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tremendum · 1 year

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heyy, can you write din djarin x reader where she's smth like a princess and he's hired as her bodyguard by her father or brother whatever you want (I know this is basic plot but can't help it 😭) tysm❤️🥰

i got u babes! its cute ive never written something like this but i hope u like it!! <3 its fluffier than anything ive really written to tysm for the request! also this is NOT PROOF READ im sorry

after midnight

(gif not mine!) pairing: din djarin x fem!reader (afab, use of terms like princess/duchess/daughter) rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.) word count: 6.2k summary: “you were... a princess. you were untouchable, and he knows better than to fall for one of his jobs. so he'd made a tower of armor to protect him from any attraction; but with every passing day he spent in your company, you happened to slip through those cracks like you were made for it.” warnings: mentions of political unrest/uprisings, reader resents their parents/family because monarchy is BAD folks, threats of death, but smut (PiV, unprotected), mutual masturbation (m&f), teasing, light themes of possession at one point, mentions of eating. cumplay/creampie. i think that's it.

★

YOU are no stranger to fear.

it's been a gently lived life for you, in your several decades orbiting the power of your parents' suns.

the duchess of your family's system, the 'Prize Jewel' your mother loves to say; the one who got the love of the people but sought none of the power.

you weren't the heir, not to the throne: that duty fell unto your younger brother, as per custom tradition. so you were coaxed into a life of sitting around, humming as your ladies in waiting braided your strands, staring longingly as your brother wielded blasters and vibro-blades; as if that is what constituted a good ruler.

so perhaps the fear you've grown accustomed to is the fear of the mirrors that so delicately lined your chambers; the mirror that appears on your own face as any noble speaks to you, as your father commanded you to embark on diplomatic missions that should be left to those who have any stake in the future of the system. the mirror which constricts any true personality or truth from presenting you to the galaxy. you were the duchess, your parents' daughter; you were not yourself.

you'd never gone off world, to either of the other planets in the crown's domain - until the day you did.

that kind of fear was different.

the tumultuous tracks of your heartbeat when that creaking drop ramp was sealed, those days ago; the footsteps that rang out like funeral chimes as the tall Mandalorian bowed his head to you before escorting you upwards into the cockpit of the ship that was to take you to the other side of the system.

you were not, though, afraid of him.

Mando had been your shadow for several months before you left on your enterprise - you were no longer frightened by the cold, sharp angles of his body, the dark rumbling of his scarce voice. now, that same low hum as he listens to you is welcomed. encouraged. sought for.

no, the fear was from something else; there was a scratching, a slow but insistent simmering that tightened the muscles of your lower back and your upper neck until you woke up in sharp gasps of discomfort.

maybe the fear was in the winding hills that turned into mountains, jagging up and into the sky; your fear clung to you even as you lifted your legs and climbed over top of them - those towers to the sky - and settled yourself with the acknowledge that your parents had sent you on this diplomatic embarkment to a hostile insurgence group with nothing more than the Mandalorian bodyguard and a datapad containing an ultimatum which was surely the fuse to the ticking bomb of your family's dominating sovereignty. the crashing of a scepter, or the squashing of a bug.

thankfully your father, in all of his Majesty's grace and wisdom, had offered you a full set of your Ladies of the Household on your journey - as if they'd protect you from blaster fire, or kidnapping, or whatever joys may have lied in wait for you once you reached the rebel territory.

and he knows you are highly mistrusting of those parasitic Mynocks he calls the Kingsguard; that was in fact the sole reason he'd hired the Mandalorian to be your personal guard.

so your father at least had the sense not to call upon the lord commander to escort you, as it would be likely you'd either be dead come nightfall or your cot would be empty come morning rise.

so he'd insisted on only the Mandalorian instead.

a fiercely dauntless man, a walking shield, as clever as he is dangerous.

after seeing him fight, there was no doubt Mando could protect you from hundreds if he needed to.

there was a stint by another insurgent rebel group, of which your family was battling many currently; they'd made threats on your life, so Mando has shown up with a personal arsenal and enough intimidation to make any man fall to his knees.

it took all of thirty seconds of staring at his figure, hearing his voice, to decide you'd fall to your knees for him, too.

and just before you were ordered to visit the duke of the defecting planet, you were informed he would be replacing the four kingsguard subordinated to Mando who usually escorted you around the kingdom.

one man instead of five? you were sure the King was finally sending you to your death, punishing you for his lifelong regret that you'd not been a son.

but you soon came to like Mando and his stoic, taciturn presence.

and at least your instructions were simply to deliver the ultimatum and leave the atmosphere within the hour; the insurgent's strategists would not, as your father and his Hand had believed, have enough time to read through the full terms before deciding they should just break into the duchess's chambers and slit her throat anyways.

you escaped the planet with nothing but a blaster shot grazing Mando's side and the hate of an entire species of oppressed constituents hurling insults at the Crown.

no slit throat for you - but in the end, you wouldn't even blame them if they'd tried.

you know, now, that your fear clouded your eyes, as bright as they may have been back when Mando was hired as your bodyguard. but they grew thick, the clouds lifting into the stratosphere and slipping into Mando's helmet with the modulated, quiet inhales you've come to know almost as your own. you don't think he ever intended to frighten you.

he was there to protect you. and he has.

he has not left you since arriving to the midway planet, where you'll stay for a few days before returning back to your kingdom planet.

here, there is fresh air, the salt of the sea, deep ripe fruits, and warm breezes. there is no fear here, only heat.

