#the mandowhorians

[doubledutchratfucker]

the entire lineage is fucked up like sabine 'barely a jedi' is taught by ahsoka 'not even a jedi' tano is taught by anakin 'destroyed the jedi' skywalker is taught by obi wan 'mandowhorian' kenobi is taught by qui gon jinn who I guess is pretty normal, but his master became the first jedi to openly turn to the sith in centuries. they have a 50% rate of just up and leaving the jedi order and a 5/6 rate of breaking the jedi code

Honestly Sabine being Ashoka’s padawan is poetically hilarious.

Because only Ahsoka “I am no Jedi” Tano, padawan of Anakin “Darth Vader Human Disaster” Skywalker, would have a padawan that is not only barely force-sensitive, but a Mandalorian at that.

Like this is peak Disaster Lineage™️ behavior.

[whenimaunicorn]

Training Exercise

The Mandalorian x female Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian is testing you. Again. This time you hit him with a strategy he doesn’t expect, and he comes back with an equally unexpected response.

Content Tags: Explicit, roleplay, dom/sub vibes, dirty talk, bondage, armor kink (I didn’t think I meant to do that but damn if it isn’t all over this fic), slight gunplay, slight breathplay, rough sex

Cold metal cuffs slam around your wrists, the sound of the locking mechanism a loud, ominous snick.

“What the fuck, Mando?” you sputter, dropping your spoon into the bowl in front of you.

“How would you get out of this?”

Stars. Another test. You push down your rising irritation with a deep inhale, sitting up straight and letting your imprisoned forearms rest on the edge of the table down in the hold of the Razor Crest. “So I’ve been captured?” you ask, probing for the parameters of the exercise he has in mind.

“Yes.” He stands a few feet away from you, leaning against the bulkhead, settling in to observe. “Now you’re in a holding cell. One guard.”

You smirk at him. “You’re the guard?”

His helmet inclines a few inches. “What’s your play?”

The question is delivered evenly, soft and simple, with only the tiniest note of challenge. He still doesn’t believe you can handle yourself as well as you say you can. The reminder gets your hackles up. “I’m not really in the mood for this.”

“You think I care if you’re in the mood?” The modulator does little to smooth the harshness with which he barks the statement.

You try not to flinch. Getting into his role already; at least, you try to tell yourself that’s all his change in tone means. Plus, it’s kind of hot when he yells at you. Not that you’d let him know that.

You sigh, and prop your elbows up on the table, examining the cuffs. They are a solid piece, two inches thick in a figure eight shape with a seam in the clasp so flush that it’s almost invisible. There’s an interface on it above your wrists, placed where your own fingers couldn’t possibly reach but would be convenient to your captors. You know enough about this model to know there’s a way to hack the lock, but not enough to actually be able to do it.

You look over at the Mandalorian. He’s facing you squarely now, thumbs resting in his utility belt, the helmet’s eye slit angled like he’s watching you closely. He doesn’t move a muscle, just waiting to see what you’ll do.

You do your best to ignore the tingling feeling his intimidation sends washing through your body. You feel the weight of his gaze like the heat of a sun against the cheek and shoulder that are angled toward him as you look back down at the cuff around your wrists.

What’s your play? he had asked. You arch your back a little more, giving the Mandalorian a better view of your body. You’ve got tricks he can’t teach you, and your irritation has turned into an overwhelming urge to rub that in, now. You sit poised like a pin-up girl as you pick up the spoon from your abandoned meal and stick it backwards into your mouth, then use the chisel-shaped back end of it to probe clumsily at the locking mechanism.

Mando shifts in the corner of your vision, moving just a little bit closer. “You know I can see you, right?” The edge of derision in his voice only spurs you on.

You look up at him, shifting the spoon in your mouth so he has to watch your pink tongue lick out along the edge of it. His upper body pulls back with a start. “I know.” You smile lasciviously around the stick of metal. “If I was alone with one guard, I’d convince him to step closer to me.”

The lower edge of his helmet drops in acknowledgement, and then his blaster clears its holster, in his hand and pointed straight at you faster than you can blink. “Cut that out. Drop the spoon.”

You turn in your chair, knees spread just a little immodestly, so the bottom edge of your tunic creates an intriguing little darkness between your legs for your “guard” to ponder. It’s hard to decide if the man behind the helmet is taking the bait, but you’re going to carry on your demonstration as best you can. You hold the spoon between your teeth and then relax your jaw, turning your lips into a pouty little ‘o’ as the spoon falls straight down into your lap. You suck in a big breath that makes your breasts swell as you look down at it, nestled between your thighs. “Come and get it.”

The Mandalorian seems to hesitate. “Is this really your best strategy?”

“You’d be surprised how often it works.”

His visor is angled just a little too low for you to think he’s looking at your face. He could, of course, take the exercise in any direction that he wants. He could play a guard that’s smarter than his libido right now, or one that doesn’t find you attractive at all. So maybe it means something when he chooses to relax his grip on the blaster, and steps closer, playing along. “It’s no use trying to escape,” he intones, resuming the game as he looms over you, blaster still pointed at your head, though at a lazier angle.

It shouldn’t be as hot is it, to stare up at the enigmatic Mandalorian warrior from your helpless position like this. Though the warm, prickling feeling that spreads through your lower body only makes the game easier. You form your lips into a little pout. “I’ve got to do something to pass the time.” You extend one foot, ankle making contact with the inside of his knee, then slide it up between his legs, past the defense of the metal plates on his thighs. You stare at his eye slit the whole time, tongue peeking out to play at the bottom of your teeth. “You want to put something else in my mouth?”

You feel him flinch. But to his credit, he leans into his discomfort, and into your personal space. “You’d like that.” His words come out in that flat, measured way he has, but the underlying tone is somewhere between brusque and incredulous.

You’re not sure if you’re freaking him out or turning him on, but a heady rush of excitement propels you forward. You give him a slow, sultry shrug as you stare up at him. “Maybe I’ve got a thing for being tied up.” You rock your ankle back and forth against his inner thigh.

The Mandalorian stares down at you, maddeningly still. His body language only shifts when he finally speaks. “Did I mention the guard is a Gamorrean? A particularly ugly one.”

He’s teasing you. You can just imagine a shit-eating grin extending behind his beskar mask. You reach your cuffed arms up, refusing to back down. “Then I’d be sure to stroke a finger down his tusk.” His helmet is cold under your fingertip as you dare to mime the action, sliding your touch down the groove of his iron cheek.

The blaster pointed vaguely at your temple never wavers. You’re close enough now to see that it’s not currently armed, though that information does little to dampen the chill of having a weapon aimed at your head, in a hand that has never hesitated to kill. Mando leans in and presses his other hand between your legs, retrieving the spoon. He takes his time about it, just as a big ugly half-seduced guard would do, digging his fingers unnecessarily into your soft thighs and dragging his knuckles against the sensitive spot between.

Your breath catches. You had been bluffing; you wouldn’t actually enjoy this if he had been a real guard of any species, but when Mando is the one groping between your legs you can’t help but spread them a little wider.

His head is only inches from yours. You stare into the eye slit of his helmet, knowing that somewhere behind there he’s staring right back at you. The shape of the beskar knows only one emotion: menace. You have no fucking idea what expression lies behind the mask.

His knuckle rolls again, right over your clit, making hot arousal bloom so hard and fast that your muscles turn to jelly.

His helmet tilts, and he speaks in his quiet voice again. “You’re not making your move now?”

It takes a second for your brain to catch up. Mando assumed you were luring the guard inside your reach so you could whip out some kind of flashy combat skills and disable him. Of course he did. That’s what he would do.

Evidently, you take too long to respond. He removes your opportunity to act. “Get up!” The Mandalorian grabs at the cuff around your wrists, yanking you to your feet. He holsters the blaster as he crowds your body, backing you up into the wall. Cold beskar presses between your thighs, making sure your legs stay open as you slam back against the bulkhead.

You resist a little on instinct, your mind now torn between winning the game and just enjoying the feeling of his body against yours. He overpowers you easily, forcing your hands up over your head. There’s a clicking sound, and then both of Mando’s gloved palms are running down your arms, though they’re still locked in place. He’s magnetized the wrist cuff to the bulkhead. Fuck. You didn’t know it could do that.

His beskar face looms just inches above your own. His grip doesn’t flinch as his hands run down from your arms to your flanks, feeling along your ribs in a touch that’s more sexually charged than you’d thought him capable of. “You’ve chosen a strategy that can get you in over your head, fast.” His voice sounds a little tight behind the modulator. His hands slide down to grip your waist. “Would you really let it get this far?” You can hear him breathing now, fast and hard. His fingers knead at the tops of your hips. “Dirty yourself, letting a filthy guard touch you this way?” There’s a hint of a whine under his accusatory tone, and you start to think the Mandalorian might be even more turned on by this game than you are.

You don’t answer, not sure what to say that wouldn’t ruin whatever’s starting to happen. Mando’s hands travel up your body, thumbs daring to skim underneath your breasts.

“No play yet?” he challenges, voice sounding a little lower, a little rougher. “Still not ready to make your move? This is only going to get worse for you.” His palms skim over your tits, but he seems to be holding himself back, barely making contact. “Better do something before he starts taking off your clothes.”

Absolutely you want him to start taking off your clothes. But this is just a training exercise, isn’t it? You’ll probably just make things awkward if you delay any longer, sitting here enjoying an excuse to get groped by the Mandalorian. Time to make your next play. “Okay big boy,” you purr, barely keeping a straight face as you try to imagine seducing a giant pig-man, “let me make you feel really good.” You slide your cheek against Mando’s helmet, dropping your voice into a throaty half-whisper above where his ear would be. “Give me one of my hands free, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

He pulls the pressure of his body off yours, just a little. Considering. You writhe against him, whispering ‘please’ and dragging your knee up the inside of his leg to show him where your hand would want to go. Before you can make contact with your target, Mando reaches up and presses a button on the cuff. “That… that would probably work on a big, dumb guard. I’ll give you that.” His voice sounds a little breathy, but he’s rallying himself. “Let’s see what you can accomplish with only one hand.”

The steel around one of your wrists retreats. The other one remains locked to the wall. “Oh, I can do plenty,” you say, bringing your palm down to the cloth-covered opening between his helmet and pauldron. It’s hard to grope a man wearing full body armor; all you can do is massage at that firm muscle that connects his shoulder and neck, hoping that the pressure feels nice through the canvas-like fabric that covers his skin here.

His fingers flex where they span your waist, a sudden dig that seems involuntary. He can’t be used to even such a blunted touch as this one, you suppose. He turns his gesture into a more obscene caress, sliding down your hips, grinding your pelvis tighter against the beskar thigh thrust between your legs. You don’t have to fake the moan that falls from your throat.

“Definitely a dirty girl,” he says, and squeezes your ass with both hands. Now you’re really not sure if he’s speaking as the guard or himself. His voice has dropped low and the modulator can’t smooth out the pleasure that’s thickening it. “Offering yourself up like this…” His cold helmet presses against your temple as the Mandalorian brings his whole body closer, nestling his head between your cheek and your upraised arm, the one that’s still locked to wall of the ship above your head. He grunts as he digs his fingers into the widest part of your bottom, and you groan. “You like it rough?”

“Yeah,” you moan, not sure if you’re playing your character anymore either, afraid to say anything that might make him stop. You abandon his neck to slide your free hand down past the beskar chestplate, seeking warmth in the space at his flank where something approaching soft and human is accessible to your touch. You can feel him breathing here, fast and deep. His hips writhe, pressing that solid flesh above his lower ribs more firmly into your palm.

“So pliant. So soft.” His tone has gone softer, appreciative. One hand stays on your ass while the other travels up your back, scooping you closer to him, until your chest is flattened by solid metal as he all but dry humps you against the wall.

