#Din stifles all memory

[silver-pieces]

mandalorian’s mercy part nine

Previously ‘Are You Cold?’

Pairing: Alpha!Din x (afab) omega!fem!reader

Word Count: 7k

Synopsis: Yearning, desire, and consequences.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, smut (MF, masturbation, dirty talk, omegaverse heats & ruts, breeding kink, sub/dom dynamic) a/b/o dynamics, tw: food

A/N: I just want to say again, thankyou to everyone for all of the love & support on this fic, it has made me so so happy 💕. I’m planning to post part 10, the finale, soon. As always, if you like my writing, please reblog. I hope you enjoy...

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Part Eight < Series Masterlist > Part Ten

You’re thinking about him again.

In your hand sits the communicator Din gave you, the smooth curved shape now so familiar it’s etched in your brain. Your thumb runs over the buttons as you let your mind wander, drifting off to memories of him, of your Alpha, the attractive sound of his deep laughter and the warm secure grip of his hand around your waist.

A soft nudge to your side takes you out of it. “Hey.”

You blink. “Sorry, Anuma.” Shit. You run your hand over your face and stifle a groan. There’s still so much work to be done.

The Twi’lek sitting next to you knows better than to touch you again, but she peers at you with those sharp, discerning eyes, and although most of her features are masked, somehow you know she’s frowning. “You need to nest.”

A pang of fear goes through you. That word. You shake your head. “No, no, I’m not there yet.”

“Fine.” She sighs. “Take the water out then, you’re clearly of no use in here anymore.”

Heat rushes to your face. You look down at the table; the large pile of coin that should have already been counted up and stashed away still untouched. You stand and back away from the corner desk. “Sorry. I’ll - water...”

She regards you with a disapproving look, then turns back to the task, shaking her head and muttering to herself in Twi’leki.

You step up to the kitchen sink, the sound of clicking credits filling the room as she takes over your job.

Her office is still nothing but a small corner desk and a safe tucked into the nook of the kitchen. It’s makeshift, but there’s so many other things in this den that take priority when it comes to upgrades.

The kitchen itself has been a massive project, a job that took you most of the month to complete. Now, setting your eyes on the results of your hard work, you feel hopeful. It’s not great, but it’s a lot better than before.

The tap water is luxuriously cool. You splash some on your face to cool down, providing a brief respite from the heat clawing beneath your skin. You stare at your flushed reflection in the water and try not to burst into tears, or laughter.

The mood-swings that accompany your heat seem worse than last time. It’s incredibly draining, helping out with the den, one minute feeling happy and flirty and lighter than air, and the next, yearning for your Alpha hitting you like a punch to the gut until you feel like sinking to the floor and crying your eyes out.

No, it wasn’t like this last time. Last time, you were freshly off the blockers. This time, you’ve had a whole month without them.

As you go to leave the room with the tray in hand, Anuma blocks your path, a bottle of pills in her hand. “Please, take one.”

You brush her aside. “We’ve had this conversation.”

“There’s no need to torture yourself without an Alpha.”

You grit your teeth, hand on the doorknob, wishing she wouldn’t call it torture. “Save it for someone in need.” You open the door and step out.

“And what will your Alpha think?”

You halt midstep, some of the water spilling over the edges of the cups. Stars dammit, why did you ever tell her about what happened with Din?

She rounds you, arms crossed. The cloying scent of incense fills your lungs. “You already lied to him about your location, what do you think he’s going to do when he - ”

“It’s not about him,” you protest.

She gives you a look.

You sigh, gripping the tray a little tighter. “When I see those blockers, I see myself a month ago, completely unprepared to go into heat and desperate for blockers which you didn’t have. Sure, I had a trustworthy Alpha in the end, but what about the next Omega who walks through those doors?”

She casts her gaze down to the floor and sighs.

“I came here to help,” you continue. “So, please, stop tempting me with them. We only have a limited supply.”

She hesitates, before pocketing them. “I just... don’t want to see you in pain.” Flicking her eyes back up to you, you see a vulnerable side of her she rarely allows anyone to see.

You force the part of you that’s afraid deep down, and square your shoulders. “We set up the nests for this very situation. I promise, I’ll be fine.”

You already lied to him about your location - 

You push her voice out of your head. You can’t think about that, not without being sucked into a downward spiral of anxiety and guilt and hormones.

People take water from the tray as you make the rounds through the den. Though the room itself is fairly big, it’s overflowing with Betas and Omegas seeking refuge every night. Still, the place has been improved a lot over the past few weeks.

For one, it smells a lot nicer now. Where there was once a dirt floor and simple fabric partitions, there’s now clean beds and privacy screens.

Your tray is light as you reach one of the employees, an Omega woman who showed up a few days ago and has been working here since. She never gave anyone her name, but you feel like you can trust her, like her eyes convey an air of strength and certainty.

She’s folding sheets and humming when you find her.

“Hey you, thirsty?” you say as you approach with the tray.

She stiffens, then turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “It’s you.”

“What?”

“That tangy scent,” she says, approaching to take a drink. “Normally we’ve relocated any Omega that smells like that into one of the nests. Are you sure you should be here, boss?”

“Not the boss,” you insist.

She shrugs, lifting the cup to her lips and taking a long drink.

You shift on your feet. “I don’t want to nest,” you confess. “It doesn’t feel right.”

Finishing the water, she sets the empty cup back on the tray and wipes her mouth. “You want my advice, boss?”

You nod.

She looks at you straight. “Stop waiting for it to feel right. Omegas cannot afford to be picky, and a nest is never going to feel right without an Alpha to make it for.”

An Alpha to make it for. Your knees go a little weak, and you can’t help the way your thoughts flick to him again. That’s it, little Omega. Make me another nest. His voice, clear as day.

A bolt of heat lunges through your veins. It’s sudden and brutal, and you gasp in pain. “Oh - stars!” The scent of your slick permeates the air.

“Shhhit,” the Omega curses, lifting the tray from your hands. “I think it’s here, boss. Come on and we’ll get you to a nest.”

Your stomach turns. She leads you away from the den, towards the back door which used to be a storage room. Now cleared and divided into private nesting spaces, it serves as a place for Omegas in heat to retreat to. Maker willing, the den would always have enough blockers to prevent anyone from going into heat, but there are always situations outside of your control.

The makeshift nests are designed to be scentless and comfortable, but also practical and cost-efficient. The intention behind it was to ease the pain of an untended Omega in heat, but now, all you feel is insulted as you’re lowered into one by the girl who calls you boss.

Nests are instinctual - special. You never made one before Din.

“No, it’s not right,” you gasp, sweating with heat and aching to your core. “Not without him here.”

“Try and sleep through it,” she says, fixing the sheets of the nest in a way which annoys you.

“Won’t help,” you murmur, curling in on yourself as a cramp hits you, and already you feel your eyes pricking with tears. “I’ll just dream about him.” Like you’ve been doing every night since you left him.

She narrows her eyes at you, standing up. “Who is ‘he’?”

Tears wet your cheeks. “Just an Alpha.”

“Ah.” Pity flashes in her eyes.

“What, no advice on how to get through this without him?”

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t know.”

You nod and curl back in on yourself. Her scent isn’t offensive, but like most Omega scents, it doesn’t appeal to you, and you find having her here both irritates you and distracts you from your heat.

“You know the drill,” she says from the doorway. “Meals will be delivered through the hatch. There’ll be morning checkups, so try to cover up after breakfast. And try and keep the noise down if you can.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Leave me alone now.

She shuts the door.

You bury your face into the stiff, odourless pillow and let out a whine. Heat floods between your legs. Your channel contracts around nothing, and your muscles tense and groan in dissatisfaction.

You’ve been through your heat without an Alpha before, but this time is different. This time, you know what you’re missing. You have memories to torture yourself with.

It’s too late to go on blockers now. You chose this. But you didn’t expect this level of desperation and pain so soon, so brutal. Fuck.

Soon, the heat gets too much, so you divest yourself of your clothes and dig yourself further into the nest, rubbing your needy scent on the sheets as much as possible.

Time loses meaning.

The room is dark and bare and silent.

The memory of his scent calls to you - a phantom scent that you remember well now that it’s missing.

It hurts.

It hurts so much that you feel paralysed by the pain and the discomfort, unable to move until there’s a knock on the door and food pushed through the hatch.

The scent of dinner food crawls over your skin and invades your nostrils, causing your instincts to go haywire. Wrong.

The thought of eating is about as unappetising as it could possibly get, but there’s a quiet, filtered voice in your head that reminds you that you need to keep your energy up, so you wolf it down in miserable silence and then shove the empty plate back through the door and lean forward to rest your head on the cool durasteel, temporarily abandoning your nest.

You breathe deeply, trying to calm your emotions, but the urge to cry is getting harder to resist. It’s hard to believe you’re only a few hours into this torture.

When the food has settled and you’ve cooled down as much as possible, you turn back to your nest, eyeing it in the dim light with disdain.

Your clothes lay strewn to the side, discarded over your nest in a way that feels unsatisfying. You’re not sure it will help, but maybe if you incorporate them into the nest properly...

Your hands move quickly as you fixate on the task you’ve given yourself. There’s enough slick slowly dripping between your legs that you decide to avoid putting your nice clothes in that region, instead opting to layer the fabrics nearer to your head so you can breathe in the scent more. It’s no Alpha scent, but it calms the territorial side of you to mark this place as your own.

Your hand catches on an object in one of the pockets in your clothes. The circular device can only be one thing - the communicator Din gave you.

Din.

A wave of sudden need hits you, overcoming everything else, and you find yourself abandoning your task, eagerly taking the communicator out of the clothes and propping it on a pillow almost reverently.

With a press of a button, the device lights up and you’re able to go through your encrypted messages. You bite your lip, anticipation rising.

Are you safe?

The latest message from Din, sent tonight, appears on the screen.

You melt at his words, and for that matter, slick is gushing from your pussy worse than before. You have to close your eyes and breathe through the pain for a moment.

The same message has been sent to you every day, but it never comes at exactly the same time, which is why you’ve resorted to carrying it around with you. It’s become your most treasured possession, the damned device burning a hole in your pocket as you help run the den.

Shit, the timecode indicates this was sent hours ago. This might just be the longest you’ve gone without responding. And if Din suspects something is wrong, he might try to find you on Minnoth.

Those thoughts are vague, distant worries that briefly concern you before you get swept up in your heat again. Your mind whirls, your instincts screaming at you Alpha, Alpha, Alpha, and your finger hovers over a second button. The forbidden one. The one he told you not to touch unless it was an emergency. Live holo.

This is an emergency, the hormonal side of you argues.

But then he’ll find out. He’ll know you didn’t go on blockers, and he’ll know you left Minnoth. He might come looking for you.

Your thighs squeeze together at the thought, because fuck, the thought of him coming for you is enticing, and suddenly you’re struggling to remember why you shouldn’t press the button.

It’s not encrypted, Din will freak out, and besides, you’re supposed to be avoiding talking to each other as much as possible. All very logical, important arguments.

But right now, you don’t care about any of that. There’s a deep, instinctual feeling within you, urging you to call him and tell him everything.

Your Alpha will make everything okay.

You press the button before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Stars, what am I doing?” you mutter to yourself, as you wait for him to pick up. Your mind’s gone blank, and you can’t remember why the little voice in your head is crying this is a mistake! Dread grows in your gut, but so does excitement, and need.

Then the hologram finally lights up, bathing the room in a soft electric glow.

Your breath stops as you take in the image of Din, live. He’s clearly sitting, leant forward over his holo, wearing nothing but a loose undershirt and his helmet.

“Omega?” comes his voice, urgent and gruff, and you could weep with happiness. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You go to speak, but can’t find the words. You’re sitting in your nest, all alone and in heat, slick seeping into the sheets beneath you. He can probably see your nakedness. Fuck, it’s really him. “Din,” you breathe, taking the communicator and laying back into your nest, “I miss you.”

There’s silence for a second. His chest rises and falls. “Why did you call me?” he finally says.

You whimper, and a few tears slide down your face. “I need you. Need you here, with me.” In my nest.

He huffs a breath. “Omega.” There’s a growl in his tone that sends shivers down your spine.

You moan as a fresh gush of slick begins, and shift your legs and arch your back on instinct. “Oh...”

“Are you...”

“Yes?” You turn your head back to the holo, to him. He’s leaning closer now, like he’s trying to see you better.

“Are you in heat?”

“Yes,” you repeat, and let out an involuntary sob. The tears have started now, and they probably won’t stop for a while yet.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and the holo shakes and blurs as he moves on the bed. “Fuck.” His voice comes out muffled.

“Din?” Your anxiety grows, that little voice warning you in the back of your head that you did something wrong. But you can’t remember what. You need to see him again. You lean in closer to the holo, biting your lip. “Din I - I need to see you, please - ”

“I’m coming,” he says, but his voice sounds farther away. A few seconds later, the image stabilises, and you can see him sitting in the pilot’s chair, operating the control panel. “Fucking stars, Omega, wait for me.” He operates the ship, urgently tapping buttons and flicking switches. “I’m a day away from Minnoth - shit. Don’t let anyone else in. Where are you staying?”

You bite your lip.

“Omega, answer me. Where are you?” he growls, using his Alpha command. It’s supposed to be less effective on calls, but you still feel the urge to obey coming over you.

“I’m at the Omega Den,” you confess shakily. “On Coruscant.”

He growls. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” you whimper.

He rears back a little. “I don’t understand. Yesterday you said you were safe.”

“I was - I am - but I - ”

“You think you’re safe at the den, without blockers,” he finishes for you, a growl in his voice that hints his disagreement.

You nod. “I helped set this place up.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not making sense.”

“Sorry,” you say, heat rushing to your face. It’s hard to think properly - everything would be so much better if he was here. “Can you come?”

He shifts focus back to the operating panel, switching buttons as though to change course. After a few moments, he leans back in his seat and you can see him take a deep breath by the rise and fall of his chest. He shakes his head and murmurs low, “Coruscant is three days away.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh.”

“Fuck, little thief,” he growls, running a hand down his helmet.

A whimper escapes you, your insides clenching. He’s mad, and it’s your fault.

Shaking his head, he leans forward and flicks a few more buttons. His voice comes out distant as he leans away from the holo. “I’m setting the Razor to a hard burn. You stay inside until I get to you, okay? It’s not safe.”

“Okay,” you nod, trying to sound not as broken as you feel. “Are you angry with me? I just thought...” You moan as the needy ache in your core grows unbearable again. The pain is getting worse, causing your breaths to come out short and shallow as you twist and writhe in the nest, losing sight of the holo.

“Omega?” His voice is muffled again - distant. But warmth spreads through you at the sound. “Omega - talk to me.”

In heat and vulnerable, you stand no chance against his commands. “Din?” you call out. Your eyes open, and you catch sight of him again.

He’s sitting on the edge his bunk from the looks of it, bracing his elbows on his knees in a way that makes his biceps tense. “I’m right here,” he growls. “Talk to me.”

“Okay,” you breathe, eyes straying around the room. “Uh, I made a fucking terrible nest.”

“You nested?”

“Wasn’t my idea,” you murmur, picking at the sheets and rubbing your thighs together.

He growls. “Whose idea was it?”

“Anuma’s.”

“Who is Anuma?”

Your core clenches at his possessive tone. “Friend,” you whimper. “Beta.”

“Fuck.” The hologram shakes slightly, Din’s arm reaching down out of frame to his lower body, and you instantly realise he’s feeling himself.

Your body burns with need. “Alpha,” you cry out, half aware and half in a delirious state of heat and pain. The nest feels too hot and too cold at the same time, but you know it would all go away if Din was here, covering your body possessively with his, scenting you with his pheromones.

You turn over onto all fours and raise your ass up into the air, legs spread wide, without even thinking about it. “Din...”

He grunts, and you hear him shifting positions, but in your movement you lost track of the holo again. “Are you fucking presenting right now, Omega? Move the holo so I can see you better.”

Your eyes fly open. Where is it? You don’t want to move from your position - but you need to obey your Alpha. You scramble through your nest until you find the source of the glow, and whimper as you set your eyes on him again.

He’s shifted the view of the holo down, and you are so consumed by the sudden sight of his fist around his cock it sends a rush of slick to your cunt.

“Please, please, I need it,” you whimper, desperately following the movement of his hand up and down his length. “I’m so wet.”

“Fuck yes,” he groans. He jerks his fist faster, forearm tensing deliciously with the movement. “Fucking best feeling ever, pushing inside your wet cunt.”

Your body clenches, a whine pouring from your throat before you can stop yourself.

“I know,” he pants, “I know, Omega, it’s killing me too.”

“Need you inside me!”

“Show me.”

You blink at his order, then move, twisting onto your back and then taking the holo down your body, pointing it towards your pussy. You move so fast you barely even register what you’re doing - everything is on autopilot now, nothing except your heat and your Alpha. With your legs spread open, you give him a clear view of the wetness between your legs. “Can you see?”

You peer at him, and while you’ve been moving, so has he. He’s kneeling, the position perfect for him to hold his cock out in front and jerk himself off, the display giving you an up-close view of his hips, pelvis, and thighs.

“Yes,” is all he says, the word a deep grunt. He’s going faster now, furiously fucking his fist to the holo of you, and your legs spread wider for him.

The sight is erotic. You can almost feel each thrust as he begins jerking his pelvis, fucking into his fist. The knot at the base, already swelling, teasing you so bad your cunt feels ridiculously empty.

“Please fuck me,” you beg desperately, tears welling in your eyes again. “Please, Alpha.”

He growls in response, the sound broken up by the jerking of his hips, and it almost sends you over the edge. “Touch yourself,” he commands.

You instantly put your hand on your pussy and run a finger through your slick. Jolts of electric bliss emulate through you, and you start going faster, working yourself frantically, needing more more more - 

“Greedy,” your Alpha says, jerking himself off to the sight. He sounds both furious and amused and your body reacts, like it does to everything he says, with more slick.

“Not enough,” you breathe.

“I know.”

“Need your knot, Alpha.”

“Keep going.” He sounds desperate now, and it sends shivers down your spine. He's big and hard and ready to knot you and the sight is an exquisite torture.

You moan, circling your clit and spreading your legs as wide as you can for him. “Cum. Cum inside me.”

“Fuck yes, Maker,” he groans. “Want to knot and breed you, Omega. Fill you up with me, sink my teeth in your neck, split you apart on my knot - ”

“Din.” You start to come, realising he’s gone into rut and it’s exactly what your inner Omega wants more than anything. You lose your grip on the holo but it doesn’t matter because you can still hear his deep groan when he comes as well, sending you further into bliss.

As you ride it out together, he rambles praises and promises like an Alpha in rut is compelled to do, and it’s perfect.

Mentally, you’re in bliss. Physically, however, you’ve never felt emptier.

Laying in your nest in the aftermath, you blink slowly and reach around to find the holo again.

He’s standing now, peeling off his shirt and shifting things around the space as though getting ready for a rut.

When he turns back to the holo, he catches you watching him, and growls, leaning down towards you. “Again?”

With a shiver, you nod.

Across holo, you tease orgasms out of each other, one after another, until you’re soaked in ineffective pheromones and sweat.

First on all fours, presenting. Then kneeling so he can see your tits. Now on your back again because you’re getting exhausted. He gets off on the commands, and you get off on obeying them.

“That’s five, little thief.” Din pants.

You lift your hand from your slick pussy and try not to wince as another wave of heat overcomes you for a moment, filling you with nausea and desperation. You need more, but your inner muscles feel abused and sore from your meagre fingers.

A tear falls down the side of your face. “Why aren’t you here, Alpha?”

He sucks in a breath. “Omega...”

“I know.” You wipe your tear away and roll over in your nest, burying your face in your own scent. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

You bite your lip and roll over again to face him in the holo. He’s laying down, naked except for his helmet, watching you. “But I’ve fucked everything up.”

“Omega, don’t.” He sounds torn. “Not while I can’t be there to comfort you.”

More tears fall, even as you wipe them away. “Fuck, I’m sorry. My hormones are a mess without you.”

He groans and rolls on his back, looking up at the ceiling. “When I find you, we can talk. Exchange stories. And I will want to know. Everything, Omega.”

You nod solemnly.

“But, right now?” His voice lowers. “I couldn’t give a fuck about any of it. I missed you.”

Your heart soars.

The sound of someone knocking on the door interrupts you. The hatch opens and a food tray slides through. "Hey boss, breakfast.”

Breakfast time already? It feels like the time has flown by, and yet, there’s still so much more of this you have to go through without your Alpha. Two and a half fucking days. Any appetite you may have built up leaves you at the thought. You push yourself up to look at the dish.

“What is it?” Din asks.

You lay back down in your nest, peeking up at your holo. “Nothing, just breakfast.”

He snaps his head toward you instantly, and his voice comes out a growl. “Someone saw you?”

A rush of heat floods through you at his tone, and you quickly shake your head, shifting your legs to relieve the pressure between them. “No, no, there’s a food hatch.”

“At the den? Where are the others?” He doesn’t sound convinced.

“It’s okay,” you start, giving into the urge to please your Alpha as much as possible. It’s impossible to ignore how attractive his growing protectiveness is. You’re struggling to form sentences, too distracted by hormones stirring up your heat. “They have private nest spaces now, in case of emergency.” You bite your lip and shift in your nest. Maker he looks so broad and strong laying out on his bunk, one arm bent back behind his head, flexing his bicep. When you see him next, you’re going to bite him.

“Smart,” he grunts in response, sounding slightly more relaxed.

“I need you to fuck me.” The words are out of your mouth before you can think about it.

