up on the floor of the backroom after rejecting him? It’s more than you can count on your hands.

“That’s all this is to you?” he laughs. “You know I can give you more. I do more than that now.”

You curl forward a bit, rest your forehead against the beskar. “I’m scared,” you whisper.

“Of what?”

“Of what will change.”

Boba’s fingers brush under your chin and lightly guide your gaze back to his. “I wouldn’t ask you to give anything up.”

“Yes, but—”

Boba gives the slightest shake of his head and you instantly quiet. “Do you want me?” he asks. “Tell the truth.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I want you,” you breathe, allowing the words to drip off your tongue.

“May I have one of your kisses?” he asks softly, one gloved thumb lightly pressing down on your bottom lip.

“Yes,” you breathe.

Boba closes the distance, forms perfectly to you. It is slow and delicate and sweet. Your body hums with energy, and when you press for more, Boba growls and pulls back, hastily ripping off his gloves to reveal his bare hands.

Then he’s cupping the side of your face, drawing you back to him, tasting and tasting and tasting until your fingers are clawing at him in desperation. When he breaks the kiss, you still lean forward as if you can reach him.

“Then repeat the words with me, cyar’ika. Become my riduur.”

Boba presses his lips to yours, draws forth an air-stealing shiver from deep within your lungs.

“Mhi solus tome.”

“Mhi solus tome,” you repeat.

We are one together.

Boba slides an arm around your waist to drape softly over your curves. “Mhi solus dar’tome,” he says.

You say it back to him. “Mhi solus dar’tome.”

We are one when parted.

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

We share all.

This time, Boba slots his pelvis against yours, and you understand his heated intention.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

“Mhi ba’juri verde,” you say with shaky breath.

We will raise warriors.

Boba snuggles the side of your neck, breathes in your scent. “I’d like to lay with my riduur.” His fingers find the edge of your sleeping robes.

“As long as I can have my riduur the same way.”

Boba grins against your throat. Together, the two of you remove his armor, piece by piece by piece. The moment his flightsuit is unzipped and he steps out of it, Boba is on you, drawing your lips to his, desperately claiming what is now so rightfully his.

Your own clothes are gone before making it to the bed. Boba runs his hands over your back, sliding down to lift you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his middle, and Boba carries you off, placing you gently onto your back.

His mouth upon your skin is a brand. Hot. Searing. It goes lower, lower still until you’re crying out for him, begging for him to be with you as your riduur should. Boba is happy to do so, sliding between your thighs so perfectly, you both lose yourselves momentarily before becoming nothing but a raging storm, waves crashing into each other repeatedly until one of you breaks.

Rest does not come until the morning suns begin to ascend over the horizon. You do not open your shop. And Boba does not return to Jabba’s palace.

There is peace for a while.

Harmony.

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[momojedi]

Could I have #88 and #97 with Captain Rex, pretty please...??

JUST MARRIED PAIRING: Captain Rex x GN! Reader

#88 | “Don’t panic but I think we might have accidentally gotten married…” #97 | “I want you and I know you want me too.”

GENRE: Fluff WARNING: none A/N: Since I got prompted #88 by an anon who asked for no one in particular, I mixed up your request with theirs. Thanks for requesting!

MASTERLIST | MOMOJEDI'S 300 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION

"Mhi solus tome,

Mhi solus dar’tome.

Mhi me’dinui an,

Mhi ba’juri verde."

Intense concentration furrows my brow as I massage my temples, striving to translate the unfamiliar words. "For fuck's sake," I mutter, frustration punctuating each syllable as I kick a nearby pebble with surprising strength, eliciting a muffled groan and the metallic clang of beskar as it ricochets off a distant helmet.

Two weeks may not seem long, especially when operating undercover among a terrorist faction whilst the galaxy is engulfed in war. It would probably be advisable to keep a cool head and avoid making a big deal out of insignificant subjects—such as unfamiliar phrases. However, when those words escape the lips of your longtime crush, delivered with an unexpected fervor while locking passionate eyes with you in a language foreign to your ears...

Well, needless to say, I've devoted more time to overthinking it than I care to admit.

When General Skywalker tasked us with shadowing Death Watch until the Jedi Council reached more intel, I hadn't given it much thought... admittedly, he hadn't specified that by "us" he didn't mean Ahsoka and me, as usual, but rather the captain of the 501st and myself—the very someone I've harboured feelings for since the day we met.

Nevertheless, I maintained my composure, played my part, and stayed under the radar, much like Rex, until Death Watch proposed an elaborate ceremony—a ceremony whose name I could barely pronounce, let alone understand its significance. Before any suspicion could arise, Rex quickly agreed in my place, and now here I am, entangled in some eerie ritual with a military captain whose gaze seemed entranced, so intense was his focus.

"If I had my datapad right now...," I hiss under my breath, casting blame on whoever decided I should leave my sole translation device behind. Likely Skywalker.

The crunch of gravel under heavy boots interrupts my daydreaming. I spin around sharply, only to find the very man haunting my mind approaching. "I figured I'd find you here," Rex hums as he settles beside me. "Yeah," I reply with a dry laugh, brushing the dust off my hands. "Sorry, I suppose I just needed... alone time. After everything yesterday, you know?" Rex's eyes widen almost comically, and he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. "Oh... yeah."

The ensuing silence gnaws at my nerves, prompting me to pop the question after another agonising five minutes. "Hey, about that... what did those words mean, anyway?" "I'm not sure what you're referring to," Rex responds, avoiding my gaze. I gulp. He can't have forgotten, can he? "Come on, Rex... It seemed significant." After a moment's hesitation, Rex sighs, running a hand over his buzzcut before raising his head to face me, though still evading it. "I..." "Yes?" "Alright, fine. [Name], don't panic, but... we might have accidentally... gotten married."

...

"WHAT?"

"Shh!" Rex quiets me with a gentle hand over my mouth, his eyes darting cautiously around us before he releases me. I shake my head slowly, puzzled. "Sorry, but what?" "The, um, the words... they were Mandalorian wedding vows," he admits, his tone tinged with uncertainty. I can't help but laugh. Married? Us? "You're joking." "Unfortunately not," he replies, a slight smile tugging at his lips, before his expression shifts to sheepishness as he rubs the back of his neck. "Though I do believe you'd make an excellent partner." Suppressing a chuckle, I ignore the warmth creeping into my cheeks.

"Actually, I realized we needed a distraction when I overheard some members gossiping behind our backs. They were growing suspicious, so I thought perhaps they'd relax if we participated in some traditions." Rex sighs, examining a pebble he's picked up. I shoot him a hopeful sidelong glance before quickly looking away, feeling my heart quicken.

Force, this man is captivating.