Mando helps with that, though he won't let you admit it.

as you stare at that unwavering gaze, surrounded by the gilded intricacies of the farewell feast, all you can do is imagine him. Mando, his body on yours, that cold, heavy metal against the thrill of your heated bare skin. he tilts his head slightly at you; you wink at him over your cup of wine. the man next to you makes conversation about your father's latest agriculture subsidies.

you look back to find the relaxing - bone chilling- gaze on you still. you wonder if he'll crack before you do.

there have been close calls; once, when you'd drank a bit too much ale in the city square and Mando had carried you back to the keep, tucked you into bed as you tried to pull him in with you - you should stay, Mando - the time he'd agreed to teach you to spar and you'd ended up wide-eyed and pinned beneath his very sturdy frame.

you've seen the pressure on his flightsuit beneath those layers when you'd teased him - his own admission of guilt, that he feels something for you, too.

when you'd asked him to help you shoot a blaster, when you'd left the fresher open to shower, or not particularly covering up when you prepared yourself for the day. though he was always there, always at attention for the slightest danger.

even last night, you felt the stuttering in his breaths when you'd sat on your bed, staring down at him - his hand in the nook of your knee, the other unlacing your sandals that'd crawled up your supple calves the entire day. you'd felt his leather hands brush against the soft skin of your thigh, the way that helmet had stared up at you from between your legs. at your service.

you know he could see the way you jolted when he'd place his hands on your hips in passing, or how you'd get particularly flustered at the flip of a blaster trigger, the flex of a muscle under a flightsuit. you didn't try to hide your attraction to him.

but all of those things; those moments you had - even the subtle brushes of his hand just low enough on your lower back, the smiles you'd share even with the barrier of his cold beskar, the soft conversations you'd hold just between the two of you: all, under the soft shadows of the moons which orbit you.

never in the broad daylight.

those souvenirs, the ones which you held close to your heart in the last few weeks, high up in the pews of your heart's cathedral; all idolized yet forgotten with the mornings that rise in clean beskar glinting and sleep rubbing from your eyes.

DIN is sure you're looking straight through him.

those eyes; you're coy the way you look at him now, over the meal you eat at the table.

swirling with mischief.

that trouble-making look, the one he's studied for months as your personal guard. to the constituents of your family's crown, you were the sweet, young girl destined to marry away and sire many noble children. but behind palace doors, you were alive, you were a bolt of electricity that was never to be tamped down.

Din remembers how fiery you'd been when the King had ordered Mando to escort you to the insurgents with your Ladies of the House. you'd requested they not accompany you in this formidable expedition because, as he recalls you'd said, 'how can my bodyguard spare to protect not me but also ten others? shall we just get it over with and behead us all right here?'

he'd smiled behind that helmet when the King and Queen had heard your snippy tongue.

and so it was just you and him, as it'd been for months. and he likes it that way, as much as he would never admit that; you're a kind woman, much too old to be under the reigns of your parent's power but too caught in the web of bureaucracy to untangle yourself from it.

Din sees you tilt your head at him, blatantly ignoring the conversation at the table. heat courses through him at your adamant, keen attention on him despite him likely being the least worthy of your thoughts in this room. still, as always, you tease him.

a drop of a wink; syrupy, sweet, and much too indecent for the public space; much less for you to deliver towards your personal guard. he burns red under the helmet, heat rushing down towards his groin at the way your lips move around the spoon in your mouth.

you know he's watching you, of course; he's always watching you. it's in the job description.

maybe that's the problem: he watches too much. it's always been hard for him to remain simply professional with you, but it's been much more challenging the last few nights as he's tried to get a few hours of shut-eye in the dead of night; with your sweet soft breaths on that large, plush bed that nearly swallows you whole.

it's been excruciating - watching, as you run your hands over your bare legs, kissed by a sweet silk nightgown. massaging your plush skin, slipping just above the hem before dipping down - your lashes fluttering up at him as he stands tall and at attention over you.

he was a dead man, and he'd known it the moment he laid eyes on you.

you were... a princess. you were untouchable, and he knows better than to fall for one of his jobs. so he'd made a tower of armor to protect him from any attraction; but with every passing day he spent in your company, you happened to slip through those cracks like you were made for it.

he wonders if the true tragedy after all was his not watching: although you'd left the crack in the door when you'd stepped into the fresher last night, toweling off your soft skin as steam curls round the doorframe and pulls at him like the tentacles of some lust-ridden beast. you'd given him one of those coy smiles last night as you'd slinked out of the fresher: "thought you said you were always watching, Mando."

you had him wrapped around your dainty, manicured finger and you knew it.

your brows raise at him as you look back up to where he stands, just on the other side of the table, as the diplomats around you at the table buttering you up with a glass of wine, a divine feast, and fancy political phrases.

it doesn't suit you, as you've claimed to him countless times as you strip the bangled gold from your neck, ears, fingers, thighs and slip into something a little more comfortable and a lot less modest. it doesn't really suit you, he guesses. he likes you much more in the throes of your casual time; wearing trousers and a tunic, blaster strapped to your thigh though you don't quite know how to wield it. when you have no handmaidens to primp you and pluck you, to comb their fingers through your hair or paint fancy colors onto your eyelids. you were heavenly like that, in your most comfortable state.

that word; heavenly. the word sounds adolescent, when he looks at you.

you transcend beauty; you're alive, you're nothing but yourself, a woman with life and regret that her world bore her name long before she was born. you told him, as he escorted you through the war-torn scrappings of the insurgent city the day before, that you wished to be free from the chains of royalty. to the royal court, you were nothing but a mirror for them to project their desires.

when you look up at him with those tempting eyes, smirking at him when nobody at the table is looking - Maker, Din swears he will throw away everything he's worked so hard to keep professional.

YOU had pulled the best of the feast onto your napkin once you bid the hosts thanks for the feast, hiding it under the layers of your gown as Mando walked you back to your chambers.

"I kept you some." you offer meekly now, heat painting your face as you offer the spread to him, having taken off your shoes yourself this time. he'd kept his sight on you the whole time, the visor of his beskar piercing you with each movement.

his helmet tilts in question; you spread open the napkin to reveal the small feast of delicacies you'd packed for him. you wonder how he'd missed it, when his eyes were always on you.