His growl is instant, and dangerously low, and you watch in eager anticipation as he leans over and grabs the holo, staring at you through his visor. “You need to eat your breakfast first.”

You sigh. “I knew you’d say that.”

“Then do it, Omega.”

“Why should I? There’s no-one here to make me.”

“Are you disobeying me?”

Oh. You don’t respond, frozen by his words.

“Omega.”

You whimper.

“Eat.”

And just like that, you’re getting up to retrieve the tray. As you return and sit back down in front of the holo, a thought crosses your mind, and you pause. “What about you?”

He tilts his head. “I'll be fine.”

You frown. “But you need to eat too.”

“I don’t want to leave you. Not while you’re in heat.”

Your heart melts for him, but you can’t let him get away with this. As you slip a spoonful of breakfast gruel into your mouth, you summon all the dominance you can muster while in heat, swallow, and glare at him. “You’re in rut, too, if I’m not mistaken. Cover the holo while you eat, and I’ll talk to you so you know I’m still there.”

He tilts his head at your display, folding his arms. “You’re cute. I’ll be fine.”

You glare harder, but maker, he’s stubborn. You sigh, and, tapping into your Omega nature, beg. “Please, Alpha?” you ask, giving him pleading eyes. “I need you to keep up your strength for me.”

He stares at you silently, but you notice his arms losing a little of their stiffness.

“Please,” you beg again.

He gives a shake of his head, and sighs. “Don’t... don’t beg like that... that is unfair.”

You laugh. “Good to know.”

“Eat your breakfast.” The holo goes shaky as he gets off the bunk. “I’ll get something now.”

“And you’ll stay on the call?”

“Yes.”

You watch the holo closely as you eat. There’s something so domestically fulfilling about eating together, and like watching one of the most interesting holovids in your life, you end up absent-mindedly snack on your breakfast food while watching him methodically prepare his meal with all the precision of the bounty hunter who tracked you down in that backwater hotel.

By the time he sits down to eat, you’re almost finished, setting the food tray aside.

He speaks to you gently. “I’m covering the holo, but we can still talk.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He reaches for the holo, and then the image disappears.

You lean in. “Din?” You call, just to check

“Yes,” comes the low sound of his voice.

You smile, and lay back in your nest.

“Talk to me, Omega.”

Wandering your hands along the fabrics of the nest, you close your eyes and imagine you’re next to him. But when you open your eyes, he’s still not there, and it hurts. Sighing, you roll onto your front and stare at the blank device.

“I thought about calling you every day, but the live holo... you said someone could track it?”

It takes a moment for him to respond. “Yeah, they might.”

Your stomach clenches. Ending contact with him is not an option you can even consider, and yet, you worry. “Am I... in danger?”

The clattering of cutlery crackles through the speaker. “No.” The speaker picks up a slight catch in his breath. “I hope not.”

He’s worried. Concern overtakes you at the thought, and suddenly you’re thinking clearly. “You know what, yeah, it will be okay. We set up protections here, even if someone does... come looking.” You nod confidently to yourself.

“Protections?”

The curiosity in his tone makes you perk up. “You want me to tell you about them?”

You can hear the slight smile in his voice as he response. “Yes I do, little thief. Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

Heat rushes to your face, and like a criminal confessing, you begin to explain in detail all the various projects you’ve been working on over the past few weeks without him.

All conversation ends as soon as Din reappears in the holo. You’re a whimpering, needy Omega in heat, and as he sees your reaction, he growls out a command. “Present.”

Stars, you’ll never get used to his voice, even through the vocoder and over holovid, and even without the command, you would eagerly obey him.

But as you go to position yourself on all fours for him, a gentle knock sounds on the door.

You freeze.

“What is it?” your Alpha growls, his thickened, hard cock taking up the entire frame of the holo as he strokes it up and down.

More raps against the door. “Boss? You covered up? It’s checkup time, I’m coming in...”

Shit! Checkups after breakfast, how could you forget? Your eyes dart around the nest as you take in the scene. Maybe it wouldn’t matter if they knew you about the holo, but the territorial side of you doesn’t like it, and right now, that’s the part that’s in control.

There’s a beeping as the Omega on the other side of the door punches in the unlocking code.

Your insides clench, because fuck, your Alpha will have to wait. “Just a moment!” you call out, sitting up and scrambling to get things in order.

“Omega.”

You snatch the holo and hold it close to your mouth so you can whisper. “They’re coming in to check up on me.”

“What? Who?”

“Omega. I don’t know her name, but I trust her.”

He growls. “You don’t need her.”

“I know.”

“You need me.”

“I know, Alpha,” you breath, your hormones flaring at his possessiveness. “I’ll get rid of her as soon as possible, but they won’t leave without doing a proper checkup.”

He jerks his head, as if trying to come to terms with this. You can see the tendons in his neck tense as he clenches his jaw.

You bite your lip to keep your reaction at bay.

“Fuck. I can’t stop it,” he growls angrily, “...but if she touches you, Omega, I will kill her.”

Maker. “She won’t,” you assure him breathlessly.

He nods, and you see the image of him move as though he’s walking around, pacing as he watches.

You tuck the communicator beneath a fold in your nest, and the holo image of Din disappears. Your stomach drops in despair at not being able to see your Alpha, so deep into your heat.

Lifting the thinnest sheet on your overheated form, you clear your throat and call out to the Omega.

“Come in.”

With a beep and a click, the door slides open, and the Omega who calls you boss stares down at you with a raised eyebrow. “Bad time?” she asks.

“Always.” Your pussy gives out a needy throb, missing the attention you were about to give it moments earlier.

She snorts. “I’ll be quick then. You okay?”

You nod.

“Good.” She spreads her hands out, open. “Anything you need, now’s the time.”

“I’m fine,” you start to say, before eyes widening as you remember something. “No-one has come asking for me, have they?”

She frowns. “No... You expecting someone?”

You breath a sigh of relief. “No, no, just paranoid. Thanks.”

“Right,” she nods, eyeing you curiously, before turning to go. “I’ll keep an ear out.” And with a slap of her hand on the number pad, the door slides shut again.

You move instantly, frantically fumbling through the nest for the communicator. The holo lights up with the image of him pacing back and forth with his form tense, arms folded, and head lowered.

“Din,” you breathe, the needy ache between your legs growing.

He stops pacing and snaps his head towards you.

You swallow. “She’s gone.”

He comes close to the holo until only his lower stomach is in view, his hardness standing at attention. “Present,” he snarls.

His dominance sends a rush of slick between your legs, a whine rising in your throat. You follow your natural instinct to present, getting on all fours, arching your back down low, and spreading your legs so he can see everything.

For a moment he says nothing, and there’s just the static sound of his panting.

Is he stroking himself? “Alpha, please,” you moan, slick running down the inside of your thigh.

“You want my cock inside you, don’t you?”

“Yes!” you tip your head back, rocking yourself on all fours. “Please!”

“Fuck, so do I. I want it so bad and you’re right there and I can’t.”

You rock back more, whimpering. “I’m so empty.”

He groans.

“Please, Alpha, please.”

“Just... just finger yourself.”

Disappointment floods through you, even though you know it’s the best you can do for yourself right now. Stiffly, you reach a hand between your legs.

“Show me your slick.”

You part your pussy more for him and run a finger through it.

“Fuck. I have to taste you again.”

You bury your face into the nest as your fingers begin working your pussy. “Oh.” A moan escapes you.

“When I find you,” he pants, “I’m going to have you against a wall again.”

You moan louder.

“And then bent over something.”

“Yes.”

“Closest fucking waist-high surface,” he snarls.

You grit your teeth as a wave of pleasure moves through you. “Oh fuck, oh please!”

“My teeth on your fucking neck.”

Bliss fills your body at the thought. “Claiming me,” you breathe. “I want you to.”

“Uh huh,” he grunts.

“I mean it, Din. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for weeks.” And it has been. The entire time you’ve been away from him, all you’ve been thinking about, is being with him again. It feels like where you belong, and you’ve been dying not being able to tell him in person.

“Me too,” he rumbles, voice low and soft, and warmth blooms within your chest. “Me too, little thief. I...”

You swallow back your relief. Thank the stars, you would never have had the courage to just come out and say it if you weren’t in heat, but now, he knows, and he still wants it too.

“I’m so close,” you moan.

“I see that,” he pants.

You spread your legs wider for him. “It’s all for you, Alpha. All of it.”

“Shit,” he curses, panting louder. “Then come for me, Omega. That’s an order.”

You reach the peak of your orgasm with a cry of his name, submitting to his order like the good Omega you want to be for him.

“Ah, fuck, I need to be inside you,” he groans and pants as he comes, and you look down between your legs to see him on the holo, his cock still in frame as he grips his knot, bent forward kneeling on the bunk and shooting his seed onto his sheets.

A second orgasm wracks through your body at the sight. What you wouldn’t give to receive his spend inside you right now and fulfil exactly what your body is craving. Instead, you can only watch in desire and despair as it all goes to waste.

As your legs give out, you roll over onto your front, perching the holo on a pillow in front of you. Din has his head buried in his sheets, and as you watch, he pushes himself back up into a kneeling position, his bare chest glistening with sweat. His cock is already hard again.

“I meant it,” you say.

The blue pixels of the holo shift with slight movement of his helmet. He nods. “So did I.”

The aftermath of your heat comes too fast and too slow all at once. You could talk to Din for days and not get bored, but you’ve been breathing in nothing but your own pheromones and scent for days, and your skin is crawling with the urge to shower.

So when your new Omega friend knocks on the door next, you finally muster up the energy to get up.

All of your sheets are stained with slick. Without much else choice, you find the least offensive one and wrap it around your sore, naked form, and trawl your way through the den.

It’s not until after your shower that you remember your communicator is still in the nest.

You rush back, fully dressed and cleaned, and rummage through the nest until you find it - out of charge.

It’s unclear in your memory when exactly the holo cut out, between talking to Din, or during your sleep, but your heart hammers in your chest at the thought of Din seeing the holo end for no reason, and realising you were gone.

You plug it in to charge and wait anxiously for it to turn back on.

Finally it lights up, and you find a message waiting for you.

Stay.

You almost laugh.

I’m not a dog, you respond back, and then add, Yes, Alpha.

“Boss? Boss!”

You turn around and find the new Omega rushing into the room, eyes wide. “There’s a Mandalorian here to see you. An Alpha.”

You stand. “Did you see him?”

She shakes her head. “Anuma warned me. She’s talking to him now, I think.”

You nod. “Best to stay inside.”

“It’s him, isn’t it?” she asks. “The Alpha you were mumbling about in your heat? He’s here for you.”

Heat rushes to you face, and you brush past her. “Maybe.” You hope so. “Go to the others. No-one goes in or out until Anuma gives the go ahead. Full lockdown, just in case, okay?”

She nods, getting that hard look in her eyes, and turns down the hall on your orders.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. Then, closing your eyes, you try and slow your heart beating its way out of your chest. If it’s Din outside... fuck it. You can’t bear another second behind this door.

You push down the handle and step outside. The air isn’t much better than within, and as you fill your lungs with that familiar dirt-poor street scent, you pick up the calming tones of Anuma’s beta scent, and then, the Alpha’s.

Your eyes fly open.

Paz Vizsla stands on the darkened street, one hand on his blaster as he talks down to a very furious looking Anuma.

“I have no interest in shutting down your operation.”

“What operation?” Anuma shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It happens suddenly - the breeze shifts, and the bounty hunter catches your scent. He stiffens and raises his visor towards you, noticing you peeking out from the door.

Fuck.

Then, movement out of the corner of your eye - a second figure emerges from the shadows.

There’s a scar down his face, but in the light, you immediately recognise him.

Cold fear runs down your spine. It’s the Alpha, the one who came to collect you. You should run.

A wicked growl erupts from his chest. He grins. “There she is.”

Paz glances back at him, and nods.

Part Eight < Series Masterlist > Part Ten

#mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #din x reader #alpha mandalorian #alpha!mandalorian #alpha din #alpha!din #a/b/o dynamics #star wars #mandalorian #din djarin #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #star wars smut #din djarin smut #mandalorian smut #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian fanfiction #star wars x reader #star wars x you #alpha!din djarin #alpha!din djarin x omega!reader #mandalorian x you #mando x you #din djarin x you #din x you #sil's writing

[firstofficerwiggles]

Happy Thot weekend! Congrats on finishing the semester!

Do you remember the Tik tok you sent me of Din sitting in a chair with legs spread wide and he taps with thigh to signal you to come sit in this lap?

I'm thinking of that with Sith Lord! Obi-Wan. You're in a meeting with him and other high ranking members of the first order. It's a pretty standard, boring, meeting that's more fluff than anything. Some of the officers are having disagreements about paperwork and efficiency. Obi finds this rather dull, though he loves a good chaotic argument. He looks over at you and pats his thigh for you to come sit. Everyone knows you're with the Dark Lord. No one questions it when you move to do what he asks. He praises you when you sit down. He promises to thoroughly reward you after the meeting with bending you over the table. Meanwhile he teases you with the force. Phantom touches trace up your thighs, chest, neck. Enough to make you squirm but not enough to satisfy your need for Obi. Obi takes immense pleasure in the effect he has on you. He's possessive and loves to show the power he has over you.

Idk I'm a slut for Sith!Obi. You've shown me the dark side and I'm obsessed. Lol.

Oooh, we are starting strong with my favorite new obsession Sith!Obi-Wan! An absolutely brilliant beginning to thot weekend. Welcome to the dark side 😈

Pairing: Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi x gender neutral reader

Rating: Explicit/Mature 18+ only

Note: I use my favorite pet name “sweetheart” in this but I am a firm believer that it can be used with everyone and is not inherently feminine

You stifle a sigh as yet another admiral argues that his fleet should be first in the Empire Day parade. It’s been a full week of meetings like this, all for an elaborate show of the Empire’s might and supremacy in the galaxy. As much as you’re looking forward to celebrating with everyone, you have to wonder how many galas, parades, and circuses are necessary, and why there needs to be an endless meeting for each one. 

Your eyes flick over to Lord Kenobi, resplendent in his white uniform, and looking rather bored himself as he sits to the side of the meeting room, comfortable in the luxurious leather-covered loveseat. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns his attention towards you, his golden gaze meets yours and a sly smile draws over his face. You feel a warmth come over you, a tingle that flows from your lower stomach to the rest of your body. Ghostly fingers brush over your cheek, caressing so softly you wonder if it is only a memory of the last time he touched you. Yet, the sensation continues, over your throat, across your collarbone, and then down your chest. Even though you’re dressed in your full uniform, it feels as though he is touching your bare skin. Your mouth falls open in a small gasp as you feel the invisible hand move between your legs. 

Obi-Wan’s smirk deepens, as he hears that soft breath leave your lips. He relaxes into his seat, placing his left arm on the back of the small couch, widening his body. Then he uncrosses his legs, spreading them open and shifting his hips upward in a movement that draws your eyes right to his growing arousal. With his right hand, he pats his thigh, a clear invitation for you to come join him.

You’re standing and moving towards him before you even realize that you’ve interrupted a heated argument about which uniforms the officers should wear on parade day. You mutter a quick, “Excuse me,” as all eyes are on you. Still though, you stride quickly over to your Dark Lord, always willing to give in to his whims. 

“You may continue,” Obi-Wan says lazily, paying the others almost no mind as he pats his lap again encouraging you to take your seat. Your arm winds around his neck as you settle onto his thigh. 

“That’s it, get comfortable, sweetheart,” he purrs to you, “I love it when you follow my instructions so well, I didn’t even need words this time.” 

His hand comes up to hold your jaw, making certain that you are looking right into his eyes, while his other arm has wrapped around you, low on your hips. 

“Shall we make this meeting more interesting? Hmm?” he inquires, his voice is low so that only you can hear him. You feel his Force fingers tracing over your skin once again. 

“Anything you desire, Lord Kenobi,” you reply with a soft smile, knowing that whatever he has in mind will certainly lead to your pleasure.

“What I really desire is to bend you over that table, and take you right in front of all these pompous windbags,” he tells you, his voice rich with want, “Would you like that? For me to show them all that you’re mine?”

Your eyes widen in surprise at his suggestion. Another gasp leaves you. You can’t say for certain whether it’s from shock or desire. You can feel him touching you with his mind, knowing exactly where his fingers will be most pleasurable, stroking and rubbing you in a way that makes your head spin. You lean into his otherworldly touch, yearning for more. You know he wants you to answer him though, so you manage to stumble a reply,

“Th-they all know I’m yours,” you reassure him.

“Perhaps they do.” 

Obi-Wan sounds so nonchalant, nothing in his voice betrays how well he’s working you up right now. But with the way your leg is pressed against him, you can feel how hard he is. 

“Although, perhaps it will solidify it for them that you are mine, if they see me railing into you, watching you take my cock like you were made for it.”

You can’t help the whimper that leaves your throat at his dirty words combined with the way he’s teasing you with the Force. The pleasure inside you is coiling tighter and tighter with each passing sweep of sensation. The room feels stifling and you squirm in his lap. It’s so much but still it’s not nearly enough. 

“Tell me that you want me to fuck you, sweetheart,” he demands in that velvet voice of his, “Tell me how you want it, how you need it.”

Your breath is coming in gasps now, as a shiver of embarrassment runs through you at how badly you do want it. The thought that he might actually carry out his idea, ravish you right in front of all of these officers, thrills you in a wholly unexpected way. 

“I do want it, my lord, and I don’t care who sees us, they should all know I’m yours,” you tell him, your words tumbling out as he keeps you right on the brink of an orgasm, “I want to feel you deep inside me, to feel you pressed against me, your weight on me, I need it so badly, I- I want to be full of your thick cock.”

“My, my, sweetheart, what a filthy mouth you have,” Obi-Wan drawls, before he pulls you into a deep open-mouthed kiss, heedless of whatever discussion is still going on in the room. 

When he breaks the kiss, you’re dizzy with pleasure. You’re so desperate for him that you’ll do anything he asks, and the naughty smile on his face tells you that he knows this. 

“This meeting is adjourned!” Obi-Wan announces in a loud voice, “Get out of my sight now.” And he waves the others away, sounding bored.

You watch dazed as the officers shuffle out of the room, and then you turn to your Dark Lord with a slightly puzzled expression. You were so certain he was going to do something more in front of them. 

“It pleases me to see you so willing,” he murmurs, “But I don’t like to share, and I think only I should get the pleasure of seeing you so thoroughly ruined.”

He leans closer to you, “Nevertheless, they should know for certain that you’re mine, so you be sure to scream that nice and loud for me. Now get on that table.”

Keep sending in your thots! It's going to be a very spicy weekend

@boomtowngirl @kavecika @becks-things @mysticalgalaxysalad @catsnkooks @starlightrows @tailorvizsla @bitchin-beskar @lilhawkeye3 @acourtofsnakes @grogusmum @buzzybeebee @deannie13 @ladykatakuri @noodlesfics @the-good-shittt @princessxkenobi @everythingyouwanted @jewfro24 @vaderthepotater @pinkiemme @laichka @elinedjarin @myeternalsin @kazthedestroyer @writeforfandoms @startrekkingaroundasgard @onabouteverything @beskarmermaid @flightlessangelwings

#sith!obi wan kenobi #sith obi wan kenobi #sith!obi wan kenobi x reader #sith obi wan kenobi x reader #sith!obi wan kenobi fanfiction #sith!obi wan kenobi fanfic #sith obi wan kenobi fanfiction #sith obi wan kenobi fanfic

[skyrim-forever]

Until You Break

Hello everyone! I'm adding more Elenwen/Legate Rikke content to the world, tagging @dirty-bosmer come get an evil woman <3

Words: 930

Rating: M (Kissing, suggestive themes, but no graphic detail)

Pairing: Elenwen/Legate Rikke

It starts with a brush against her leg. The Altmer’s boot gently grazed her leg as she crossed her own. It was a mistake. Surely it was. But Elenwen didn’t make mistakes; she was only ever cruelly intentional. As she sat across from Ambassador Elenwen at dinner, Rikke began to feel a heat rise in her body. She wanted to excuse herself, run off into the winter raging outside, anything to be free from this warmth. But she didn’t. 

Elenwen makes conversation with the others, Tullius and the rest of the who’s who of Skyrim. Yet her gaze never leaves Legate Rikke, the look imposing. Everything about her is imposing, from how tall she is, the way she speaks, and her presence in Rikke’s homeland. A conquer, a beast. And Rikke was in the belly of the beast, dining in the Embassy. If Elenwen is the invader, then why does Rikke feel out of place? Not only excelling in warfare, the Thalmor host excellent parties. The finest imports from the Summerset Isle are laid out in front of her, ripe for the taking. But at what cost? 

Elenwen’s gaze never falters and it is Rikke’s will who breaks first. Excusing herself briefly she decides to take a short walk down the hallway, catching a few breaths away from prying eyes. She’s halfway down the hall when she hears footsteps followed by a voice, a whisper that rings so loud. 

“Do I scare you little soldier?”

“No” Rikke said firmly.

“Then why do you run?” Rikke stands her ground, no longer walking she turns to face the Ambassador. In the light of the candles of the dinning area, Elenwen is glowing. The hue illuminating her skin, making her all the more gold. The Legate can only imagine how she looks in the shadow. Where Elenwen is gold, she is iron. Rusted iron, dull in the face of such a precious metal.

“I do not fear you Ambassador.” Elenwen laughs, quietly as to not draw attention to their guests in the next room. She saunters closer to Rikke, leaving an arms length between them. Tilting her head down, she speaks. 