Silence envelops us once more as we both drift deeper into our own thoughts. When I sense the gravel shifting under his weight, I raise an eyebrow. "It wouldn't bother me, you know?" A lump forms in my throat, causing a series of coughs to escape at his words. "Wh-what?" "Being with you." Suddenly, his warm yet weighty hand finds mine. Sweat prickles at my heated skin as I keep my gaze fixed ahead.

"R-rex, are you suggesting...?" "[Name]," he interrupts, turning to face me. Before I can evade his gaze, he gently lifts my chin, compelling me to meet his eyes. I run my tongue over my dry lips, which his gaze is now fixated on. "I want you. And I know you want me, too." His proximity sends shivers down my spine as goosebumps ripple over my arms and back. His newfound confidence is palpable. "I've noticed the way you look at me, how you stare. I know, [name]," he murmurs against my lips, "what do you think?"

I flush, gripping his wrist as I lock eyes with his warm gaze. "I think you're right." Rex chuckles deeply, resonating like a rumble in his chest. "Good." And before I realize it, his lips meet mine,

Time seems to slip away as I surrender completely to the kiss. Eventually, Rex pulls back, leaving me breathless, and flashes me a mischievous grin.

“So, about that wedding night…”

[cyarikaplease]

imagineeeee consummating your marriage with din

smut under the cut ↓ ↓ ↓

“Din Djarin, repeat after me,” the Amorer says, “Mhi solus tome. Mhi solus dar’tome. Mhi me’dinui an. Mhi ba’juri verde.”

You watch as your sweet, nervous Mandalorian grabs your hands, trembling a little. For Mandalorians, weddings are usually no big deal. They’re very casual about it, no extra frills. You’re literally standing in front of the forge, the Armorer in between you two. It’s all so informal, no hoards of people watching you profess your undying love for one another.

And yet, Din’s hands still shake like a leaf in a rainstorm as he repeats the vows to you. He’s nervous because this is not just anyone he’s marrying. He’s marrying you, someone who makes him feel complete, desired, and seen, even under all the beskar. He never thought he’d be the type of guy to get married until you came along, understanding his needs and his wants. You’re so patient with him, understanding of all his customs and traditions. Even when he told you he couldn’t have sex until he married you, you waited. When he told you he couldn’t show you his face until you were married, you waited. Even when your friends on Nevarro told you you were crazy for agreeing to this, you just ignored them. And right there that’s when Din knew you were the one for him.

You smile at him, a soft smile reassuring him that there’s nothing to be nervous about. The Armorer asks you to repeat the vows and you do, squeezing Din’s hands a little tighter.

“And now I pronounce you two as riduurs. Let the festivities begin!” the Armorer says, leading you and Din to the rest of the Mandalorians. A loud cheer erupts from the crowd as you and Din stand side by side, officially riduurs now. A mixture of smiling faces and visors of helmets stare back at you. It’s a stark contrast from the intimate ceremony you just had moments ago. You’re excited to celebrate but you also just want quality time alone with your riduur.

And so you mentally prepare yourself for the many congratulations you’re about to receive, but also… probing questions. Such as…

Are you two going to… do it tonight?

Well, the answer is yes. It’s weird that people would ask you that. However, Mandalorians are very open and nonchalant about these types of topics.

Regardless, you’re excited to see your riduur’s face and have sex with him, two firsts in the same night. Your stomach is swirling with excitement, anxious to see what he looks like; what he feels like.

You can tell he’s getting a little antsy, anxious even, by the way, he clings to your side. His hand graces the small on your back, a sign he’s ready to go. He’s not one for grand public displays of affection. You look at him and his visor meets your gaze, trying to imagine what expression he’s wearing under there. You imagine his eyes are pleading with yours, trying to tell you to get out here and spend some alone time together.

You take the hint, starting to bid your goodbyes to the others. A few of them who aren’t wearing their helmets shoot you suggestive smirks and a few eyebrow raises, insinuating what’s about to happen the second you’re alone. Regardless of the sex or the helmet coming off, you’re just excited to be alone with him in general, something that’s so rare for you two lately, especially with Grogu around. But Bo-Katan has offered to watch him for the night, saying something about how the newlyweds need time to be just that, newlyweds.

With that, you bid your last goodbye to the party and head to your and Din’s house; a simple one made of stone. The Mandalorians constructed a small village once they got settled in. You’re just excited you don’t have to sleep in the cramped cot of the Razor Crest.

You burst through the door and head to your bedroom. He follows you in, standing in front of you silently and awkwardly. He’s so nervous. You can tell by his body language. You close the gap in between you two, grabbing his hand and wrapping your other arm around him.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” you reassure him.

“I know, I just…”

“What is it?”

“Can I keep the helmet on?”

Oh. You can’t lie, your stomach just sank a little.

“Of course. I never want you to do something you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I’m just worried you’ll hate the way I look.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Well regardless of how you look, regardless if you want to keep the helmet on, I love you.”

“Thank you,” he says, letting go of your hand to caress your cheek, “But I still want to do the other stuff.”

“Oh yeah?” you say suggestively, your mouth curving into a smirk.

“Yes, I do,” he says, his hand trailing down to your ass, “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this? How much I thought about you underneath me?”

For a virgin, his dirty talk is damn good. You feel your cheeks heat up and your knees buckle. If he keeps talking like this in that low, sultry tone you’re going to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“Show me,” you tease, taking off your clothes one by one.

He pushes you down on the bed, pulling off his gloves and tossing them on the floor. He takes off his cape but he can’t be bothered to take off anything else. He’s too eager to explore your body and find out what makes you squirm. He kneels down beside you on the bed, pulling your legs apart and trailing two fingers up and down your cunt.

“So wet for me,” he coos.

“For my riduur,” you add.

He brings his fingers to your mouth, coaxing it open. You moisten them, prepping them to be inserted inside you. You wonder where he got this idea from and you figure that… he probably watched porn to prepare. The thought gives you the urge to giggle but you resist, not wanting him to feel bad.

He slides a finger in your cunt and you wish you could see the reaction on his face when he feels just how warm and wet you are.

“You’re so…”

“Wet?” you chuckle.

“Yeah, how-”

“I’ve wanted this for a long time, Din.”

“Really?” he says, his visor not leaving his finger in your cunt.

“I married you, didn’t I?” you chuckle again.

A sharp gasp cuts you off. He slides another finger in without warning. That bastard. But it feels so good. He curls them against your walls, pressing them up against your g-spot. You weren’t expecting to be at the edge so fast. Your walls tense up around his fingers in anticipation of release. And with one last come here motion of his fingers, you’re coming, cunt clenching and unclenching erratically.

“Did you just-”

“Yeah,” you respond, blissed out and a little breathless.

He pulls his hand from your cunt, looking at the mess you made on his fingers, holding them up in front of his helmet.

“Wow,” he says softly, admiring the slickness in between his fingers.