Your fingers tease at his belt line, searching for entrance. A splash of nerves cools your belly at this point; you’ve never seen the Mandalorian undressed in any way, and you worry how he might react to you trying to get under his clothes. There’s always the chance you’re mis-reading this situation horribly. He’ll stop you if you cross a line, you’re certain, but you want to go slowly enough to make sure the sin is not too egregious.

Mando seems to sense your hesitation, slowing down too. “If you’re thinking about going for my gun,” he says, “you’re telegraphing.”

Apparently, he still thinks you’re thinking about the training exercise. He hasn’t lifted his head from where it’s nestled into your shoulder, however. His hands have slowed but they’re still cupping you.

“Not going for your gun.” Your fingers skim along his lower belly, finding the buckle of his belt.

“No?” Mando breathes.

You squeeze the clasp, releasing it with a click that seems way louder than it should be in the empty galley of the ship. His exhale carries just enough vocalization for the modulator to pick it up, sounding akin to and yet wholly different from the heavy sighs that escape him when you or the child are being frustrating. He gives you no other reaction but that.

You dare to stick one finger down inside his waistband. His heavy shirt is tucked in and so you still haven’t contacted any skin. You can’t even pretend to try to read his face, with the front of his helmet still pressed into the crook of your neck. Your finger tugs at his clothes and his body shifts against you but you can’t tell if he’s pulling away or shifting to give you better access.

You lose your nerve. “And then I would,” you narrate, stopping yourself, “you know…” Your finger points down toward his cock, trying not to think about what it would feel like to scoop your hand over it, wondering if you would find it hard or soft…

He lifts his head, only far enough to stare into your face through that shielded slit in his helmet. After a short, measured silence, he speaks. “Go ahead.”

Somehow you can’t wrap your head around the statement. “Um, what?” You feel your hand curling up, starting to withdraw in an awkward defensive reflex, though one finger is still stuck inside his waistband.

He cocks his head, and you can just feel him taking your measure. His open hands caress up and down your back, and your body responds, curling into the touch. You realize your mouth is hanging open as you continue to meet his impenetrable beskar gaze.

“Don’t you want to see if your plan is going to work? I know I do.”

Well, fuck. You rotate your wrist and press your whole palm into his lower belly, fingers pointing down. You can actually feel his warmth here, and the way his breathing speeds up as you slide your hand lower against him. When your fingertips reach bare skin he moans. It sounds like he tried to keep it in but it just slipped out anyway. He clutches you closer to him again as you skim down along course hairs and hot skin.

What is happening here? Does he really want you to wrap your fingers around his cock, like you’re so close to doing right now? His whole body is tense, you realize, and his fingers are digging into your skin almost painfully.

You slow your approach, not wanting him to snap under that tension. Or for him to snap you. You scratch your fingertips softly into the trail of hairs you feel leading you toward your prize.

“Fuck,” he groans, and pushes his whole body against you, all but crushing you against the bulkhead.

Now you can’t move your hand. But in the midst of all the hard edges of his armor, you can feel one thing poking into you that definitely isn’t beskar.

So the Mandalorian does want you. His helmet presses into the crook of your neck; you just know that if it weren’t in the way he’d be mouthing open kisses all over your throat. He keeps your hand trapped between the press of your bodies, the other still cuffed up to the wall, while his roam freely all over you. This time when he reaches your breasts he lets himself feel, scooping over your pillowy flesh and trapping a nipple between his thumb and the side of his hand.

The pressure is just short of pain and you mewl at the pleasure and desire it sends blooming up through your core. Your reaction encourages him and he tears at the opening in the front of your tunic, struggling to get at your bare flesh.

The savagery pulls a gasp from your throat, and that sound makes him pause. “I said this strategy was a dangerous game.” His helmet shifts so he can get a better look at your face. “Do you want to keep going?”

You nod. “I like this game.”

His real voice, not the aggressive character, slides out soft and even from the modulator. “I like it too.”

You press your hand harder, down where it’s trapped between your bellies, tickling your fingers toward his root. “Then let’s keep playing.”

The groan that reaches your ears through his modulator might be the most delicious sound you’ve ever heard, as he changes the angle of his hips and gives you room to reach him. Well, it was the most delicious sound, until you hear the next one to come out of his mouth, even deeper, even longer, as you find his thick shaft and curl your fingers eagerly around it.

His length had been stuck a little down one pant leg. He gives a pleasured hiss as you free him from the confinement, scooping him in your palm to point straight up between your bodies. One of his hands leaves your waist just so he can hold himself up against the wall; you must have made him go a little weak in the knees. You purr a little “mmm” in the back of your throat in satisfaction, to see the Mandalorian in such a state. His cock is thick and velvety smooth and already twitching in your palm as you give him a few slow, steady pumps.

His noise of pleasure is almost a wail, and without warning he slams a palm into the center of your chest, pushing you back into the bulkhead again. His fingers slide up to bridge your throat, exerting just enough pressure to set warning bells off in your head, and to slow your hand.

“Fu-uck,” is all he says by way of explaining himself. Then he uses both hands to pull your tunic up your body, exposing everything above your leggings to the cool air jetting from the ship’s recyclers all at once. “Off,” he growls as he tugs the fabric against your armpits, forcing you to let go of his glorious cock and let him pull the tunic off over your arm and head.

With your left arm still cuffed to the wall, the shirt has to just kind of hang there on one shoulder, but Mando has succeeded in freeing the soft flesh of your neck, your chest, and your belly. He gazes down at you for an endless moment, then begins to assault everything he has exposed with hands covered in gloves and arms coated in steel.

You know that his gloves are augmented with some kind of sensors that transmit more information than the leather look of them would imply. You wonder what your pebbled nipples and rarely-bared skin feel like to him. He certainly has the touch of someone with perfect sensitivity as he sculpts and squeezes you; he plays with your nipples and adores the rest of your flesh until you’re panting for him.

You shove your hand back into his pants. You have to make him feel how he’s making you feel, to return this sweet torture. He moans again, and thrusts himself into your hand.

You strain against the wrist that’s cuffed to the wall. If only—of course. The plan hits you all at once. While you’re dying to explore these unexpected sexytimes with Mando, your pride is still itching at you to try and win the game.

“I-I want you, babe,” you say, making the sound of the words bottom out in your throat. “Want you in my mouth.” You squeeze him from root to tip and try to drop down in front of him, dangling off the cuff like you’ve lost all control. “Please let me—let me get on my knees for you.”

Mando curses through his teeth and presses the button to release your wrist without even hesitating. As your arm falls you lean into him, feigning like you’re going to do just as you said. Then you square your stance and twist, shoving him toward the wall, using your grip on his cock like a handle. In a real fight you would have hurt him bad right there, but this is just practice, just training. Just an exercise. You don’t squeeze him hard enough to do any damage.

And as soon as you’ve twisted his momentum to the side, you’re pushing off the wall, sprinting for the hatch out of the hold, and sweet, sweet victory.

A hand like iron clamps onto your shoulder; something catches your leg, and then you’re falling, with a heavy body riding you down. You twist into the fall so it’s not ugly, absorbing the impact with thigh and forearms. Then the Mandalorian is pressing your bare chest into the decking.

“Don’t think you got away with anything, there,” he says as he climbs more firmly on top of you. You turn your head to see his beskar face looming near your cheek. “I knew what you were up to.”

“Then why did it work?”

“I just wanted to feel you run.” He presses his body over yours, armor plates grinding into your thighs and back, shoving your hips flat against the deck too so you have no leverage to try and escape. “Now. What were you saying about your mouth?” His hand leaves your shoulder to grab up a section of your hair, tugging tight at the back of your head, forcing your face up toward him. “Ready to make good on that promise?”

You nod, frantically, but as much as you’d love to suck him down, the feeling of his whole body grinding you into the deck is driving you crazy. You curl your ass up against him, with the tiny amount of movement his pressure will allow. You want more than anything else for him to just fuck you through the floor right here.

Mando’s hand runs down your naked side, pushing at the waistband of your leggings when he reaches them. “Or maybe I’ll just—”

“Yes!” you cry, “oh please,” arching your back, scrambling to help him get your clothes out of the way.

His answering growl roars wild and alien through the modulator right beside your ear. You take more of his weight as his chest presses against your upper body so he can use both hands to clear all the barriers  below your waists. You can choose to help him with your hands too, or you can hold yourself up with your forearms so you have room to actually breathe under his crushing weight.

You choose to sacrifice your breath. Your bare chest crushes into the cold decking as you shove your leggings down past your ass, and spit into your fingers so you can lubricate his path. That thick cock of his might have a hard time getting in, in a position like this, but it’s going to be so worth it.

Cool beskar gauntlets slide against your lower back and ass as Mando’s hands work at his own trousers in the small space between your bodies. His panting breath crackles through the modulator above your ear, sounding even louder since you can barely suck a breath in yourself under his weight. He moans when he notices you stroking your own slit, readying the way for him. You’ve worked your hand under one hip so you can reach yourself even as he’s crushing you. You’re already wetter than you expected, but you make sure to drag that moisture all over your sensitive folds.

As soon as he’s gotten himself free you feel his fat head probing at you. Some of the pressure comes off your chest as he slams his other hand against the deck near your face, holding himself up so he has a little more control. You think at first that he’s lining himself up, as Mando swirls himself around your entrance, and so you arch your back, present your hips as much as you can for him. As he keeps moving you realize he’s playing; savoring, scooping that moisture all over his tip before finally deciding to press inside.

The stretch is intense, and it just keeps coming. Now you have another reason not to be able to breathe. The pleasure in that invasion is white-hot and overwhelming, and he feels impossibly long, impossibly deep as he flattens you into the floor like this. You relax everything and focus on just taking it, on taking him.

Finally, finally, the timeless plunge reaches its end, as his hips come to rest against your bottom. He stays there, arms scooping around your shoulders, helmet pressed against your cheek, and lets out a long, shuddering exhale. Then he starts pumping. Long, measured, relentless thrusts drill into you, each one as deep and overwhelming as the first. The pleasure rips through you like a wildfire, melting and invigorating your limbs both at once.

And in this position you don’t have to do anything. Just lay there and take it, let Mando claim you, press further and further until you feel like your entire being is nothing but the cunt he’s hammering into, a vessel for pleasure as he grunts and curses above you, losing himself just the same in the meeting of your bodies.

Your pleasure builds, clamoring for release. You realize one of your hands is still trapped under your body, and with the small movement your current state will allow you to make, you get your finger onto your clit.

It doesn’t take much, just the slightest targeted pressure, to harness the wild ecstasy that’s been building in your core. Your muscles lock, your body clamps, and all that needy pleasure spirals so intense that you hear a rushing in your ears.

“Oh, fuck, are you coming?” Mando groans, his modulated voice so close and yet a million miles away. He presses deeper, more eagerly at the very idea, and that pushes you right over the edge. You wail like an animal and curl up under him, except you can’t, the floor’s too solid, he’s too solid, and you cum with every muscle in your body straining against a steel prison that keeps you flat and helpless.

He rides you through it all, pumping faster, harder, grunting with the effort and making your orgasm feel like it’s never going to end under the relentless way he fucks you. Even when the crest passes and your body goes limp, he keeps going, driving himself like your lives depend on it, as relentless as you’ve seen him in battle. Tears form in your eyes as his cock won’t let your body come down. You feel everything inside you tensing up for another orgasm by the time his breathing goes ragged and you know he’s close too.

When the Mandalorian comes he finally lets it all go, burying himself in you to the hilt and wailing with a sound so raw it makes your heart crack and your body clench around him. Your second orgasm makes the tears fall from your eyes; all your limbs collapse together as your cunt milks every last drop of his release out of him.

The first one to move after the rush fades is him; his helmet comes into view from where you lay with your cheek pressed against the deck. His leather-tipped finger soaks up the tear that was threatening to fall over the bridge of your nose. “Was—” his voice is thick and he has to clear his throat before he can continue, “—was I too rough?”