"you shouldn't have." he's demure in tone, shifting from his casual position leaning against one of the stone pillars near the intricate dressing screen to standing evenly on both long legs; you smile gently, heart fluttering.

"I thought you deserved some of the feast." you reason, "you did more work than I did, after all." you grin, shrugging a shoulder. you feel the fabric slide over your bare shoulder and it brushes against you like a feather; a ghost of lips that could never be blessed upon your skin.

cursed to always lie in weight under the heavy support of beskar.

but his fingers; they're a different story.

they're gentle, tingling as they brush up the expanse of your deltoid, cascading with a buttery kind touch to return your dress to its rightful place. his hand, swallowed by the leather that protects you so devotedly, trails down your arms, soothing every goosebump that rises in its path. your hand catches his wrist before he can pull away; the tantalizing, intoxicating air in the room rendering him languid as you pull, gently, until your lips press gently to the tip of his thumb.

his breath falters in a staccato as you gently, tenderly press kisses to the tips of each finger; each, a promise. an unnamed affection for the man who does nothing but protect, nothing but exhilarate. the movement feels like the stretch of a plastic band, stretching the tensile strength of your aptitude for waiting, for restraining yourselves.

you wait with baited breath for it to snap in your faces.

it doesn't, though. his hand falls away gently, leaving you to still orbit around each other like lonely stars, crossing paths every few blue moons.

when he speaks, he sounds almost strained. "thank you, ner cyar'ika. you are kind."

your cheeks are warm and they heat up more when you smile up at him. and this time when you step away into the fresher, you make sure the door is fully closed.

the water is warm, curling tendrils of milky sweet oils that bathe your skin in a sweet, plush aroma. you return to the main room slowly after you bathe, ensuring he'll have enough time to return his helmet to its proper place before you see. you wring your hair out with your hands as Mando rises from where he sat on the loveseat; his full height shining that reflective metal against you. your warped, clean, scrubbed reflection stares back at you.

he.... he sees you.

you've always noticed it; maybe that's why you'd commanded your father's men to leave you at the first sight of the Mandalorian's skills - you see a lot of yourself in him. a life concealed behind the preceding reputation: a princess - young, beautiful, generous, stagnant. a Mandalorian - bounty-hunter-turned-guard, sturdy, resourceful, rough.

mirrors follow you no matter where you go. they've been thrust upon you your entire life, every snaking hallway of the kingdom winding down reflective images of your youth, bouncing you from person to person, nothing but a blank canvas for the aristocracy to paint their whims upon.

you suspect, as you stare at Mando's unwaveringly reflective armor, that he understands that more than either of you could know. your heart soars with affection as you pad up to him, craning your neck to take in his entire height.

"did you enjoy it?" you ask with a small smile, combing your fingers through your wet hair. he nods, "yes, cyare. thank you."

you shake your head, unburdened by the gesture of gratitude. "let me guess- your favorite was the..." you pinch your chin with your fingers, scrunching your nose as you pretend to think. "chocolate cake." you say finally, tilting your head as you try to gage his reaction.

a tilt of a helmet, flickering in the candlelight of your chambers. "yes." he sounds surprised; as if you didn't know just as much about him as he knew of himself. it sparks butterflies in your stomach.

"I know you like it sweet, Mando." you tease, sending him a soft wink as you set your face cloth down on the table he leans against; you stare up at him from this angle, your movements molasses as you smile, hand sneaking around his ribs to hold him lightly. his hand rises tentatively to steady your waist, thumb rubbing the satin of your nightgown. "don't worry, I do too." you whisper.

he sighs.

it's a soft, gentle thing; one that nobody would dare imagine your big, bad Mandalorian protector to ever release. but you know him. you see him - Mando is many things, and one of them is hesitant. not unwilling, or shy: hesitant.

(you'd wait a thousand lifetimes for him.)

"cyar'ika," he starts, tone slipping into that gently warning one - the kind he gets when he's feeling bashful. "I don't like it when you tease me." he chides, and it's - kriff, it's playful. you can almost see the grin behind that helmet; his fingers pinch at your sides gently and you screech with laughter, swatting away his touch but hoping he'll soon return it, much like a magnet.

"you do, though." you defend, emboldened by the privacy and the budding tenderness that coaxes you into his arms. his hands soothe over your hips as you stare in silence.

warmth surrounds you; coaxes you to mutter it-

"stay with me, tonight?" you whisper, eyes wide at your own words, shocked you'd finally given in to all of the hunger that has swirled between you for all this time. his helmet tilts. "I am always here with you. my job is to watch you." he says gently, the lilt of guilt ever present in his voice.

you shake your head, eyes shutting in frustration - not at him, never - at who, then? your father? your mother? the last name you've been cursed with for your life? the privilege, the restraint?

"Mando." you say, pressing your palms flat against his chest. "you know what I mean." your eyes swirl with emotion: please, Mando, I can't keep waiting like this.

he waits. "it would be wrong."

you tilt your head, "it wouldn't." but you, much like him, are at a loss for words. a life of inoculation has rendered you unable to express any semblance of amorous emotions, even to this man - the one who is your confidant, your protector, and possibly your only true friend in this world. "I need you. I will-" you swallow, your heart thundering with desire, "I will do anything for you, Mando."

you can't resist the growing wetness in the apex of your thighs as his helmet moves over your figure, wrapped in a silky robe and still wet from bathing. he hums lowly, a long and slow sound, his head tilting ever so slightly as you clench your thighs in search of relief from the growing pressure.

"I have wanted you since I met you." he sighs, hands falling from your shoulders. "but... I shouldn't touch you."

DIN can see your eyes flicker down as he says it.

maker damn you; you've always been too clever for him. he sees the hunger swirl in your blown out pupils, the same hunger that plagues his mind and has sent blood rushing downwards. he feels himself throb as you grin up at him, lashes fluttering as a droplet of silky water trails down the expanse of your bare, awaiting neck.

you know him, you see him. and he thanks all of the stars that you know how badly he needs you, too.