He just has to have you already. He takes his already hard cock out of his flight suit, pre-cum gathered at the head and gives it a few strokes. You’ve never seen his cock before so you rest on your elbows, propping yourself up a bit to get a good look. He’s intimidatingly large and it’s almost a crime he kept it locked up all the time. You spread your legs apart even farther to accommodate how broad he is.

“You ready, riduur?” he asks, moving to situate himself between your thighs.

He thrusts into you, feeling his cock split you open. And at first, he stays still for a moment, taking the time to feel you, to appreciate this.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” he says, just as he begins thrusting in and out of you.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” you repeat, your voice jumping an octave.

He leans down so he’s face to face with you, resting his elbows on either side of your head. This is all you’ve ever wanted, on your back with Din inside you, exploring your walls. Even if he won’t remove his helmet just yet you’re still ecstatic that you’re together.

But then something happens…

He cums. Before you did. It was bound to happen though. Losing your virginity isn’t some magical moment like people make it out to be. His warm release spills inside you and he’s silent.

“Din?” you ask. He’s still inside you, completely frozen, and his visor not meeting your face.

“...Din?” you ask again, “Say something. Please.”

“I… finished,” he says, his cock softening inside you.

He pulls out and lies down beside you on the bed. He’s as stiff as a board, arms rigid and resting at his side.

“I know, but it’s okay,” you say, rolling on your side and placing a hand on his chest.

“It’s not. You didn’t cum,” he says, his voice stiff and robotic almost, like he’s trying to mask how he feels.

“It was your first time. It was bound to happen,” you reassure him.

He falls silent again so you take it upon yourself to straddle him, resting your hands on his chest.

You bring your hands to the edge of his helmet, pausing to ask, “May I?”

“Yes,” he says softly.

You lift his helmet off his head to reveal his face, brown eyes filled with worry, brows furrowed, curls matted by the helmet, and a slight pout to his lips… his lips. You lean forward and kiss him, hands caressing either side of his face, and your thumbs brushing his facial hair.

“We can always go again,” you say, pulling back and looking deep into his eyes.

“I know… I just thought it would be different.”

“Can I suggest something?”

“What’s that?”

“What about taking off the armor? You know… get naked with me. It might help.”

“Okay,” he says, with a shaky breath. You move off of him, letting him stand up to take everything off. He removes each piece meticulously, setting them in a neat pile on the floor before taking off his boots and his flight suit. You watch as he does so, taking in his completely bare form. Scars, freckles, tattoos– all gracing his skin perfectly. Thick, black tribal-style lines encircle his forearms up to his biceps, some of the ink disrupted by scars. He has a tattoo of the mythosaur signet on his left pectoral, some of the ink faded and blown out with time. Somehow you knew he wasn’t bare under all that armor. To put it simply, he’s beautiful, everything about him is. Your eyes move down to his cock, already hard and sticking straight out again.

“Let me try something, okay?”

“Okay,” he says, still very nervous.

“Lie down for me,” you say, scooching over for him.

He lies down on the bed and you move to straddle him again. But instead of sinking down onto his cock, you mark his body with your mouth, nipping and biting at his skin. He shudders at the contact of your teeth on his skin as you move across his body, starting at his groin and working your way upwards. As you scooch forward, your cunt rests on his cock, the head just grazing your wetness. He lets out a small whimper at the teasing touch, prompting you to poke your head up from the mark you’re leaving on his chest.

“Be patient,” you giggle.

“But what’s all this for?” he pants.

“Just showing you how much I adore you.”

“R-Really?” he says. Poor thing is so nervous, so sweet.

“Mhm. You’re beautiful, Din. This couldn’t have worked out better for me,” you say, before returning your mouth to his skin.

He groans at the feeling of you biting, licking, and kissing his skin, moving from his chest to his collarbone. His breath hitches as you inch your way closer to his neck, eliciting a deep moan from him when your teeth graze a certain spot. That must be the spot. The spot that makes him melt into putty in your hands.

“Cyar’ika, please,” he whines.

“What’s that?” you ask teasingly.

“I’m ready again,” he whimpers.

“Okay, okay. You’ve been patient,” you chuckle, moving so you’re resting directly over his cock. You lower yourself down onto him, taking his full length inside you in one swift motion. You rest your hands on his chest as you rock your hips back and forth, feeling his cock etch itself deeper and deeper in your cunt.

“You feel so good, riduur, so wet,” he moans, hands moving to squeeze your waist.

“You feel so good, too, Din– Ah!” you say, the pitch of your voice getting higher as his cock hits that spot inside you.

His hands squeeze your waist even harder, blissed out while he’s encapsulated by your warmth; your wetness.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” you moan, grinding yourself even harder against him.

“Yeah??” he asks excitedly.

You don’t even get to answer, your orgasm interrupting you. Your walls flutter around his cock and the look on Din’s face when he realizes his cock made you cum. Pleasure erupts from your core and spreads outwards, stars dancing in your vision. Your orgasm triggers his and you’re filled with the feeling of his cum spilling inside you once again. Except this orgasm is different for him. It’s louder, more intense, more visceral. His body glistens with sweat while he repeatedly blinks, coming down from his high. You feel him go soft inside you and pull yourself off of him, resting your head on his chest.

“Thanks for being patient with me,” he says after a moment of silence.

“Anything for you, riduur,” you say, smirking at the last word.

“What?” he chuckles, “You are my riduur.”

“It still doesn’t feel real, I suppose,” you say, inching closer to kiss him.

“I guess it doesn’t. I don’t want to ever get used to it, though.”

“Me neither,” you respond, resting back down on his chest.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” he whispers.

You repeat the phrase back to him, entangled in the arms of your riduur, falling asleep peacefully.

[rinixo]

aquae vivae

Din Djarin/Reader | 4.1k | Rated E | afab reader, no y/n, PIV sex, Mand’alor Din Djarin, breeding kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of pregnancy, subtle sex pollen, wedding night, oral sex

Your wedding night as the new bride of the Mand'alor.

AU of the 'trying to sleep' series (non-linear oneshots featuring you, a university scholar from Naboo who is helping The Mandalorian seek out the Jedi). Can be read alone.

a/n: This follows the same general story as 'thrones and people and cities' but can technically be read alone.I tagged 'sex pollen' but it just barely fits that trope. Mainly just added it so folks who aren't into it can skip/you're aware of the inherent dubious consent of it - but there is nothing but 100%, enthusiastic consent from all parties here.

read on ao3

You pause at the edge of the pool, eyeing the dark depths. The sound of dripping water echoes through the caverns, the only sound apart from your thrumming heart.

The murmur of your name snaps your attention to the caped man halfway down the steps into the pool. Din is half-turned towards you, armored head to toe as usual, the end of his long, furred cape floating in the still water. The cape around your shoulders matches his, and you rub the soft fur with your fingers nervously.