You make a reassuring sound, the closest you can get to words for a moment. You shake your head, just a little. “Fuck. No. Loved that.”

You wonder if that makes him smile behind the mask. Your voice came out raspy, made you both conscious of the fact that most of the weight of a seasoned warrior, plus a hell of a lot of solid beskar, still lies squarely on top of you. While the sensation was a turn-on, you still make a little sound of relief when he rolls off you, laying on his back by your side.

His helmeted head rolls to face you. You’re sure you look like a hot mess, laying there mostly naked, ass up, with your face in the deck, but you feel amazing. Mando reaches up one gloved hand and presses two fingertips lightly to your lips. It feels like a kiss, so you purse your lips and kiss back, keeping your eyes locked on his eye slit. He lifts his hand to your temple, brushing his fingers through your mussed hair.

“I guess you showed me.”

It takes you a second to realize he’s referring to the training exercise. “I thought you said it didn’t work on you.”

His helmet inclines. “It worked.”

You smile. Maybe you preen, just a little. “Satisfied, then, that I can handle myself?”

“Definitely not.”

He just lays there while you pout at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He lifts his arm, beckoning you to peel yourself off the floor and come cuddle against him. You pull your tunic back on before you comply; bare skin against beskar doesn’t sound quite as appealing now that the heat of passion has fled.

You cuddle into the crook of his arm, finding a decent enough pillow on the inside of his bicep. Only once he’s got you curled against him to his liking, does he explain himself. “You are not going to be fucking your way out of trouble while you’re with me,” he says matter-of-factly. “I forbid it.”

You try not to let him feel you shiver at what his tone does to you. “Is that so.”

“It is.”

“If you don’t respect my skills—”

“I do,” he cuts you off. “But they’re only for me, now.” His body shifts where you’re curled against him, his hand clutching against your back. “We can play this game again, as often as you like, but..” he reaches over and slaps your ass hard enough to sting, “now I’ve also got to start teaching you how to actually fight.”

My Mando Smut Masterlist

Taglist is open, and I’m taking requests: @equalstrashflavoredtrash @laketaj24 @themaskismyface @pascallorian @shadowfoxey​ @pinstripeninja13​ @thatkidofwarandpeace​ @no-droids

[steeevienicks]

One of the best/worst things about being an adult is buying whatever I want to decorate my house with.

Knight Din is perfect.

[no-droids]

Do you have any tips for writing for this fandom? Like content people want or how to tag so more people read your stuff?

tbh i made this blog like 3 weeks ago and ive never posted any fanfic before this so im probably not the best person to ask. when i first put rough day out, it wasn’t even showing up on the mandalorian tag bc tumblr didn’t know if my blog was spam or not. nobody read it and it had 0 notes for a few days at least. I posted it to ao3 at the same time and tagged my tumblr username in the notes, and then more people started to read it and follow me, so my one good piece of advice is to cross-post to ao3

all I can really say beyond that is to write content that makes YOU happy and dont worry about the rest. idk honestly i think I just got lucky and im glad there’s so many thirsty mandowhorians out there willing to reblog and encourage my bullshit. just keep doing u anon and pls message/tag me in any fics u write bc this fandom is super supportive and full of baby yoda love 💕

[reluctant-mandalore]

The Artist (Din Djarin x gn!Reader)

Word Count: 3821

Warnings: Fluffy with some angst and an angry Din. He’s a bit mean at first but I promise he makes it right. Not beta read because I wanted to get this out asap. 

Pairing: Din Djarin x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: I couldn’t resist writing, it was just such a sweet idea. I ended up getting carried away, so it’s kind of long lol. As per usual I got some angsty din in here but it’s all fluffy and happy at the end I promise!! Also, Din is a bit mean at first, he’s a grumpy grump who’s mad about his face being plastered everywhere, but he turns into a softy fairly quickly. I tried to stay gender neutral but I may have slipped up sooo yeah. Enjoy!

Original Post: The original post is here and the lovely darling who came up with this idea was @mandowhorian​

Edits: (4)**Reader blushing was removed to made to be more inclusive** (1)Just some grammar and spelling edits done. Also fixed up some of the paragraphs I felt were a bit weird. (2) I was looking back at this so I could post it to AO3 and noticed that the @ to the original poster of the idea was wrong, sorry for any unnecessary notifications!! (3)More spelling and grammar fixes, also fixed a pronoun error. ^-^

  The bounty should have been simple enough. The mandalorian had been tasked with bringing in a lone artist from the outer rim. The artist was overdue on some payments to a lone shark and had seemingly gone into hiding to avoid these payments. Originally, he hadn’t planned on taking the job, but the pay was decent enough and it should have been rather easy. It wouldn’t take much to bring in the little artist, though he had been warned about them having some weird abilities. 

  Din wasn’t too concerned in that regard. He’s seen some weird stuff in his time as a bounty hunter. Honestly he wasn’t sure anything could top the child and his strange powers anyway. Although with that in mind, nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to walk into.  

 The bounty hunter had approached the structure quietly, it was later in the evening and much of the busy crowds were leaving for the night. The studio was small with tables propped out front, most likely used for sales, though today they had remained empty. He had asked some locals about the artist, learning how the artist was currently grieving and wasn’t offering or selling any services at the moment due to it. Many of the locals even saying that they hadn’t even seen the artist emerge from their studio for some days now.  

  Din had ended up watching the little studio for most of the day anyway, looking for signs of the bounty. Truth to the locals words, the bounty never emerged to sell their works. So, with the streets having become empty and with no signs of the artist, he made his way to the entrance of the building. 

 Pulling back the cloth to the entrance of the bounties private studio, Din was met with something he had never expected to see within. His face. Specifically, his face plastered everywhere on canvases around the studio. 

Din had stumbled back in shock at what he saw, knocking over some paint cans as he did. He felt frozen in time standing there staring at the works of art and suddenly felt himself become overwhelmed with a multitude of emotions. 

  Managing to collect himself, he straightened and slowly walked through the room, taking in each painting he saw. Every painting was unique in some way, whether it be from the paint used or the style in which it took. Some were younger versions of himself while others reflected his current aging features. His fingers had trailed lightly across the surface of one painting in particular, a dark and gloomy piece hidden away in a corner. Similar to the others, it was of his face, but this time it was bloody and bruised. His portrait self almost looking to be on the brink of death. 

  Din had a feeling of when this painting had been painted and why it was done in the way that it was. How did they know what he looked like that day? Did they see? He wasn’t even aware of anyone else, other than the droid of course, being there. How did he not notice them? 

  Many thoughts and feelings were pouring through him while looking at the piece of art. Feelings of confusion, anger, and distress had soon consumed him, but the worst of it all had to be the feeling of fear. 

Fear because someone had seen his face. Fear because this meant his creed was crumbling to ashes before his eyes. Fear because it was possible that it may have been like that for longer than he ever knew. Fear because in this moment everything he had worked for was crashing down around him and he wasn’t even exactly sure how it happened. 

  Engrossed with his worries, the Mandalorian didn’t even hear the artist approaching. Coming through a back hallway, the artist had suddenly appeared from around a corner, stopping when their eyes landed on his form. They looked at him from afar, watching him take in the painting before him. Not even aware of the distress that currently wrecked the Mandalorian’s body and mind. Their own head tilting to the side as confusion began marking their own soft features, and wondering why a Mandalorian of all things had stumbled into their studio. 

“Can I help you there? Customers aren’t supposed to enter the studio and I’m not currently taking any orders.” 

  Hearing them speak had snapped him out of his confused daze and he slowly turned his head to stare at them silently. He knew instantly based off the description from the client that this was his bounty standing before him. The Mandalorian’s mind soon beginning work over time to try and comprehend exactly what his target was doing. His mind trying to work out the answers to his bundles of questions. 

 Were they trying to mock him? Trying to act as if they had no idea who he was or what they had done? This had to be a plot that they came up with. They must have known he was coming and had plotted how to distract him. Maybe they just wanted to taunt him? A sort of ‘fuck you I know your face and have ruined your life’ kind of taunt. 

“You’re a mandalorian right? Are you after a bounty-” 

  Din was swift and predatory in his movements, not giving them time to finish their sentence as he grabbed and pinned them to the ground. Their tiny wrists held in his one hand, pinned above their head, while he roughly shoved a blaster to their cheek. His body had soon pressed into theirs as a way to use his size and weight to keep them still underneath him. He radiated danger and had waves of anger rolling off of him. The sight of him in this angry state certainly would have had any number of people running, included the artist if they weren’t currently pinned underneath him. 

  The artist had squirmed under him in panic, attempting to free themselves, but not being able to due to his sheer strength. He could feel the heat from their body seep through his armor into his own, and any other time being this close to someone would have made the Mandalorian flush. However, at this moment, Din wasn’t concerned about such things. He was more worried about the fact that the person underneath him knew his face. 

“What’s with all the paintings? How do you know?” He growled out, his grip tightening around them, his helmet now inches from their own face. 

  A whimper sounded from the artist below him and tears had begun to form at the corners of their eyes, “I-I don’t know what you mean.” Their voice was shaky and their form trembled under his. They were utterly powerless and weak when compared to the Mandalorian. 

 He scoffed at their response, it wouldn’t be the first time a bounty had tried to play innocent and dumb. Shedding some fake tears wasn’t going to soften him up any bit. “Don’t act dumb. How did you find out? Where did you see it?” 

“Find out what? I-” They paused as he had moved the blaster closer to them as they spoke. “I-I really don’t know what you mean!” 

  Admittedly, the job was far from his mind at this moment, all he cared about was dealing with the fact that someone had seen his face. That this person before him had decided to taunt him with the knowledge of them having seen it. Job be damned, it felt like his whole self was destroyed, his creed most likely broken. He could care less about the dumb bounty job. He just needed answers. 

  Din growled again, his anger continuing to grow as they proceeded to deny any knowledge of what he was asking. He ended up hulling them to their feet, his grip never loosening as he did. He turned them around to face the corner which held the painting he had looked at not too long ago. He had pressed himself into their back when he did, a hand coming to roughly grab their chin to force them to look at the painting before them, the blaster still at the ready if needed.

“That face.” He gritted out, his fingers beginning to dig into their skin, “Where did you see it?”

  He watched as their fearful expression morphed into that of one marked with sadness. A frown had now etched across their lips, and they looked away as a few of their tears finally slid down their cheeks. 

Din was surprised by their reaction, he thought for sure they would have given up the whole innocent act by now or would have at least slipped up a bit. However, they didn’t and if anything it only made them seem to be more genuine in his eyes—a thought that both angered and confused him more than anything. 

 Mumbled words was the only reply he got from them at first, their voice barely audible to him, “What was that?” 

“He’s my soulmate... or he was supposed to be at least.” 

  Din could feel himself pale under the helmet at their words, a feeling of shock once again spreading throughout his body, as he found himself letting go of them in an instant. His anger had disappeared completely at hearing their explanation—leaving only confusion in its wake.

 It crossed his mind briefly that they could be messing with him still, but the expression they wore and the sincerity in their voice had stomped the idea completely. They were being serious, and Din had no idea how to handle such information. 

Stepping back from them, the blaster fell to his side. “I.. what?” were the only things he could manage to say in his stage of shock and confusion. 

“Do you know what the force is?” 

“Barely.” 

“Well, through the force, I get force visions of him all the time. They’re usually just his face, his surroundings were always blurry to me, but his face was always clear.” They began to explain as Din listened while remaining silent, “The force is not strong with me, so I think that’s why the visions were not always so clear to me.” 

“So this isn’t just some sort of sick joke of yours to try and mock me?” He asked, still having some trouble in believing what the artist was expressing to him. “You’re not lying just to try and get me to not take you in?”

 He watched as anger had marked their once saddened features, “A joke? You think I would joke about something like this? That I would spend years of my life painting and wondering where he was—wondering if he was safe?” 