"well, if you can't touch..." you tilt your head to stare up at him through your lashes, loosening the robe which covers your silk nightgown; each inch that slips down your body, Din feels himself stiffen and heat with desire. "...you can at least watch." you whisper, letting the robe drop before you step back from his figure; his eyes trace over every curve, each smooth line and jagged bump.

when you're far enough away, he lets out a shaky breath. "gar Kelir ruin ni, dala" he mutters to himself, swallowing thickly as your figure slinks away from him, traipsing onto your plush bed.

his heart thunders in his chest; you lie on your back, gently, eyes meeting his somehow through the shield of beskar as you move your hands slowly, slowly up your legs. silk catches on your deft fingers as you tease yourself, sighing in relaxation.

Din, standing rigid as a pole as he watches you, cannot look away. you seem flushed, even as your fingers trail over your breasts, toying with the pert nipples which poke through the smooth fabric of your dress. a whimper; high-pitched, breathy as your eyes splinter to Din again. "fuck," you whisper, one hand dragging down to torturously drag the hem of your gown upwards, up, up-

he's salivating.

your thighs, plush and welcoming, spread as you spread your glistening cunt for Din to see. for him, he realizes, only for him. a dark wash of possession shudders his whole being as you let out a whimper, the cool air hitting your wet, hot heat as your fingers start to spread your juices; it takes every ounce of restraint from Din to not just pounce on you, take you right now.

your finger finds your swelling clit and your strangled groan sounds too much like his name - your eyes are hooded, littered with desire and pleasure as you lie out on display for him.

he can't help but watch; his cheeks, hot. his hands, clenched - his heart, thundering, beating hard as Din watches you touch yourself with hungry eyes. your moans are smooth, melodic to his ears as you slowly dip one finger into your heat, whimpering as the stretch as your greedy little hole swallows you up.

he can't stand it.

Din takes a step forward, a staggering, desperate step towards the bed- your eyes snap up from where they'd watched you take your own fingers, eyes blown wide. you whimper, you goddamn whimper it, "M-Mando."

YOU almost pass out when he mutters it, low and baritone.

"take it off." Mando mutters darkly.

you stop your languid pumps as you stare up at him, eyes wide as you see him, now looming just over you, eyes trained still on your heat.

slowly, you sit to peel the dress off of yourself, the material catching on your nipples and sending a shiver down your body.

you're soon bare; laid out for him, your entire body on display for him as you stare up, chest heaving with desire. his helmet does not leave your form as he watches your hand snake back down, toying with your wetness as it pools out of you, dripping onto the mattress below you.

there are thousands of things you wish to say; nothing escapes you except whimpers and moans, the muted, heated pleasure swirling through you as you slip your fingers into yourself, pumping languidly. if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine the bite of cold beskar on your bare chest; the thickness of a warm cock slipping through you.

your eyes stay on him instead, though; the reflection of your squirming, pleasured body on his beskar. you feel sweat sheen your forehead.

your heart nearly stops as Mando slowly starts to palm himself; his cock, hard and strained against the fabric of his flightsuit as his hands pull himself out of the pants. your eyes widen and your fingers start to pump into you quicker, moaning out Mando's name as his hand slowly starts to pump himself.

his cock, skin golden and veins prominent as he pleasures himself to the sight of you. arousal floods around your fingers as your other finger falls to lazily toy with your neglected clit. one hand grasps your breast and pinches a pert nipple, your back arching as you whimper.

you need Mando, you need him.

"fuck, fuckfuckfuck M-Mando, I need you. i-it's not enough, need more." you groan, the dam breaking as the low high you've been riding simmers.

he stops his own movements, his chest heaving beneath the beskar.

"I don't-" you swallow around your dry throat, "I don't think I can cum without you." you admit, heart thundering as you stare up at the beskar wall. "please."

he pauses and your words hand in the air; suspended by a string, one that is tight and ready to snap.

"stand up, princess." he orders.

DIN almost smiles at the speed at which you scramble on eager legs, to stand up, staring up at him with wanton need. he takes a deep breath before one hand reaches out to graze the swell of your breast; the plush give of soft skin, the goosebumps that trail behind his touch. his cock twitches as your hands find him, pumping slowly as you bite your lip.

he groans at the soft feeling of your gentle hands around his thickness; your lips grazing over his beskar chestplate.

his hands tug you as he falls to the mattress; a squeal leaves you as your hands grip onto his shoulders, "Mando!"

he grins beneath the helmet.

the smile slowly fades into a grunt of pleasure as you eagerly find your place straddling his hips; your wet hot cunt envelopes his cock with your slick, rubbing him as you whimper. "fuck, cyar'ika." he grunts. "gonna fuck you nice and good. promise." he mutters.

you smile as you nod, "maker, Mando. I've-I've dreamt of this." you mutter. he smirks- he knows you have. he's heard it.

but the pride is soon washed away with shock and pleasure as you line his head up at your entrance, easing onto him gently; his hands squeeze your bare skin and he wishes he could pull his gloves off and really feel you.

dank ferrik, you are so tight around him; swallowing his thickness in your greedy cunt as your breath stutters, gasping at the stretch. you're hot, wet, and Din's eyes shut tight at the feeling. kriff, he won't last long.

you take him gently, slowly, and all Din can do is breathe through it and resist his hips from bucking upwards and spearing you into two.

his brain is a puddle as you fully sheath yourself on him, thighs plush and shaking as you swallow him.

"that's good." he mutters, breath shaky, his hands guiding you to move against his hips, "how does it feel, princess?"