Din reaches out a gloved hand. Stepping forward, you lay your own in it and let him lead you down into the water. You’re surprised - despite the dark chill of the cavern, the water is strangely warm. You wonder if it is fed by geothermal springs, deep below the crust of the planet, or if it is something deeper.

There’s magic in the sacred pools, Din had murmured into your hair one late night. He told you about how bathing in the waters had redeemed him, how it was the great catalyst leading to his eventual accession to the role of Mand’alor. Now, as you stand before him, hands grasped in his, you wonder if the tingling on your skin is from the magnitude of what was about to occur or something more. Something without a name.

When Din had explained to you what a Mandalorian wedding was like, you had been quite happy at knowing it was a simple sharing of vows. He had then suggested that the two of you journey into the depths below the city center, to where the caverns with the living waters were located. There, just the two of you, you would bind yourself not only to the man you loved but also become Mandalorian yourself. It was a big moment, and one you had put a lot of careful thought into.

“Are you ready?” Din asks quietly. Squeezing his hands, you smile softly.

“Yes.”

Though you had memorized the vows before venturing into the caves, Din lead you through the words. You were grateful, not wanting to embarrass yourself by stumbling over the pronunciation.

“Mhi solus tome.”

We are one when together.

“Mhi solus dar’tome.”

We are one when apart.

“Mhi me'dinui an.

We share all.

“Mhi ba'juri verde.”

We will raise warriors.

—

Blinking at the late afternoon light, you followed Din up out of the caves, wet gown sticking around your legs. You were looking forward to changing out of your damp outfit and spending the rest of the evening with your new husband.

People buzzed around you the whole way back to your chambers, several of them wishing the two of you congratulations. You murmured shy thanks, the feeling of being the center of attention during what you felt was such an intimate time causing some of your innate timidness to come forward.

Din had explained to you that part of Mandalorian weddings included feasting and celebrating after the vows were shared. The families and clans of the couples were usually the extent of the guests, but with an apologetic smile, Din warned you that the feast to celebrate your union was likely to be much larger. He was quite beloved as a leader - as the first Mand’alor to resettle the planet since the Purge. The first royal wedding in decades, with the capital more populated than it had been in ages, was shaping up to be quite the affair.

The delegation from Naboo had also gotten involved. The ambassador, who had been so put off by your relationship at first, reveled in the chance to showcase Naboo. All week shipments of millaflowers and lanterns were arriving, along with cases of draping fabrics, mirrors, and jewel-toned crystal. He had even commissioned a gown for you to wear during the feast. Traditionally Naboo clothing was very structured, so you were thankful to see that the gown the ambassador had made for you was in the lake country style - lighter, made of lace and tulle, with a low, open back.

As you stepped into the gown, securing it at your shoulders and around your neck, you paused to look at yourself in the full-length mirror in the closet of your chambers. You had never worn something so lovely. Draped over a chair in the corner was your cape, now dry from its dip in the living waters. It was a symbol of your new status, and you mused at the fact that the gown complemented it quite well.

A knock at the closet door drew you out into the main part of your room. Din - your husband, you thought giddily - was standing there in his armor, sans helmet. You felt yourself flush at the way his eyes widened at your appearance, drinking you in.

“You look stunning,” he breathed, and you smiled at the compliment. You step forward and fuss with his armor - unnecessary, as it was spotless as usual - and looked up into his deep, kind eyes.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you remarked, leaning up to kiss the side of his mouth gently. You felt him smile and tilt his head to chase after your mouth, but you pulled away teasingly.

“Later,” you whispered. “We have a feast to attend, remember?”

Din grumbled, and you smiled placatingly. You’d be lying if you didn’t want to forget about the feast and spend the rest of the evening alone with your husband, but you knew if you didn’t show up for just a little while the ambassador would drag you there himself.

“I have something for you first,” Din pulled a small pouch out and turned it over. Something silver fell out into the palm of his gloved hand.

“A pendant?” You watched him hold it up, and saw that it was a delicate chain with a silver charm at the end in the stylized shape of some kind of creature, no bigger than one of your fingernails.

“I asked the armorer to make it,” he murmured. “It’s a Mudhorn, the symbol of my - our - clan.” He reached forward and clasped it around your neck, the weight of the pendant laying heavily on your breast. “It’s pure beskar, made from a piece of my armor.”

You looked down, touching it lightly. “It’s beautiful.”

Din merely smiled, leaning forward to place his forehead on yours, and you responded in a quiet moment of tranquility.

—

The feast was certainly one for the history books. The throne room made you gasp as you entered it, arm-in-arm with Din. The vaulted ceilings were lit with hundreds of beautifully crafted lanterns, mirrors, and crystals reflecting the shimmering flames around the massive space. The millaflowers and fabric draped every surface, the sweet scent of the blooms perfuming everything around you. You gave credit to those who had decorated - all of the decorations perfectly complimented the stark, structured Mandalorian architecture. It truly was a unification of your two cultures.

All around you guests came forward with well-wishes and gifts, which a never-ending retinue of assistants would take a place elsewhere. Grogu, who was also dressed up for the occasion, gurgled happily in his father’s arms at all of the attention. You, however, were starting to feel a bit overwhelmed.

Sensing your discomfort, Din lead you up to the raised dais in the front of the room, where the two of you sat side-by-side in lavish seats set in front of the throne. You reached for a goblet and downed a mouthful of sweet, flowery liquor. Din - who had put his helmet back on before the two of you joined the celebrations - tilted his head slightly in amusement.

“Feeling all right?” He asked, placing his hand on your thigh soothingly. You nodded, placing your drink down on the table and sighing deeply.

“Yes, I just needed some space,” you admitted. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I know,” he answered. “Just a little while longer.”

Guests continued to stream up to the two of you, though now that you were seated and there was a decadent table between you and them you felt more at ease.

An elder Mandalorian approached your table with a crystal carafe filled with a deep red liquid. Setting it gently on the table, they intoned in heavy Mando’a.

“Wine,” Din translates, “Made in the ancient tradition from herbs and tinctures symbolizing prosperity and love. It’s a gift from those who remember the old ways and hope that our union brings forth a new age of growth for our people.”

“Thank you,” you express, taking the carafe. The elder bowed, before shuffling away to allow others to come forward.

The number of people coming up to you seemed to go on forever, and you poured yourself a generous glass of the special wine to help distract you and calm your nerves. It seemed to be working, the sweet yet tart liquid filling you with a familiar warmth and ease. You offered some to Din, who accepted a small taste by lifting his helmet enough for you to tip the goblet into his mouth.

After a while, you felt yourself relaxing into the plush furs of your chair, leaning against Din’s side. You played with Grogu’s ears as he tucked into the snacks laid out on the table, smiling fondly at the child and his voracious appetite.