“Then what do you think of me?” Rikke looks into her eyes, as gold as the rest of her. She finds herself shivering under the taller woman’s gaze; her heart beats rapidly speeding up. But she did not lie when she spoke. It is not fear that begins to cloud her expert judgment. 

The Thalmor’s lips crash into her own, a tinge dry; not used to the harsh climate they now found themselves in. And Rikke lets her, meets her in fact with force of her own. The kiss is hypnotic, forceful and Rikke can’t pull away. She lets Elenwen push her against the stone walls of the Embassy, the coldness of them adding that much more sensation to her already burning skin. She kisses back, eager to please the taller woman. Opening her mouth, Elenwen wastes no time diving in. It felt traitorous, how Rikke moaned for Elenwen, stifling them for fear of others hearing. Traitor her mind echoed as she pulls on the Thalmor’s robes to draw her closer. 

She has always been good, always been honourable. Becoming the right hand of General Tullius was not easy, she had to grow a thick skin, leave her family, and give her whole life to the Legion. First the Great War, she was so young and naive when it started, a young soldier ready to defend her home land. Flashes of memories find their way to the surface, memories she has long blocked out. Memories of the blood, toil and sweat it took, just to end up defeated. And here she was again, at war in her homeland; only this time her people are her enemy. 

Elenwen’s lips have moved to her neck, sucking and nipping at her skin. Drawing a louder moan from Rikke, the Altmer’s hands instantly cover her mouth. 

“We do not want to draw attention, little soldier.” Rikke nods her head in agreement. “We would not want them to see you falter. ” Falter, the perfect solider was faltering. But was it a crime? Was it a crime to be so strong for so long and then let down her resolve? She was the best of them, didn’t she deserve to let go? Elenwen grabs her chin, tilting her head towards the taller woman’s. “You want this, don’t you little soldier? You yearn for this, I will keep you until you break.” Rikke hates the feelings this stirs inside her. The need to give in, to surrender is so strong that she will let Elenwen break her. She can break her as much as she wants.

Elenwen withdraws her lips from Rikke’s neck long enough to whisper in her ear. 

“Stay, meet me upstairs after dinner.” Strands of her golden hair graze Rikke’s cheek as she turns, proceeding to walk back to the dining room. “My apologies everyone, I heard noises coming from my office. No matter, let us continue.” Elenwen is able to seamlessly slip back into the conversation, Rikke joining them in a few minutes; her heart racing from the thrill. As she sits back down in her chair, Elenwen is no longer staring at her. In fact it appears as though she is deliberately avoiding her gaze. Perhaps it was all a test the Legate thinks she’s toying with me. 

Yet, it doesn’t stop her from excusing herself after dinner and walking up the stairs to the Ambassador's office where her lips immediately find their demise. 

#skyrim #the elder scrolls #tes #tesblr #elenwen #legate rikke #elenwen/legate rikke #elenwen brainrot #fanfic #skyrim fanfic #skyrim fanfiction #fanficition

[kalevalakryze]

Things Change

For Bo-Katan Week Day One: Bo-Katan & Ahsoka Tano Pairing: Bo-Katan Kryze/Ahsoka Tano Characters: Bo-Katan Kryze, Ahsoka Tano Warnings: depression era Bo, Mandalorian S3 content, implied sexual content Summary: Ahsoka's gaze searched the empty space as she stepped into the throne room for the first time in over a decade. The first time, during The Clone Wars, the space had been buzzing with Niteowls and gathered Mandalorians, preparing for the siege, with or without The Republic's aid. Now though, it was empty, her boots on the rug were loud, echoing around the cavernous room. The woman on the throne did not raise her gaze from her boots, did not even acknowledge her presence. "What are you doing here, Tano?" "I didn't want you to be all alone," Notes: inspired by this lovely prompt: "Things have changed since you were last here, and only some for the better." Word Count: 2,058 AO3 Link: Here!

Bo-Katan Kryze had only offered Ahsoka Tano refuge on Kalevala once. Before the end of everything, before the Siege of Mandalore, the end of the Republic, the end of the Jedi, and the rise of the Empire. She’d been desperate, then, had been fighting to regain the planets control so it would not fall to the dar’jetti. She’d been mourning the loss of her only recently reunited ori’vod, and the loss of the life she’d devoted herself to. 

Drinking with Ahsoka had been easy, then. They’d both been angry, lost, and bitter, had both been looking to feel something that wasn’t their anticipation for reaching out to the Republic, or the growing anxiety over the feelings of the war. Falling into bed together had been easier with the alcohol, even if they’d both sobered the second Bo-Katan’s hand had found its way past the edge of the lightly armored skirt she’d given the Jedi. 

Whatever they’d had hadn’t survived the war, because Bo-Katan had assumed that Ahsoka hadn’t survived. Not when Clone Troopers opened fire on her people, and she had to busy herself with putting down the regiment that the Togruta had called her aliit. 

She hadn’t learned of Ashoka’s survival until years later, when she’d met Ghost Crew. There, she was introduced to the memory, and the legacy she’d created when she’d died again, The Fulcrum Network, which Bo had reluctantly worked with to supply the people of Mandalore while they drove Imperials from the system. 

The Togruta’s continued survival after that had also been a mess, when she’d gotten the comm on her private channel. Instead of taking her chance to find Ahsoka, she’d given the location to Din Djarin, who needed the Force-Sensitive woman more than she did, in the moment. 

They hadn’t seen each other since they departed on Mandalore, all those years ago, and yet, their lives were still irreversibly intwined. Neither of their songs could be sung without mentioning the other, even after all the time that’s passed between them. Bo-Katan had been acting impulsively when she’d commed the Jedi, requesting her presence. 

Maybe it was the gaping chasm of loneliness that had her reminiscing on what could have been, the way she knew, if she asked, Ahsoka would come, even if she was meant to be dead. Bo could not explain her reasonings for calling out, other than the craving for interaction, to feel the warmth of another sentient, one she could… mostly trust. 

Ahsoka’s arrival was near silent, though Bo had known the moment her ship had appeared in atmo, had waved her droid off to show her the way. The redhead did not move from her seat, hadn’t moved in days, aside from her trip to the fresher, and when the droid suggested she hop in the sonic. The fact that even the droid had thought she stank was not lost on Bo, though it did not stop the habit from continuing. 

Ahsoka’s boots were soft of the carpeted liner, near silent, if it weren’t for the stifling silence that hung around the cavernous throne room. Bo-Katan had felt the moment electric blue eyes had settled on her hunched over form, though she did not raise herself to meet her guest, had kept her steely gaze hard on the scuffed toe of her boots.  

Time stretched in a way that made Ahsoka’s long strides feel slow, everything felt slow, and Bo was starting to feel very much like the injured animal she knew she was being compared to in the Jetti’s mind. 

“Why have you come?” Bo demanded, her voice rough, unable to remember the last time she’d verbalized much of anything. Her lips pursed as she tried to wet the dry skin discretely, staring hard at the white lines against orange skin, and not the sympathy and understanding reflected in eyes she had not seen in so long. She’d grown, since the last they’d been face to face, taller, stronger, confidence and patience radiating from her stance, her hip jutted out, thumbs pressing into the dips of her hips, right under the belt secured around her waist. 

“Because you asked me to,” The woman responded in kind, full lips twitching with the ghost of a smile as she stepped closer to the desolate woman on the throne, her hand resting on the smooth alloys that made up an arm rest, brushing, but not quite touching, the familiar vambrace that twitched against its post. 

“I’ve asked a lot,” Bo pointed out, brows furrowing, nose scrunching together and green eyes narrowing as she watched the younger woman inquisitively. She’d asked a lot of everyone, since her creation, it seemed. She’d asked for love, attention, training, leadership, power, authority, forgiveness, dedication, and so much more, and either her or whoever she’d asked had always fallen short. But. . . Ahsoka always came. She knew in her heart, if she would have asked, the Jetti would have crawled from death’s embrace itself just to be there for her.

“Acting on your basic emotions isn’t asking a lot, Bo-Katan,” Ahsoka pondered herself for a moment, before her hand rested overtop an armored hand. Bo had flinched slightly, half expecting the illusion to break the second contact was made, but Ahsoka’s hand squeezed over top of her own, and she could feel the heat through the glove. 

“Mandalore is gone,” Her head turned away, as shame burned dark on her cheeks. Everything they’d done, laying siege to her home, trying to protect their people and stop them from suffering near this exact fate, and Bo-Katan had given it up. “Why did you come?” She echoed again, knowing that Ahsoka knew, that the Togruta should be holding some level of resentment for her, for making that sacrifice mean nothing. 

“I didn’t want you to be all alone,” The younger woman finally relented. Her other hand raised, before her fingers wove through Bo-Katan’s hair, carding through each strand carefully when the woman did not push her away. “Your hair’s grown,” She observed, watching as the warrior sank forward, all the way until Ahsoka had to stop closer to the throne, so Bo-Katan’s forehead could rest against her stomach. 

“You’ve grown too,” Her voice was soft, and a smile found it’s way to Ahsoka’s lips as she nodded.

“That was inevitable,” Black painted nails gently scratched along the base of her scalp, causing the redhead to hum softly into her stomach.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No, but… what would I have to do to get you to stay, for just a while?” 

Ahsoka released breath, mulling it over in her head. “All you can do is ask,”

“Can you stay?” Bo’s lips pressed against her stomach, as Ahsoka’s shoulders shook in silent laughter.

“Of course, could you take a walk with me, in return?” Bo was moving the moment Ahsoka said ‘walk’, Ashoka’s hand sliding from her hair to intwine with her fingers. So much time had passed between them, they’d both grown so much, had become much different people, and yet, the familiarity between them was a comfort neither woman realized they’d yearned for.

The sweet scent of Vormur wafted around the pair as they walked along the stone battlements overlooking the landing pads where Ahsoka and Bo-Katan’s ship were set down, the castle’s remaining droid puttering around the strip to refuel the rebel’s ship. 

Neither woman pulled their hands apart as they walked, though Bo pretended not to notice the Togruta, her attention turned more on the horizon as she’d felt Ahsoka’s tender gaze on her face. “You look tired,” She remarked after they’d completed a full circle. 

“That’s a polite way to say I’m alive,” 

“Troan'ashir mhi oyacyi ne'nari mhi oyayc,” Ahsoka’s voice was soft, and Bo’s shoulders sagged slightly. The clones had done good work in teaching their Commander Mando’a, Bo-Katan and her Niteowls had only revised and corrected her grammar in time, and it seemed even the decades apart, she’d remembered each lesson, including the exact words Bo had spoken before they’d reached out to the Jedi for aid, when the teenager had just been barely surviving. 

Instead of responding, Bo-Katan shifted, halting her steps in order to pause and turn to Ahsoka. She let go of her hand in order to cup the woman’s cheeks in her palms, thumb tracing the clean lines of her facial markings. When Bo was leaning up, Ahsoka had met her halfway.

Even with the time that separated them, the meeting of their lips had been a familiar comfort, a gentleness that made it feel like no time had passed between them at all. If they’d allowed themselves just a moment of peace, they could even imagine that they could pick up where they left off, all those years ago. 

Ahsoka’s arms circled Bo-Katan’s waist, pulling the shorter woman’s body closer, as her fingers slid between cool beskar and the leather utility belt along her waist. A shiver ran up the Togruta’s spine when Bo’s teeth dragged along her bottom lip. 

The taller woman shifted until she could slide her hands to the backs of her thighs, lifting the Mandalorian up to the edge of a waist high battlement column, letting her legs lock behind her waist and gloved hands slide from her cheeks, under her lekku, to lock behind the back of her neck. 

When they parted, it was for Ahsoka’s lips to trail along the sides of her throat, the tips of sharp fangs nipping at her skin as the redhead shifted with each prick. “Those got sharper,” She observed as her hands pet along her sensitive back lek. 

“Perhaps I could show you exactly how sharp,” Bo leaned forward in obvious interest, “tomorrow, I can feel how tired you are,” At the frustrated and mild confusion, Ahsoka let her fingertip tap the center of Bo’s breastplate. “Force osik, don’t worry about it, now show me your room.” She playfully commanded as she helped her more than gracious host from the column. 

It would turn out that the only room Bo-Katan had really frequented had been the throne room, since her quarters had been dark and messy, probably only visited a handful of time in her isolation. Instead of commenting, the pair worked together to clean it up. The fist sized crack in the stone would be another problem, but at least, when Bo’s gloves had come off, there were only healing bruises across her knuckles. “Let me, I want to see if I remember,” The Togruta stepped in Bo’s personal space, batting her hands away from her armor. It was a poor excuse to touch the woman, but she’d wanted to express that she cared, to show her the love she could not yet speak aloud. 

It took twice as much time as normal for Ahsoka to remove each piece of armor, but it wasn’t necessarily a struggle with the different clasps and ties, but more so she could be tender, to observe the heavier than beskar weight that lifted from the duchess with each piece removed and set aside. 

Soft kisses were pressed to pale, sweaty skin as the flight suit was peeled away, tossed into a dirty pile not too far away. It was a struggle, but she didn’t press farther, fully intending on helping her Mandalorian get some rest before she indulged. 

Bo-Katan was more than eager to return the favor, to slip her gauntlet’s away and rub circles into the skin of her wrists, fingertips smoothing over burnt sepia colored scars, to peel away equally dirty clothes and toss them aside, and to smooth her hands over the matured frame she'd once known, to feel each muscle and scar with the promise to commit each one to memory, once they’d slept. 

For the first time in too long to remember, Bo-Katan tucked herself into a warm, living, sentient side, her head resting on a chest with a steadily beating heart, and fell asleep with strong arms wrapped around her, her Jetti’s fingers carding through her hair until Ahsoka followed suit. So much had changed, but the ease they had around each other was still the same, and maybe, with the reminder that she wasn’t alone, that she would come, things could change for the better, out of this downward spiral her old flame had been heading down. 

Translations: dar'jetti - sith/dark jedi ori'vod - older sibling aliit - family/clan jetti - jedi vormur - outer ring of Madalore's system, a sweet and heavenly fragrant flower Troan'ashir mhi oyacyi ne'nari mhi oyayc - Pretending that we live doesn't make us alive osik - shit/crap/nonsense

#Bo-Katan Kryze #Ahsoka Tano #Bosoka #bo katan kryze #the mandalorian #kalevala #bo katan x ahsoka #the clone wars #siege of mandalore #sw rebels #sw #bkw2023 #bo katan week #mando'a #let the clones speak mando’a #fluff #reunion

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Red Right Hand Ch3 of Worlds Collide Din Darin x female reader.

General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given. Warnings:, Sexual Assault, Injury Detail, PTSD, Trauma, gore, scarring, violence against reader, swearing, sexual tension, angst, lots of angst, abusive ex, control, coercion, Axe Woves needs a good talking to, Din is PISSED, Smut at the end, glorious glorious smut. Summary: You head to Coruscant to raid one of your emergency stashes of weapons, credits, and other possessions, but when you and Mando get separated things turn sour.  Author’s Notes: I wasn’t going to get to the smut this quickly initially but the way this chapter panned out I needed to, it’s just *right* to have it here in my mind. Be warned it does get graphic here folks, reader goes through a lot of shit in this chapter but there is a *very* happy amount of Din x Reader in this which is both sweet and smutty <3 

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Coruscant is as grimy as you always remembered it, the throngs of people as oppressive as the close humid air that threatens to stifle you completely as you keep a healthy distance behind Din. Grogu stares up at the bright neon signs as he hovers along at your waist. You smile at his contentment but can’t stay too entranced with the little guy as the seedy underbelly of the planet-city shifts around you at light-speed. 

“You alright back there?” Din’s voice crackles over your earpiece and you try not to recognise the warmth that spreads through you with his voice in your ear. His voice is harsher, business-like and the distortion is different enough from how it sounds through the helmet’s modulator to make you wonder exactly just how he sounded without any modulation at all. 

“All good Mando, just making sure we’re not being followed.” You respond quietly, hoping the archaic microphone would pick up your lowered tone. 

“Same, but I’ve had nothing so far, just your usual lowlifes and gangsters.” Din responds as you see the flash of bright silver Beskar through the crowded promenade as Din dips down a side street. His cape flaps in the wind and you laugh at the almost heroic air to the sight. 

“Send the kid through, I need to keep us out of sight, will explain later.” Din’s tone is curt and you key in the silent affirmative signal on your wrist control, knowing a phosphorus white signal would flash in the corner of Din’s visor. You give the kid a knowing look before keying in the homing command for his transport to follow Din instead of you. 

“Sending co-ordinates through to you, radio silence until we rendezvous there.” You say quietly over the comm, Mando clicks a pattern out with his manual receiver to indicate confirmation. It’s an old comm trick that makes you smile. You shut off all outbound transmissions and weave your way through the crowd. Your shoulder aches and you look back down at the data pad, noting the time and the mental calculation begins unprompted.

Eighteen days, four hours, three minutes, five seconds. 

Your stomach twists as the memory comes, unprovoked to the front of your mind. The searing pain, the sound of your own screams, the taste of blood as you bit down on your tongue. The fear, that’s what gets you the most, fear of losing your arm, of having to resort to cybernetics. 

You crash into a group of angry looking Gran and you apologise profusely as you snap yourself out of the daze. You refocus and slip down a side alley, your heart hammering in your chest as you lean back against the alley wall. It’s slick with the ever-present damp warmth of the lower levels of Coruscant, it brings no relief to your feverish skin, but the grounding of something solid behind you is enough to bring you back to the task at hand. You breathe in through your respirator, the tinny taste of poorly recycled air coats your mouth as you take in the dank gloom of the alley. 

By some miracle, you had ducked down the correct alley, the stash box was only a few feet to your left. You scoff to yourself, praising the maker as you take a precursory look around to check if you had any unwanted company, but the alley was empty. 

You head further into the alley and stop at an inconspicuous looking vent, steam pours out of it as if from the maw of a fire-breathing beast. You take out your vibroknife from your boot and shimmy the grate from its hinges. The holographic illusion breaks as soon as you do so and a small, air-tight compartment hisses open behind it. You hear the soft, muted clink of metal on metal as you reach in to grab the storage container and canvas bag from within. 

You tense up, knife in hand as you spin and launch yourself at the intruder, knife flying to their throat as you pin them back against the far wall. Your blaster is at your hip, pressing into the blued Beskar clad assailant as you look up into the smug face of Axe Woves’ former right hand, Krom Gray. 

His piercing green eyes lock you like a tractor beam, his full, well kept beard framing his strong jaw as you remembered the way it felt scraping on your skin as he bit you hard enough to draw blood. You remember the way those green eyes shone like pools of acid when he would punish you for even the most minor of mistakes. 

“Clever work, I taught you well.” He purrs and the blood in your veins turn to ice. A pattern of clicks sound in your comm, signalling Din wanting to check in, and you narrow your eyes at the Mandalorian before you. You can’t respond to Din, you can’t risk exposing him if Krom didn’t know you were with him. 

“What do you want Krom? Didn’t Axe banish you after what you did to me?” You ask, your voice trembling slightly as you say his name, you can smell him over the grime of Coruscant, the heady cocktail of luxurious scented oils, sweat, and polished metal. It makes you sick how easily you feel yourself submitting. Your body betraying you as you feel your grip on the vibroknife loosening. 

“Oh sweet Orikih, Axe took me back once he heard that you were a filthy liar, a deserter, and that you attempted to take my life.” He croons, using the detestable pet name, Tiny, for you as you feel yourself backing up against the wall. He pulls down the collar of his flight suit to show you the puckered, pink scar you had caused almost a year before the Pyke job, desperate to get away from your tormentor. 

But even now Krom was able to manipulate you just as easily as he had done all those years ago. The truth is you’re as touch starved as Din, having closed off all physical affection with anyone but Fen for almost a year. But the cocktail of fear, adrenaline, and shameful attraction to this despicable man had you wet and wanting release. Your mouth parts slightly as he steps closer.

He didn’t even apply physical pressure, he just looked at you, his handsome face twisted into a cruel smirk, “Look at that, being such a good girl for me already.” He continues as he rips the blaster from your hand, tossing it down into the depths of the alley. You hear the skitter of metal on metal as it disappears from view.

“Krom cut it out, I’m not going back, I don’t care what lies you’ve told them, it doesn’t matter now. I. Am. Not. Going. Back.” You hiss, trying to keep the knife steady but you can feel your resolve slipping. His gloved right hand cups your cheek and you flinch at the touch. It’s familiar, like the coil of a constrictor that never squeezes quite hard enough to kill you. 

“But we’ve retaken Mandalore, I’m helping rebuild our society Orikih, I have power, status, I can give you it all.” His other hand snatches your wrist before slamming it above your head, the impact is hard enough to send the blade clattering to the floor. You yelp in surprise and that only emboldens him.

“See, making all those pretty noises for me, even if you can’t admit it, I still own you.” He breathes and pulls up the sleeve on your right arm, exposing your forearm to him. The scars from his blade, his teeth, the edge of his helmet, still shone offset to your skin, permanent reminders of his abuse. 

“How did you find me?” You hiss, pulling your arm away from him grasp, but that only angers him, pressing his hand to your throat instead. The harsh press of his gauntlet burns at your skin as he rips your tunic down with the other, exposing your shoulders and swell of your breasts as you snarl at him. 

“I’ve got eyes everywhere Orikih, been monitoring your stashes. I got a call as soon as you stepped out of the Spaceport, all alone, so very vulnerable.” He breathes and you feel relief flood through you as you realise he knew nothing about Din or Grogu. You almost smile and that’s a mistake. He sees the flash of emotion in your eyes and his right hand presses into your clothed left breast. 