  Din stood and just listened as they went off on him. Their anger about the accusation evident as they bitterly ranted to him about his behaviour during the past half hour or so. He continued watching as their rant died down to them just fuming while looking at anything that wasn’t him—clearly upset and hurt by his remarks. 

“If you’re here to collect me for a bounty just get it over with, don’t deepen my grief.” Sometimes he could forget how insensitive he could be. It was already clear enough to not have been some joke or plot. So why did he have to continue suggesting such things? 

 The room had filled with silence after the artist had finished their long winded speech to him, and it felt stuffy with the new atmosphere between them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” His voice was the first to break the silence before he had trailed off again, “What made you think the visions were of your soulmate?”

 They had seemed to calm again with his question, a sigh escaping their lips as they went to continue their explanation from before to the Mandalorian, “Honestly? I didn’t think such a thing at first, but eventually, I could just feel it.” They paused, seemingly trying to figure out how to word their thoughts before speaking once more, “I guess you could say I just knew that this was the man I was connected to for life. I could feel it in my heart—in my soul. He was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with, or at least I thought so until the last one….”

 The artist trailed off again, a habit of theirs that Din had noted to himself as he watched them go over to look at the painting properly. Their arms had crossed over their chest now, hugging themselves as if they were cold, but it seemed to be more for personal comfort than anything. Din had took note the expression they wore on their face and suddenly felt a rush of guilt flow through him for how he had previously handled them.

“The last one?” He couldn’t help but question. 

 They nodded and smiled sadly at him as they wiped the tears falling from their eyes “I think I saw him die some months ago. The last vision I had of him was of him looking like that and I haven’t had any visions since.” They had motioned in the direction of the painting before them, only providing more evidence that it was in fact a painting of the face he had wore while on the brink of death that fateful day. 

“So I think he...” their words died in a quiet sob, one of their hands clasping over their mouth as he watched their figure become consumed with grief. 

The words from the locals of the artist grieving came back to him as everything began to fall into place. This person was grieving who they believed to be their soulmate. They were grieving Din and they hadn’t even met him. It was something difficult for him to fathom at first, but seeing how it broke them had made his heart sink none the least. 

“He’s not dead.” The words left him before he could stop himself. The urge to suddenly comfort the distressed artist before him coming to light. 

 The artist turned to look at him suddenly, almost doing a double take from his words “Wait do you know who he is?” They questioned, their expression changing from one of sadness to wonder. “What’s his name? Is he ok? Can you take me to see him? I’ll pay you…” 

Their voice stopped registering in the hunters mind as he tried to comprehend their questions and excitement. They weren’t lying. They were being truthful in everything they spoke and they had no clue that the face in the paintings were his. They truly didn’t know anything about him other than what they had seen in their visions and yet they loved him enough to grieve for him. 

  Din didn’t know how to answer all those questions of theirs. It was him. The answer was simple yet also hard to articulate. The man in their paintings, in their visions, was him. 

That was his face. His face which no one was supposed to see. He almost wanted to yell out that it was him. He wanted to scream to them about the creed and how it was everything to him. 

 The creed he swore might be in question now and he didn’t know how to feel about it other than dread. He understood how some circumstances were accepted in regards to others seeing his face. Did a soulmate having visions fall within those categories? He didn’t know, but really hoped so at this moment. 

  “It’s me.” The words finally wafted out his modulator in a whisper, barely audible, but the artist had clearly caught it. 

The artist had stared at him with shining wide eyes. A hand had come to their mouth again but this time in surprise. Not being able to bear looking at them anymore, the Mandalorian turned away again. as his heart began beating rapidly in his chest at the confession. “It’s my face. It’s me.” 

Their reply was equally as quiet, a mere whisper through the air, “R-Really? You’re not lying?”

 The only response he could muster was a small nod, as he was afraid of how his voice would sound. There were so many things to discuss with them. Things like his way of life and the danger it entailed. He also needed to tell them about the creed, and most importantly, the child in his current care. All of this didn’t even include the things he was sure they had to tell him. 

 Din had jumped at the sudden feeling of their body pressing into his back. His mind blanking at their touch and smell engulfing him. The feeling of them wrapping their arms around his waist had caused a flush to spread over his skin and a shaky breath to barely sound through his modulator. It had been so long since someone had touched him in the slightest and he wasn’t prepared for it to happen like it just had.

 “I was beginning to think I’d never meet you, I mean, I literally thought you died.” Their words were muffled into his armored back and hearing them he felt his heart clench again.

  Seeming to catch themselves, the artist pulled away from him, shyly looking away at the realization of their impulsive actions. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hug you out of the blue like that.” They had managed to stutter out, “It’s felt like I’ve known you forever even though we’ve really just met and I literally thought I had lost you. So I guess I’m just happy.” 

“It’s fine” He replied quietly, feeling his heart skip a beat at seeing the small smile that graced their cheeks from his words. “It should be me saying sorry for how I treated you earlier anyway.” He continued, turning to face them properly and looking down at their wrists he had grabbed so harshly not too long ago.

“I mean you're a mandalorian right? Your kind don’t show your faces to anyone, I’m sure it was quite a shock to see all the paintings.” 

  He was surprised with them having some sort of knowledge of his way of life. Even if it was so little, any amount was better than none. “You know of mandalore?”

The artist shrugged, looking down at their hands as they twirled their fingers. “Only a little of what I have heard. People say you're the fiercest warriors in the Galaxy.” 

  He nodded in reply to them as they fell into an awkward silence once more. Honestly, Din had never talked much in the first place and he had already talked more than what he was used to within the last hour. He also wasn’t really sure where to start. 

  What did they do now? Did he invite them back to the ship? Ask for them to pack up and move in? Maybe they should just call it a night and worry about it in the morning. It was late after all, and of course the child still waited for him to return.  

“Are you going to turn me in? That’s why you’re here right? I’m your bounty.” The artist was still smiling at him even after such inquiries, “I won’t stop you if you want to. Just knowing you’re ok is enough for me. I don’t want to get in the way of your job.”  

Sweet. Too sweet. Maybe even naive. That was how Din would describe them in this moment. He believed them too in their claims, that they would happily let him take them to their impending doom at the hands of some scummy lone-shark. 

Din was honestly surprised to see how easily they just offered themselves up to him. How easy would it be to just take them up on their offer and turn them in. After turning them in, he could then just shove the whole experience into the back of his mind to be forgotten. It would be a simple and easy process for someone of his kind.

“No.” He answered, not even needing to think about the answer for long. There was no way he could turn them in now. “I… it's just…” He trailed off, even now trying to find a logical response to his reasoning. Even if one wasn’t needed in the first place. 

  Many others wouldn’t care. They would turn in the artist without a thought, soulmate or not. It wouldn’t matter to them, but to Din. To him it mattered more than he ever thought it would.  

“Are you good with kids?” He asked them, thinking of the child waiting for him. He could already see the child taking a liking to them and the idea of having some help with the child was something he looked forward to. 

“You have kids?” 

He shifted uneasily at their question, feeling oddly vulnerable in this moment, “Sort of, I have a foundling in my care and have been thinking about getting someone to help with caring for him.” 

 Din couldn’t explain the sudden concern that he felt at telling them of the child. He didn’t understand the sudden want for them to accept the little womp rat. The thought of maybe them not wanting anything to do with him now that they knew he had a child in his care actually scared him. Even worse, he found himself fearing their rejection, already having a desire to keep them with him. 

 Which is why he was happy to see the large grin that had spread across their cheeks at hearing about the child, “I would love to help you with that.” 

“The position is permanent.” He said with a teasing undertone in his voice, not being able to help the sudden bubble of happiness which had swelled within him. 

“Oh I would hope so.” 

  A grin had spread across his lips under the helmet at their own teasing reply, and he found himself closing the distance between them once more. One of his gloved hands had came to their cheek, tilting their head to look up at him. In response one of their own hands, paint stains and all, covered his. He had watched them for a bit like this, before finally pressing his helmet against their forehead. 

A Keldabe kiss.

  He wasn’t sure if they knew exactly what he was doing, but he would explain everything to them soon enough. For now, he just enjoyed the moment he was sharing with them. His eyes closing, as his arms had moved to wrap themselves around the artist to hold them closely. 

They had then stood embracing each other for a while, just allowing each other to take in the other's presence while they did. Honestly Din found himself never wanting to let go of them again—a feeling foreign but not unpleasant for him. 

  Din couldn’t explain why it felt so right to be this close to someone he barely knew. He couldn’t even understand why he had suddenly wanted to spend the rest of his life with this person. The only thing known to him in this moment was that before him stood a person who would be forever intertwined with him.

 His clan of two had become a clan of three.  

-- 

Tags:

@murdermewithbooks @hdlynnslibrary @imalovernotahater @askalphapazvizla @​onlydarth @mandodjarin  @pedrosdoll @fleurdemiel145 @anothermoronintransition

I think I got everyone that either wanted to be tagged or seemed interested in it. Sorry for any missed tags and for any unwanted tags >.< 

[valentinesirwins]

nsfw alphabet; the mandalorian

summary:  an nsfw alphabet inspired by @no-droids​ own post. basically just a bunch of hot takes regarding mando’s sex life.

warnings:  this is SMUT you absolute buffoons !! oral (both sides), unprotected sex, masturbation, kinks, slight bondage, dom and sub!mando (two for one deal gals and gays!), of course there’s fluff, probably more but just know this is 18+ lol

a/n: oop and just like that it’s wh*re hours !! this one’s for the mandowhorians, and shoutout to isa for inspiring me with her whiskey nsfw alphabet. requests are open, feedback is always appreciated, and remember reblogs > notes

word count: 2, 500

(gif not mine!) // source: @djjarindin​

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

-          No matter how soft or how intense he was, Din would always, ALWAYS put your needs before his in regards to aftercare. Whether it be getting you a damp cloth to wipe the white fluid from your abdomen, or simply just engulfing you in the warmth of his arms and pressing you close enough to feel each other’s heartbeats until finally lulling off to sleep, the bounty hunter was adamant on taking care of you.  

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

-          While he doesn’t have a preference over ass or titties (cause either view was more than fine to him tbh), you were particularly keen on the bounty hunter’s collarbones. Leaving bruises, hot kisses, and simply just exploring every inch of him was euphoric. It was the place you found your face buried in while in the midst of orgasm, drowning yourself in his familiar sweetness and pressing drowsy, hot kisses against his damp skin.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

-          During the first year or so of your relationship, the two of you were mutually adamant on either a condom or in most cases, the ‘pull-out’ method. As time passed, however, you had both realized that a clan of four didn’t sound too bad at all. Ever since, you ditched the latex and threats of orgasm for the raw, euphoric sensation of two souls truly becoming one. He loved the way his cum looked seeping out of your pulsating, swollen core as you both came down from your orgasms.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

-          He LOVES tying you up, whether it be on your hands and knees, or against the headboard of the cot. Your submissiveness and vulnerability was a huge turn on to him, especially when he teased you, which he was a master at, and how you could do absolutely nothing about it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

-          While incredibly touch-starved, the Mandalorian had fantasized about you for so long that when the time finally came to please you, he knew exactly what he was doing. In the process, he discovered your own little spots that made you writhe beneath him, and now he’s made it a point to bring you on the brink of overstimulation every time he was between your thighs. All his life he’s only known discipline and control and that definitely applies to the bedroom, from pacing his thrusts to maneuvering his tongue and fingers in a masterful symphony.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

-          Considering that he doesn’t have a preference between boobs or ass, Din could really get with plain ‘ol missionary. Whoever was on top, which was honestly a 50/50 chance between you two would bury their face in the other’s neck, marking their territory in the process and drowning themselves in the other’s familiar, sweet scent. He loved looking at you, either falling apart beneath him or arching your back in ecstasy on top of him. It was an equilibrium. Intimate and beautiful. Plain and simple.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

-          At first, being intimate was something incredibly sacred to both you and the Mandalorian. You didn’t want him to feel pressured to obligated to abandon the Creed- the way of life he’s known for so long. But when he realized that he couldn’t live out the rest of his days without you and the Child by his side, the decision to abandon and walk away from the Guild and the Beskar almost seemed easy.  