“Does this mean I’m his mother now?” You wondered aloud and felt Din chuckle.

“I suppose,” he mused. “I’m his father, and you’re my wife, so that would make him our child.”

“Hmm,” you wiped a crumb from the side of the baby’s mouth, amused. “I always imagined my first child looking a little more like me.”

Din coughed, tensing slightly next to you. “Well,” he intoned lowly, leaning a little closer so that his words were only audible to you, “Perhaps the next one will.”

He placed his hand on your thigh again, the thin fabric shifting as he rubbed your skin. You felt warm from your head to your toes, with most of the heat pooling between your legs and where Din’s hand was placed. Throat suddenly dry, you lifted your drink and took another sip.

“C-can we go soon?” You lilted, wanting nothing more than to return to your rooms with Din alone.

“Soon,” Din promised, and you tensed your legs slightly to try to alleviate the ache growing between them. It was a familiar kind of ache, one that you had felt before, wine or no wine. However, there was something different about the way your body was reacting to the man next to you, and you weren’t sure how long you’d be able to take it before pouncing on him in front of everyone in attendance.

Thankfully it was not very long before Din gestured to a member of his staff and had them assist the two of you in making a smooth exit. He passed Grogu, now pleasantly drowsy, to one of his aides and then guided you back to your shared chambers.

When inside you kicked off your shoes, sighing at the relief of the cool floor under your feet. Din let go of your hand and locked the doors behind you, the sound of it engaging sending a throb of anticipation through your body.

You stepped towards your bed, which you had been sharing with Din for months before this. Something about its wide surface, covered in soft linen and furs, felt different this time. It was now your marriage bed.

The sound of Din removing his helmet, the seal disengaging, made you glance over to him. He placed it down gently and started with the rest of his armor. You stood there as if transfixed, watching as the man beneath the armor was slowly revealed. You always enjoyed being the audience to this ritual, and tonight was no exception. In fact, your body continued to warm, shivers of need going up your spine.

Din turns towards you, dressed down only to his most base inner layers. Realizing you were staring, your hands went to the clasp of your gown before he stops you with a low murmur.

“Allow me,” he husks, and you drop your hands to allow him to undress you himself. His fingers, surprisingly soft despite his rough past, dusted across your skin as the lace and tulle were unwound from your frame. At the same time, he began to back you up until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed.

Pulling a pin from where your neck met your shoulder, your gown unraveled and fell softly around your legs. Din’s hands paused, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of you there, bare save for the beskar pendant around your neck.

“Beautiful,” he rasped, and you nearly moaned at the tone of his voice. It rolled over you, through you, like thick, rich honey and smoke. You could practically taste it. With a gentle push, Din laid you back onto the bed, standing over you with a hungry look in his eyes.

“I dreamed about this.” He kneeled on the bed, crawling up your body. “You, in my bed, wearing the symbol of my clan.” His head dipped to place a kiss to the center of your ribcage. “Bound to me.” You shivered again as his mouth trailed up to your collarbone, your neck, and across your jaw. Your hands, shaking with expectant thirst, snaked up his powerful arms to clutch at his shoulders.

You wanted to say so many things, all of the emotions that had built up catching on the tip of your tongue, but when you opened your mouth all that left you was a choked “please.”

Din’s mouth slotted over yours and you moaned deeply into it, body arching up to press against his firmer form. One of his hands came to your thigh, and you hitched it up around his waist, rolling your hips wantonly. Your hands ran under his linen shift, and you whined at the barrier between your skin and his.

With a groan, Din’s mouth released from yours just long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head and throw it to the side. He continued his exploration of your flesh, licking a slow stripe down your arched neck. You hissed as his teeth pulled at your skin, your nails scratching lightly across the skin of his upper back.

“Din,” you crooned, hand going to his head as he dipped down to tease the peak of one of your breasts with that wicked tongue. You cried out as he sucked roughly on your nipple, sensations of velvet and fire going straight to your swollen pussy. His mouth moved between the tips of your breasts, pinching and sucking and nipping at the flesh there until it was as swollen as your pussy felt.

He raised his head, eyes wild. He took in your body, writhing and panting, and thought you reminiscent of molten steel. You sought his gaze, pupils blown dark and wide with desire.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Din croaked, dipping his head down to nose the soft skin of your stomach. “Perfect creature…” he kissed his way down your lower abdomen. “I want to fill you up, sweet girl - do you want it too?”

You let out a wail as he licked a firm stripe up your leaking cunt. He lifted your legs to rest on his shoulders so that you were bent - your upper back laying against the bed, your hips angled up towards his mouth. You were wetter than you thought possible, your pussy swollen and flushed. Din sucked firmly on your clit, moaning at the way you keened and shook in his grasp.

Your hands thrashed, clutching desperately at the furs around you. Your thighs tensed, squeezing tightly against the sides of Din’s head as he brought you closer to the crest of your pleasure.

The feeling of his mouth leaving you made you groan in frustration as he dropped your lower body back to the bed. You opened your eyes, brow furrowed as you propped yourself up to stare at your smug husband.

He climbed over you again, shedding his pants. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the hard cock between his legs, flushed and bobbing, leaking clear droplets of pre-spend. You laid back, legs spreading so that he could settle between them firmly.

“Eager girl,” Din teased. “You that desperate to have me inside of you?”

“Din,” you groused, “If you don’t fuck me soon I think I’m going to die.”

He laughed, husked low in his chest as he pressed himself firmly to your swollen entrance. You laid your head back onto the bed, sighing in relief as he began to stretch your walls. It felt like he was splitting you right down the middle in the best way, and you arched your back to let him sink in further.

“Oh, fuck,” he rasped, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “You’re a jewel,” he breathed roughly, hips snapping forward until you wailed. “Taking my cock so well.”

You shifted your hips under him, angling yourself to take him as far in as your body would allow. He chuckled at your frustrated expression, arms braced on either side of your head. He bent forward to capture your lips in a messy kiss.

“My little wife,” he breathed over your lips. “Wants my cock so badly.”

“’S'good,” you slurred. “Big. Fuck me, please.” He answered you with a rock of his hips, hitting that spot inside of you that made you keen again.

“Tell me what you want, baby” he crooned against your mouth, hips slapping mercilessly against your pelvis. “Come on.”

“C-come in me,” you begged. Flashes of images - a little curly-haired baby at your breast, curled up against Din’s chest as he whispered to it lovingly, lowly - made your pussy clench around him. Your body ached for it in a way you had never experienced. You wanted him to get you pregnant, wanted to carry his child inside of you.