"Mando, fuck, y'so big, filling me-" you're moaning and he thinks he may pass out; heavenly, heavenly, you you you-

you groan as you start to fuck yourself on top of him, your gummy warm walls coaxing Din towards his high, having been spurred along by the pleasure you'd been giving yourself earlier.

you shudder at the curling sensuality of his words and he can feel you gripping him tighter and tighter, pulsing around him and dragging him down with you into the depths of pleasure. shivers of pleasure coast down your entire body as Din starts to piston up, his thick length, smooth and hard, spearing into your hot cunt. your desire drips down and smothers the fabric of his flight suit; briefly, he thinks he will never wash them again. your breath is laborious as you near your high- Din chases his, too, because this has already gone on for too long and he's greedy, as greedy as your tight, pretty cunt is and-

he lets out a splintering moan when you cum with a scream; your legs quivering, weakening as you slump against him. Din fucks you through your high with a moan of his own, pushing up into your pulsing pussy, the wetness easing him to spear into you with a fire of ecstasy.

"good- you're so good, y'feel so good, Mando," you whimper. that's it for him - he cums with a long groan, release snapping through him with a moan of your name.

he sees colors, shapes of you in a meadow, spread on a blanket with him taking you from above; with you riding him in the cockpit of his ship; you, thighs spread on your father's throne while he delves his tongue through your plush folds.

you are his. you will always be his, nobody else's. he will consume you.

he fucks up into you as he rides through his high, his seed smearing your chanel as he holds you close. "fuck," he mutters, rolling you both onto your sides as his hand caresses your cheek.

"s'good." you mumble, smiling at him.

he smiles back. you can't see it, but he knows you can feel it.

"m'not done with you yet, princess." he promises, tugging you towards the edge of the bed, spreading your legs to see his own seed leaking out of you, mixed with your own wet, sticky spend. it's a sight better than any he's ever seen; shivers of desire roll down Din's spine.

and then Din spends his time on top of you, pulling orgasm and orgasm from you until you're crying, shaking and heaving breaths; he's shaky, drunk from the pleasure of your wet arousal. he aches to taste you, to coax you to sleep with his tongue lapping up your spend; he needs to taste you.

perhaps, another time.

he soothes himself for now with his fingers, his cock; another time, he will taste you.

---

YOU are exhausted. you can barely stay awake; but as Mando lays with you between the sheets, you can't help but feel so alive. the sun starts to creep towards the horizon line, over the shimmering sea; the gentle breeze of the world flowing through the faint curtains.

"Mando?"

he cranes to look down at you, his thumb tracing over your spine.

"in the morning," you start, your hand trailing over his beskar. you figure it isn't comfortable to don this armor in the plush of your mattress; he stays no matter, willing to give you what you want. always, whatever you want. forever.

him.

you chew your lip, "will we- I mean, I just..."

a thumb, warm though marred with old leather, pulls your lower lip from the clutches of your pearled teeth, soothing over the plush, bitten skin. a shiver runs down your spine as he coaxes you to stare up into that endless helmet.

"what is it, mesh'la?" his voice is deep and soothing in its modulated baritone. you preen at the nickname in his native tongue and though he has willingly taught you words and phrases of his language, you are unsure of this one's translation. it sounds lovely coming from him.

"please don't take me back." you whisper.

he tenses under you; you can feel it. you wish you didn't have to plague him with your burdens of asking him such a crime; to take the duchess, the girl made of nothing but stardust, and give her the life she deserves.

a whisper of your name. quiet, an exhale gentle and barely picked up by the modulation function of the helmet.

DIN has been waiting for you to say it.

he wonders just about when he realized you were going to ask him to take you away. was it just now, after you'd finally connected in bliss? was it last night, when he'd taken a blaster shot to protect you - his job, of course, but a lifetime of debt to repay to him, you'd claimed - or, perhaps, was it all those months ago?

your words pull him from his shock as you mutter softly.

"would you take me with you? away?"

all the moments shared between your two souls wait with baited breath as Din tries to find his words through his thundering heart.

"in the morning..." he parrots your words from before, but with a different tone. regret. his heart thumps as you tilt your head, bare shoulder glinting in the light of the moons. "will you still want that? will you want..." he doesn't finish the question, but he doesn't have to. not with you. want me?

you look at him with eyes so soft he almost melts. "I've always dreamt of leaving my life. it's not who I am." you're firm in your words, hand curling over his shoulder as you blink, "I never thought I would act on it. I had nothing to do, nowhere else to go. but now..." you shrug and he starts to feel hot at the implications in your voice.

Din's heart thuds importunately under your sweet palm; could you feel it, under all the layers that separated his body from your bare one?

"if-if you'd have me... it'd be a dream to stay with you. wherever you go."

Din can't breathe; so many words burst to the forefront of his mind, but all he does is stare in awe.

you'd been watching life through the jail of your parent's grasp your whole life; and what is the princess of a mid-rim planet to the rest of the galaxy?

stardust.

"wasted dreams?" you ask softly, shaking your head, "that's worse than death, Mando."

YOU fall asleep with Mando's arms wrapped tightly around your middle; the weight of beskar pushing you deeper into the comfort of knowing you've spent your last night ever in this system.

his words echo in your head.

in the morning, mesh'la, we will leave here. wherever you'd like.

it's illicit; the things you're about to do, the traditions which will be seared. your eyes, bleary with exhaustion and hope, looks to the mirror across the room.

you lie in the arms of the Mandalorian, bare besides the plush sheets which wrap around your figures - and when you stare into the reflective piece of decor directly across, it's you who stares back in the reflection. you smile to yourself.

stardust.

those moments, you hope, will shine in broad daylight now in tandem with the sweet secrets after midnight.

taglist: @silkiers @toobsessedsstuff @millersdjarin @tizylish @cloufire @kalea-bane @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis @hello-th3r3 @bbyanarchist @ponyboys-sunsets

requests open. message for Din's taglist or Joel Miller's!