“Beautiful.” He murmurs as his body presses against you, the harsh angles of his armour digging into your hips, forcing the air out of you as another rapid series of clicks sounds in your ear, Din was getting anxious. You weep as Krom sucks hungrily, without kindness or care, at the skin just above your breast as he grinds his hips against you, the hot tears pooling above the rim of your respirator before dropping to the alley floor. You close your eyes and pray to the Maker it would be over soon.

*

Din paces through the alley, only two streets over from where you were being confronted by Krom, but he had no idea, no clue where you were. He was sweating under his armour, his breath coming in panicked rasps as he clicks out a third pattern across the comms. Nothing. 

“Grogu, I need you to reach out to her, I need you to find her. Can you do that for me?” Din asks as he kneels down to his son’s transport. Grogu coos and nods, shutting his eyes slowly, as he feels for the force sensitivity in the crowd, just like Luke had taught him. Small sparks of light flash in and out of the darkness behind his lids, but none of them were you. 

Grogu grumbles and tightens his eyes as he widens his net, casting through the swampy darkness of the city-planet around him. Then he sees it, a violet-red flash of light from the alley two streets over. 

Grogu, if you can hear me, please help. 

You’re calling out to him, consciously or not, reciting the co-ordinates of the stash, and he hears it. His dark eyes snap open and he brings up his control console in his transport, keying in the co-ordinates of the street. 

“Good job kid, get back to the Gauntlet, defence systems armed until we get back, understood?” Din confirms with him as the shields on his transport go up and the homing device steers the pod automatically back to the ship.

“I’m coming for you, hang tight.” Din vows to the darkness as he stalks his prey. Little did he know the fear he was feeling for you would soon turn to blinding fury. 

*

You fought back, knowing it was what Krom liked, but it also bought you time, but your stalling techniques could only last so long. Your nose was bloodied, your face pressed against the clammy wall of the alley, Krom’s fist knotted in your hair as he holds you in place. 

“Play time’s over, fucking bitch.” Krom’s voice is white hot with arousal and rage in equal parts as the slash across his face bled freely. You had managed to grab for the knife, slashing wildly at him until he struck you hard with his blaster. But you smirked through your bloodied mouth as you saw the damage you had dealt. 

“Getting old Krom,” You sneer, trying desperately to buy any more time, you just hoped Din hadn’t abandoned you, otherwise you were truly fucked, “Your Orikih got your face good didn’t she?” You use his nickname for you against him, trying to provoke more physical violence, for that was better than the alternative. Then you hear it, your name, amplified through a modulator as Din calls out for you. 

“Mando!” You cry out and Krom freezes behind you. You feel the twitch of his hand in your hair as he tries to make a snap decision. 

“What the fuck, you’re travelling with another Mandalorian?” Krom hisses as he releases you, practically throwing you to the wall as he turns and runs, not waiting for your answer, the whirring of a Phoenix jet pack fills your ears as you turn your face up to greet Din. You slide down the moist wall of the alley and despite everything find yourself smiling. 

Another scar to remind him that he doesn’t own me, no one does. 

You think to yourself as Din practically falls to his knees at the sight of you. His hands pull your tunic up over your exposed skin before he scoops you up gently in his arms. He’s murmuring something but you’re coming down from the adrenaline rush and your mind is foggy. But as he sets the controls of his Phoenix you stop him.

“Wait, my things.” You mumble pointing limply to the duffel and metal storage case contained within the vent. Din grabs them both without comment and as soon as you and your baggage are secured he lifts off. The familiar feeling of flight fills you with a small joy, if there was one thing you missed being under Krom’s thumb, it was learning to fly. And yet here you were, flying, without him. 

*

“You need to eat.” Din insists as you sit in the co-pilot chair, freshly patched up, and furious. 

“I’m not hungry.” You respond, playing with the vibroknife in your hands obsessively. Your shoulder burns, your face aches, and worst of all your heart is full of shame. Despite everything Krom had done to you, your body had reacted shamefully, you can still feel the burn of arousal in your core, and it sickens you. 

“Eat.” Din insists as he hands you two pouches of nutrient rich ration packs, you grimace at them but take them, no longer able to ignore the rolling groans of your stomach. Grogu is asleep in his mini bunk at the back of the helm, and Din hasn’t left your side since you boarded the ship. You were still docked on Coruscant, Din refused to do anything until he had patched you up and helped you into the Refresher. You didn’t let him help you wash, you didn’t want anyone to touch your skin, not now, maybe not ever again. 

You gulp down the sickly sweet paste, overly sugared to conceal the vastly unpleasant taste of the synthetic food. Din hands you a canteen of water and takes the empty packets without a word. You nod at him in thanks and sip slowly at the water, trying hard not to gulp it down, you didn’t want to puke up your hastened meal by drinking too quickly. 

Din disposes of the packets and swivels the pilot chair to face you, elbows on his knees as he rests the chin of his helmet on his interlaced fingers. You turn slowly to face him, knowing what was coming you glare at him in warning. 

“What happened?” Din asks you softly, so softly it almost doesn’t pick up on his modulator, but you hear it.

“No.” You growl, still sipping on the cool water as you stare down Mando’s visor. He had seen the bite marks, the aggressive hickeys, he knew.

“Please, I want to help.” He pleads and you scoff arrogantly at him. 

“You saw the evidence, why do you need me to spell it out for you? Do you get off on hearing what happens to women in situations like that?” You snap, you know you’re being unfair, but you’re building your walls up, shutting him out and closing off the incident as best you could in your mind. 

“You know I don’t.” Din says softly, not rising to your all too obvious bait. 

“Do I? Do I know you? Fucking Mandalorians, you’re all the same,” You spit as you wobble to your feet, Din stands to help you but you slap away his hands as you head for the bunks, “Just drop me back off on Nar Shaddaa, I’ll get what I deserve and you can be rid of me.” You don’t wait for a response but he darts past you in a flash, barring your exit as he stares down at you with his faceless visor. 

“So he was Mandalorian?” He says, the same level patience in his voice even after your outburst. Your heart clenches, so unused to kindness you can’t help but want to just sob into his arms, have him smooth your hair, whisper sweet nothings to you as you cried. 

“Yes,” You say, tight lipped as you drop your gaze to your feet, “Can I go?” You ask but Din doesn’t budge. 

“And he knows you… intimately?” Din continues his interrogation and you squirm, but you don’t miss the stutter in his voice, the emotion that he can’t conceal as he finishes his question. 

“Yes, I was his apprentice until I stabbed him in the chest, I thought I’d killed him.” You admit, the shame rolling over you as you know what it means to try to kill your mentor. 

“Why?” The single word hits you like a physical blow, your heart aching at the admission of guilt.

“Because,” You unbutton your tunic, revealing your bare skin, covered only by a spartan compression bra. Din reels at the action, turning his gaze away from your bare skin but you take the chin of his helmet in your fingertips and force him to look, “This is how he taught me.”   

“Maker, how did he get away with that?” Din snarls as he scans your body, he wishes he had gotten his hands on the bastard, he would have ripped him apart, limb by limb. 

“He was good at hiding his cruelty, and Axe Woves is his best friend, it’s not hard to abuse your position if you’re the boss’ favourite.” You shrug, already covering up your bare skin, but there was something about the way you could see the subtle movements in Din’s helmet as he studied your marred skin that made you shudder pleasantly. 

“I’m sorry.” Is all Din can muster before he steps aside, allowing you to pass but you don’t move. 

“I shouldn’t ask this,” You say, your voice no more than a whisper, “But would you stay with me?” You feel the voice of self-preservation wailing in the back of your mind, trying to stop you from making a grave error but you’re too emotionally raw to be alone. 

“I don’t think-“ Din begins to protest but you hold up a hand to silence him. 

“I don’t expect you to get into bed with me, but would you stay in the other bunk, I just need to know you’re there.” You say weakly, knowing the night would be filled with nightmares and night terrors. 

“Of course.” Din agrees to that and you smile up at him before trudging to your bunk, stripping down to your underwear as you slip beneath the sheets. Din turns the lights off and you hear armour hitting the deck as he strips in the dark, you don’t hear his helmet depressurise so you assume he’s kept it on. You hear the bunk above you creak as he settles down. 

“Goodnight Din, thank you.” 

“Goodnight,” He says your name softly. 

*

Din wakes with a start, not realising he had fallen asleep, he had intended to stay awake, on the off chance that you needed him. The sound of your screams in the darkness of the crew quarters has his heart hammering in his chest. He launches himself from his bunk and sees you writhing amongst the sheets, his helmet displays your vitals and you’re clearly in the throes of a night terror. 

“Hey, it’s ok I’m here.” Din tries to soothe you but you only thrash more violently at the sound of his voice. You’re mumbling something he can’t hear and he leans in to try and calm you down but you lash out and strike him hard in the chest with your fist. 

“Calm down, I don’t want to hurt you.” He growls, pain blooming in his chest as he deflects the onslaught of blows that come from your frenzied firsts. Then something in the back of Din’s mind comes up with a solution and he struggles for a moment before making the call. After all, it was dark. 

*

“I’m here, it’s me, Din.” The sound of his voice cuts through your panic, rousing you from the worst nightmare you had in years. There is something different about his voice, there was a depth, a richness to it you didn’t recognise. 

“Din?” You cry, you’re slick with sweat and tears as you speak. 

“I’m here, Cyare.” Din says as you feel him shuffle into the bunk next to you. He doesn’t touch you, he lies just close enough to comfort you with his presence but he doesn’t come any closer, then you realise you’re looking at a outline of messy curls, the curve of an angular jaw, not the harsh lines of his helmet and you turn away from him. You hide your eyes with your pillow and curl up into a ball with your back to him. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t see anything I promise.” You whimper, expecting violence, punishment. 

“I took it off so you could hear me, my voice, no modulation, I thought it would help.” Din says softly as he looks at you with his own eyes, unaltered by his helmet, for the first time. In the darkness he can barely make out the curves of your body from the bundled blankets but for the briefest of moments he saw your eyes and he almost lost himself in them. Your sweet, fragile eyes, eyes he would bet his helmet few people had ever seen. Not like this. You were all hard edges, bitter words, anger in every form, yet not now. Now you were soft, vulnerable. 

“Thank you.” You whisper and you feel his gaze on you, you shift the blankets off you slightly, justifying it to yourself that you are too hot from the adrenaline rush. You’re rewarded for you choice as you hear his breath hitch before he coughs, trying to hide his reaction to the curve of your spine, the slope of your neck. The way your hips peaked out from the sheets. He craves to see you, to see all of you. 

“Any time, I’ll be here until you wake, get some rest.” He murmurs and you hear the rich timbre of his voice, deep and rumbling. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks as his voice washes over you. You’re so pent up, so wired from the way Krom had kissed and sucked your neck. You fantasise about how Din would treat you, how he would be soft, gentle with you. At least that’s what you hoped. 

“Din?” You whisper, regretting it immediately, desperately hoping he’d either fallen asleep or your voice hadn’t carried in the small space. 

“Mmm?” He responds sleepily and your core aches at the sound. You scold yourself for saying anything, for feeling anything for the man who just saved you, for a second, no third time, since you met him. 

“Nothing, nothing.” You mumble and bring a pillow to your face, hoping to bury your shame in the soft fabric. You smell him though, the peppery scent of his soap and the musk of his sweat and Beskar. Even though you’d been the only one to sleep in these sheets recently his essence was all around you.

“No, what?” Din asks, alert now as he’s roused. You feel him shift behind you and you exhale into the pillow, hoping it muffles the soft whine in the back of your throat. The air between you is charged, you try to convince yourself it’s just you, tightly wound and desperate. He wants nothing to do with your temptations, he’s just being a good man, looking after his new hunting partner in her time of need. You’re projecting.

“I was wondering,” You whisper, pulling the pillow away from your face, “If you could hold me?” You ask, willing him to refuse, he’d not offered you intimacy, and had rejected any form of it before now, so he would have to say no, right? It was just the closure you needed to move on, if he said no now that would be it. 

“Are you sure?” His voice is husky with emotion, thick with longing which only makes the ache in your core worse. You curse under your breath, you’d passed the point of no return, and you were dragging him into the depths of your depravity with you. 

“Yes, please.” You whimper as you feel the sheets jostle behind you. 

“Gotta keep your back against me.” Din explains softly as you feel the warmth of his bare chest against your back. The press of his soft skin on yours is deadly, it sets your skin alight with electricity burning through you. 

Maker he’s large. 

You think as his body slots behind you, his hips sliding up to meet your ass, knees tucking in behind your own as he drapes one arm over your stomach, his broad hand flat on the mattress, caging you in. Then he shifts you slightly, snaking his other arm under the pillow, lifting your head slightly with the motion. It’s innocuous, platonic even, he’s not touching you inappropriately he’s just providing comfort. 

“This ok?” He asks softly as you feel him pulling his hips back slightly, no longer flush against your ass and you grumble internally at the loss of contact, but you feel warmth spread through you as the considerate gesture tugs at your heart. 

“More than ok.” You respond, trying to remain still as you feel his large, strong body hemming you in, you feel protected in a way you never had before. Not with Fen, certainly not with Krom. Then you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up, his nose presses against the crook of your neck and you hear him inhale softly. 

“This ok too?” He asks, his breath ghosting along the skin of your shoulder, he’s breathing heavily, you can feel the need building between you. This was crossing a line, it was too much, yet altogether not enough. 

“Dunno,” You say, your voice breathy as you place your hand on his forearm, you feel thick but soft hair beneath your fingertips as you track your hand down to where his is flat on the mattress, “Is this ok?” You ask, lacing your fingertips through his as you speak. 

“Yes,” Din pants in your ear, his body twitching at the contact, “How is this?” Din scoots closer to you and you feel him press against your ass, not forcefully, but he’s hard enough to really feel him and you whine at the friction between your underwear. 

“Din,” You mewl as you bring his hand up to your exposed breast, the calloused skin scraping blissfully against your hardened peak, “Tell me to stop.” You beg, giving him an out, you were touch starved, reeling from your encounter with Krom. You could sort yourself out, you didn’t need to drag him into your toxic desires.

“Do you want me to stop?” Din asks, stilling behind you, but his palm doesn’t move from your breast, if anything he palms it slowly kneading the flesh absently as he tries to hold back.  

“No.” You admit, your defensive walls in ruins as you feel his hand drop from your chest, wrapping around your waist as he tugs you back against him. You groan at the percussive, but somehow still gentle impact, your hips grind back against his hardening cock and you feel the moan ripple from his chest. 

“Good, because I’ve thought about this for what feels like an eternity.” He growls, his soft, plush lips finding the tender skin on your shoulder. The brush of soft hair against your skin as his lips explore the parts of you he could reach from this position. 

He has facial hair. 

“Maker I’ve touched myself in this bunk to the thought of you Din, in your bed,” You admit your sins, not sure if it was to come clean or to encourage him, but that didn’t matter now, “Never thought you’d want me back.” You say as his hand snakes down to the waistband of your tight cotton panties. His fingers linger just at the hem, a slight tremor in his touch. 

“Ever since you fell and I caught you, ever since I saw that fierce defiance in your eyes, I’ve wanted you, needed you.” Din breathes in your ear as he continues to kiss every exposed bit of skin he can find. Your neck, your jaw, tracing the shell of your ear with his thick tongue. Every press of his soft, wet mouth against your skin had you shuddering under him. 

“Need you too,” You say as you feel the pressure building deep in your core, you’re craving release, craving him, “Would you-?” You pause, willing the words to come, but you’re still shaken, waiting for the reprimand. Intimacy had been a weapon in Krom’s hands, you couldn’t shake the habit of asking permission, of needing to beg for what you need. 

“Talk to me, tell me what you need.” Din murmurs as he traces the skin just above the fabric of your panties, back and forth along the soft, sensitive area. Your skin is on fire and you arch back against him, the growl that comes from his chest has you squirming against his hard cock. You want to ask him to kiss you, to take you slowly, with care and patience, but you know you can’t. You couldn’t risk seeing his face, you know that, but it doesn’t stop you pining for it.  

“Fuck me Din, please.” You whisper, pleading with the universe for him to say yes. But Din is silent behind you, his breathing loud in your ear. 

“You sure?” He asks, his voice fringed with lust but at its core, he’s being sincere, making sure you really do want this. 

“You tell me.” You whisper as you lace your fingers over the back of his hand, pressing your intertwined fingers under your waistband. You push his hand down between your slick folds and he gasps audibly against your shoulder. You already knew how wet you were but feeling it with Din was hot, you feel his fingers ghost over your folds as he drags his hot mouth against the column of your spine. 

“Fuck.” Is all he says as he slides two thick fingers through your slick, circling your clit as he ruts against your ass. You cry out at the pressure he exerts over your swollen nub, his touch is tender but purposeful. 

“You sound beautiful,” Din whispers in your ear as his strong nose nuzzles into the soft skin just behind your ear, “May I taste you?” 

“Please.” You beg, bucking into his strong fingers as he pulls them away, before he can stop you, you’ve pulled his hand up to your mouth, laving the tips softly with the flat of your tongue, he practically chokes your name from his mouth at the lewd act and you release him once you’re done. Your taste coats your tongue and you smile at the groan he makes as he loudly sucks his fingers, mouth so close to your ear. 

“Taste to good, wish I could bury my face in your pussy.” He pines and you press your legs together to try and relive the unbearable tension in your core. 

“Din, please, I need you inside me.” You plead, your voice pathetic and breathy as you beg for release. 

“You got an implant?” He asks almost business-like as his tone becomes serious. 

“Yeah, lifetime, you can come inside me.” You breathe, relishing the way he grinds against your ass at your consent.

“Alright, this is going to be tight, spread your legs for me please.” He gives the command like a prayer and you more than happily oblige, parting your legs as much as the confines of the bunk allows. You feel his fingertips trail down your spine, wet tracks of your slick and his spit leaving a cool stripe down your back. He frees his throbbing cock from his underwear and the press of his soft, weeping tip hits the curve of your ass with a wet slap. Carefully he pulls your panties to the side and the humid air hits your dripping cunt. 

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable, if I’m going too fast.” Din murmurs against your skin as he lines his blunt tip to your desperate core. He swipes it through your folds gently, collecting your slick on his head before dipping back down to press gently at your tight hole. 

“Din.” You mewl and it’s all he needs to hear as he presses into you, slowly breaching your tight walls with his thick cock. You cry out in euphoria at the delightful stretch of your walls around him. His free hand returns to your breast and as he pinches your hardened peak between his thumb and forefinger. 

“’M not going to last long,” He groans your name into your skin and you clench hard around his cock, “You ok to touch yourself?” He asks and you snake your hand under your panties and break into a familiar, desperate rhythm. You’d done it countless times in this very bed, in his bed on Nevarro, every time wishing he was inside you as you pushed yourself over the edge. Now you had your wish and you couldn’t believe it. 

“Fuck me Din, fuck me until I scream.” You whine as you feel the hot spike of your orgasm build at the base of your spine, coursing through your core with speed as your breath comes in ragged bursts. You’re convulsing around him as you release teeters ever closer. Din grunts loudly as he buries himself in you, his thrusts short, sharp, desperate as he chases his release inside you. 

Despite the desperate, touch-starved urgency you can’t help but cherish every rake of his cock against your tight walls, he rolls his hips at the end of every thrust, twitching against that sweet vulnerable spot inside you no-one had ever hit before. You cry out at every press at that sweet spot and you feel tears rolling down your cheeks as you feel the last sharp snaps of his hips against your ass. 

Din stutters behind you and as he comes deep inside you, you hear your name woven through the air between you, he’s fucking you through his release, and your own. You feel the dam burst and your orgasm explodes behind your eyelids like a supernova, your whole body trembles again and again. Your toes curl painfully as you arch forward, your mouth pulled into a blissful grimace of overstimulation as Din continues to snap his hips against your ass. He’s spent, softening with every passing second, but the friction and percussive snap and roll of his thrusts don’t stop until you slump forward. 

You tremble with aftershocks as your cunt twitches around his now soft dick, he pulls out and you sigh at the emptiness as the mixture of yours and his spend trickles down your thighs.

“You ok there?” Din mumbles breathlessly into your ear, both arms wrapped around you as he holds you close against him, soft kisses peppering your shoulder as your head lolls back against his, the brush of his stubble tickling your jaw as he nuzzles against you. 

“More than ok, thank you.” You sigh as you reach up to cup his face but you freeze, millimetres from his jaw as you realise what you’re doing. 

“It’s ok, you can touch me,” He says as he dips his head down to meet your hand, “Just no looking.” He says with a soft chuckle and your chest blossoms with warmth as you are sure this is bending the rules to the limit here. 

“Thank you.” You repeat, unable to reconcile the emotions flooding you as you trace the line of his patchy facial hair from his chin to the edge of his jaw. 

“You’ve got nothing to thank me for, I should be thanking you.” He mumbles as he turns his head to meet the palm of your hand, he presses a soft, doting kiss to your flesh and you sigh at the softness of his full lips ghosting your skin. You stay there for a while before Din insists you shower, you let him carry you out, eyes squeezed shut as you press your face to his chest. To your dismay you hear his helmet re-pressurise but you understand. 

Once you’re back in your bunk you expect him to leave but he doesn’t, he scoots back into the small space wordlessly as he pulls you into his firm, yet tender embrace. Your head rests on his sternum as you listen to the steady rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat slowly lowering in your ears as he drifts. He is careful not to rest his helmet on you, and you sigh to yourself, glad to just be in contact with his skin. You didn’t want to feel the press of Beskar against you for some time.  