“Fucking - anything you want, sweet girl,” Din gasped. “Want me to fill you up “ he rides you hard, desperate for the way you cry with every punch at your guts. “You’re so good, baby, fuck-“

He continues to ramble, lost in how you’re tensing around him. “You’re gonna look so fucking beautiful, full of my child. You don’t know how badly I want it, so badly - I can practically see it -“

Emotion wells up in your chest, binding with the pleasure thrumming through you. You’re nearly there - fire rising from your toes and flooding down from your chest. Din dips his head to kiss your neck, and you start to tip over the edge. Your orgasm starts deep inside of your cunt, from where his swollen head is grinding up into your walls, and sparks down to where his pelvis rubs against your clit. Your vision goes white and you hear Din cry out as your desperate pussy wrenches from him his own release.

“T-take it,” he growls, hips snapping against yours, the head of his cock tight against the seal of your womb. You whine at the pressure of it, the feeling almost too good to bear. You shift your hips, pulling away before his head snaps up from your neck.

“No no no- take it,“ he groans, hand tight on your hip. You writhe under him, tears of pleasure pricking the corner of your eyes. His gaze on you burns, and you struggle to see him clearly through the fog of your ecstasy.

His pace remains steady, desperation clear in the way he rams his cock up into your cunt. “Your duty,” he gasps, leaning forward so that his chest nearly crushes you. “Do your duty and take my seed, bear my children.”

He holds you there as he pulses out the last of his release, breath leaving him in short pants through his nose. His teeth are gritted, brow furrowed, gaze locked to your eyes so that you can’t look away.

“D-Din,” you shudder, and his eyes soften. His grip on your hips loosens minutely, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“You did so well,” he praises you. “You’re so fucking good.”

You blink wetly, mind still focused on his cock and how it’s anchored inside of you, pinning you to the bed, plugging you securely. Din tilts his head at your determined expression, and when you roll your hips experimentally he sucks in air sharply.

“Feels good,” you mumble, drunk on the pleasure and the feeling of him still hard inside of you. Stars, how was he still so fucking hard? And why was your body telling you to make him come inside of you again?

Think about that later, you decide, hooking your legs around his waist and pushing him further up into you. He chokes again, head drooping to look at where the clutch of you holds him tightly inside.

“Fuck,” he moans. “You’re never going to know sleep without the feel of me leaking out of you.” He rolls his hips back before slamming back into you, your mouth opening in a satisfied groan. “Not until you’re fucked full of my child, sweet girl.”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding feverishly. It’s all you can manage to say, everything in you focused on where his body enters yours, in and out, inandout-

The two of you spend the entire night and most of the early morning like that, tangled together, until your bodies are near to collapse from exhaustion. It’s Din who taps out first, placating your desire with soft kisses to your temple and strokes to your still-swollen cunt. It isn’t long before your eyes start to droop, sleep just on the edge of your consciousness as he teases you to one last, lazy orgasm. You all but pass out, head resting on his chest to the feeling of him stroking your hair lovingly.

You wake hours later, alone in bed. Your body aches sweetly, and as you start you rise you roll your neck and groan.

“Good morning,” a raspy voice greets you, and you turn to look at where Din leans up against a dresser. He sips from a steaming mug, brow raising in humor at your bedraggled appearance.

“G’morning,” you croak, throat dry. Din sets his mug down, trading it for a glass. He comes over to the bed, sitting next to you, and hands it to you. You take it, gulping down the cool water gratefully.

“What time is it?” You asked, licking your lips. When he tells you - mid-afternoon - you scoff. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Din’s brow raises again, and he leans back against the headboard. “Thought you needed the rest,” he said, amusement in his tone. “Since you kept me up all night.”

You pouted, indignant and embarrassed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it,” you mumble, and he laughs.

“Quite the opposite,” he husks. “And as much as I’d like to take responsibility for your behavior, I had a feeling it was due to something else.” You tilted your head in confusion, sipping more of the water.

“The wine,” he explained, and you thought back to the previous night - somewhat difficult a task - and remembered the crystal carafe.

“Turns out they mean “new age of growth” more literally than I understood,” Din continues. “That wine is made from herbs that act as an aphrodisiac and increase fertility. You drank a lot more of it than I did, so it hit you harder than it did me.”

You choke on your water, some of it dribbling down your chin. Wiping it away, you set your glass to your side and cover your eyes, groaning. Din pulls you closer and you bury your face in his chest, burning with embarrassment at the situation - and the implication.

“Silly girl,” he croons, hand creeping down your side. You look up at him, another shy pout on your lips, and he tips your chin up to kiss you slowly, deeply. You sigh into it, shifting your leg to straddle his lap and feel him smile against your mouth. You shift down to where his cock sits, firm and proud, and grind your bareness against him until he groans.

“More? So soon?” He whispers darkly, and you nip at him cheekily. Pulling back, you look your husband in the eye, a mischievous glimmer in your gaze.

“Might as well make sure it works, right?” You tease lowly, and shriek in loving laughter as he throws you down and begins to devour you again.

[alphaofdarkness]

we will raise warriors

Mhi solus tome | mhi solus dar’tome | mhi me’dinui an | mhi ba’juri verde (here!)

—

Edit: Sooooo,, this wasn’t meant to have two panels originally,, the first panel was meant to be the only one and wanted to just have the implication of Bine expecting their little warrior. But my anxiety said otherwise (・∀・)… I really didn’t want to draw sabezra kids as I was still conjuring them up in my mind lol. Pero bueno, anxiety won out lol~

The second was semi-rushed these last two days so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it’s fine, I think it turned out better for being rushed and like it~ but now I’m burnt out, aah. 😴😴😴

— okay actual main explanation —

This last panel was actually partially inspired by the fanfic “Moment’s Like These” by ConsiderTheLiliesOfTheField on ao3! I highly recommend the read! 🥹💜✨ The pose was actually inspired by the tranquil moment between the mom and dad in "A Quiet Place" and really love this final outcome! Much better than the initial sketch.

As for the little sabezra children, Mira Bridger-Wren and her little brother, Caleb Tris Bridger-Wren (just my own little interpretations of SE children 💜)✨ A nice and warm cuddle with the whole family, Sabine and Ezra’s little Jedi-Mando Warriors 💜🧡

I hope you all enjoyed these pieces! It may will definitely be a hot minute until I post some more art like these as I have a lot on my plate to work on ahead. More of these dorks for sure + sabezraweek maybe at this point ? + zine art I have to really advance on.

In the meantime, I hope ya'll like these pieces! 💜 thank you all so much for your kindness and support 🥹 this almost whole year of making silly art for these two has been so healing and good, I’m glad y’all enjoy my silly art and frantic ramblings 😊 happy Friday!

✨ Textless versions ✨

[jade-bright]

Sterek x Star Wars

Derek Hale is a Mandalorian, the last of his clan. Came across Stiles Stilinski, son of a General and somehow got stuck with him. Currently, Derek has been injured badly because of a bounty...