#din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader smut #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader smut #sw smut #star wars fanfiction #star wars smut #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #tremendum’s space cowboy✒️

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lostgirlmuseum · 8 months

Text

Stuck Together 🕸

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader

Summary: Bug Boy and Big Man get into an argument. Luckily, you’re there to save the day! Until you find yourself in a sticky situation.

Words: 2.3k

A/N: A much lighter fic after the last one I posted to balance the scales. Please let me know if you like it!

Warnings: This is just silly.

(divider credit- @saradika)

“HELP ME, HELP ME, HELP ME—” Peter scrambled into the kitchen and slipped and slid over to the counter when he spotted you there.

“Peter? Woah, slow down!” He caught you off guard as you were about to start chopping some fruit for a smoothie you wanted to make. Your face scrunched as you tried to decipher what the sudden commotion was. For example, why was Peter running like his life depended on it, and why was he now hiding behind you and using your body as a shield?

“Save me, please! He’s going to kill me!” You continued to stare at his beet red face as his voice cracked pleas filled your ears.

“Who’s going to kill—” Your question, however, was abruptly cut off—but simultaneously answered—as Bucky Barnes came crashing into the room. If you thought Peter’s face was red, Bucky looked like he was on the verge of exploding.

“PARKER,” Bucky boomed, standing his ground by the table. His stance was open, ready to attack. The only thing keeping him from ripping Peter limb from limb was your (comparatively) feeble form.

“Hold on,” you started, “everyone just calm down,” but it was no use. Your attempts to diffuse the situation were no match for a pissed off Bucky and a scared shitless Peter.

“She can’t protect you, Parker.” Bucky pointed a finger directly over your right shoulder, where Peter was cowering and peeking over.

“GAHHHH!” Peter shrieked.

Your patience was dwindling.

“Can someone tell me what happened?”

As if on cue, both men—boys? The manchild and the child started spewing their sides of the story, distressed voices overlapping each other in a soup of overstimulation for your ears.

“One at a time!” You held your hands up for them to pause, to which they both surprisingly did. Feels good to be seen as an authority figure. “Bucky? What happened?”

Bucky huffed and struggled to take his piercing glare off of Peter.

“I was minding my own business in the gym when Bug-Boy decided to shoot my metal arm with his stupid web!”

You finally noticed the unusual pattern of white on Bucky’s metal arm as he held it out for you to see. Only then did you also notice the web was also all over the front of his white Henley (a color you didn’t even know he owned, but looked good in none-the-less).

Taking the moment of silence and inspection as a sign for his side of the story, Peter started his word vomit.

“It was an accident, you have to believe me!” He lightly shook your shoulders to get your attention, and you looked into his wide, earnest eyes. “I was beta testing these new web blasters I made, but something went wrong—maybe a transmitter went haywire, or a screw got loose—I don’t know, maybe it just needs some WD-40—”

“Peter, focus.”

“Right, anyway, I was aiming for a target I set up by the punching bags, but my web blasters went crazy and the web managed to fly 15 feet off and hit Sergeant Barnes.” His wild hands matched his wild hair as he finally took a breath.

“He’s forgetting to tell you the part where he made it worse and rubbed it! Into the plates! Of my arm! Now it’s stiff, and isn’t moving right!” You swiveled your head back to Bucky as he pointed at you this time.

“I was trying to help get it off you!” Peter yelped as he shrunk himself even smaller to be hidden behind your back.

“Boys, enough!” You shout.

Bucky freezes, and tenses as he directs his attention to you. Simultaneously, Peter slowly stands back up and faces you.

Both of them were being immature, however, you could understand both sides, but especially how Peter would run from Bucky. You decided to protect the kid first.

“Bucky,” you sighed, turning so your body directly faced him, “you don’t need to kill the kid. It was an accident.”

“An expensive accident.” He grumbled, his pouty face turning away slightly to avoid your disappointed gaze.

“And Peter,” you turned to face the kid, “maybe you need to be more careful when you’re testing new equipment. Maybe you should do it when no one else is in the training room. We both know this isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”

“I know.” Peter dejectedly glanced down at the marble floor.

“What about my arm?” Bucky spoke, once again holding it out for emphasis.

Deeming the situation to be safe enough, you stepped out of the way so you were no longer a human shield, and you could see both of them simultaneously.

“Peter, how long does it take for the web to dissolve?”

“I think like an hour…or two.” He fidgeted with his fingertips.

“You don’t have anything that can speed up that process?” You crossed your arms like you often do when in ‘solution mode.’

“There’s a formula that breaks it down faster. But I ran out, I’d have to make some more.”

“How long would that be?” Bucky’s voice was no longer hostile, but back to his familiar grumpy tone.

“I can whip some up in fifteen minutes.” Peter offered with a nod.

“Why don’t you go ahead and make that?” You put your hand on Pete’s shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do now.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll be back in a bit.” The flush finally left his face as he scurried off to the lab.

“Can I see your arm?” You knew you had to be careful in asking. You felt strangely honored that he had trusted you, whether he realized it or not, to calm the situation between him and Peter. You didn’t want to scare him off by asking, but you also just wanted to help.

Luckily for you, he simply shrugged, emotion void from his face.

You gently approached him and instinctively grabbed his left palm with your right hand. You carefully inspected it, and noticed the webbing following the crevices of the gold along his hand. Awkwardly, you tried to pull away, but his hand followed yours. You lightly gasped. You knew it would be sticky, but neither of you realized how resolute it was, as you struggled to let go of his hand.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Bucky grumbled.

“Whoops.” You grimaced, fruitlessly attempting to separate your hands. After a moment of useless struggling, you sighed. “Let’s try this. On the count of three, we’ll both pull away with all of our strength. I’ll pull my way, you pull back your way.”

He nodded, but his furrowed brows suggested his doubt.

“One,” you backed away slightly from him to find your footing. “Two,” he leaned back and you both prepared to pull. “Three!”

It was certainly a sight, the two of you in the kitchen, holding hands as you both leaned in separate directions trying to leave the other. You both groaned with effort, but all it did was cause you some pain. After an eternity of pulling away from each other, adjusting stances, and more effort, Bucky stepped back a little too far, and managed to trip on the leg of a chair, sending him falling backwards…and you with him.

“SHI-”

Boom.

His back was on the floor, and there you were, right on top of him.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” the words tumbled out of your lips as your hands quickly found purchase on the ground (well, your left palm was on the ground to the side of Bucky’s shoulder, but your right hand was still attached to his.)

“It’s fine,” he mumbled.

But as you tried to push yourself up and off of him, there was an extra force–something other than gravity–keeping you to his chest.

“Oh my god, it’s on your shirt too.”

You both looked down at the part of his chest that wasn’t snug with you, and noticed the mess of web.

“I’m going to kill him.” Bucky whispered.

“No, no killing.” It felt like a weird thing to say while hovering over Bucky, but it had to be said.

You both made eye contact for a second, before he quickly looked away to the side.

“I guess you’re a bottom.”

“I’m a what?”

“Nothing. That was supposed to be my inside voice.” You chuckled. “We should try to get up.”

“Here, if I can get on top, I can probably get up.” He offered.

“Um, okay.”

Bucky managed to somewhat easily roll to where his body was now over yours. He did a weird plank, and a series of awkward maneuvers. You inwardly cringed at how weird you both must look, on the kitchen ground, no less. Eventually, Bucky was able to get enough momentum to swing both of you back up to a standing position.

“Okay!” You cheered. “Now what?”

“Um. I haven’t thought that far ahead.” He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. “How long did Parker say until he could get us the formula, or whatever the hell he’s getting?”

“Probably about ten minutes now.”

“This is just fantastic.” Bucky murmured, looking up in exasperation.

“Alright, cool it, no need giving me a complex.”

“What?”

“You’re acting like it’s the worst thing in the world to be stuck to me for a couple minutes.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to be close to you,” he started, but flushed when he saw your teasing face. “I mean, not that I want to be close to you—not in a way like I think you’re gross—because I don’t think you’re gross! If anything, I think you’re really nice—I mean that in a normal way.”

“Bucky, it’s fine,” you chuckle, “I’m messing with you. I know it’s not me, you like your personal space. I get it.”

“Uh-huh.” He bites his bottom lip and once again avoids your gaze.

“Hey, are you feeling okay? Your face has gone really… red. Are you having an allergic reaction or something?” You lift your unoccupied hand to his forehead, and place the back of it to his skin.

“I’m fine, it’s fine.” He quickly deflects.

“I don’t know Buck, it—”

“PETER!” He yells, and begins to rush for the lab, dragging you along with him in an awkward shuffle.

“Bucky! Slow down, for god’s sake—”

“PETER PARKER!”

Bucky had never wanted to see the kid’s face so bad.

By the time the two of you reached the lab, you had given up protesting.

“I’m almost done, Sergeant Sir! I swear it!” Peter had noticed the close proximity of you and Bucky (how could he not?) but he knew better than to comment on it. Besides, he was busy fighting for his life.

“What’s all this yell—” Tony nearly burst out laughing once he walked into the lab and saw not only how close you and Bucky were, but the sheepish look on the normally tough guy's face. “Well. Looks like you two have gotten very close.”

Bucky’s face flushed even harder.

“You’re even holding hands! Aw, that’s sweet.” Tony continued.

Bucky took the opportunity to try and hide behind you by turning so that your back was facing the lab doors, although it seems he forgot how much bigger he is than you, his form peeking out behind yours. Looks like everyone was using you as a shield today.

“I wonder where he went,” Tony mocked.

“Tony,” you turned your head over your shoulder to see him as best you could, “leave him alone.”

“Okay, okay.” He laughed. He lasted five seconds before opening his mouth again. “I can’t help myself, it’s so obvious he—”

“Done!” Peter interrupted, holding up a beaker filled with a translucent light blue liquid.

“Thank God, kid.” Bucky gasped.

“Was this your doing, Peter? Well done.” Tony quipped one more time.

Peter didn’t answer, just gave an awkward smile, and poured the liquid onto a cloth.

“This isn’t going to stain my shirt, right?” You asked.

“No, don’t worry.” Peter said, wiping the cloth over where yours and Bucky’s hands connected.

Within seconds the web dissolved, and you were able to remove your hand. You grabbed the cloth from Peter and started wiping where your shirt stuck to Bucky’s, carefully avoiding actually touching his chest. You both sighed once you stepped back from each other.

“Bye.” He quickly said, and turned on his heel to rush out.

“Bucky, wait!” You called.

He quickly turned back, a question in his eyes.

“Your arm, remember? The web is still stuck in the plates?”

“Oh. Yes.” He turned back to you and grabbed the cloth, and for good measure, the beaker Peter had in his hands too. “Bye.”

Tony quirked a brow as Bucky brushed past, and out the doors.

“He’s in a hurry.” Tony said.

“Yeah, to get away from me,” you sighed, looking at the hand that had held his only a minute ago.

You wonder what you did to make him so revolted by you.

Little do you know, at that very moment, Bucky is resisting every urge to run back to you.

--------

A/N: Thanks for reading, please let me know your thoughts if you’re comfortable! I’m thinking about maybe making a part two, if anyone is interested. I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

UPDATE: Part 2 is now up!

#bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky fluff

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callsign-relic · 8 months

Note

Hello! Can I get a romantic scenario of First Contact AU with Yandere TFP Optimus and female human? Maybe she's a bystander who caught his optics, and he decided she'd have a better life with him.

Like, look at this human nest he set up for you, right beside his own berth. There's even functioning water system, electricity, and all. Much better than your apartment, right?

Thank you!