Whatever you had just unleashed upon each other was going to need addressing but for now, you settled with being content, hazy in a post-sex euphoria as your pussy ached pleasantly as you feel sated, relaxed for the first time in years. Din holds you tight against him, his fingertips trailing patterns up and down your spine, soothing you into a deep sleep. 

*

Din feels you drift off as he continues to caress your skin. He can’t get enough of it, mapping every dip, and swell of your flesh, but most importantly he traces along the abhorrent marks on your skin. The scars that cover so much of your body it makes him sick, now he has his helmet back on he sees them clear as day. Discolouring your skin in jagged lines, blunt semi-circles, blaster burns and ligature marks. If he wasn’t so concerned with keeping you safe, asleep in his arms, he’d already be setting a course for Mandalore. Ready to wage war on the shameful whelp that would harm you this way. But Din was patient, and he knew you would want to partake in the righteous retribution he had in store. 

He lifts his helmet slightly, exposing just his mouth and nose as he buries them in your hair, exhaling the heady aroma of you, of his own scent on your skin. Din realises in that moment that he would do anything for you, including nothing at all. 

You deserved the choice, he wouldn’t make the same mistakes as Krom, your agency was more important than his fury. But he had a feeling you wouldn’t just do nothing, no, he knew you were ready to fight back, he had seen it in your eyes as you sat slumped on the floor of the alley. That fierce defiance in the face of danger, an iron will that couldn’t be bent or broken. He almost pitied Krom for trying to break you. He had made a grave mistake leaving you alive. 

It was clear to Din, that soon enough you would be gunning for Krom, and he will do everything in his power to get you there. 

What do you think? Did I do this justice? I really enjoyed this one. Let me know what you think below and please comment, like, and reblog if you enjoyed!

@jadealicious06 @casa-boiardi

@notsosecretspy @celenesamaris

#Din Djarin #Din Djarin x you #Din Djarin x F!Reader #Din Djarin x AFAB! Reader #Din #Djarin #Din Djarin x AFAB reader #Din Djarin x femme reader #Pedro pascal characters #Pedro pascal #the mandalorian #Mando #Mando fanfic #possessive din #Star Wars #Star Wars fanfic #fanfic #smut #fluff #din Djarin fluff #din Djarin smut

[unhinged-summer-fun]

waiting for the sun

Danktober 2022 Day 14: Role Reversal, Empty, & National I Love You Day.

Civilian!Din Djarin x Mandalorian!F!Reader

Summary: Most of the time, it wasn't your job to do anything but track, hunt, and retrieve, and most importantly, not ask questions. This is the Way, after all. Or at least… It had been.

Word Count: 6594

Warnings: Mild descriptions of injury, blood, and wound care. Topics involving child abduction and cultish brainwashing, grief, and a moment of mild peril.

A/N: Thank you so much to @ezrasbirdie and @pedrosedibles for both having the same icon and being iconic at the same time - you banished my nerves about this work in two fell swoops. I'm so happy you like it!! A very special I Love You Day to you <3 Header and dividers by me. Title comes from the book of poetry "Love and Space Dust" by David Jones: It is not darkness in my heart, just emptiness waiting for the sun. Of all the lies I have ever lived, my favourite was you and I.

Note on canon divergence: Beside the obvious, this AU puts Reader in Din's position for the events of Mandalorian S1 and BOBF S1E05, meaning the excommunication/redemption gauntlet has been thrown down. (She's not sure if she wants to kick it away or not.)

Please let me know what you think, this was super fun to write, and I love how it turned out.

[full danktober list here]

The galaxy was not a friendly place. You’d been doing bounty hunting work for long enough that this fact no longer surprised you. You’d been betrayed too many times to count, been undercut and attacked, even by those in your own tribe. Power was addictive to get, and in the covert, you either had it or someone else did, which was a fact that changed quickly by silent kills and fragile alliances. You understood that no one felt any sense of loyalty toward anybody else, owed nothing to nobody until the moment they had a problem only you could solve. Everyone worked for someone, and you had several someones you had answered to over the course of your life. Most of the time, it wasn't your job to do anything but track, hunt, and retrieve, and most importantly, not ask questions.

This is the Way, after all.

Or at least… It had been.

Before.

The complicated surge of emotion from that line of thinking served as an annoying balm to the steadily-bleeding wound on your arm. Each drip, drip, drip of blood that trickled into your gloves had been ticklish, but in the way that meant don't laugh.

You set your jaw and focused on your destination: anywhere but this Maker-forsaken skughole. On top of the chilly (and bloody) reception you'd gotten when entering the village, it looked just a bit too much like memories tinged in more pain than you liked to put yourself in at any given time. Whitewashed stone walls, gray-brown gravelly dirt, banners fluttering in the wind beneath a perennial overcast sky. It contrasted greatly with the colorful robes of the settlement - most wore a deep scarlet red set of robes in varying styles, though all bore hoods and intricate leather chest-plates, denoting either status or clan or loyalty, not so dissimilar to the markings painted atop beskar, a mark of originality in a sea of faceless similarity.

Maybe that was why you kept your armor unpainted. You liked gray, muted tones, always had.

When the Mandalorians had taken you in as a child, you’d been afraid and wide-eyed, and later in the stifling confines of your helmet they’d thrust upon you, you remembered the unhinged fear of the flashing colors and display imagery that flitted across the face-shield. The days in the covert hideout had been dark, underground as they'd been, and when this sudden burst of light bled into your eyes, it frightened you. It wasn't until you found the monochromatype-setting that you found any scrap of peace.

Though, in the times you let yourself get inebriated enough to reminisce, you would muse that perhaps all chances of any peace you were fated to know had died in the fiery remains of your village, still and lifeless before the dust had even settled. All that remained from that day and all the days before it was the memories of screams and wretched anguish as you were lifted to safety in the arms of a Mandalorian warrior.

You didn’t think of any place as yours anymore. It was less painful that way, less crushingly lonely to find comfort among discomfort. It’s why the Razor Crest had little to no amenities, it’s why you took far-away jobs and never involved yourself in anything - people, places, or belongings - that could be hard to lose one day.

(In all your life, this had been true, with one notable exception you had to keep limping back to.)

But you'd been used to crossing long distances, motivated by the goal. In the past, it had been money, some method of funding the covert and wretched orphan foundlings like you'd been. It was a simple equation: the longer the distance from the hub, the higher the pay. Sometimes, the risk had become the reward, but that kind of careless thinking was what landed you in this situation.

Alone.

Injured.

Betrayed once more.

You didn’t have time for friends. The galaxy didn’t have time to offer them to you.

What the galaxy did offer you in spades, however, were mysteries.

Which was why the man in red was chasing after you currently.

“Where are you going? You’re hurt!” his voice didn't boom like you thought it would, for a man of his larger stature. He'd been following you since the incident at the square.

“Do you always state the obvious?” you gritted out, trying to limp away to somewhere with sufficient cover. Though the weather was perpetually overcast here, this settlement in particular sat on the equator of the planet, which meant you'd been basically sweating your beskar since the moment the ramp had dropped.

“My house isn’t too far, I can patch you up, and—” You cut him off with an annoyed groan, frustration coating your teeth in venom as you shot him a mouthless snarl.

“I can take care of myself. I don’t need your help. Besides, didn't you all just run me out of town?” The man, taller and broader than you, even in your boots and armor, wisely didn’t reach out to try and stop you on your hell-bent path. He simply kept in step with you while he spoke, his longer strides making his red robes and hood flutter in his wake. It wasn't too difficult to do, as you were at less than half your regular pace from the wounds on your leg and arm.

“If that gets infected, you will need somebody's help.” Sure, the gashes smarted like hell, but they were nothing you hadn't endured before. “There are no clinics in this quadrant, either. Public or private.”

“Not going to a clinic."

"But you're—"

You whirled on him, unsheathing your vibroblade from your calf and pointing the end quite menacingly at him. He froze in shock, big eyes looking back at you with apprehension. His hands went up in defense, but didn't strike you. His mouth was quiet, though still open. You spoke before you could lose your advantage.

"I said, I can take care of myself.”

You lost whatever strength had been keeping you from swooning in pain, and your vision went double, triple, as you listed to the side. You grunted at the impact of your body against a wall.

The man was still talking, for the love of—

"You're three minutes from passing out on the ground. Do you even know where you're going, Mando?"

You whirled back around to your intended path, vision going alarmingly gray for just a moment. Several unsteady steps placed themselves between you and your mouthy entourage, but you could feel your heart pounding in your ears just from that small exertion. The man made a bewildered noise, like he hadn’t expected you to physically acknowledge his incessant nagging with that stubborn display. As he crunched along on the beige gravel to your side once more, he suddenly found the will to… be silent.

It was suspicious. “What do you want.”

He seemed shocked that you would address him directly. When you looked, you saw wide brown eyes blinking behind long lashes. His lips formed a surprised ‘o’ and a pink tongue poked out to lick at the lower one. His mustache and patchy beard gave him a very civilian kind of look. It was easy to appreciate that he was handsome, easy to just admire him from the privacy of your helmet.

Shit, the chromatype must've been on the fritz. There's no way someone looked that appealing to you, least of all, a civilian. You waited for his answer and leaned back on the alley wall, standing as still as you could despite your mounting impatience.

It was in these moments that you were relieved by the fact that most people seemed to make up the emotion you were feeling behind the helmet. The fearful would imagine your fury, the smug would imagine you frightful, the fetishizers would imagine you lustful and wanting. It had upset you at the beginning of your career, but you found it was easier to let the ignorant hold conversations with themselves than engage with them. You remembered Ran's words from a few weeks back, is that gratitude I see, Mando?

Bastard.

Regardless, you could have been glaring at him, not wincing in pain and openly ogling him in your blood-lost state. You could have been ignoring him and just catching your breath. You watched him try to decide what you were feeling just then, the expressions flitting openly over his features. His deep brown eyes darted across your body, his lips tightening at the sight of the growing pool of blood beneath your left foot. He reached a hand up to scratch at his head, making the red hood fall to his shoulders. You glimpsed a tattoo in the web between his hand and his thumb, some kind of symbol you’d seen in the village earlier.

Symbol.

You looked closer at his chest.

“You're not even a healer, are you?”

He went red as his robes.

“No...”

“That’s the symbol over the civic building, there's one like it on the chest of each of the councilmen that tossed me out into that mob. What were you going to do, put my wounds through a tribunal?” you scoffed. He fixed you with a flat look, his lips pressing into an unimpressed pout. For a politician, he sure liked to wear his heart on his face. You at least had the sanctuary of your helmet to hide your nasty looks behind.

He sighed finally and looked away. “You ever say you're going to get a tattoo and everyone tells you 'watch out, it'll be there forever!' and you don't listen?”

"No."

"W—what?" he tilted his head to the side. "Oh, because of the. Okay, well I'm just saying I'm not a politician anymore. I uh, I think I was kicked off the council." He looked back at the village square, the one you'd both escaped from. "I think."

"Did you follow them around and ask stupid questions all the time, or am I just special today?" You tried to take another step in the general direction of your ship, but the edge of your flightsuit chafed suddenly against the still-bleeding gash in your thigh. You hissed and steadied yourself on a tree that sprouted blood-red leaves. From this point to your ship, there was hardly any cover, and nothing you could lean on to aid your journey back to—

"I expected you'd be stubborn, but this is ridiculous," he sighed, coming closer and helping you upright without hesitation. You would have screamed at him to back off, would have pulled a blaster or something, but even you could tell you were two feet from unconsciousness, and you could just manage one word for him in response.

“Rude.”

“Yes, you are, Mandalorian.” He half-carried your flagging body in the general direction you pointed to. He could have just been leading you somewhere no one could find your body, or your armor, but you were too deliriously in pain to care. “Dank ferrik, you’re heavy.”

“Not supposed to say that to a lady,” you slurred, head lolling to his shoulder as he propped you up against him.

“Act like a lady and I’ll show you how I treat one,” he quipped back.

Oh boy.

You didn't know how long you walked for, but after drifting in and out of awareness, your ship was now in sight, semi-cloaked but visible with your helmet sensors. She was a bit of a dump, but she was your dump, and just about the only thing you thought sacred in this galaxy. You entertained no insults to her capabilities, but you also weren't under the impression that she was worth much more than you bought her for over a decade ago. You smacked the button on your vambrace for the ramp to lower, and sucked in a breath when you realized you'd led a perfect stranger…

To the kid.

Hopefully he was asleep, but he never seemed to be when you wanted him to be.

Hopefully, this fucking guy would scram. Hopefully he didn't catch on to your sudden panic upon arrival. Thankfully, he only seemed concerned with your pain, and wanted to help relieve it. You hated that you felt weak enough to accept his help, that the kid upstairs would most likely feel it through his powers, and try to join the effort.

Please, kid, just stay up there, you prayed.

He was your ward, your charge. The Armorer had named you his parent, his mother, until you could find his people. As time went on, though, you feared you wouldn't be able to let him go when that eventuality arrived. When you'd caught up with her and that Viszla asshole on some ring-planet in the mid-Rim, she'd taken your attachment as compromised loyalty, and summarily excommunicated you from the ranks.

The fact that both you and the kid had escaped with your lives was nothing short of a miracle.

Now, if you could escape from this situation…

"Got it from here. Thanks, weirdo." You attempted to stumble up the ramp on your own, but ended up crawling on hands and knees, the man following in concern.

"I don't think you've got it."

"What do you know?" you snapped, not interested in being coddled and injured.

"I'm trying to help you, you infuriating woman!" he said, tossing his hands up. You tried moving toward the bulkhead, maybe to pull your way to your feet via the cargo net, but something twinged in your back and you groaned. The idiot was at your side in a second. "What, what is it?"

"Nothing!" you barked.

“Just...” he took a breath, mouth drawn thin. “Where does it hurt most?”

“My ears, if you keep fucking talking,” you sneered unhelpfully.

“Well, in that case, you might want to take off your helmet—"

“Touch the helmet and your head comes off next.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, hands going up once more in defense from your barbed threats. “Let's sit you down right here, I’m going to look at your leg, alright? Look, nowhere near your head.”

He found a clearly-labeled medkit on the wall near the 'fresher, coming back and taking a knee beside you. His proximity to your wounds made you nervous.

“Don’t try anything funny.” Your voice was much weaker than you wanted it to be.

“I’m not a funny guy, no worries there.” You faded in and out of attention as the pain ebbed and flowed through you, and he patched you up like he promised he could back at the edge of town. What a strange set of skills for a politician, you mused. The wound on your arm had gone pretty deep, and his stitches weren’t the neatest or most painless. He must have sensed this, because he started to talk to fill the tense silence between you, in addition to distracting you from the feeling. “My name is Din,” he said in a low murmur, still mostly concentrating on your arm.

“Your parents forget the rest of your name?”

“No,” he laughed. “Just Din. Din Djarin. What do I call you?”

“Mando.”

"Last name?"

"Lorian."

A laugh, dry but hearty. It made your stomach flip. You wanted to punch something. “Well. I should’ve seen that one coming.”

“You're very strange, Din Djarin.” You, at least, thought you were funny, but it could have been the blood loss. Din didn't laugh with you, but you were too exhausted to care.

Coupl'a jokes, we are.

There was another tense moment when he checked the scrape on your neck, but after that, he stepped back with a guarded expression. “Well, I think you’ll live.”

“Yipee.”

Din gave you another unimpressed look. “You’re welcome.”

“Whatever, Din Djarin. What do you want? Credits?” His look goes from unimpressed to irritated in less than a heartbeat.

“Why is it so hard for you to believe that someone actually just wants to help another person?” There were way too many answers for that question, so in lieu of providing one, you gave none at all. Din just sighed at your attitude. “If it’s gonna keep you up at night, Mando, then you can pay me back by flying me to the next quadrant.”

The weariness showed in the line of his shoulders. You peered at him curiously, and put a few pieces together. The neat first aid care, the biting sarcasm, the intelligence in his eyes. “You’re not actually a politician, are you?” You didn't doubt his outcast status, but the stoicism and false persona didn't suit him, not from what you knew about him.

He gave a withering stare to your query.

You continued digging your grave. "You're too nice."

He rolled his eyes, and popped the knuckles on his hands as he cast his look around, anywhere but you. He found the 'fresher and opened the panel, much too comfortable maneuvering around your ship, but you weren't exactly ready to stop him at the moment.

“It’s not exactly the job I’d envisioned for myself,” he said, running his hands through the sani-stream. “My cousin got me a job near the Council when I was sixteen. What I thought was some kind of… some kind of burgeoning trust in my abilities… ended up just being foolish hopes. He'd made me a pawn in his plans to grab more power, and I trusted him because he was head of the family, the only one I had left and… well, what am I saying. Not like you actually care, do you?”

You frowned from behind the helmet. Now that you were on the up and up, you truly absorbed just how rude you'd been to this man. He only wanted to help, that much was clear. In your line of work, that kind of attitude earned nothing but shallow graves. He'd been screwed over by people he trusted, a few times, you could guess. And yet, that didn't make him any less trusting of others, at least not enough to keep him from offering help when they needed it.

Same storm nebula, different starships.

"What's in the next quadrant?" you asked. "There a spaceport?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't stick around." He looked back at the settlement with remorse.

"That your cousin's doing too?" you asked, and he nodded.

"I said I was going to tell the rest of the council what he was doing, and he believed me enough to make me a pariah."

Your candor took the reins. "Your cousin sounds like a real kark-head."

Din laughed in surprise, eyebrows shooting up. Those deep brown eyes glittered in mirth, amusement at this shared joke. A miserable joke, but it was shared nonetheless. "Thought ladies weren't supposed to swear."

That's the second time he's called me that.

"Who told you I'm a lady?" you said with a roll of your eyes, getting back on your feet. He watched warily, and when you hit the button for the ramp, realized you were taking him along with you. "Hope you didn't need anything back in town."

"No, I sent it ahead on the train just in case. I have a friend out there watching it for me."

"Does your friend happen to know a good mechanic?"

"I'm sure she does."

"Great. I clocked the quadrant you're talking about when I broke atmo, I can find my way there without your help, so... You stay down here. Do not come up this ladder. You got it?"

"Got it."

The kid was up in his pram in the cockpit, the same place you'd left him just hours ago. He'd directed you to this planet with some kind of excitement, like there was something here he could feel he needed. You weren't foolish enough to think it could have possibly been another clue on your idle quest for the Jedi, but you'd never seen him react so excitedly about a star system you'd never been to before. You'd just hoped he hadn't been baiting you toward a mighty cache of frogs.

He'd been excited about frogs like that before.

You started up the launch sequence and turned your head to talk to him once you were up and away from the sandy surface of the planet. "Hey, kid, looks like we're gonna have to take a rain check on—"

You froze.

The pram was empty.

Just then, you heard Din make a surprised noise from the hold.

You scrambled down the ladder, most likely tearing a stitch or two in the process, from how your leg and shoulder screamed at you. You froze in horror at the sight of Din holding the kid in his arms, letting him babble away at him.

"Put him down. Put him down now," you said, trying and failing to keep the anxiety from your voice.

"Why? Wh—is this your child?"

"Yes!" your heart pounded, panic rising as you tried to gauge his intentions.

Din narrowed his eyes suspiciously at you, and you felt dread freeze your veins.

"Are you sure you didn't steal him?" he accused, pulling the kid behind him in a defensive stance. Your chest constricted with anxiety, keeping you rooted in place. The absurd accusation didn't even absorb, you were so worried.

This time, your hands went up in a defensive position, trying to de-escalate.

"Don't hurt him... Please, just put him down, I didn't steal him. I'm trying to take him home."

"Home to Mandalore?" he spat. The indignation in his tone matched the sharp darkness in his eyes, warm brown now an icy, abyssal black in the lower light of the hull.

You shook your head, growing confused. "No!" you had no idea where this ferocity was coming from. He'd been nothing but helpful and polite to you until now, a little goofy, even. Now, he was angry, and you couldn't get him to put the kid down.

"Then wherever your sect is now? Is that why you came back to our planet? Scouting the place for another raid?"

"I—what?!" you shook your head. "I have no idea what you're talking about! Raids?!"

"The raids! The ones the Mandalorians ordered on neutral systems to pressgang children into the ranks! I'm surprised you've forgotten so easily. I was almost ripped from my mother's arms when I was a child, from someone who looked just. Like. You."

You stood in shock, horror rising like bile in your throat. "Din…" you shook your head. "I… we didn't. I didn't do that. I'm. I was raised in the Corps, my planet—"

"My mother dedicated her life to protecting the children of the planet after almost losing me. I continued her legacy where I could. I know what I lived, Mandalorian. My mother knew what almost happened. It's insulting that you would deny it to my face." He looked disgusted with you, that expressive face morphing into an ugly look you didn't think possible on him. It twisted and soured something in your gut, something like guilt, but more of a dawning kind of guilt, some chthotic horror rising from the depths of the past to remind you just how wrong you'd been about yourself.

"When was this?" you tried again, your focus torn between Din and the kid. "I've been Mandalorian since I was a child. I promise you, I've never known anything of this. Can you just—?"

"It was during the Clone Wars, when your people hit our planet. According to my mother's research, every planet in this system was raided at one point. We never found out how many other systems were treated similarly. It's impossible to know just how many children were stolen, families decimated for the simple reason that they had an untapped recruitment pool playing in their homes."

He spoke with extreme certainty, almost zealous in his conviction. You understood why he would be considered for a career in politics. But it was what he said next that made your stomach drop out.

"As far as you know, if you were taken in as a child of tragedy, you could be the product of that violence too."

Your blood ran cold.

A small, distressed cry came from behind Din's shoulder, and you took a half-step forward. Din instinctively hid the kid away from you, but the cry grew louder until two tiny green hands reached over his shoulder for you, followed by two floppy ears and two big brown eyes filled with despair. Din looked between you and him for a few moments before conceding to your first request, setting the kid down on the floor.

The kid ran into your waiting arms, making soft noises of distress, tapping your armor and assuring himself that he was there, that you were there. "Hey, buddy, yeah, I've got you, it's okay, shh, shh…" you swayed with him in your arms, holding him in the curve of your armor where he tended to fall asleep fastest. There were moments where the kid seemed like he really was all fifty of his years, but there were others where you knew he was just a child. As his mother, indeed.

Din was still watching you warily, his posture tense and distrusting. "You're not what I expected," he said. His voice was guarded, which was to be expected.

You laughed mirthlessly. "What, did you expect me to break in doors and steal babies from cradles?" You looked down at the child in your arms, gazing up at you with adoration and trust. You shook your head, letting the kid wrap his tiny claws around your finger. "What would I do with a kid?" you asked softly, to nobody in particular.

You'd asked yourself that same question months ago, taking cover from a firefight in the streets of Nevarro. The kid, still slightly sedated and confused, had looked at you and answered the question for you by holding onto you even tighter, trusting you though the world fell down around you both.

"How did you know the Mandalorians in particular orchestrated the raid?" you asked, trying to distance yourself from the rising wave of dread within you. If you were taken in as a child of tragedy…

"They'd come to the village a week before the hit. A group of them, they patrolled the streets and schools and met with local government under the guise of offering protection. From what I know, they didn't ask any of the targets for anything in return. Turns out they weren't offering anything at all."

"They toured schools?" you asked, the point sticking in your head a little.

"They mostly just poked their heads into classrooms. The schools on this side of the planet are small, just a few rooms. Not like the academies in the capitol sector. Suppose that's why the more rural settlements were targeted. Most victims that had talked to my mother were laborers, well outside their village borders with no ability to see the attacks. By the time anybody noticed something happened, their children would be long gone."

Laborers. A smudge of blue dust on your a man's cheek, a wide smile, rough hands held out to receive—

"On the day of the attack," he continued, "I remember them dropping in from the sky. Their ship style is very distinct, or at least it was, back then. They came in with jet-packs and guns, conveniently showing up minutes after the droid army did. There was something wrong with their comms, they couldn't communicate secretly at all. They shouted get the kids, grab the kids as they ran around. They ripped them away, or tried to."

"What happened?" you sat down on the ground with the kid, letting him play with your gloves while you talked. You kept a hand on his belly, keeping him secure to you.

Din joined you, but kept his distance. "My mother happened." He looked proud of that. "Something had given her a bad feeling the day before. She'd gone to the nearest city center and drained our village's bank account just to buy weapons and speeders. She returned just as the Separatist ships arrived. She thought that was the feeling she'd gotten, but when the Mandalorians showed up soon after, she knew. She knew she had to protect the children. And she did."

"She forced a retreat from a whole response team of Mandalorians?" you said, impressed.

"Her and the other mothers of the village."

"She sounds like an incredible woman," you said politely.

"She was." He looked a little sad. "She petitioned the Republic to investigate, and when the liaison arrived and found evidence of the plans, he was bombed from orbit, and she was outcast from the village. I haven't seen her in over fifteen years."

He spoke like she'd died, looking wistfully beyond your shoulders, somewhere in the past that only he could see.

"You couldn't contact her?"

He shook his head, lips pursed.

"That's horrible." You shook your head. "Your village seems to really not like people living in it."

"Well," he shrugged. "Kinda went to shit after my father, who was mayor at the time, had to resign in disgrace, but before he left to find my mother, he legally granted me autonomy, and irrevocable veto power on the council. When my cousin offered me the job after they left, I was still just trying to cope with my parents fleeing like that. I didn't know why they left me behind. I made it my goal to try and get things to change, get the laws to change, so my parents could come home and we could be a family again. Why would my father give me that power if not to use for good? It was useless. I was useless. They-they believed in me, and…"

"And your own family kicked you out." You offered him an out from this upsetting line of thinking. "I'm really starting to not like this cousin of yours."

Another quirk of a smile, making his mustache twitch upward. "Yeah, he's a bit of a blowhard," Din shrugged. "We all deal with it in our own ways."

"It, being… family?"

"Suppose so."

The conversation lulled as the ship carried you both across the skies. In the silence, you found yourself in his position, thinking too hard on the what-could-have-beens and—

"Are you going to search for your parents when we get to the next sector?" you spoke before you could lose yourself to your inner monologue.

Din looked surprised that you were at all curious. Even if the question could have been interpreted as vague, passing interest, as a pleasantry.

Yeah, right, the last thing you'd give anyone is a damn pleasantry.

"Yeah. Looks like we're both searching for similar things, huh?"

"Looks like it."

You excused yourself to the 'fresher, where you removed your helmet to look at yourself in the mirror. You felt victim to the whipgraft delusion, seeing somebody else before you, like it was an interpretation of your face that had been warped by the years you spent ignoring it. You hardly recognized your features anymore, more familiar with the silver beskar and black transparisteel than your eyes, your nose, your mouth. You definitely didn't recognize the tears on your cheeks, the redness in your eyes, or why your hands shook so badly.

A memory popped up in your head, a little grainy like an old holofilm. You have your mother's eyes, you know. When you smile, you look just like her.

That could be true, but you know she has your laugh. I can't even tell who I'm entertaining somedays!

Rough hands. Blue dust on a cheek. Warmth.

A woman's voice. Hair escaping a braided style. Love.

Two hands on each of your shoulders, a palm-pressed pattern to your bones, to your soul. This means I love you. Sometimes we can't say it. When you feel this… we're here. And we love you.

You dropped your gaze to the floor as memories flooded in. You felt furious at your ignorance. You were also somewhat ill, nauseated by these revelations. Your parents… you knew them. You really knew them. And…

Here, take her, I'll hold them back—

They're not going to stop until—

I know. I heard the bulletin. Now go!

Daddy!

I love you, don't forget I love you…

Explosions. Darkness. Silence. Laughter, but this time cruel, through a vocabulator. One that sat in the same empty helmet staring up at you from your hands. You could not share your father's laugh through this machine. You could not share your mother's smile through this mask.

The Watch had made certain of that.

You could go check the public archives, the ones recovered by the New Republic after the fall of the Empire. The Crest could do it for you, if you shot a query up through your vambrace. The thought of needing this cursed and curdled technology, this armor and these trappings, to know what you already knew, lifted bile to your tongue. Had the answers been right there, all along? Not even dancing at the core of all secrets, instead just resting beneath the surface?

You could find other Mandalorians, you could…

You could ask all of them, but you decided to trust yourself on this one. How could you ever trust another of that group, that group who condoned the theft and entrapment of children?

You knew who you were. I know what I lived, just like Din had said. Would you forsake your Creed on the words of someone who only asked you to examine your life?

No.

It was a Creed.

It wasn't even the Creed.

And it certainly wasn't yours.

You would easily forsake a Creed built on lies and pain and unnecessary loss. You would turn your back on that in a heartbeat, no regrets and no guilt over what you were leaving behind right here and now.

With a deep breath, you reset the helmet, disabling the tracking beacon, and every grayed-out setting you'd told yourself had been a comfort in the past. You unclipped the armor from your body but did not donate its cheapened, bloody value to the airlock. It would be helpful, you knew, but right now you wanted nothing more than to hide it from sight. You stacked it in the storage unit installed in the 'fresher, beneath some spare linens and what looked like three crumpled silver sleeves that once held cookies.

That kid. You smiled to yourself, and then quickly up at the mirror.

How simple, a stretch of the lips and eyes that shone with joy.

You looked a little ridiculous, standing in nothing but your tac-pants and compression top. Your hair was falling out of the pins you used to secure it to your head, still sweaty from the Aq Vetina atmosphere. There was still some blood on your neck, evidence of the violent lashing you'd survived in the square earlier that day, one you'd taken in the name of a people who'd unjustly taken yours. Even in this momentary melancholy, you smiled. Then you laughed.

The ghosts of two hands came down upon your shoulders, squeezing sense-memory through time and space and heartache and hem-jawed forgettances that were once as familiar as breathing. I love you. I love you. I love you.

With your family beside you in spirit, you held your head high and re-entered the hull.

Din was playing with the kid on the floor, just rolling a ball back and forth, encouraging him and celebrating every successful catch. You took him in. He looked much younger than the helmet made him seem. You noted with a pang that his robes, his pink lips, his skin, they were all more vibrant than even the overactive chromatypes captured, and now, you could see how the robes brought out the soft russet color hidden in his hair alongside the beginnings of a rather striking set of grays. He had a light tan, and an attractive sort of radiance to his face. You supposed that even the forever-overcast skies of Aq Vetina couldn't dull the vitality that pulsed ever outward from his heart.

The kid looked even more adorable, soft white hairs you didn't know were there behind the viewfinder flowing haphazardly across his scalp. The green of his body was still strange, but the brown robe he wore seemed to suit him. He, too, was vibrant and beautiful. Everything was.

You stood in contrast to all this color in all black and gray and brown, the pieces not covered by armor purposefully hidden in shadow for years. Without that armoor, you felt a million other senses clamor for your attention at once. The ship seemed louder, the air a little more fresh than it typically was behind the recycler system in your helmet.

It was the kid who noticed you first. He looked at you, and on reflex, you almost slammed the control for the lights to hide, but you kept your hands at your side, looking back at him the way he deserved to see you. He always seemed to look you right in the eyes he'd look at you, but now, without the beskar helm, that connection felt a hundred times stronger. He made a happy noise, toddling over to you and drawing Din's attention.

You almost didn't catch all the things his face was doing. He went from shocked, to confused, to concerned, to alluring and flirty?, before settling on admiring. "Hi," he said, getting up to his feet and approaching tentatively. Without your gear, he now stood a good head and a half taller than you, and the kid now felt a lot bigger in your arms. But both were comfortable to you—no, comforting.

You nearly flinched backward when the kid's little claw touched your face, but relaxed when you recognized the touch, smiling your mother's smile down at him.

"Hey, buddy."

He made another happy noise, almost a shriek, when he recognized your voice. You laughed.

"Yeah, it's me. Look a little different, huh?"

Your eyes flicked over to Din. The concern was back on his face, thoughts racing through hyperspace through every possibility that led you here.. "You… I hope you didn't think I was asking you to…"

"Don't worry about it. It's needed to come off for some time now, if I'm being honest with myself." You nodded, before giving in and pressing your cheek to the top of the kid's head.

"Well," he gave you a smile you couldn't help returning. "It's nice to meet you. Again."

"I'd say," you scoffed.

"Oh, what is it now?" Din teased, putting his hands on his hips. It emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, sending a frisson of interest down your spine.

"I'm sure it is nicer to meet me right now than it was an hour ago."

He smirked, laughing a little before shrugging. "You said it, not me."

The cockpit beeped from up the ladder, indicating your approach toward the quadrant. You could have let the moment slide, just written it off as the thrill of one stranger bearing witness to your transformation, but your heart had other plans, plans you were inclined to follow.

"Mind if we tag along while you look for your parents?" you asked, bringing the kid up to your hip. He looked over at Din, who took another step closer to you, so close you could feel his warmth, could feel it melting away whatever had started to thaw the moment you'd opened that pram on Arvala-7.

"I'd like that."

Thanks for reading!!

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[june-girl-86]

Chapter 54

Peli remembers a dark time and one person. In the present she is surprised with a message.

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC Female!

ReaderRating: Mature/Explicit (+18)

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence / Love / Action&Adventure / Blood&Violence / Drama & Romance / Slow Burn / Fluff&Smut

Peli made her way out of the bustle of the market with her full bag, cursing her stupid idea to go to the market herself. But she had had a feeling all week that she absolutely had to get out of her hangar. And now that she had, it didn't feel right either. From a cage, a few nunas made their presence known as the dealer took one out and showed it to the prospective buyer. At one corner, a group of Jawas chattered loudly and Peli decided to walk across the side street, today's noise giving her a headache. Sure enough, as she turned, the noise level lowered and she took a breath. Maybe it was just what she needed today: to be a little alone... She walked past the small stores, nodding to the owners who were just opening their stores now, there was little point in starting earlier that day. The market was too competitive. As Peli walked past one store, lost in thought, she faltered. Slowly she turned around and looked at the colorful fabrics in the window. She knew that Din had had new pants made here; she herself had not been here for a very long time. And yet the memory caught up with her again:

At the beginning it had been quiet and then the stifling silence followed. First the storm troopers had come, roaming the alleys, checking everyone and searching. And after they found nothing, the inquisitors showed up. Not a day went by that someone hung on the gallows, they drove suspects through the streets, hunted them down and took their lives. Hardly anyone dared to go out, those who could sent their droids to do shopping, but even the merchants were unsettled and some of the stores did not open at all. Those who did open also had to reckon with their belongings being destroyed because refugees were suspected to be with them.

Peli sat in her office, she had the radio on in case hidden messages were broadcast, but only imperial propaganda was playing. Peli felt nauseous, turned off the radio and looked at her screen. The orders, usually several pages, had shrunk. But she didn't give up hope that things would get better. Peli sighed, left her small office and climbed the stairs. At the door, she stopped, stared into the empty alley, and let her gaze slide upward into the starry sky. I wonder if the suppression was happening on all the planets right now? Or had a few already come together to stop this? Would there be a rebellion? Would they stand a chance against these powerful ones? Peli sighed again, this silence was not doing her any good. And then there was the bang and the glow of fire, there was a fire one street over. The alarm shrilled loudly, screams joined in, and shortly after she could hear the siren of droids and humans trying to put out the fire. Others had joined Peli on the street, watching as the noise level increased, the flames fortunately less so. No one spoke a word, but all were thinking the same thing. Their thoughts were confirmed when several storm troopers came to their street and sent them back to their homes. The threat that they too would soon be among them deterred many from fighting back.

Peli had tried to sleep a little, but as soon as she closed her eyes, the fire blazed. She tossed and turned a few more times, then had enough and got up. Again she went up the stairs, settled down on the chair in front of the door. The smell of the fire was still in the air, but silence had returned. The two moons lit up the night. Peli leaned back and closed her eyes. After some time, she heard this sound. At first she thought her chair was squeaking, but then this whimpering sounded again. Peli didn't think twice, got up and went towards the source of the noise until she was standing in front of the house where there had been a fire. And again she heard the wailing. She looked around suspiciously. Was she the only one who heard it? Or did everyone else dare not come out. For a moment Peli hesitated, maybe the stormtroopers were setting a trap for the residents, but if someone was lying in it and she didn't help, she would never be able to look at herself in the mirror again. Carefully, she pushed the charred door aside, trying not to be too loud. She cleared the debris aside and shone her light into the sooty room. There was water on the floor. And in one of the puddles lay a person, on top of him a collapsed shelf.

"Help!" it whispered. Peli jerked the things aside, her hands pulled the woman up and she wailed louder. Peli cursed inwardly, putting the person against the wall. She looked horrible. Peli shook her head, alone she couldn't possibly get her out of here.

"I'll be right back!" she whispered to the injured woman and ran back into the hangar. The Pits buckled up in fright as Peli kicked them. She explained the situation to them and the droids followed. The woman had slid onto her side and was once again lying in the firewater. As gently as the Pits could, they picked up the injured woman. Her whimpering increased with each step, it was no louder than before, but on the deserted street it sounded like screams. Finally they had made it to the hangar, where she was laid on a cot in the small room behind the workshop. The droids fetched water and cloths while Peli searched for ointments, medicines and bandages. She came into the room just as one of her pits finished cleaning up the injured. It still looked bad. Cuts all over the face, hair singed, but the arm had taken the worst of it. Peli squeezed the tube of burn ointment almost empty, dabbing that much carefully on it before putting the sterile dressings on top. On her legs she also had smaller wounds, Peli took care of those as well. She carefully instilled a painkilling juice into her. The whimpering subsided and the young woman slowly fell asleep. Peli left the room and noticed that it was getting light. She leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. As she did so, she noticed how her hands began to shake. She just realized what she had done and what could still happen. If only someone had been watching her and would report her now... She pulled off her gloves, examined the dark stains on the material and realized that her skin and clothes were full of the soot. She really needed to clean herself up and wash her clothes, even a stormtrooper would recognize this at first glance and execute her immediately.

After Peli had changed, she asked the Pits to look after the injured. She herself needed some sleep now. By the time she had stood in the shower, the adrenaline had worn off and she could now feel leaden fatigue weighing on her shoulders. And as soon as she touched her head to the pillow, she was asleep.

The next few days were no different than the last, except that messages came through on the secret frequencies showing Peli that a few were confronting evil, unfortunately getting the short end of the stick. So she sent her pits to people she trusted more than 100 percent to get supplies of medicine. They took turns to care for their guest, infusing her with fluids as best they could, knowing that she actually belonged in an infirmary. While the injured woman always slept soundly, Peli kept waking up from nightmares. Each time she was caught and tortured in a different way, as she was suspected to be the leader of the rebels. She considered taking the woman to her brother, to his farm. But at this time of year there were more sandstorms, so they usually did not see each other for several weeks. If they were caught in a storm, it would be fatal for a weakened person. So Peli discarded these thoughts and hoped that one day everything would return to normal.

Peli ran her hand over her forehead, smearing the stain on it that she had gotten from working on the ship. She had almost finished it, the customer knew, tomorrow he could have it back. She took a sip of water from her bottle, glanced at the open door. Peli could see the woman awake, sitting upright and eating independently. She was clearly feeling better, but still needed to be cared for. She could not yet manage on her own. A loud pounding at the front gate startled her. The droids rushed to it, she heard the voices of the troopers. She dropped her tools, ran to the room and closed the door. Then she shoved a few things in front of it, hoping the troopers wouldn't pay it any further attention. The Pits were still chattering away at the three stormtroopers when Peli joined them.

"We'd like to look around a bit!"

She knew it wasn't a request when they pushed her aside. Outside the ship, one of them stopped and asked her to open the ramp. Peli did as he said, inside he was able to connect and find out who the owner was. Peli swallowed, asked if the men needed spare parts, but they did not respond. Their customer's data was fine, the trooper had lost interest. For that, he approached the room. He eyed the area, noting the drag marks of the crazy items, and stared at Peli.

"Why did you block the door?"

His tone had become harsher, his colleagues joined in. One of them raised his gun.

"Womp rats! Two of them! I hope they kill each other!" lied Peli.

"Why can't you hear them?"

"Been in there since yesterday. I wasn't going to check until it started to stink!"

The one with the gun pointed it at Peli and she swallowed nervously.

"Open up!"

Peli nodded slowly, gesturing for the Pits to move the furniture aside.

"But I'll hold you responsible if the rats break everything here for me!" she grumbled at the soldiers.

"It wouldn't make any difference!" one of the troopers drove at them, yet they noticed the men cautiously approaching the door. The soldiers thought nothing of it as the Pits hid behind Peli and the woman stood there with tense limbs, closing her eyes. While Peli feared being shot on sight, the men thought they were just afraid of the rats. The door was pushed open and there was silence. Peli, still squeezing her eyes shut, suddenly felt a tap on her shoulder. Startled, she flinched and looked questioningly at the three stormtroopers.

"Sorry to disturb you!"

With those words, they left the hangar. Dumbfounded, she looked after them, then heard the groan and thud. Peli rushed into the room; the young woman was slumped behind the door, her arm still outstretched. She had used her power to save them all. Now shaking all over, Peli helped her onto the cot. She was all hot, fever overtaking the young woman. She was literally burning up. Peli got cooling cloths, gave her fever-reducing medicine and took care of her arm again. After that, Peli could only wait and hope that the rescue operation would finally be the last.

Peli blinked when she sensed movement. She lifted her head; she had repeatedly fallen asleep on the edge of the bed. But this time the woman sat upright facing her, life had finally returned to her face. After the bout of fever had lasted 2 days, she was finally well. Peli turned to the little table, gave her tea to drink.

"Thank you for everything!" she smiled afterwards, extending her healthy hand to Peli.

"I'm Vivien!".

Peli shook her head as she remembered. Vivien had lived in hiding with Peli for a few more weeks until she dared to return to her store. Peli had accompanied her there, admiring the beautiful creations Vivien had tailored. Vivien herself, however, felt a stranger within her own four walls. Her arm had healed, but she kept feeling a pulling and discomfort. When Peli stopped by one day, an Iktotchi stood in front of her, informing her that the previous owner was no longer here. Peli hoped that Vivien had found a place where she could live peacefully. That is, if she was alive at all. Peli tore herself away as the door to the tailor shop opened and a customer stepped out. A bell sounded in the background.

As she walked back to the hangar, she turned around several times because she felt she was being watched. But it was the same as usual, the same figures as always. Nevertheless, she walked a little faster, but probably her memories from before had confused her again now. Finally she reached her hangar and ran down the stairs.

"What's the hurry?" she heard a voice behind her. Peli cried out and in shock she threw her bag aside. The Pits came running and ducked their heads. Peli leaned against the wall, holding her hand to her chest and looking into the eyes of a familiar face.

"Peli, I'm sorry!"

Fennec was taken aback by the usually tough woman's startle. She was pale in the face.

"I thought you saw me!" declared Fennec as she put her hand on Peli's shoulder to reassure her.

"Obviously not!", Peli screeched back, shaking her head. She watched the Pits carry away their purchases and then turned to Shand.

"I was lost in thought, of a time when things weren't easy here on Tatooine. For a moment I thought the Imps were back!"

Fennec nodded in understanding, then smiled.

"We received a coded message. I'd like to play it for you!"

Fennec held a data stick between her fingers.

"R2!" screeched Peli, and Fennec smirked. The mechanic now sounded her usual self again. When R2 finally joined them, Fennec activated the stick and R2 played the message. Peli swayed slightly and tears formed in her eyes as she looked at the images and video sequences. Din and Liara looked beautiful, the dress looked so wonderful on Liara. And then there was this child. Fara smiled happily into the camera. Liara reported what had happened so far and Peli was so proud that they had saved this girl. When Peli suspected that the news was coming to an end, Liara waved someone over. The person appeared and Peli recognized the face immediately, even though so much time had passed in the meantime.

"Vivien!" whispered Peli and the aforementioned smiled as if she had heard Peli's voice.

Peli had awakened from a dreamless sleep, blinking. She flipped the covers aside and stood up. With bare feet she crept through the workshop, only a few control lights were burning, all droids were asleep. But still she found her way to her office and opened the safe. When she opened it, she pulled out all sorts of junk she had stashed inside, along with a few wallets. Her desk was already overflowing and a few things slid down and fell on the floor. But Peli ignored it. She finally fumbled for the box and opened it carefully. The light from her monitor illuminated the silver handle of the weapon. Vivien had talked about it and couldn't remember where she had lost it. Peli had learned that the ruin was to be demolished and had once again scrambled among the rubble at night. Peli stroked the hilt of the lightsaber, noticing the small patterns and lines in it. Smiling, she placed it in the box and locked it back in the safe. Maybe she could return it to its owner soon.

_______

@rain-on-kamino

@littlemisspascal

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From Chapter 44: Leap

You jumped.

As you did, it felt as if your body suddenly became lighter than air, floating farther upwards than you had intended, as if you were ascending towards the stars themselves. For a moment you felt as you did on Coruscant all that time ago, having launched yourself from the careening speeder onto a desperate gamble for safety. Yet even then, you felt the memory extend further back, to a moment far before this journey had truly begun.

Suspended on all sides, the rush of stifling, hot air and flames and destruction around you, you felt the resurgence of a memory long since forgotten rise in your chest. In the darkness of night, atop a tower overlooking a sprawling ecumenopolis, you had been thrown, pushed out into the hot night air as someone had screamed your name in one, final, desperate plea. Held aloft for just a moment, clothes flapping in the wind, you stayed there for a single heartbeat before falling downwards into something unknown, a darkness within your mind you couldn’t recall, with naught but your own name trailing after you.

Now, a different voice called you by a different name, one you knew all the same. The one who had bestowed upon you that title, survivor, now stretched forward, arms spread wide towards you as you descended like a shooting star from the galaxy above, arching like an arrow of light straight into his embrace.

Taglist for "The Stowaway"

@grogusmum @dankest-farrik​ @deceiverofgodss @bunniesofsteel @okaycoldplay @adancedivasmom @shuttlelauncher81​ @blue-and-yellow-jjk-pjm​ @civil-warriors​ @dessinemoiunehistoire​ @breadqueen95​ @grogusmum​ @writeforfandoms​ @lwilliams128​ @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life​ @lexloon​ @peanutismynickname @thesmutslut @jenaatje @voyagerlotus @pamshorttsbrokenbothherlegs @rinissleepin

#the mandalorian #din djarin #mando #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #fic: the stowaway #my art #my fic #reader insert #oc

[glennlester]

the wedding, pt. II

Glenn opens his mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. And then Max is gone again, leading Chris away from their Hindenburg of a conversation. Glenn can do nothing but stare after them, thinking, At least I get to watch him walk away this time. When the two of them have finally disappeared back into the crowd, Glenn glances around, once again wondering if anyone is cognizant of what’s just been said in front of all their fancy little French cookies. But no one is watching. He is alone, holding the weight of his grief in his hands.

He thinks he might start screaming, so he has to get away. He walks out of the main reception hall and away from the crowd, leaning against the wall in the long hallway that leads to the restrooms and resting his hands on his knees, panting. I’m happy now, Glenn, he hears Max say in his head. I am finally getting what I deserve. His lungs feel like they’ve been punctured, and his chest is caving in. And you are getting yours. His breathing is so erratic that he’s dizzy from it, and the din of the laughter and the music from the reception is growing louder in his ears. If he blacks out, who knows when somebody would find him? And in what state? 

Glenn shuts his eyes, trying to block it all out, but it’s not working. He’s had panic attacks before, but this is different — and worse. There’s a ringing in his ears, and for a moment, he thinks he might actually be dying. Putting a shaky hand to his chest, he feels his heart pounding away just beneath the skin. And you are getting yours. It’s so hateful, isn’t it? He can hardly believe Max had the gaul to say it in the first place, and in a way, he’s almost proud. But it also makes him feel like there’s a sinkhole opening up in his chest, and he’s moments away from being devoured by it completely. 

You are getting yours, he thinks again, no longer fighting the flood of hateful thoughts filling his mind. You should fucking kill him. You should fucking kill Chris. You should fucking kill yourself. That last one is the most enticing. Max would be so ashamed, he’d never have a peaceful night’s sleep again for the rest of his life. Glenn could make sure of it. And he could haunt him, as a ghost and as a memory. In a twisted way, he could ensure they’d be bound to each other forever. 

A sob escapes his lips before he even realizes it’s coming, and his stomach begins to churn. Close to hyperventilating, he clamps a hand over his mouth and runs down the hall to the bathroom to throw up the cucumber sandwiches. When he’s finished, he sobs into the toilet bowl before leaning back against the wall and drawing his knees to his chest. He buries his face in them, trying to stifle his crying.

Somebody could walk in at any moment, he tells himself. Maybe it would be someone unassuming, like Alfie, who wouldn’t pry. Or it could be a stranger. Or Max. If it would be Max, part of Glenn wants to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness, and beg him to come back. Part of him, he’s pretty sure, would try to strangle him. So he hopes Max doesn’t need to pee. 

Forcing a deep, shaky breath down into his lungs, he picks himself up off the floor and flushes the toilet before taking a seat. He breathes for a moment, like his therapist would tell him, and then pulls out his phone, scrolling his texts for her number. He debates for a moment before pressing ‘Call’ and bringing the phone to his ear. It rings once… twice… three times… four times… and on until it becomes apparent that she is not going to answer. He nearly sobs again but stops himself, canceling the call nonetheless. 

You are so pathetic, he thinks, and he’s coming dangerously close to admitting that he wants a drink. Maybe you could have just one. He’s learned to try to ignore tempting thoughts like that, but in this moment he thinks: What does it fucking matter anymore? Why is he fighting so hard to be sober when he’s miserable (and alone) either way? Sure, there’s the show, but the show is on life support. And he’d been a functional addict for years. Why stop now, when everything was crumbling?

He stands and puts his phone back in his pocket, exiting the stall and heading back down the hallway to the reception hall. He tries to walk normally so as not to draw suspicion from anyone who may be perplexed by his destination, but he doesn’t see anyone he knows among the throng.

Finally, he reaches the bar and flags down the bartender. “Hi, can I get four shots of Scotch whisky?” He hopes he doesn’t seem manic, but the bartender obliges, disappearing for a moment only to return with four tall shot glasses filled with sweet amber liquid. “Thanks,” he says, sliding him $50 across the bar top. He pauses before he takes the first shot: What happened to ‘don’t throw it away’? It was all a waste, he knows that. But he’s tired, and he wants a drink, so he downs it. Then he downs the other three in rapid succession. He feels it immediately, and it’s so good he wants to cry. He’s so much looser, so much less self-contained. He calls the bartender back to order a vodka soda before downing that in nearly one gulp as well.

Predictably, he has to piss just as quickly as he gets drunk, so he heads back to the bathroom, trying not to stumble down the hallway. He thinks he’s alone again until he rounds the corner and sees a familiar figure leaning down at the sink: Sean. 

“Oh, shit,” Sean says when he catches sight of him, straightening up quickly and turning as if to hide something. “Hey, Glenn, what’s up?”

Glenn watches him for a moment, and he’s a little dizzy, but he has to be cool. “Hey,” he says, walking towards the stalls. “Nothing, just… came to take a piss.” Nice one. But he’s not all that concerned with Sean’s opinion to begin with. He’s just about to enter a stall when —

“You doing okay?” Sean’s voice again. He turns back around to face him. “I mean, you just look kind of… upset.” 

Glenn tries to soften his grimace. “Nope, all good,” he assures him, taking a step a little closer to peer at whatever Sean is hiding behind him in the mirror. And he’s thrilled at what he discovers. “Whatcha got there?” he motions towards him innocently.

Sean seems more nervous now, but Glenn is about to pleasantly surprise him. “Um, it’s nothing —”

“Looks like a tray with cocaine on it,” Glenn observes, unceremoniously. 

“Okay, look,” Sean steps forward, opening his palms in a gesture of submission, “I don’t do it, like, ever, okay? I swear. I bought some for this fucking wedding because I thought maybe I could get lucky with one of the bridesmaids, but they’ve all been bitches so far.” He gives Glenn a sleazy smile that turns his stomach. “Look, you’re not gonna like… make a thing out of this, are you? I swear it’s like a one time thing,” he reassures him. Then, a light seems to go off in his brain. “Do you want some?”

It’s a hilarious question, to be honest. Did he want some. Sean has no idea that Glenn would break his neck for it if had to. Glenn looks back at the tray in the reflection, chewing his lip for a moment, before reconnecting his gaze with Sean’s. “How much do you have?”

“He called it an 8-ball.”

Glenn pulls out his wallet, removing all the cash inside. He’s not even sure how much it is. “Give it to me.” 

Sean blinks. “Like, all of it?”

“Yes.” He hands him the cash. Sean takes it and slowly begins to finger through the bills, counting until he seems satisfied.

“Okay, deal,” Sean agrees. “But you promise you’re not gonna say anything to anyone, right? This stays between us?”

For the first time that evening, Glenn gives a genuine smile. “It’s between us.” 

Sean hands him the tray and the rest of the baggie, pats him on the back, and exits. Glenn looks at himself in the mirror. “Well, I can’t not do it now,” he says out loud to his reflection. “I mean, I paid for it.” 

As he empties a bit more of the baggie onto the tray and begins to cut it with one of his credit cards, his mind wanders back to Max, the reason for all of this. I’m happy now, Glenn. I am finally getting what I deserve. Glenn leans down, cleaning the first two lines from the tray. He squeezes his eyes shut, coughing a bit from the post-nasal drip. The rush sends a shiver through his whole body, and he remembers why he nearly burned down his whole life for this feeling. And you are getting yours. 

He leans down and snorts the other two lines, deciding to save the rest for later. Then he looks up at his reflection in the mirror, and sees, for the first time that evening, just how disheveled he looks. He debates on going home, but decides that if he’s already on this path, he might as well follow through. He gives his hair a tussle, trying to straighten out his suit jacket, but he soon gives up. Then he gives his reflection the finger and turns to head back to the bar.

#writing #oh glenn #he's uhhhhhhh #not doing good folks

[we-couldnt-agree-on-a-color]

A memory for Kah?

:) give him something good!!!!

( ( MEMORY FOR @kahs-personal-page ) ) 

 Footsteps pounded against tall grasses and the fog obscured his vision no more than four feet away from himself. His heart pounded. He grit his teeth as he pushed himself further. If he was going the way he intended, camp wasn’t too far away. He just needed to get there. They had medical supplies in case something like this happened. He could fix this, and the man he clutched tight to his chest would live. He knew he would.

  He clutched a small golden necklace in one of his hands, balled up in a fist with the arm tucked under the man’s knees. It stuck to his hand with half-dried blood and dug marks into his skin. Understandably, the man with white hair had thought he would die, and had given him the necklace. But he wouldn’t. Mikell was anything but slow on his feet.

  They should have known it was a trap. A signal in the middle of an open field on a day as foggy as this was the perfect location for unsuspecting victims. This was his fault. He should have just told him to stay back at camp. He knows he should have. He should have run faster. He should have grabbed the man by his arm and tugged him along out of the gunfire.

  The silhouettes of the tents came into view and he called out to those that had come along with him. A simple cry for help- he didn’t know what else he would say, after all.

  He staggered into camp, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, and muttered “Get the- the medical- the- medical supplies, go get ‘em, quick,” the words were forced out of his mouth between breaths. He felt lightheaded. He could hear his adrenaline pumping deafeningly. But he could tell, through the din of his body working overtime from overexertion, that...

  Everyone was dead silent. He lifted his head. His grip loosened slightly.

  They all looked horrified. They didn’t move.

  “Cowboy?” A woman- familiar- took a step forward. The air was stagnant. Stifling.

  “Wh- What are you doin’, go get the- the fuckin’- the- he needs medical attention, Willow, goddamnit!” His voice cracked. He glanced down at the man in his arms, white hair sticking to a clammy face smudged with dirt and sweat.

  “Cowboy, he’s-”

  “We don’t have time for you to ramble, go!” He growled. She hesitated.

  “Cowboy, Ermine’s dead.”

#mkl.doc #tw gore #tw death #ask to tag

[bleaksummer]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨���� 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.

The world under his feet was shifting at a rate that neglected to allow him to steady himself; and the air, the air was thick, hot. His Aunt Orla had always told him to take a step back.

It came with a sense of looming horror; the realisation that perhaps his world was as small and as insignificant as a snapped neck in hunters mouth - more often than not now, Tadgh Shea was drinking himself unsensible and these waves came more often than he cared to admit. Their family was slipping into something far darker, and he was powerless to stop it – and he was implicit.

Though they were brothers in arms; he and his father had always been different. Mick was graceful; would wring someones neck and somehow find a way to make it look graceful. As if perhaps the victim had slipped into peaceful asunder and he did it with a smile on his face. When Tadgh chose his side, there was still a small part of him that knew his Aunt and Blair would hurt for him if they knew, but equally, the demons in him knew she’d take him back into the fold eventually regardless. When you have everything to gain, Tadgh chose to gamble. What he neglected to realise was Mick relied on his unreliable memory, in his UNHINGED MENTALITY, on the gaps of time that turned black.

Blackness —- Thursday, Rapacity.

Cool palms grasp clammy cheeks, the scent of tobacco and whiskey seeps into his sinuses and the fuzz around him seems to settle. A steady tone cuts through the din and Tadgh begins to refocus; foggy irises seek to piece the splintering around him together and he chokes in air though it feels thick, like tar and coats the inside of his lungs until he splutters, sputum coating chapped lips, he tasted the iron of the blood on his tongue and his pupils dilate. 

Mick stood over him, grasping his face; and he blinked, his father's lips were pressed into a thin line, it had happened again, family meetings gone awry. Part of him knew his father had needed this, the animal within his son.

It happened every now and again; for years now - gaps of time he couldn’t explain, fits of panic that took over like fog rolling over the moorside. A last sharp pat to his face and his dear old twat of a father slid down at his side and patted his knee, his body heat serving to show him how he quivered despite how stifling the bar had become. He liked to think all sides of his family protected him, but they all knew he teetered as ever on the edge of a cliff, and falling off would only spell true madness. It was only Mick that underneath he knew would be the one to give him the final shove.

Little by little the room around him came into focus, and his ears rang. They sat on the dusty wooden floor of an old bar in Rapacity; owned and ran by a fella whom he only knew was in the way of something the elder Shea wanted. His volatility was an asset, he’d tell him. Recounting the way he handled other human beings as if they were made of rags - and yet, it wasn’t in his nature, he didn’t mean to though it was clear something in him needed to. 

Eyes flicker to the man beside him; and he feels his stomach drop as he looks at the damage around him; his conscience kicking in. They were brothers in arms; bound by a collective cause (or so Mickey thought) and slave to their secrets. Broken glass and moaning bodies; a scramble of furniture.

Another empty shell to add to the list of victories - the very kind of victories Orla would berate him for mind. Most of the time he still felt like a little boy; he had no control of himself, of his head. As though his foundations were collapsing in on himself. He was HEAVY. Damned if he did and damned if he didn’t - he had tried to opt for the quiet life, but there was a greed in him that playing the legitimate businessman wouldn’t sate. Tadgh Shea would never be one for a noble cause; he wasn’t as strong as Blair to be able to walk away entirely, his sister had an ethereal nature, much like his aunt, and he knew they would always be better than him. Despite all, he still moved with the ebb and flow of violent delights and added them to his mental anguish afterward. 

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐧𝐨𝐰; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐲𝐩𝐬𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧.

#} 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢. › 𝚃𝙰𝙳𝙶𝙷 𝚂𝙷𝙴𝙰 - 𝙱𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙳! › 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄.

[pastafossa]

Can I get uhhhh hc prompts w Matt w hands and Mandy with memory?

Headcanon prompt list found here!

15 - “Hands” with Matt Murdock

Hands are one of Matt’s major ways of connecting with the world, and touch is incredibly important. As such, he takes great care of his hands, sometimes more than any other part of his body. He has a special salve he rubs in every night along his fingertips, to help keep them supple and sensitive, in comparison to his battered, scarred knuckles. As a result, while certain sections of his hands can take a major beating, his fingertips can feel everything—something he secretly takes great delight in, covertly seeking out the feel of anything soft like flower petals or soft skin or silk. His fingertips thus exist as a quiet indulgence, recklessly hidden there just a hairs-breadth away from the violence of his closed fists.

41 - “Memory” with Mando

Were you to ask Din if any of his past bothered him, he would say no — if he were to say anything at all, and not just ignore your question. For the most part, he has a near-ruthless focus on the current moment and whatever task that needs doing, be it a hunt or finding the kid a toy or even slowing his breathing so he can dip down into sleep. He doesn’t allow himself to think too hard, too long about the past.

Maybe because he knows that, if he did, the memories would come more often.

He can feel them sometimes, snapping and clawing away, flickers and flashes behind his closed eyelids like the bright, feverish burst of blaster fire. For a time it was worse when he first picked up the kid, memories of his own time as a foundling dredged up from the darkened waters of his subconscious, ripples spilling over into daylight hours when before they’d only come when he found brief moments of sleep. He thought he’d buried them down deep enough, but apparently not.

And yet he would allow every memory he has, every remembrance of pain and fear, to play on endless loop, if it means one more day with his son. And as those memories are slowly overlayed by newer ones, by better ones, he finds himself thinking that maybe... some memories are worth keeping close.

#Matt Murdock #Din Djarin #Headcanon Prompts #Dardevil #The Mandalorian #Grogu #Hands #Memory #Matt secretly loves to touch all the soft things #Din stifles all memory #until suddenly he has some #that are worth saving

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 6: May Your Dreams Be Kind

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: A reversal. A long-awaited act. A memory made. A finish.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: E, 18+ MINORS DNI, descriptions of female and male bodies, breast play, allusions to oral sex, brief handjob, safe PiV sex (Mando came prepared/the utility belt is well stocked).

Cross-posted on AO3

One Very Good Night Masterlist || I Think of You Series Masterlist

“Like you said, we have all night.”

The velvet tone wrapped around those words is foreign to you. You feel akin to a deity showering praise on an acolyte. It does something to Mando too, bringing his other hand up to palm his cock through his pants. You think you hear him stifle a groan before he goes to open his pants. You sit up, licking some moisture onto your lips as both of Mando’s hands unwrap his cock. Your eyes can’t tear away from the flashes of the man under the armor: a thin strip of tanned flesh as his waistband loosens, the dark curls of hair trailing and thickening as they lead deeper into his pants. You want your mouth on him, want to lick and suck more noise out of him.

He opens his pants and rolls his waistband down over his hips, turning the material inside out. More mouthwatering flesh appears, and in the dimness of the room you see the telltale shine of scar tissue. Something small and puckered on his hip (blaster?), a thin line snaking around from his back (blade?), all look old enough to be painless (but they once caused pain).

He continues rolling the pants down over the flesh of his ass and slides a hand in to pull his cock out. His fingers minimize the true size of it. He grasps it easily in one hand but if you did the same you would struggle to get yours around the shaft. Your eyes are trained on it, thick and hard and beautiful, the skin flushing darker than that on his abdomen. The head is plush and begs to be buried inside you. He drags his hand up the shaft in a couple lazy strokes and sighs as some tension releases. The head shines with wetness and he drags his thick thumb over the tip to spread it.

“Do you like it?” Mando murmurs, his chest starting to rise and fall quicker with his hand on his cock. You drag your eyes to his visor and the blackness feels more feral, more dangerous as his voice drops even lower. “Want to wreck you with it, make you lose your voice shouting my name.”

“Beautiful,” you breathe, and you reach forward to cup your hand around the soft heaviness of his balls. Mando almost shouts at the sensation and stills his hand on his cock.

“Touch me, Mesh’la, want you to,” he manages to push out, turning the front of his pants down over the edges of his cuisses before his hands wrap around your calves. It’s a sight you’re sure to use to make yourself cum for years; the Mandalorian, revered warrior and symbol of revolution, bare hands tense and naked from his bellybutton to the tops of his thighs, cock hard and begging for your touch.

Your fingers close around his cock and he sighs like a man saved. You struggle to fully encompass his girth but he’s not bothered by it once you start dragging up and down his sensitive shaft. His body shudders and twitches at every new glide and twist of your wrist. When you put extra pressure on the ridge of the head he bucks into your hand, and when you lick your palm (heady with the smell of his musk) to better lubricate your strokes he makes a noise like you punched him in the gut.

He only allows you a few minutes of relishing in his softness before he pulls your hand away, rubbing his thumb into your palm. You look at him, disappointed that he’s stopped you.

“I’m not ready to cum just yet.” Mando crawls up your body to lay the heft of his erection on the plush flesh of your mound. Sliding his hips forward, he lets the wetness of your folds slick the underside of his cock. With an adjustment to his hips he’s sliding along your clit as well, and the stimulation so soon after two orgasms makes your cunt burn with oversensitivity.

“I want to be inside you when I cum, Mesh’la,” Mando pants. He lays his body over yours, his cuisses softened by the fabric of his pants and the breath through his helmet loud when it’s so close to you. “I’ve got seals with me, it’ll be safe.”

(had you really gone this long without talking about protection?)

“Yes, Mando, want you.” The pants turn to growls as his hips grind against your core.

With how large he is, you’re nervous about how he’ll get inside you in this position. You feel wonderfully slick and relaxed, but it’s been a long time since you had a well-endowed man (have you ever had one like him?). The new-found voice you’ve developed interrupts Mando’s hips rolling against you.

“Can I…” you begin, and Mando pushes up to look at your face. “Can I be on top? At least to start?” His hips stop and then press in hard and long at your words.

“O-of course,” he sputters out.

“Only if it’s okay…” you begin to walk back your request but Mando silences you with a hand on your face, thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth (another kiss).

“Yes, please get on top, I’d love to watch you ride me.” He’s sincere and releases you to get off the bed and retrieve something from his belt. You admire the tight planes of his ass and the swath of golden skin he's revealing. With the rip of a seal wrapper and the wet-sounding roll of it over his cock, he returns to lay on his back. Once he’s stretched out under you he allows a small sigh of relief, stroking the outside of your thighs gently. You smile teasingly down at him.

“You know, if your back was hurting we could have done this much earlier.”

Mando laughs and you feel it rumble through him.

“My back always hurts.”

The statement is short, but reminds you how little you know about this Mandalorian beneath you. Even how old he is, or what his voice actually sounds like are secrets to you, will always be secrets.

(But you have secrets of his too)

His hands drift higher to circle your waist, his thumb brushing just under your belly button.

“I’m ready for you Mesh’la.”

(how can you deny him?)

You lift up on your knees above him, seating his head just at your entrance. The strokes of his fingers and the way he lengthens his neck makes you feel worshiped. His gasps mingle with yours as you begin the slow process of taking him. He demands nothing, allowing you the time to work him into you all while praise drips from his mouth. You start slow, the head of his cock entering before sliding him back out, taking more and more of him in with each downward roll of your hips. He’s stretching you, making you feel like your thighs and cunt are being forced open by his thickness. Even with all of his preparation you need to take your time, savor your body’s acceptance of him.

Mando is patient throughout your careful journey down his length. He holds his hips as still as he can, trying not to dig his fingers in too hard as he’s engulfed in your heat. With all of his concentration on not setting the pace he has none left to control his mouth.

“Fuck, Mesh’la, this was worth the wait, you’re so kriffing perfect, feel so good wrapped around me. I’m going to hold off for as long as I can but as soon as you’re ready I’m going to make you scream, gonna make you cum again on my cock, won’t stop until you beg me with those pretty lips, fuck, yes, fuck.”

His words wash over you and make your thighs tremble with anticipation. You’re close to taking it all, canting your hips forward to slide flush against him. Once seated and thrumming with pride, you place both hands on his stomach and lift up just enough to allow a sliver of space between you before rocking your hips back down. A quiet vocalization punches out of Mando as his neck extends further, gripping your hips but still not moving beneath you. You do it again, lifting yourself up enough to feel him dragging past electric spots inside you before bringing yourself back down to the base of his cock.

You set a rolling pace, tilting your hips back as you lift off him and swiveling them forward as you bring your bodies together more forcefully each time. You can’t take your eyes off him and you suspect his might be closed behind the helmet. He’s pinching out one long moan at the feeling of you riding his cock, every stroke making the full stretch feel more and more like he belongs there.

“Mando,” you hoarsely whisper, leaning over his body like he did to you and pressing down on the center of his chest plate. He slowly looks back at you and you wish you could see the expression on his face, to know if he’s as fucked-out as you feel. His body is long and lush laid out like this, the metal and fabric stark against the light-colored sheets. You burn his silhouette into your mind, the way this man looks falling apart all because of you.

“Mando, Maker, you look so good under me,” you moan and the control he’s been exhibiting releases. He growls loud and desperate and you feel his hips lift hard, your whole body rising off the bed. The force at which he lifts you drives his cock even deeper, a cry bursting from your lips. He plants his feet flat on the bed behind you and pistons his hips into you, dragging you down as he surges up. You join him in long moans, pausing when he fucks the noise out of you.

“Can’t wait, can’t…need to cum in you…can I…please…” Mando is begging you and all you can do is nod. He spins you until you’re on your back again, still inside as he sets a hard pace. He snaps his hips, arching away from you so he can watch your breasts bounce with the force of his thrusts. You bury your fingers into his biceps and meet his thrusts with your own. You’re glimmering with sweat and the wetness between your legs makes Mando’s skin slide against yours. It’s all a mess of sensations, your mouth open and gasping, eyes fluttering open and close with every particularly good thrust, eyebrows knit together in pleasure. Mando’s visor is trained on you, raking over you from your face to your breasts to when he can watch himself disappear inside you.

“What…what do you need to…to cum on me?” His voice sounds tight and his strokes become quicker and shorter. You can barely talk, so you grab for his hand and pull it to your mouth. You suck your tongue briefly and lick a thick layer of saliva onto his thumb before pushing it down to rest on your clit.

“Fast. Not too hard. I’m close,” you manage to get out before his talented touch rockets you towards your (third?!) orgasm. Mando is practically whining as he dives down to tuck his arm under you, pulling you close to his chest. He buries his head in the space between your shoulder and neck and from this angle you can see his ass flexing as he pumps into you. The skin at his hip dips in and out of sight but when you do catch a glimpse it’s wet with you. His back is heaving with exertion but he isn’t there yet, and with how quickly you feel him pulling you to your edge you want him to drown with you.

“Mando, Mando please cum with me,” you ask and his thrusts become hard pushes and grinds that knock the air out of you.

“Say it again. Say my name.” He’s coiled and ready, the head of his cock and the press of his fingers stimulating the same bundle of nerves inside you that threatens to knock you unconscious.

You try to say his name but each time he knocks the air out of you, almost purposefully. You can barely manage to get through the first half but it’s when you stutter on the D, the consonant shortening to a “dih” sound, that he loses it.

“Yes, yes Mesh’la, say my name, say it, say who’s fucking you this good, keep saying it, yes…”

You’re stuttering on a sound but he’s driving himself into you like you’re spilling prophecies from your lips and all your ability to clutch to thought or reason dissipates when Mando circles your clit once, twice, once more and you shatter.

It’s another moment of perfection that will be seared into your brain from this night. Mando’s hips grind into you as he cries out. Both hands come up to fist the sheets and his whole body wracks around you. The third orgasm you’d been saving washes over you and while it’s not as earth-shattering as the first two it leaves your body drenched in pleasure and exhaustion.

You both lay there for a long few minutes, catching your breath and letting your bodies soak into one another. Mando is careful to lay most of his weight beside your body, leaving his hips flush against yours. You feel the post-coital urge to run your fingers through his hair, lick slowly into his mouth, give him lazy kisses on whatever skin you can reach. But you have rules (did you break any of them?) and he’s given you more than you expected.

Once you’ve both come down, Mando slips a hand between your bodies and drags his cock out of you, holding the base of the seal to trap his seed inside. He gets up to throw it away and you’re treated to another fine view of his small, but well-muscled ass before he tucks himself back inside his pants.

(that’s gonna chafe)

You stay lying on the bed, knowing that you should clean yourself up but also absolutely boneless to even consider trying. Mando returns to the bedside and admires your naked form, spread out and covered in a sheen of sweat.

“Are you tired?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and tracing the swell of your breast with his still bare hand.

“Is it late?” you counter, turning on your side so you can curl your body around his like a loth-cat.

“Just past 1,” he responds, his palm damp and warm on your cooling skin. He strokes a soft path from your hip to your shoulder and back again.

“What can I say to keep you from leaving?” You want it to sound sexy but your voice threatens to crack on the last word (please not yet). Mando shakes his head and trails his hand down to yours, touching every inch of skin he can on the way. He lifts your hand and presses it to the side of his neck. You can feel heat radiate through the cowl that keeps his skin from yours.

“Mesh’la, we still have all night.”

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#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #mandalorian fanfic #prolix fics #i think of you series

[lavendertales]

Shameless sanctuary || Ezra x f!reader**

summary: you have a wish you want to inflict upon Ezra and luckily, he’s all about indulging you.

word count: 2.5k

WARNINGS: blowjob, masturbation (male), pegging, blindfolding.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

A/N: dedicated to my love @katronautt I love you more than I can actually spell out so I hope you enjoy!

gif: @din-djarn 

You take a deep breath and try—almost too desperately furious with yourself—to ease your mind. To no immediate avail. You stare rather fearfully at the piece of cloth in your hands, soft to the touch and sliding gently in between your sweaty fingers. You shouldn’t be this nervous. After all, this is Ezra. Your Ezra. A man who’s been far and beyond and still eager to explore new things and have his mind opened to new possibilities. He would understand.

Sure he’d understand. But would he like it?

What if he doesn’t like it?

You couldn’t let go of that embarrassing memory if that was the case.

Alright, settle down. You got this.

The cloth gets crinkled in your hands as you make a fist in your attempt to hide it. The other object remains hidden behind your back, stomach the size of a peanut. You finally knock on the door, heart thumping in your chest with excitement. The waiting only prolongs the feeling, having you envision plenty of scenarios in which you get to have your way with him, and him finally obeying, writhing beneath you as you please him—

Ezra’s shirtless body is suddenly before you, skin glistening with water drops. He was just getting in the shower, you realize. Something inside of you trembles, nearly twitches with desire.

“Hi.”

“Birdie.”

It takes a lot of willpower to not moan right then in there, so you swallow any sounds as you try to formulate your thoughts into coherent asks.

“Did I interrupt anything?”

“Nothing at all. I was only about to rinse today’s sweat off of me.”

“Ah.”

Always so poetical and magical with words, you chuckle. He could make even the labels on food packages sound mesmerizing.

Nervousness ostensibly seeps through your every pore, reminding you of your prior excitement. Ezra shuts the door behind you and welcomes you in the bedroom instead with what appears to be a much too kind smirk.

“Feel free to join me if you’d like,” he offers.

If? You want to shout.

But he sees you gulp, your neck swollen with unsaid words that you try so ardently to stifle. It’s a rather pleasurable sight to him. He can easily read you, he can easily tell what’s on your mind, and unfortunately, Ezra feels like you will decline his offer if he’s going to take your facial expression as the sole indicator.

“Yes, I’ll—I’ll do that,” you respond eventually, pleasantly surprising Ezra.

You smile at each other for a few seconds yet, despite the craving of losing the towel immediately, Ezra tugs on the material as he goes back into the bathroom, the impending feeling of an erection nearly sneaking up on him.

“Ezra?”

“Yes, my sweet?”

“I have an idea. Forget the shower for now.”

You taking control of yourself and your wishes is a sight that gets Ezra achingly hard as if on command. He returns to the bedroom, his dark eyes curiously inspecting you and noticing the two items you hold secret behind your back. To say he’s intrigued is an understatement.

“Do share with me.”

His low voice, paired with the lewd image before you gets you all worked up just as much. There is no more insecurity on your face, Ezra remarks. Something else entirely resides on your superb skin. Something more profound, a craving that would set your body afire. And Ezra was absolutely convinced he was ready to give you everything you wanted from him.

You finally reveal the cloth in your hands and the strap-on. Ezra smirks and cocks an eyebrow at the two items, then at you, eyes filled with lust and eagerness.

He was right. He’s beyond intrigued. He feels downright needy.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now,” you admit.

Ezra gestures you to approach him as he loses the towel at last and you gulp.

“Can I?”

“Since when this need to require permission, my sweet birdie?”

You shrug. “Maybe you don’t want to. Maybe you won’t like it.”

“I enjoy anything you provide me with. Anything and anywhere.”

The words he so smugly places emphasis on have you weak in the knees and for a moment you forget about your master plan. Staring at him in all of his nude splendor feels like an effervescent dream.

Ezra smiles, thus reassuring you, and he gets on the bed, as if intuiting your mental command.

“How do you want me, birdie?”

“On your back. That’s good.”

You take yourself by surprise at how simple it is to order him around and how thick the tension feels, like this is the first time for the both of you. Only it’s not. There have been plenty of filthy moments shared between you two before, and the tension always remains the same.

Ezra smiles again, legs spread apart and hands at the back of his head, waiting patiently. You smile as well and, with no more reluctance to guide you, you take the black silk and tie it around his head, strong enough to not fall.

“Have you ever done this before?” you ask, licking your lips in anticipation.

“Yes.”

His answer blindsides you. You know he’s well experienced and versatile when it comes to carnal pleasures, yet somehow this still takes you aback.

“I haven’t enjoyed anyone without my sight involved though, I will admit to that,” he chuckles.

Well. At the very least you give him something he hasn’t had before.

But if he’s done this before, then it will be easier. In theory.

“You trust me, don’t you?” you ask as you fumble to get the lube.

“More than I trust my own self, sweet birdie.”

Ezra isn’t used to his eyesight being taken away from him, but as he takes a few deep breaths and wait, he starts to realize that it feels enticing. He knows what to expect, and yet the delivery is what makes his skin burn with curiosity and need. It adds to the buildup of it all, leaves to the imagination and – holy hell, he enjoys that a lot.

He grunts in the slightest when he feels your lips pressed against his thighs, peppering kisses from the inside and working their trail further up. His cock nearly weeps, begging for attention, but he begs of nothing. Each kiss carries a certain tenderness to it, yet they are all decisive and they shatter Ezra’s mind in thousands of pieces.

Then a few additional thousands of pieces are ripped away from Ezra’s mind as you gently bite on his skin, earning an unexpected moan from him. He even feels flustered to some extent, and more so grateful for the blindfold. The fact that he’s visually impaired for now makes him frustrated and aroused alike, a lethal combination that his body can barely handle.

His hands roam around in hopes of holding onto something and they land in your hair right as your lips press a kiss to the tip of his cock, by now swollen and about to burst. You take him in your mouth and begin to bop your head up and down, lathering it with your saliva. The only sounds are Ezra’s guttural moans and the somewhat obscene sounds you made while sucking him off. Suddenly, words have fled from his mind completely; he can’t think of anything worthwhile to say. But maybe that’s good. Words are not worthwhile right now.

His breaths get ragged the faster you take him in your mouth, and he finds it so difficult to not shift his hips forward, just a little, so he can properly fuck your mouth. He has to remind himself that this isn’t about him. This is about what you desire to do, what you want, and he has to sit and take it.

Fuck, that’s a thought. He has to take whatever you give to him, however you give it to him. Oh, fuck.

The mere thought has his orgasm build in his stomach and he tries to move you aside, push you away. He doesn’t want to cum like this. But again, this isn’t about him. And he’s always been weak when it comes to your mouth in general, let alone when it applies such a deviously sweet torture to his cock. He’s squirming and battling inner demons intruding his thoughts. The more you suck him off, the more he wants to shoot his load down your throat and hear you nearly choke on it, but he has to trust you and the process. You know what you’re doing.

And, as if guessing his inner struggle, you stop, licking your lips afterwards. You feel terribly good, filled with power and arousal so much so that you’re almost shocked at your own dominance. The possibilities right now seem endless. Anything and anywhere, Ezra told you. That sure paints quite the picture. But you remember what prompted all of this and take a deep breath.

The main act is about to start.

The lube is on your left, ready to be used. The strap-on is fixed around your waist. You stare at Ezra, knowing he’s on the verge of exploding, but still you admire his patience. He hasn’t begged or plead for anything, and on the one hand, you are grateful. But on the other, you can’t help but also be a little disappointed. Some deep, dark part of you wants him to beg for you, beg for release at your mercy. Nonetheless, you cast that aside and lean down to kiss him. Ezra grunts into the kiss, his hands entangled in your hair as the kiss deepens, his mouth welcoming yours in its hot caverns, tongues gliding against each other in a filthy waltz. The taste is a little salty and so hot he could burst right now, purely overwhelmed. You work your magic so intimately and well, he can’t help it.

When you break the kiss, just as sudden as you had initiated it, Ezra feels a little disappointed. But he also knows that it will all be rewarded and worth it.

“I want to hear every sound you can give me,” you tell him in a sultry, dark voice that sends shivers down his spine. “Is that clear?”

You pour some lube onto him, the liquid taking Ezra by surprise, but his heart jumping in his chest with excitement.

“I said, is that clear?”

You wrap your hand around his cock, not moving it an inch, and Ezra trembles.

“Yes, birdie.”

Fuck, he’s so submissive, you think. It’s more than just arousing, it’s simply so pleasurable just to see the image. You stroke him a few times, prolonging his pain, then you align yourself to his entrance, anticipating the collision just as much as he did.

You slide in, gently and carefully, examining his bodily response up close. He grunts in ecstasy at the first touch, the first feeling of the strap-on penetrating inside of him. No pain detected, which is nothing if not a good sign. You pull out and push back in with a little more confidence, burying yourself as deep as you possibly can, holding onto his legs. Ezra’s voice gets coarser with each thrust you give him and he starts to moan relentlessly. After the first few experimental thrusts, you regain your cockiness, the previous dominance seated deep within your core now, and you start to pound into him.

It feels surreal; the rhythm of your hips slamming against his is fast and needy and Ezra’s moans are in accordance to it. Usually it’s the other way around but this time, knowing you are able to get such sounds out of him, to have such control over him… fuck, your cunt aches and you swear you could make a mess on the bed if it wasn’t for the strap-on.

“You’re doing—good, baby,” you smile, watching his body rock beneath you as you keep slamming your hips into his.

“Will you—let me t-touch—touch myself, birdie?”

“Say—my name first—loudly—“

And so he does. He says your name over and over again, downright screams it when he feels like he’s going to cum, and then you smile.

“Oh, f-fuck—fucking h-hell—“

Hearing him cuss out loud, unable to contain himself, makes your pride swollen in you. You bite on your lower lip, now trying to go as fast as you can. Your only goal right now is to see him make a mess all over himself and, why not, over you if possible. You want to see him lose himself completely.

“You can touch yourself now, baby—“

Even you speak with difficulty. When Ezra takes himself in hand, he cusses again, moaning your name like it is the only word he knows how to say. It’s a concoction of moans and huffs and the image of you pounding into him while he’s jerking off is honestly enough to make even you cum.

But you don’t. You keep going, thrusting deeper and deeper until you feel like Ezra will break. Your name becomes like a prayer leaving his lips and his hand wrapped around his cock moves just as fast as you do, eager to finally let go.

It doesn’t take that long. Or so he feels. Time is relative, truth be told. With a few more thrusts, a few more praises from you and a few more strokes on his aching cock, Ezra comes at last, spilling himself all over his abdomen. He nearly screams as the sweet release washes over him with the force of a tsunami, and he keeps stroking himself till he’s empty. A few drops of his seed reach on your thighs as well and you slow down, smiling widely and proudly.

It takes a while for the both if you to settle down. You slowly pull out, removing the blindfold as well and being met with a lustful look on Ezra’s part. He grins as you start to clean up and you’re surprised when he pulls you in his arms, inspecting your body with the upmost care and curiosity.

“I believe you said you would join me in the shower,” he says.

“I did.”

“Very good. Because I intend to even the score.”

Something in the way he says that, like a vulgar promise made to a secret lover makes you break a little on the inside. You gulp, noticing his serious face, and you put on a brave expression, for all of your previous domineering façade has faded.

“This will be a long evening, my sweet birdie. Best you buckle up.”

#ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect smut #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #prospect ezra x reader #prospect ezra x you #prospect ezra fanfiction #prospect ezra fic #prospect ezra smut

[red-velvet-panda]

@aclanoftwoweek Nightmares. (pls keep reading under the cut <3) Din was no stranger to nightmares. He’d experienced them himself as a new foundling for longer than most, but no child adopted into the Mandalorian Creed came without their share of trauma. Orphans, refugees... The clone wars had torn through the galaxy and there were too many displaced children. They weren’t given a loving home to replace ones lost, they’d been raised in large groups and the nightmares visited them all. Din had been told, as had they all, that they would get over them, eventually. 

And he did. Once he had sworn his Creed, they’d faded away, drowned out by purpose and a sense of belonging.  Falling asleep to the sounds of his fellow recruits sniffling quietly into thin blankets while trying to stifle his own upset had become a distant memory.

Until he’d found the child.

The small being had been remarkably composed for months, instantly falling asleep as soon as he was lying on a flat surface. Even the constant travel and unceasing danger didn’t seem to faze him, until things had gone so sideways that they’d lost Kuiil, IG and Din himself had nearly moved on to walk with his own ancestors.

For the last few nights, after he had put the kid to bed, the nearly forgotten sounds of quiet despair came from the crate that Din had lined with his softest blanket. The cries set him on edge, drawn to the child that clutched the mythosaur charm tightly in his sleep, as if afraid it’d be taken from him.

The kid would get over it without Din interfering, he’d learn to rely on himself and not seek outside sources of comfort that would likely only be pulled away again. It was his duty to teach as he’d been taught.

This was the way.

But maybe it wasn’t the only way. The bounty hunter sighed, carefully picking up the child, wrapping blanket around his small form before tucking the teary bundle into the crook of his arm, saying what he’d longed to hear all those years ago.

“I’m here kid, it’s gonna be alright.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #nightmares #mando #grogu #the child #baby yoda #clanoftwoweek2021 #myart #mywriting