Stiles: fuck, fuck, FUCK! I told you not to go after that bitch by yourself

Derek: (sits up, groans in pain and annoyance) yeah, well I took care of them didn't I?

Stiles: And got yourself shot! Ok, ok, whatever, I don't think we have time to get back to the Lycan so I need you to cooperate in getting your armor and helmet off

Derek: No (shaking his head a bit frantic)

Stiles: Mando! Please! I can't be blindfolded right now and you certainly can't treat yourself since I'm like 75% certain you have a concussion

Derek: (shakes his head more) I can't (coughs) goes, against (deep breath) my creed

Stiles: Okay! okay! (runs hands through his hair) what do I have to do for you to let me help you?!

Derek: (heavy breaths) ...

Derek: you'd have to swear, the marriage vows of a Mandalorian...

Stiles: (slight shocked expression) ...

Stiles: he's gonna die... we've already wasted so much time... Mandalorians don't do divorce... he'd be stuck with me... but...

Stiles: Okay

Derek: (shocked expression under his helmet, then quickly shakes himself out of his stupor) Ok. Repeat after me.

Stiles: (nods)

Derek: Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde

Stiles: Mhi solus tome. Mhi solus dar'tome. Mhi me'dinui an. Mhi ba'juri verde. (breathes in sharply and looks down where he felt... warmth settle in his chest. looks back up at Derek) Did you-

Derek: (coughs again)

Stiles: Right, right, right

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

[ladyzirkonia]

Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.

We are one when together,

we are one when parted,

we will share all,

we will raise warriors.

Every time I read this I remember how fucking romantic the Mandalorian wedding vow is.

[sergeantgoggles]

Prompt: Vows Ship: Fives/Echo Rated: G .

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde,” Echo whispers against Fives’s lips, though lying in a dark bunk in the middle of the night is hardly the place to be exchanging wedding vows. 

"We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors," Fives repeats the phrase in Basic as he runs his hands through the soft strands of Echo’s hair. 

Suddenly, Kix’s face appears from the top bunk, hanging over the side with an amused smirk on his lips. “Yay, you’re married. Now go to sleep.” 

There’s a round of snorts of laughter as Fives chucks his pillow at Kix’s face and narrowly misses, but at least he has Echo to kiss him and remind him that despite the jokes, their words still hold their desired effect. 

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 15

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe, Plo Koon, Comet, Cara (child OFC)

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff, funeral

Word Count: 1.3k

Author's Note: How are we all doing after the last chapter? I know it was rough and I bet some chose not to read it, and that's okay. This chapter starts at the end of the funeral. The atmosphere is the same, but it is not nearly close to the level of sadness in the previous chapter. I'd say this chapter is similar to the ones that came before it; lots of Wolffe in his head. Side note, yay, this fic has reached over 20k words! As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @/beating-a-dead-plot

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After several hours, the raging fire had reduced into an unceremonious pile of smoldering charcoals and ash. Wolffe remained unmoved from where he first lit the pyre as if his feet were nailed down to the stone beneath him. Most of the patrons who gathered for the ceremony were now dispersed with only Plo and the Wolfpack remaining to stand in solidarity as the dwindling embers crackled and crumbled into more ash. Wolffe would be hard-pressed to know where the wooden ashes ended and where his wife's ashes began.

When the warm amber light of the embers was finally gone and the solemn silence dragged on, Plo stepped out of the formation and approached Wolffe. He stood beside his commander, hands folded neatly behind his back, and remained quiet and contemplative, a steadfast presence amid Wolffe's inaudible turmoil. Only a being greatly attuned to the Force could see through the soot-blackened fog and into such a broken heart. The pain emanating from it was palpable to where one might reach out and pluck its strings.

"She's gone," Wolffe said, his voice hoarse from breathing in the smoke. He cleared his throat. "She's really gone."

"She has become one with the Force," Plo said, his voice unwavering and solid.

"I wish I believed that," Wolffe sighed. He swiped a bead of sweat dripping from his brow and stared blankly as he rubbed the darkened liquid between his fingers. Those words might be comforting to others, like his general, but to Wolffe, they were as empty as his heart.

Plo placed a comforting hand on Wolffe's shoulder. "Our belief is what carries us forward."

Wolffe turned his head away from Plo and took a deep breath. "I don't know what I believe in anymore." He paused and shook his head. "I don't even know what I believed in before. The GAR? The Republic? The universe? Belief seems rather insignificant now."

Plo's eyes softened and he pulled something out of his pocket to present to Wolffe. "I am sure you will find it again."

Wolffe turned to face Plo and his eyes were drawn to the object he held. It was his wife's wedding ring. His shoulders slumped as he stared at it. He thought it burned along with her in the pyre, but he didn't look to see if she was wearing it. He picked it up from Plo's palm and inspected it with mild interest, rotating it in an endless loop. The gold band was smaller than his but had the same inscription on the inside, although abbreviated to fit, Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde, the Mandalorian wedding vows.

"Do you want to keep her ashes?" Plo asked. The question was innocent enough but held more care and concern than ever afforded to a clone.

Wolffe continued to rotate the ring in his hand, his thoughts far away from the present. "No," he said. "But Cara might." The idea of keeping his wife's ashes made Wolffe bristle on the inside. There was nothing about those ashes that rekindled fond memories of her. It was just meaningless dust to him, but Cara might not view it like that as she grew older, so he would be remiss if he took that memory away from her.

"Very well," Plo said. He turned from Wolffe and walked off towards the terrace entrance of the Temple to procure a suitable vessel.

Wolffe felt exhausted, more exhausted than he had been in a long time. In one rotation he lost his beloved wife and the place they called home. He should be used to it, losing people in the blink of an eye, but losing brothers was different. Clones were made to be expendable; casualties of war and a necessary loss. His wife, on the other hand, was not expendable. She didn't have a clone. There weren't more of her running around in the Galaxy. Her essence was gone forever and he couldn't get it back. The closest thing he had to her was Cara.

Wolffe settled on that thought and turned around to locate his daughter, the ashen pyre now behind him in more ways than one. He admired his men for remaining in formation for so long and how they stood still without a single question or complaint. Cara looked to be asleep in Comet's arms, which relieved Wolffe a bit. She probably cried herself to sleep, not that he was paying attention to her during the funeral, but he didn't blame her. He wished he could cry himself to sleep in his wife's arms, but that was never going to happen.

However, it was about time for him to stop feeling sorry for himself and get his head back on straight. He still had his child to take care of, a battalion to lead, and a war to fight. He didn't have time to be walking around with a boulder chained to his leg. So, with a crack of his neck and a roll of his shoulders, Wolffe approached his men, more specifically Comet. They both stared at each other silently for an uncomfortable amount of time before Wolffe finally spoke up, his voice low and unemotional. "Can I have my daughter back?"