-          After that, the sex was much more relaxed- not less intimate or sacred, it was just… everything you could ever want and more. And you were so content.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

-          While not covered head-to-toe in hair, there was a thin trail of fine brown tufts down the middle of his chest, as well as a happy trail leading down to well-groomed, slightly trimmed pubic hair. He kept himself groomed because he knew it was the way you liked it, especially when giving him head.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

-          It was hard to believe that the Mandalorian could be so incredibly gentle and soft in bed, especially after being so used to only seeing his hardened and rigid exterior of Beskar and ammo. He took his time to make sure your needs were met and would often find himself pressing your form flush to his in the height of orgasm in an attempt to get you as close to him as possible. Two souls became one in a moment of pure bliss and intimacy, disregarding any and every outside variable and focusing only on one another and the absolute spectacle before them.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

-          The way he would beat his meat alone in the middle of the night in his quarters… thinking about how you were a mere few paces away from him. So close yet so far away.  With one hand wrapped around his rock-hard cock and the other roaming from his balls, up his abdomen, and across his chest, he would imagine your hands in place of his own. Almost every single time it would send him off the edge, spurts of hot seed making a mess across his abdomen. There was a sense of shame to it, feeling as though he disrespected you in some way. All those doubts were put aside when you found him pleasuring himself in the dark confines of his quarters, holding back moans and curses beneath hitched breaths as the sight immediately made you a sopping wet mess.

-          Needless to say, the Mandalorian didn’t finish alone that night.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

-          Orgasm torture…. on both sides. There was just something about building the others’ orgasm up to its maximum capacity and watching it completely obliterate all their composure that sent the other over the edge.  

-          He would never, ever admit it, but the Mandalorian had a huge praise kink. He looovvveeedd the way his name fell from your lips, encouraging his hips to drive deeper into you, or his tongue to flick faster against your clit; it was your way of telling him that he was doing everything right. His own name was still foreign even to him, so the sound of the three letters falling off your lips was enough to send the bounty hunter spiraling.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

-          The cockpit of the Razor Crest while on autopilot was the place to go when you needed to squeeze in a quick stress-reliever. While the quarters were tight, you two made it work with a couple maneuvers of your extremities, the Mandalorian supporting your weight without effort as you to fucked into hyperspace.

-          When it was a special occasion however, Din would settle the ship on a desolate planet and rent out a small cottage for the three of you to stay in. After the Child was sound asleep, and the bounty hunter was freshly showered after a long hunt, you two would take full advantage of the bed you could actually spread out on without falling off the edge. It was nights like those when Din Djarin wanted to spend the rest of his days in domesticity with you, as a clan of four.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

-          As mentioned before, Mando loves loves loves being praised. His name was still foreign to even him, so the symphony of the three-letter name falling off your lips in absolute bliss was pure fuel to the bounty hunter.

-          For you, it was the almost pornographic moans that escaped from the back of his throat. It was the fact that he wasn’t afraid to let you know that what you were doing was right and made him feel good… especially when he was so motivated to get the exact sounds out of you. He was Loud™… and it was Hot™.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

-          Mando!! Does!! NOT!! Share!! Period!! You are his and he is yours; you were his sun, moon, and all his stars, and by the Maker, if anyone were to lay even a mere finger on you, they would be a dead man in a matter of minutes.

-          You’ve acted as a decoy on some of his missions before, but more often than not, the sight of your deep burgundy number hugging all your curves in all the right places would end up sending you two in the cantina restroom for a quickie.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

-          When I say Mando loves some good head…. I mean it. You loved to treat him to some post-shower pipe after a long mission, or just as a treat for taking care of both you and the Child so well for so long. You were both a tease and got right to the point, utilizing every part of your mouth to make the experience as euphoric and pleasurable as possible for the bounty hunter.

-          In regards to the Mandalorian’s skills to giving head… well, you were convinced he had been doing it for years. He loved the way your fingers tugged at the roots of his curls when you were on the brink of orgasm, involuntarily bucking your hips up every time his fingers hit that certain spot. Judging by the way his tongue masterfully maneuvered around your swollen clit, to orchestrating an entire symphony with the help of both his mouth and his fingers, you were confident that you would ever get used to Mando giving you head.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

-          Assuming that it wasn’t a quickie, Mando definitely took his time to enjoy the foreplay aspect. He especially loved it when you would grind against his thigh, leaving a pool of slick on the fabric and seeping against the bare skin beneath it. When he had his hands on you, he couldn’t keep them off. Trailing kisses down every square inch of your body as he focused entirely on making you feel good was all he could ever ask for.

-          Even after your second or third orgasm, the bounty hunter would continue thrusting into you with such a driving force that every time your hips slammed together the entire system would go white with raw ecstasy. The sensation of your overstimulated walls clenching around his rigid cock only quickened Din’s pace, only becoming sloppy at the brink of orgasm. At that point, you would be a mess of trembling euphoria, barely able to hold yourself up as the Mandalorian manipulated your fourth orgasm to match his in a moment of pure, mutual equilibrium.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

-          Mando loves a sneaky quickie, whether it be on a job, the early hours of dawn, or after coming back after a long mission. His favorite place to bust out a quick one was in the cockpit of the Razor Crest, straddling him in the pilot’s chair as his lips pressed against the valley between your breasts. While you two always left the room in shambles, it was always thrilling to see how fast one could make the other cum first, racing towards the finish line all in the name of some brownie points.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

-          The Mandalorian, despite his hardened exterior, was an absolute sucker for you. Anything you wanted was handed to you without a reasonable doubt, especially when you stood beneath him on your tippy-toes, looking up at sepia irises with your own iridescent ones. He had gone soft; and while you weren’t exactly a risk-taker, you did like to take him by surprise by leaning over his lap while he piloted the Razor Crest, taking him into your mouth and blowing him until his cock twitched within your wetness. He liked to hold himself in the warm confines of your mouth after he orgasmed, his seed seeping out the corners of your swollen lips as you struggled and gagged to find missing breaths. It was filthy, pornographic, and incredibly hot.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

-          Din had been fighting since he was a kid. Hell, the man took on an entire Mudhorn and, granted almost died, still nearly knocked it down with brute force and strength. To think that sort of stamina wouldn’t manifest itself into the bedroom would be foolish, your honor.

-          The man could fuck from sunrise to sunset if he wanted, manipulating your orgasms to draw themselves out for as long as possible, switching positions that would open entirely different realms of pleasure, and end up leaving you unable to walk properly for a couple of days afterward.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

-          Mando’s animosity towards droids reflected itself on his feelings towards toys. He likes to feel you, the warmth, the spasms, the slickness… everything. That’s it. That’s the tweet.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

-          WHEN I SAY MANDO IS A TEASE !! There are times where the man will rub his cock against the soaking wet folds of your core, teasing your clit with his sensitive head for what feels like hours before inserting just the tip… only to repeat the process again. He wanted to get everything out of you, and he was well-aware of the effect teasing had on you.

-          That’s why he did it so much. Duh.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

-          His moans were an absolute symphony to your ears, often consisting of strings of curses and grunts, the octave only increasing the closer he got to orgasm. Din’s moans were a turn-on in and within themselves and could get you off alone. Combined with the sensation of his cock twitching inside you, along with his lips vibrating against the sensitive skin between your neck and collarbones… it sent you into a flurry of your own moans and curses, filling the atmosphere around you with sex.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

-          Mando loved to put a blindfold on you every once in a while. It was when his touch was unexpected and took you by surprise that gave him the response he wanted. He also loved wrapping your wrists with some extra rope laying around the ship, completely submissive and vulnerable to his touch as you could only writhe and moan beneath his euphoric touch.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

-          He’s PACKING packing. 6-8 inches hard at LEAST.

-          Hot take: he’s not cut. Heightened sensitivity on both ends can actually be something so personal.

-          There’s a slight curve that lands his cock against his right side, head brushing against the inside of his thigh when flaccid and not tucked within a pair of briefs. Full balls, soft, not a hair in sight, which makes giving head much more enjoyable in your humble opinion. While not obscenely veiny, the Mandalorian would come undone at the sensation of your tongue running up the underside of the large, pulsating blue vein running against his cock. What really sealed the deal, however, was when your tongue would spread the precum around his oversensitive head, wrapping swollen lips around the tip and taking in every drop of the salty fluid. The vibrations your moans sent against his cock caused Din to throw his head back against the surface behind him, vision going blurry with the sight of the entire star system as he swallowed the breaths hitched within his throat.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

-          Din was the instigator more often than you were, but there was always a 100 percent chance that you would be yearning for him just as much as he was for you. While fucking was something that you both used for a quick release, and a way to let go of all of the tensions and stress that came with both of your lifestyles, it was sex that was reserved for the times where the two souls yearned to become one in a moment of intimacy in its rawest form.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

-          Almost every time, without fail, Din would use his last bit of energy to engulf you within the confines of his arms, peppering kisses against your forehead as you both drifted off to sleep. Limbs would tangle together, relaxing into each other’s warmth as the gentle, low hum of the Razor Crest lulled both of you off to sleep.

[mikeisthricedeceased]

The Artist

Mando x Force sensitive!femReader

Word Count: 976

Warnings: None, really

A/N: Based on this post by @mandowhorian

Summary: Din accepts a bounty for a Force sensitive artist. When he arrives at her small home, he finds her in a studio filled with sketches and paintings of him...without his helmet. Kinda Soulmate AU

AO3 | Masterlist

~*~*~*~

“This one?” asked Yukif, holding up a small jar of paint.

She shook her head. “No. I need something darker.”

“So, you need black?”

“The eyes are brown, not black. I just need something a little darker. I haven’t been able to get the level of depth that I want,” she said, frowning at the selection before her. “Black is too harsh for the irises.”

Yukif set the jar back with a huff. “Can’t you just mix the colors you already have? Surely, you have enough to get close to what you’re looking for.”

She sighed. “I’ve tried. Nothing turns out right.”

“This is why you ought to stick to painting beings that exist, rather than faces you’ve only seen in dreams,” he grumbled, earning a small glare from her.

“If I could get this face out of my head, I’d be done with it,” she told him. “But it always pops up, so I feel the need to capture it properly.”

He rolled his eyes as he started walking out of the shop. “Your need to capture it properly has caused us enough trouble.”

She gave him an incredulous look, following close behind. “You’re the one who suggested we make a run at that shipment, not me,” she hissed, voice low.

He shrugged, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I was only trying to help you. No one told me it would all be custom stock for some eccentric painter in the Core.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as they walked. “You’re lucky we’re friends.”

He snorted. “You’re lucky that dream face isn’t hard on the eyes, even if you say you’re not getting it right. You leave your little renderings all over the house.”

“I’ll bring all the canvases back into my studio, you big baby.”

“And the sketches?” he asked, giving her a pointed look.

She tried to look annoyed while hiding a smile. “And the sketches.”

He gave a nod, his own face breaking into a grin.

When they reached their small house, Yukif parted ways with her at the door, saying something about going down to visit the mechanic who was meant to be repairing his little nav droid.

She walked all through the quiet rooms, gathering up the miscellaneous portraits scattered throughout. After they were all carefully leaning against the walls around her, she slumped down onto the stool in front of her current piece. 

It was a little more than half finished, the soft sketch lines still visible in a few places. She studied it, loosing a slow exhale as she tried to decide what to do about her ongoing color conundrum. Maybe she could try doing something monochromatic next time.

She rolled open her collection of brushes and got to work.

It might’ve been an hour later, the smell of paint and thinner filling the room as she made small, careful strokes with one of her thinest brushes, determined to get the messy waves of hair right. There was a gentle sweep of something across her nerves and she paused, brush poised over the canvas as she held her breath.

There wasn’t a sound out of the ordinary, but she could feel that something. She looked to the cracked door of her studio, dipping her brush in the thinner before cleaning it quickly and setting it aside. 

She rose from her stool slowly, eyes locked on the door as she took a tentative step toward it.

It was probably just Yukif getting back. But why did she feel like this?

The tips of her fingers were just about to curl around the edge of the door when it was suddenly being pushed inward. A blaster appeared, trained on her and she could only stumble back into the room as the armored figure stepped into her studio.

The backs of her legs brushed against her stool and she sank onto it, eyes wide and terrified, heart pounding in her chest as her gaze moved between the blaster and the dark visor of its wielder.

And then, before she could ask why he was there or beg for her life, something about the imposing way that he carried himself faltered.

~*~*~*~

Din couldn’t tear his eyes away from the unfinished portrait behind her. The portrait of him. His face.

It was an unmistakable likeness and he didn’t understand how such a thing was even possible. No one had ever seen his face, not since he was a child. Not as it was now.

He started to breathe a little quicker, pulling his gaze back to the woman sitting in front of him, the bounty he was here for.

But that shift in his gaze only made him notice the canvases tilted against the wall off to the side of her easel and he scanned over them. His face adorned every single one.

“Are you here to kill me?” asked a quiet voice.

His attention snapped back to the woman who was now studying him intently.

Chest tight with confusion and shame and horror, he lowered the blaster to indicate the canvases and asked a question of his own, voice rasping through his helmet’s modulator.

“Why?”

~*~*~*~

She startled at his tone, shrinking back. Glancing at her canvases, she was afraid to look away from him too long for fear that he’d make a move. “I—I don’t know what—”

“Those paintings. That face,” he interrupted, his voice too big for the small room. “Why are you painting that face?”

She shook her head, face going hot with panic and confusion. “It’s in—I see it in my dreams. I’m just—just trying to get it right,” she said, her own voice wavering.

There was a moment when neither of them moved and the room was unnervingly still, that something pressing down on her.

And then he was letting his blaster drop, sliding it back into the holster at his hip. He was breathing hard, she could hear it. Almost as if she were the one who’d snuck up on him.

“Your dreams,” he said quietly.

She simply stared for a moment before realizing that she should probably be nodding. “Yes. Almost every time I close my eyes, I see this face,” she explained, gesturing to the painting still on the easel behind her. 

He shifted his weight, helmet tilting to face the collection on the floor before returning to her.

She was struck with a sudden possibility. “Do you—do you recognize this face?” she asked cautiously, unable to hide the hopeful curiosity in her eyes.

That something seemed to fill the whole room as he nodded and she leaned toward him just a bit, her hands clasping together. There was silence again, like he was coming to a decision. 

After a few agonizing seconds, his dark visor settled on her and her breath caught. “It’s mine.”

------------

~ Mike

[whenimaunicorn]

I barely realized I was doing it!!! But I thought about that cool, shiny, solid thigh guard between my legs and it was all over

I enjoy Mando’s armor a lil ... too much. Especially after that fic you reblogged

I don’t blame you because I too want to fuck both the beskar and the man beneath and god damn @whenimaunicorn for making us this way

god help me

[dogwithpants]

I got a new teddy bear, named him Keith Jarold Barold J Bluejeans Mattresston Maplecourt Mandowhorian Bilf Big Boy Bearstard Brown Shakebear Minecraft

Bilfza for short

Anyone wanna see him?

[javierpenaspinkshirt]

By Force

Mando x Y/N

A/N: based on this amazing idea by @mandowhorian. I hope I’ve done your idea justice! Please forgive any ugly errors, it's very late and I am but a mere mortal incapable of spelling.

Warnings: violence (nothing graphic), descriptions of death, little bit of soft. Nasty formatting.

Words: 4.9k.

By Force

‘What have you got?’ The words were low and gravelly through the modulator.

Karga knew him well enough to know that that was the extent of the conversation he was going to get from his best hunter. Rather than bother trying to force a friendly chat between acquaintances he took the bounty pucks from his pocket and laid them out on the table.

‘I’ve got… a nobleman’s son, bail jumper, bail jumper, escaped convict…’ Karga held each one up to The Mandalorian as he named them but he raised and eyebrow and smirked slightly as the helmet stayed dead still in front of him.

‘What? None of these good enough for you, Mando?’ He laughed.

Mando hated how Karga would toy with him before giving him the bounty he actually wanted, but he needed the work and the guild was the only place he could get it. He tolerated Karga’s antics.

Karga stoped laughing and retrieved another puck from his pocket. He placed it carefully on the table right in front of Mando.

‘Now this one, this one is fun. She’s had several failed attempts on her already. And she…’ Karga looked around him before leaning in close across the table and whispering slightly, ‘she’s ex-Rebellion’.

‘Being a Rebel isn’t a crime, the New Republic has no problem with Rebels’ Mando was matter of fact in his response, turning his helmet to look away from the guild-man who was trying to enthuse him.

‘No questions asked, Mando, you know the rules’ Karga sat back against the seat of the cantina booth, ‘we don’t ask, we just take the puck’.

Mando knew the rules. He knew it was much better not to ask. The less information he knew about his bounties the better. He had a reputation as a fearsome hunter, skilled and efficient he could track quarries across the galaxy. And he did. If he pulled your number, you weren’t getting away. But below the Beskar he wasn’t some terrible monster. He was a man loyal to his creed, loyal to the Tribe, and dedicated to his work. But he wasn’t heartless. The less he knew the better he slept.

He sighed and scooped the puck up off the table, snatched the tracking fob from Karga’s outstretched hand and got up to leave, grabbing his Amban Pulse Rifle and securing it to his armour.

‘See you soon, Mando’ Karga crooned giving him a mock wave.

Mando didn’t bother to acknowledge him and strode out of the cantina on to the dusty streets of Nevarro. The sunshine glinted off his armour, as old an worn as it was. It had served him well on many an adventure and it would continue to do so until the time came for him to be able to earn new armour. But Beskar was not easy to come by, so for now he would continue to rely on the worn, battle scarred armour that was his second skin.

He made his way to the Razor Crest, hating the way eyes always seemed to trail him. Usually harmless and often just curious they would follow him as he moved, staring at the weaponry and the Beskar. He was grateful that his tall stature and powerful presence mostly kept punters from actually approaching him.

Finally he breeched the safety of the Crest and got off the ground as quickly as he could. His fortress of solitude sped away from Nevarro as fast as he could dare and finally he felt his muscles relax.

Sat in the pilot’s seat, Mando took a moment to properly examine the puck. The bounty was ex-Rebellion. Named Y/N and aged 35 she had evaded capture several times already. An ex-Rebel wasn’t his usual bounty and if she had already had several attempts on her she wasn’t going to come easy. Though he enjoyed a challenge he did wonder whether he should’ve settled for one of Karga’s numerous bail jumpers instead, just to take the easy route for once. But the covert was relying on his income and his loyalty to the Tribe outweighed his dislike of difficult jobs.

Y/N was suspected to be on some outer rim skughole called Tatooine that Mando had only heard mentioned when sat in bars frequented by guild members. It was a planet known to be used by smugglers and thieves. The ideal place to hide yourself away if you were looking to avoid capture.

Mando set course for the smuggler’s paradise and let the auto pilot take the reigns. He sat back in the seat and let his head tip back to rest. It would be several hours before he was anywhere near his destination. Enough time to remove his armour and get some rest.

Mando dragged his tired body to his quarters and began to strip the Beskar, carefully and slowly. He respectfully lined each piece up and inspected it for damage. The last piece was his helmet. He pressed the release and felt the cool air of the ship on his face as he shook back the sweat dampened hair from his face and ran a glove-free hand over the back of his neck. He stripped down further until he was wearing only a pair of undershorts and stretched. He felt every joint click and every sinew pull as he did. Sweet relief for a few brief hours.

He made his way to the ship’s small fresher where he showered and shaved the stubble that was growing itchy beneath the helmet. He cut a few loose ends from his hair that were untameable and looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t hate what he saw but it wasn’t exactly his favourite view. Several cuts and scrapes adorned his face and scars covered a good portion of his shoulders and upper torso that he could see in the small mirror. His jaw line was sharp but to him it bore marks of fights and squabbles. His nose accentuated the beautiful symmetry of his face but to him it had been broken one too many times. His eyes were dark and enchanting but to him they looked like the muddy swamps of Mimban. He’d seen plenty worse than him in his time, but as he looked into his own exhausted eyes he was reminded how ever grateful he was for his creed. No living thing had seen him without his helmet since the day he had sworn it. Though he could occasionally find himself pining for the touch of another he had spent so long alone that those wants were infrequent and harmless.

He drudged back to his quarters and lay down on the make shift bed that hurt his back and offered about as much comfort as the cantina benches. It wasn’t much but it was safe. He would afford himself a little sleep.

*

After a few hours of much needed rest, the Beskar returned to its rightful place and the helmet once again obscured anything human about The Mandalorian from view. The location of his next bounty was well in view from the Crest’s cockpit and the tracking fob began to bleep in that familiar ominous tone.

There was a ship port in Mos Espa, one of the planet’s few port cities, and Mando decided that would be the safest place to leave his ship. He knew the planet was overrun with pirates and bandits and he didn’t want to run the risk of the Razor Crest being hijacked or stripped for parts while he was out working.

He docked in one of the empty bays and tossed a few credits to the Gamorrean manning the port and headed into the city.

It was hot and dusty and the suns were relentless already. It was early morning but the arid air was still dry enough to catch in Mando’s throat. The fob bleeped slowly, the bounty wasn’t likely to be in the city. But he knew that. No former-Rebel with a bounty on her head was going to hide out in a city. He was in for a long day.

Mando walked slowly through the tight streets and through the small market. Naturally, once again, all eyes were on him, an outsider – obviously there on guild business. The people of Tattooine were no stranger to bounty hunters or Mandalorians for that matter, but he still drew attention as a visitor to Mos Espa. He kept his eyes straight ahead, heading for the small cantina at the end of one of the narrow roads. It was a likely hang out spot for local bounty hunters and smugglers and he hoped that from there he might be able to procure some transport or at least a little more information about his former-Rebel quarry.

He entered the cantina, having to duck slightly to fit through the small door way. Automatically patrons turned to look at him but the band in the corner kept playing and no one seemed to pay him much mind as soon as it became apparent he wasn’t there to cause any trouble. He sidled up to the bar and rested his forearms on the sticky, unpolished surface waiting for the service droid to notice him.

‘Here on business, Mando?’ The voice came from behind him and Mando spun round quickly, braced for a fight. Instead he was met by a smile and two large hands reaching out to pat him on the arms.

‘We see plenty of your kind round here’ the smiling face and outstretched arms belonged to a tall, large man wearing a dirty apron and a pair of trousers all but dripping with grease obviously wiped on them by the hands now gently gripping Mando’s arms.

The man released him and motioned him to sit at the bar with him.

‘What can I do for you, traveler? Welcome to my humble cantina, can I get you a drink?’ The man kept smiling and clicked for the service droid to come over.

‘No thank you’ Mando replied as politely as he could, ‘I’m here for a job, I wont be staying’.

‘Figured as much’ the cantina owner shooed the droid away and pointed to the slowly blinking fob on Mando’s belt, ‘guild business?’.

Mando nodded but said nothing more, not wanting to give away his position.

The owner let out a bellowing laugh, it shocked Mando but the Beskar covered his reaction. No one in the cantina blinked an eye, this was obviously a regular occurrence.

‘Let me guess, you’re here for Y/N’ the owner offered, grinning at his own deductions.

‘Yes’ was the single word answer.

‘We have boys like you pass through nearly every week! But I admire the guild’s commitment to keep sending you guys after her’ the owner was pushing Mando to ask him questions, knowing he knew exactly what Mando needed.

Mando sighed and obliged, ‘tell me about her’.

The owner sat up on the bar stool and grabbed a drink from behind the bar.

‘She’s ex-Rebellion’ he began, settling in to tell a story Mando didn’t really want to hear, ‘she came here after the Battle of Yavin about 8 years ago. She’s been here since, legends say she’s waiting for someone’.

‘Being a Rebel isn’t a crime’ Mando offered.

The owner shook his head, ‘no its not, but the winds say there’s something about her that both sides of the fight want. They say she can move things with her mind and command the sands to do her bidding, they even say she can foresee things’ the owner nodded enthusiastically waiting for Mando’s equally as enthused response.

He didn’t get it.

‘Tell me where she is’.

The owner slumped back, visibly disappointed by Mando’s lack of curiosity but he continued on, ‘she lives out by the old rock formation north from here… you look like you’ve got a lot of heavy weaponry on you and that suit cant be fun to walk around in under two suns… if you go out back my boys will be happy to drive you’ something flashed in the owners eyes.

‘What’s in it for you?’ Mando’s voice was gruff and a little hushed.

A smile formed on the large man’s face, ‘maybe a few credits for the guys and if you do catch her’ he leaned in close to The Mandalorian, ‘and you survive her… you come back here and tell me if it’s true’ he tapped the side of his head and moved out of Mando’s space.

If he survived her? Who was Y/N? Exactly what was he walking in to?

Though he was about as far from trusting the man in front of him as he was from Nevarro, Mando agreed to pay his men for a ride to the rocky outcrop the bounty was supposed to live on.

The owner showed him out back where a group of four men were hanging around a beaten up old Landspeeder. Mando’s hackles raised, he felt uneasy and his instincts were usually right. He made sure the Pulse Rifle on his back was visible and hoped it served as a warning in case he was walking into an uncomfortable situation.

‘This is this week’s hunter looking for Y/N’ the cantina owner addressed the four men, ‘take him to the rock and he’ll pay you’.

He motioned for Mando to get into the speeder and went back indoors.

Mando stood still, no one spoke. He realised that he was in a small alley way, one end enclosed by walls of buildings, the other cut off by the four men who were now beginning to move towards him. None of them had blasters but all were wearing knuckle dusters.

This was a set up. He knew his instincts were correct.

‘Hand over the fob, Mando, and we’ll let you walk away alive’ one of the men called at him.

So that was it. They wanted to mug him for the fob in hope of getting to Y/N and collecting the reward.

‘I thought the other guy said you get hunters through here every week? If you know where she is why do you need me?’ Mando tried to reason, he didn’t need a fight.

‘What’s the use in a bounty without the puck for reward?’ The men laughed.

Mando flexed his fingers. He didn’t want a fight. But he guessed he was going to have to.

‘Come and get it’.

And with that the men lunged at him, all four of them in a frenzied and uncoordinated attack. Mando guessed they hadn’t been working together long.

One of them struck the Beskar with the knuckle dusters causing and almighty clang to echo out through the alley way. Mando all but brushed him off as the steel did it’s job and protected him from harm. The man shrieked in horror as his hand crumpled on impact and sunk to the floor.

Hand to hand combat wasn’t Mando’s forte, in fact he despised it. More often than not it ended up in another new scar and several days of nursing bruises. He didn’t have time for that right now.

Mando drew his blaster and shot the man that was furthest from him, hoping to draw the other’s attention away from him for a second. It worked and Mando stepped forward grabbing the two remaining men by the back of their heads while they were turned to look at the one with the blaster wound and slammed their heads together. Out cold they dropped like flies on to the desert dust.

The man who had first flown at him was on the floor cradling his probably broken hand against his chest. Mando grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him to his feet and slammed him against the wall of the cantina.

‘Where is she’ he growled.

‘She’ll kill you, man you don’t understand’ the ‘wannabe’ assassin whined.

Mando slammed him against the wall again, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to break anything.

The man whimpered in pain, ‘she kills them all, she killed the guys we replaced! The last lot robbed the bounty hunter and went out to get her and they never came back, just like the ones before them and the ones before them! They just lose their minds and jump!’

‘What does she do to them’ Mando tightened the grip on the quivering man’s shirt and he yelped.

‘They say she makes them kill themselves, they say she can control their minds and they throw themselves off the rock, they say she drives them crazy with her thoughts’.

Mando let the little man go and he sunk to his knees and groaned in pain. Surely the sound from his blaster had been heard from inside the cantina and surely someone had realised that the four men had not returned with the fob.

It was time to go.

‘Which way?’ Mando didn’t need to shout, the man was so afraid he simply pointed to the north with his unbroken hand and sobbed slightly.

Mando tossed him a credit then leapt into the Landspeeder and sped off as the suns rose higher into the sky.

*

It was no more than an hour before Mando saw the shimmering outline of the rock formation in the distance. It was a large red stone lump in the middle of otherwise empty desert. Not exactly conspicuous, but completely inaccessible by foot and he had no doubt that she would have seen him coming long before he could see the rock.

He kept the speed up, unsure of what he was speeding towards. If she was as powerful as the men at the cantina had said then he was in for a fight.

As he approached the rock he slowed the speeder to a near halt. He hopped out and used the slowly moving speeder as cover until he reached the rock and flattened himself against it.

He checked over the Pulse Rifle, making sure it was in perfect order before he advanced further.

He looked up. There was what looked like a cave several feet up the rock and to his right was a staircase carved into the deep red stone. There was no wind, only scorching heat. He was grateful for the shadow the rock was casting. There was total silence. The only sound was of his own gentle breathing and the hurried bleeping of the fob on his belt. She was here. And there was no question that she knew he was too.

He sighed and made his way to the staircase. He slowly ascended, keeping his ears open for any sound that might indicate her presence. He arrived at the top of the staircase onto a carved balcony before the mouth of the cave.

He stopped and stared as he was greeted by murals painted on the stone face with astonishing detail. They portrayed men, bounty hunters by the look of their dress, being thrown from the top of the rock. Mando gulped. He put his hand up to touch the painting. If this was drawn by Y/N then she certainly had a knack for gory detail. The tortured twists of the falling men’s faces were horrifying but beautiful, but it was the drawing of the small woman, dressed in white with her hands above her head and eyes closed that grabbed his attention. It looked as though she were commanding the men to leap to their deaths.

It felt like he knew her?

Mando’s hackles raised again. Perhaps some of what he had been told wasn’t completely fictitious? Or perhaps she was just a talented artist marketing herself as a fearsome sorcerer? Only one way to find out.

Mando slunk against the wall and moved slowly towards the mouth of the cave. He drew his blaster before peering round the corner to look into the mouth of the cave. His blaster dropped to his side and if his jaw could have swung open it would have done.

The whole cave was filled with paintings. Lit by naked flame the cave was deep and silent. But the walls were plastered with paintings. Hypnotised Mando moved further in and admired the paintings, the detail was mesmerising. They were all portraits of a man with mirror like precision. And then stopped dead in his tracks. His blood ran cold.

He stared at the paintings of the man adorning the walls. He saw the unkempt hair and the forehead covered in scars. He recognised the sharp jawline and the nose that had been broken one too any times. He saw the tired eyes and the day old stubble. It was as if he were looking into the mirror in the small fresher on the Razor Crest.

He reached out expecting the stunning realism to reach back at him but it didn’t. Instead his gloved hand brushed at the face he recognised as his own.

The cave was covered in murals of him. Stood in various poses, sometimes smiling, sometimes scowling, all of them dressed in simple white – no armour.

He was lost in awe and panic when a quiet voice pierced the sharp silence.

‘Why are you here?’

Mando snapped back to reality and redrew his blaster and pointed it towards the voice.

Out of the shadow stepped a woman, dressed in all white, hair hanging around her shoulders, bare feet making gentle ‘paps’ against the cool, dark stone.

The fob bleeped relentlessly. Her.

‘Come for the bounty?’ She smirked.

As she came out of the shadows and closer to him he could see she was wearing what looked like a blindfold. White silk was wrapped around her head covering only her eyes. It was as if she radiated power and the way she moved was as though her feet floated inches above the floor.

Mando recovered his composure and lowered his blaster.

‘I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ his voice held firm despite the fear and confusion burning within him.

‘Do you like the paintings’ Y/N gestured to the walls.

‘Who is he?’ Mando asked before he could even think.

‘I don’t know’ she smiled gently, ‘I cant see him’.

Mando stood up tall. He looked back at the walls as if his eyes had deceived him the first time. But no, he was sure. The man on the walls was him. A stunningly real version of him looking back at him from a thousand angles around the cave. But she didn’t know?

‘You.. can’t see?’ Mando hated himself the moment the words left his mouth. That was a question right up there with ‘why don’t you take your helmet off?’.

She smiled at him again, ‘I’m not wearing this for fun’ she touched at the wrap around her eyes, ‘I was born like this. I’ve had to rely on the Force to guide me my whole life’ her smile faded and it was as if the energy around her turned to sorrow.

Mando tensed. Who was she?

‘So the mural out front didn’t put you off’ she laughed and the light around her returned.

‘No’ he said matter of factly.

She cocked her head to the side, the smile still dancing on her lips.

‘You’re not like the others that come here. You’re not so frantic, less hurried. Who are you?’ She moved closer to him, now only a few feet separating them. ‘Do I know you?’.

Mando gulped.

‘Who are you?’ She repeated.

‘I’m here to take you back to the guild’ he was doing his best to keep his voice solid and monotoned.

But she picked up the slight wobble of his cadence and stepped closer still.

‘Who are you?’

‘Who is the man in the paintings?’ Mando’s voice almost cracked, the fear welling up in him. The words of the cantina man ringing in his ear ‘if you survive her’. He had thought it was superstitious nonsense, a story hyped up to keep hunters like him away from her. But as she stood before him, questioning him, his own silhouette adorning the walls of the cave, he felt a chill travel through his body despite the heat of the desert around him. And yet she felt familiar, almost safe?

Suddenly her posture softened. The smile returned and she shrugged.

‘Okay’ she said, ‘before I have to send you away like the rest of them I’ll tell you’.

She stood perfectly still as did he.

She breathed in, ‘he’s my soul mate’.

Mando’s brow furrowed and his lips moved as though he was going to say something, to protest maybe, but no sound came out.

‘I see him in my dreams, sometimes I see him in the day. I see him so often it’s as if I know him. But I can’t speak to him, so I paint him. He’s the only thing I can see’, she began to shuffle under foot, ‘it told me to come here to wait for him, of course it did, where else but the birth place of the Skywalkers. Who knew the Force had a sense of humour?’ she laughed.

He didn’t laugh back. The chill still running through his veins.

‘Who are you?’ His voice was soft and nervous.

She responded with a smile again, ‘I’m Y/N, and now it’s time for you to leave’.

She slowly reached out her hand and Mando went for his blaster and suddenly stopped. He couldn’t move. Panic rose in him and he tried to squirm but he was being held firm in an in invisible vice.

‘Thank you for coming, bounty hunter, but today is not your day’ there was menace in her voice and as she lifted her hand he began to move back, slowly towards the mouth of the cave.

He was held fast, as if he was one of his bounties frozen in Carbonite. The eyes of the paintings of him seemed to watch as he was slowly pushed towards the drop down onto the sand below.

‘Stop’ he shouted, the modulator covering some of the fear in the plea ‘I know him! The paintings! I know that man!’

He dropped suddenly to his knees, his lungs filling with the hot desert air in hurried gulps.

‘Who are you?’ She repeated, this time less calm.

Mando caught his breath and rose up on to one knee. She was standing still, her arm lowered. What the hell had she just done to him?

He stood up tall, his breathing erratic. He stepped back into the cave.

‘The man you’re painting, who did you say he was?’

‘My soul mate’ she was matter of fact about it, ‘I don’t know whether he knows but I know one day he’ll come to me, the Force tells me so, I feel it. That’s why I stay here, I’m waiting. It’s why I cant allow you to take me away’ she moved to raise her hand again and Mando put both of his out in protest.

‘Stop! I know him! I know the man you’re painting’ his pleas worked and she lowered her hand again.

His breathing hitched and his heart raced, ‘do you promise me you can’t see through that blindfold?’

‘What kind of question is that?’ Anger laced her response and he understood it more than she knew, but he had to be sure.

‘Promise me’ he commanded.

She nodded, her stature timid at the tone of his voice.

He didn’t know what he was doing, he just felt compelled to do it. He couldn’t explain it, he couldn’t understand it himself, but he reached up and listened for the click and gentle hiss of the release of his helmet. He felt the warmth of the air on his face and brushed the sweat dampened hair from his forehead.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t move, didn’t say a word. She couldn’t see him.

He stepped forward and her fingers flexed.

‘I know the man in the paintings’ he stopped as he stood right up close to her, her heart leaping at the sound of his un-modulated voice.

Her breathing increased and her body tensed.

Mando reached down and took her hands. She flinched and pulled away but he caught her arms and held her gently, ‘trust me’.

She did. She couldn’t tell herself why but she trusted the bounty hunter.

He carefully lifted her hands to his face, ‘I know the man in the paintings’ he repeated softly.

She put her hands on his face, felt his hot skin and his sweat dampened hair. She felt the beautiful curve of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw, every scar and bruise that told a story and she gasped.

‘I know him’ he repeated.

She smiled as she traced her fingers over his face, seeing him.

He felt her seeing him. He was used to stares from strangers, he hated the way they looked at him, but she was the only person he wished could see him. Finally someone he wanted to look upon him and she couldn’t. But she felt like home.

She kept smiling, touching the smooth skin, the chapped lips, the long eyelashes. She recognised it all. She could see him, his image as clear as her visions beneath her gentle hands. Her favourite view.

‘You’re him,’ her voice was shocked but her face gave away her joy.

‘You’re Din’.

[whenimaunicorn]

Soooo... If I put up a sneak peek of my next Mando one-shot, do you want a snippet of the smut or of the plot?

[whenimaunicorn]

This is the way

How many fandoms am I gonna join, because I’m writing Mandalorian tonight. I blame @whenimaunicorn it must be done lol

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

A Work of Art

Pairing: The Mandalorian/ Din Djarin x Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: @mandowhorian posted a prompt that came across my dash and goddamn it, I had to write it.  Why does my brain do this to me when I got another fic to finish?  

Also @amarvelousmandalorian wrote a ditty that gave me the jump I needed.  Won’t ever be as good as some people’s but whatever, I had to get it out on paper, so to speak.

Reminder:  I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  

---***---

When she heard footsteps coming up the walkway, she rose from her chair to open the door.  She had just finished setting the table up for a meal, wondering if the man coming to her was going to enjoy her baked goods.  At least the house smelled of warm sugar rather than the bitterness of oil paint that usually permeated the space.

“Mandalorian!”  She called, waving at him with a large smile on her face.  She made a small note that his arms were empty of the little green being he had taken under his wing.  “I didn’t think you’d reach me by sundown, the rains have made the forest roads a little treacherous.  Come in, the tea is almost ready!”

He stopped in his tracks, confusion radiating off him and she laughed. She was his bounty and she was inviting him in for tea?  As he began to walk again, his steps were less certain as if he expected her to ambush him.  He kept his hand near his blaster and continued up the stone pathway.  

When he entered, the room seemed to shrink to half its size and for a moment, the Mandalorian felt awkward and unsure.  He mentally berated himself for letting these odd thoughts invade his mind.  She was the damn bounty and who cares if he was practically a bull in a china shop in her home?  She was coming with him and it wouldn’t be hers for much longer.

“Where is the little one?  I hope you haven’t left him on the ship unattended.  I thought you’d have learned not to do that.  No matter, we can make up a basket for you to take back.  I’m sure you hardly have anything homemade in your storehouse.”  She busied herself preparing plates of food and motioned for him to sit as she poured tea into heavy cups made of local wood.  He didn’t move, completely unnerved by her comments.  In the blink of an eye, he drew his blaster and pointed it at her.  She merely smiled and his irritation grew.

“How do you know about the kid?”  He growled at her, the hairs on his neck standing on end.  What the hell was going on?  Nothing about this seemed right to him.

“Exactly how I know about you, Din.  And why you’re here.  Please sit. I know you won’t eat with me around, but we can at least chat a bit.”  When he didn’t move, she looked at him pointedly.  “You sat on this job for four days even though you knew it could be done in twenty minutes.  Sit down.”

She had him there.  He sat down with a large thump and she worried he would break the wooden chair, sending himself sprawling into the stone wall behind him.  She giggled a bit at the image, wondering if he’d knock himself senseless in that helmet of his.  He pointed the blaster at her again.

“Talk, bounty.”

“I am Force sensitive, much like your little one and I know the Empire wishes to use us to regain power in the galaxy.  That’s why you were sent after us.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t tell me how you know me or my name.”  He still sounded hard, but he wasn’t growling at he any longer.  Only a select few knew his name and no one since Mandalore had fallen had spoken it directly to him until Moff Gideon said it on Nevarro.  And now this woman was speaking his name as sure as if they had been paired all their lives.

“I’ve always known you.”  Behind the mask, Din’s jaw dropped and his hold on the blaster wobbled a bit.

“How?”

“The Force.  Come with me.”  When she rose, she skirted the table and laid a hand on his shoulder.  Even through the layers of cloth and beskar, he could feel her warmth.  He angled his helmet to look at her before standing up.  He towered over her, his suit of armor crowding her out.  She turned and walked through a small door and motioned for him to come in.

When entered he stopped and in his state of shock, the blaster fell from his hand.  He was surrounded by. . . himself.  The walls covered in images of his face in different mediums – oil, chalk, crayon, pastels, acrylics, ink, and even embroidery.  No two pictures were the same and he slowly began to walk around the studio, taking it all in.  

He saw his face as a child before it went under the helmet and there in a pencil drawing was his face after a night out with Ran’s crew.  He looked up and saw a small portrait of himself holding the kid with the mudhorn insignia behind them.  All around him his face – his history – was charted on these walls.  Goosebumps broke out on his skin as he turned, seeking answers.

“When was I was ten, the Force began to grant me visions and sight.  By the time I was fourteen, I saw your face for the first time.  I was so in tune with your essence that I begun to draw you, to try and figure out who you were to me.”

“What did you discover?”

“You’re my soulmate.”

“Your what?!”  He barked out a laugh, utterly shocked at her words.  Soulmate?  People really believed that tripe?  He shook his head.

“How else to do you explain any of this?”  He shrugged until she pointed to a picture on the mantle.  He walked over and his breath hitched in his throat.  It was his face on Nevarro, right before he nearly died.  It was a harsh painting, dark with heavy blots of paint.  The image was almost grainy, and he could feel pain radiating from it, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it were his or hers.  He shuttered as he turned away.

“I watched you nearly die, Din.  I felt it in my very core as your life force leaked from you and a part of me was taken with it.”  She walked up to him and raised her hand. She tapped the back of his helmet, right over where the scar was.  “Here. Right here is where my life nearly ended had it not been for a droid.”

There was no way for her to have known what transpired on Nevarro nor where his scar was. And yet, she did and when she touched his helmet, it was as if there was no metal between them.  He could almost feel her soft fingertips along his skin.

“I do not know why the Force thought a Mandalorian would be good for me. But it did.  And I have been haunted for years as you were reckless with Ran.  I watched with pride as you became the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy.  My heart clenched when you showed what a good man you are Din Djarin when you went back for that little one and saved his life. And I know you have thought about me.”

“What?  I’ve never seen you before in my life and certainly I haven’t felt anything like you’re describing.”  His goosebumps were turning to shivers that he tried to ignore – little fissures of truth coming out of the darkness to shame him.  This was too weird, and he shook his head as if to clear everything.  A simple bounty, that was all this was supposed to be.

“Give me your hand.”  She looked at him and he looked down at her.  When he didn’t move, she asked again.  This time he complied and held it out to her.  She looked at him while removing his glove, exposing his calloused hand to her. She laid her own soft hand on his and closed her eyes.  Din stood rock still as he could feel her in his mind, in his soul.  Her voice sounded in his brain.

“Din.  Remember.” His eyes closed and suddenly a rush of memories came to him.  Gut-wrenching tears as he laid dying.  A smile that rang with laughter that he heard on the wind after receiving his sigil.  A horrified gasp as he shot IG-11.  A small caress filled with warmth as he laid in the Razor Crest while tracking a bounty on Hoth.  A voice telling him to go the other way as he got lost in the jungles of Byss.  A pair of eyes staring at him with love as he renounced Ran’s crew and left.  Even further back to days on Mandalore when a girl made eyes at him that he didn’t return because the specter of a face in his mind told him to wait for her.

He gasped loudly as these broken images formed together into her. His bounty.  She had always been there and yet she hadn’t.  He opened his eyes to watch her staring at him with a calm look on her face.  Those eyes, her voice, that face.  He knew something about her bounty puck photo seemed familiar to him and yet he couldn’t ever place it.  Now he knew why.

“How is it that you see me fully, but I couldn’t see you?”  His voice was quiet, and he curled his hand around hers.  Her smiled returned.

“You’re not Force sensitive to tune into the connection.  But it was there for you, and it showed itself when it could or when your guard was down enough for you to feel.”  She stopped smiling, brows knitting in concern.  “Are you going to turn me in?”

“Hell no.”  She let out a laugh.

“So, you’re just going to go around collecting Force-sensitive beings and protect us all from the Empire, then?”  He stood there and dropped his head back, groaning.  Oh Maker, he was in it now.

“Yeah, sounds like it.”  He pulled his head forward to look at her.  “I don’t know what this is between us, but I need more answers.”

“It’s a lot information, though, Din.  It’ll take some time.”

“Come with me.  We’ll make the time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  He knew that despite the helmet that she could see his grin.  He knew because her smile looked just like his.

[souls-rain]

I got tagged by @pedropascalito to share ten pictures from my camera roll that describe me without adding any new. And tag 10 people. If you've already been tagged I apologize!

I'm tagging: @stevieharrrr @pascalisthepunkest @pedrolorians @pedrothirst @pascalorian @pedropascalisadilf @mandowhorians @pedropascalsource @bring-me-in-warm @longitud-de-onda

[wakalas]

tagged by: @mandowhorians thank you!

name: jazzy

sexuality: bi :)

hogwarts house: ravenclaw

cats or dogs: both!

current time: 11:47 am

favorite animal: huskies <3

url: wakalas, do i even need to explain this one?

tagging: @mrpascals @damerondjarin @agentpike @pascalplease (only if you want to!)

[themangolorian]

Thanks for the tag @mandowhorian​ ! This was fun! 💜

this or that tag game

tagged by @shinydad 💗🥰 ty

✧ how it works: choose between two words and make the chosen word bold. pass this game on to those whose answers would tickle your fancy.

ancient or modern · bitter or sweet · chocolate or vanilla · coffee or tea · create or destroy · day or night · early bird or night owl · freckles or dimples · gold or silver · greek mythology or egyptian mythology · macarons or eclairs · hot or cold · thunder or lightning · typewritten or handwritten · secret garden or secret library · spicy or mild · dark magic or light magic · virtue or vice · ocean or desert · mermaids or sirens · known or unknown · rough or smooth · moon or stars · rain or snow

I tag (sorry if you’ve been tagged before) @takemepedropascal @djarinispunk @nolivingthingdroid @space-nana @themandjalorian