Hi!! Thank you for being my first TFP Optimus request! And yandere on top of that?? AND FIRST CONTACT??? You have excellent taste >:)

It was fun exploring this kind of character for Optimus, I hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: SFW, Fem!Human!Reader, Yandere, First Contact AU, kidnapping

The moment Optimus laid his optics on you, he knew a helpless little creature such as yourself needed to be kept safe.

By sheer coincidence, you were caught in the crossfire of a battle between Optimus and a handful of Decepticons. You dodged and weaved between the heavy footfalls of the gigantic metal titans above you, trying to at least find a decent place to hide. Pieces of metallic armor clashed to the floor beside you as Vehicons fell left and right— the booming sound of the Prime’s blaster fire nearly rupturing your ears.

Black and purple obscures your vision as another ‘Con grunt crumbles to the floor in front of you, and you just barely manage to dodge out of the way. The moment you think you’re home free, however, a shadow casts itself over you, and you swallow as you dare to look up.

A grey pede, readying itself to land upon you.

The towering blue and red mech had cleared the area and was merely shifting his stance. He hadn’t the slightest awareness that you were there.

By reflex, you let out a shrill scream, cowering into yourself on the ground and hoping your demise is quick and painless—

But a deep tremor within the earth and the sound of clanging metal mere inches away from you allows you to let go of the breath you were holding.

Apprehensively, you lower your arms from your face and pry your eyes open, and you lock eyes with a steely blue stare. You’re practically directly under the metal titan, as he takes a step or so backwards to properly examine you.

Optimus was not aware that earth was populated with these… tiny, Cybertronian-like beings.

He suddenly drops to a crouch before you, and the breeze from his movement rushes past you, leaving you flinching and raising your arms to protect yourself once more. He removes his faceplate with a tinny click, and you can see his lips purse in curiosity as he tilts his helm. A massive black servo reaches down to your curled up body, and a finger longer than your entire form pushes its way up against you.

Slowly, your arms are forced away from your face, and you have no choice but to stare up at the alien mech with your stinging red eyes. Your chest trembles with your sobbing breaths as the giant above you studies you like you were a bug struggling to free itself from a web.

That massive digit pulls away from you with ease, but no relief comes to you as you watch it instead wrap around behind you. More of his fingers follow suit, and slowly, you’re lifted up higher and higher into the air until you can’t deal with it anymore and shut your eyes, hoping this was all some terrible nightmare that you needed to wake up from already.

Raising himself to his full height, with his free hand, Optimus presses his index finger into your stomach— prompting a little squeak to come from, what he assumed to be, your intake. You were so small in his hold. You rested nearly flat against his palm, yet that was still not enough to cover the expanse of it. And the way his finger only pushed further and further into you the longer he held it there, you were so… soft. Fleshy. Squishy. A texture unlike anything he had seen upon Cybertron.

A new sensation just barely registers itself into the nervecircuits on his finger, and he shifts his attention just a little to see your face. Your eyes were red and your cheeks were stained with an odd liquid trailing down them— that being the thing Optimus must have felt land on him just moments before. You open your mouth and out emerges a series of noises the Prime couldn’t understand. He wasn’t sure how to describe it— squeaks? Chirps? Trills, maybe? Whatever they were, they enraptured him, and the mech paid the utmost attention to how your mouth so perfectly formed around your noises.

You appeared to be so distraught, poor little thing. It made sense, you had nearly been crushed underpede, after all. The terrified look on your face tugged at Optimus spark in the worst way. “I am sorry, little one,” the Prime offers gently, dragging his finger up from your stomach onto your chest. Then, the mech’s optics widen as he sees your tiny hands reach up to grab the tip of his digit.

You struggle with all of your might to push his massive weight off from on top of you. You could barely breathe with such a pressure atop your lungs, and you shouted up at him to let go, or loosen up, anything.

Meanwhile, Optimus only finds himself further enamored.

Poor creature in his palm, finding no other comfort but in the unconventional hold you kept on his finger. He was right, you must have been utterly terrified at this moment. Optimus couldn’t live with himself if he just left you there.

A little organic, scared and alone, suddenly thrusted into a new world and surrounded by things you couldn’t begin to understand…

You would be much better off if you stayed with him. You would be kept perfectly safe under Optimus’ constant watch, never having to fear finding yourself caught between fights you had no place in. He didn’t know much about organics just yet, especially not of earth’s, but he would do the utmost to assure your comfort. You would never have to feel scared again.

And so, Optimus came to his decision.

He pulls his digit away from you once more, and for a moment, you think your pleads have come through to him. Though, you don’t even have a moment to attempt to communicate once more as you can hear the hydraulics of the mech’s fingers behind you suddenly start to shift. Slowly, you’re tilted within his hold as the digits wrap themselves around your body into a fist. Then, before you can even attempt to struggle against it, you’re brought down from his face and near his chassis. The only sight you’re met with is Optimus’ scratched windshield, and past that, the reflection of your own disheveled appearance. A surge of adrenaline rushes through you as you shout in his grip, doing anything you can to pull yourself free.

But as Optimus hears this, his spark only stings more. You were scared to death, and he knew that, the mech only wished he knew how to assure you that you were safe. He was taking you back to the base, the place where you would be safest of all. Actions spoke louder than words, he supposed— once he saw how well he would treat you, he knew you would eventually see a smile on your face.

With his free servo, Optimus raises it to his audial. “Ratchet, I am requesting a groundbridge at my coordinates. Additionally, I ask that you pull up any information we may have regarding organics and their natural habitats. I have one with me that you may wish to see.”

#relic writes #Transformers #Transformers x reader #reader insert #Transformers prime #Transformers Prime x reader #TFP #TFP x reader #Optimus prime #Optimus prime x reader #TFP Optimus #TFP Optimus x reader #TFP Optimus prime #TFP Optimus Prime x reader #Yandere Optimus prime

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