Comet's eyes grew wide when he made the realization. "Oh, yeah, of course," he stuttered apologetically, then carefully handed the sleeping child to Wolffe. "Sorry. We both got a little comfortable."

Wolffe attempted a grin, but couldn't muster it all the way, and it looked more like a pained grimace. "Thank you." Comet returned the gratitude with a sad half-smile. Now, with his daughter placed safely back in his arms, Wolffe addressed the rest of his men. "Dismissed," he said, then walked past them without another word. They acknowledged the singular order with a silent nod and immediately dispersed in the direction of the barracks. Such an order was not to be argued with, nor one to be ignored, and Wolffe appreciated their swift obedience.

With heavy steps, Wolffe carried his sleeping daughter into the Temple and traversed the winding hallways back to their room. It was a silent walk, much like the one going out to the terrace, except Wolffe was alone with his thoughts this time. There was still much to be sorted out before he deployed, and with only two rotations to get it all done, he knew he needed to get out of his head and back into the mission mindset. His first step was to meet with Fox tomorrow morning, and depending on how that conversation went, he'd come up with the best strategy.

Once back in their room, Wolffe pulled back the blanket on Cara's bed with one hand, laid her down, then tucked her in. He looked down at her and smiled fondly. She was out like a light and he had to admit that the silence was nice for once. It's not that he didn't enjoy his four-year-old's constant bombardments of questions, concerns, comments, cries, and occasional screams but after a while, it grated on his nerves. His only solace was that she went to bed before him, so he could have some time to reset himself.

And now that she was in bed and asleep, he could do the one thing he'd been wanting to do all rotation; take a shower. He was only home for a couple of hours before his wife had her medical emergency, and then it was a non-stop rollercoaster ride from there. But it was finally time to wash it all away, and not just the soot that made a home in his hair or the odd smell that was creeping onto his skin, but everything. All of the emotions and stress, the knots that formed in his neck and back, and the ache in his heart needed to be washed down the drain.

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[backseatfishing]

made a cute fishing glam for solus so i had something nice to look at while i suffered through 5 million rounds of terrible ocean fishing luck for moogle tomes (i did eventually get the points for them, haha)

[archeo-starwars]

ANCIENT MANDALORIAN Vode An (Brothers All)

[Intro] Kote!

Kandosii sa ka’rta, Vode an. Coruscanta a’den mhi, Vode an. Bal kote, darasuum kote, Jorso’ran kando a tome. Sa kyr'am Nau tracyn kad, Vode an.

[Bass Vocals] Motir ca’tra nau tracinya. Gra’tua cuun hett su dralshy’a. Aruetyc runi solus cet o’r. Motir ca’tra nau tracinya. Gra’tua cuun hett su dralshy’a. Aruetyc runi trattok’o.

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

Vode An (Brothers All) [Intro] Glory!

One indomitable heart, Brothers all. We, the wrath of Coruscant, Brothers all. And glory, eternal glory, We shall bear its weight together. Forged like the saber in the fires of death, Brothers all.

[Bass Vocals] Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame. Our vengeance burns brighter still. Every last traitorous soul shall kneel. Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame. Our vengeance burns brighter still. Every last traitorous soul shall fall.

[nooneherebutaghost]

For as long as he can remember, Tup can't help but sometimes laugh at how serious Dogma can be. It's endearing and very cute - much to the chagrin of his partner. Even with the deaths of the Jedi and the rise of an Empire that cast aside the very clones they used to take over the galaxy, that feeling has not changed.

I like Clones speaking Mando'a. I like Clones taking parts of Mandalorian culture and merging it with their own. I like Dogma and Tup. I especially like Dogma and Tup being alive and in love and getting together (:

...

...

I also like fics/fanart of post-order 66 Dogma with long hair.

----

Tup: Mhi solus tome-

Dogma: "Tome".

T: Huh?

D: "Tome". You said it incorrectly.

T: Oh! Right. Lemme start again. Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome-

D: "Dar'tome".

T: Mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'di - hehe

D: Tup.

T: Mhi me'dinui - haha

D: Tup, be serious.

T: hehe - I'm - haha - sorry! Haha! Just - haha - just give me a sec - haha!

D: You are the worst.

[quinobiweek]

QuinObi Week Day 3

Mhi Solus Tome, Mhi Solus Dar'tome by @howdidthisevenhappenanyway

When Obi-Wan heads off to the mysterious Planet Kamino in pursuit of the alleged attempted murderer Jango Fett, he discovers he is not the only one on the case. Working the mission with a trained investigator and his medical droid sidekick means they do things a little differently...

When the Stars Began to Fall by @clearbluewaters

Early into their friendship, Obi-Wan makes a promise. Many years later, working the Hidden Path, Quinlan remembers.

The Broken Pedestal by @ouzoathena11

Dooku has plans and those plans involve Obi-Wan. Neither he nor Quinlan enjoy what follows.

Because the Night by @kcrabb88 (your friendly mod)

As the war drags on, Quinlan is sent undercover to figure out Sidious' identity. When he stops answering comms, Tholme sends Obi-Wan to retrieve him. Quin, desperate to figure out who the Sith is even as he loses his grip on the light, refuses to go. Obi-Wan and Quin clash, but they are, as always, drawn together.

And this gorgeous art by @ninjigma!

Thank you for the lovely, lovely work everyone!!!! <3

[mock-arts]

Internal illustration for chapter 3 of “forever; without stagnation” by @noir-renard for the @dinlukebigbang

Art on ao3 here. A fade to black illustration for a fade to black scene lol

"You're ruining the mood."

"Oh? There's a mood to ruin?"

Luke shifted, arranging and rearranging himself.

"I didn't realize being trapped in a cave with your estranged partner was a mood worth preserving."

Luke shifted again, hair clinging slightly to Din's beskar from static.

Then, Din got an idea. Probably a bad idea, he'd already had plenty of bad ideas, what was one more?

He reached up and removed his helmet, the dusty air filling his lungs.

"Din? What are you…?"

"You aren't comfortable."

"But—"

"It's dark. And you've already seen."

"A long time ago."

“Mhi solus tome. It’s alright.”

Luke leaned back into Din's chest. "Can't believe you've taken it off and I can't even see your face."

[alphaofdarkness]

we are one together

Mhi solus tome (here!) | mhi solus dar’tome | mhi me’dinui an | mhi ba’juri verde

—

The Mandalorian Vows make me cry, honestly 💜✨ this was just something I’ve been wanting to make for a while now with these dorks. I originally wanted it to be a sketch with lines but~ my perfectionist tail said “why not shade it? Go all in, it’s what they deserve ✨”

Will be posting and relinking the other verses through the week ✨ hope y'all enjoy 💜

✨ Textless version ✨

[sayilovedragonage]

"Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde"