#spotchka*edit

[drawingdroid]

To be taken care of

Pairing: Din Djarin x AFAB!Reader

Summary: Spotchka makes Mando show his desire to take care of you.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Bounty Hunter!Reader, soft!Din, set before Season One, smut!!!, little plot for context, but also FLUFF!, v fingering, no gendered words used, no y/n, alcohol, dirty talk, drunk sex, hint of praise kink, mirror kink, feelings???, reader is clueless about them tho, kind of sinful use of the helmet sorry armorer!

A/N: Hi!!! This is the first time I’m writing for this fandom OMG. I have little experience writing fics and I’m not 100% happy about this, but hey I had fun while typing smut at work! Also English is not my mother tongue and I have no Beta only Grammarly, although I edited this thoroughly, so sorry if this is awkward hehehe, I’d love to hear your thoughts about it!

You both probably had exceeded your tolerance limit with the spotchka that the kind people of Sorgan had gifted you on your last visit to the planet. Everything started with an excruciating hunt that had taken a toll on you and your bussiness partner. When the trandoshan male you’d been persecuting for weeks was finally frozen in carbonite, both of you sighed in relief and then your gaze met with his behind the visor. Neither of you were very talkative, your silences sometimes speaking louder than words. In addition, you both where extra grumpy that night because of the tiredness. Limping because of your sore muscles, provoked by hiding lying down on the hard floor for hours, you went directly to the spot where your provisions were. He tilted his head, curious. Normally after a hunt, you run to the shower to clean the grime accumulated from the days on the run.

Mando's questions were rapidly resolved when you triumphantly showed him the blue bottle and two metal mugs you used for everything. You must be a minimalist in a ship like the Razor Crest, which was definitely not designed for habitability. You also showed him the reusable straw you got him so he could drink in front of you on the field without worrying about his Creed. He fixated his helmet on you and finally nodded, so you poured him the spotchka filling the cup to the brim and then did the same for you. Next you let yourself slip down the metal floor with a heavy thump, too exhausted to stand for a minute more. He followed you and soon you found yourselves toasting lazily on the ground and drinking in silence.

“You did great today, mesh’la.” He said after emptying his mug for the first time that evening. You downed your beverage on your lap and looked at him as if he had gone nuts. In your time with him, he’d never praised you for your work. It was just expected that you gave your 100% in your hunts, right? You were after all partners, business partners. Associates. That sometimes fucked, alright. But you both kept things professional. So why did his praise affect the color of your cheeks that much?

“Thanks, Mando.” You muttered after finishing your spotckha too, offering to fill his mug again by raising the bottle towards him. He nodded and his gaze didn’t leave you this time. The truth was that Din was impressed by your performance in this last job. He knew you were a capable bounty hunter, of course, or he wouldn't have asked you to join him in the first place. It was only for one job initially, but you’d been so resourceful and worked so well along with him that he had to request you to join him full-time.

In the field, you always had his back, saving his metal ass more than one time, and your perception and ability to read people’s intentions was incredibly useful. Even though you weren't Mandalorian, he respected you as a warrior as if you were one of them. Not only respect, he felt admiration towards you.

And then it was the other side of your partnership. The one that occurred in the dark, rushed, your flushed skin against the cold beskar and soft sighs fogging his visor. The first time occurred after a near-death experience, the adrenaline ended in you being pressed against the wall in some alley by his beskar-clad body. He discovered you weren’t only outstanding at bounty hunting, but in other disciplines too.

Your intercourses would usually happen after a hunt gone south when both of you were especially frustrated and needed to let some steam off. You had three unspoken rules about them: you never talked while fucking, it was always done in the dark, and you never mentioned it afterwards. And of course, the helmet stayed on. You could never have imagined that you'd break all of the rules the current night.

You both had emptied the second round by the moment Mando spoke again. "I'm glad you accepted to be my business partner." His voice through the modulator caught you off guard, as you were lost in thought at the moment. He wasn't looking at you this time. You wondered if he was already drunk because he was behaving so off-character.

"You only say that because you love my stew." You chuckled nervously while pouring another mug for yourself. He asked his to be filled too and half of the spotchka was already gone. You could feel your palms against the glass sweaty: this opening-up-with-Mando thing was new for you.

"No…Yes, I mean… I do love your stew." It actually was the best he'd tasted and a great change from the ration packs he'd usually consume while on the Razor Crest. Mando played with the metal straw in his drink as if it was filled with your star recipe. "But what I'm saying is…it's nice to have you around." You looked at him quizzically, without a clue about where this conversation was directed or what was he referring to. Like he enjoyed your presence? Impossible. You rarely even spoke and didn’t know a lot about each other. Just enough to know you could trust your partner in the field. Maybe he was referring to sex. You knew he enjoyed it, as you did too. It was hot and somewhat felt forbidden. But anything in his cryptical tone indicated he was talking about sex, and it would be a first between you. Finally you decided he must be speaking about your job, you worked well together for sure.

"I suppose…we make a good team." Your half smile was timid and Mando surprised himself when his heart skipped a beat at your smile, but he was a bit disappointed. That was not what he was referring to. Sometimes he wished to be as talented with words as Greef Karga. He nodded and sipped half of the liquid courage remaining in his mug when he heard you giggling.

"What?" He asked drily. He almost felt hurt, where you laughing at him after dodging his attempt to tell you how he felt? You tried to stop but the alcohol had started to take a toll on your self-control. Especially on your empty stomach.

"You…you look so…so cute with your straw." He now fixated his visor on you, and although you tried to stop your laughter with your hand he only made it worse by looking deadly while sipping his spotchka.

"So you bought it in order to make fun of me?" You couldn't discern if he was joking or not but you started to be too drunk to care. He was marveled by this relaxed version of you, looking careless while sprawled on the floor. Even during sex, you'll keep it together, always looking composed. Was a bit of spotchka the one thing it took for you to get loose? If that was the case, he'd buy supplies for ages on the next planet.

"No dummy, I got it because that time you got dehydrated on Tatooine! You scared the shit out of me." Mando hardly remembered how that hunt ended, since in fact, he ended up fainting because of the lack of liquids due to being glued by the hip to you all the mission. It was certainly embarrassing. But what really made his cheeks flush was the endearing tone you had used to insult him.

"I appreciate how you always take care of me." His voice was softer than usual and the impact it had on you was totally unexpected. You stared at him frozen. Was he dehydrated again? You looked at the bottle of spotchka confused. Sure, it was a bit stronger than usual, but not that much.

"Mando… Are you drunk?" You asked carefully, and then he rotated all his body towards you.

"I want to take care of you, too." His voice came strained while he ignored your question. Your face couldn't be redder and your heartbeat started to go out of control. This couldn’t be happening, right? Where you reading well the room?

"Well, I could really use a massage. You know, my boss had me laying all day in some kriffing hole as if I was his personal sniper and my back is killing me." You said nonchalantly after a long silence, avoiding his face on purpose. He sighed in defeat and lay again in the position he was before, his long legs stretched on the floor.

"Your boss looks like an asshole." You could hear now a smile behind the helmet in his voice that warmed your heart.

"He's a tough bone, but he ends up growing on you." You winked at him and then got up, feeling suddenly how drunk you actually were. You stretched your arms over your head and then your neck and Mando could hear the crack of every one of your bones.

“I’ll give you that massage.” You weren’t expecting that he’d taken it seriously at all. He was no stranger to your body, but this new behavior of his was getting on your nerves. You had already spoken more than in all the month you were on board the Razor Crest. Slowly you nodded.

“Let me shower real quick first.” Without further notice, you locked yourself in the refresher to have the fastest shower in history, leaving The Mandalorian with his thoughts while you replayed your conversation in your head, trying to figure out his intentions.

After refreshing, you looked through your possessions, finally finding the small bottle of scented oil, and then returned to the hull while drying your hair a bit with a towel. The shower hadn't diminished your drunken state at all, and you were feeling feisty now. Thinking about how Mando was going to give you a massage had ignited your desire. And you could work with that. Because even though emotional intimacy wasn’t your forte, you new plenty about the physical one.

Mando was in the same place you had left him, now his back against the wall in a relaxed demeanor. He looked at you and then he was thankful you couldn't see his face. Of course, he had seen you in your undergarments before, but always in a non-sexual way like attending to your wounds or just a glimpse here or there. When you fucked you’d both keep most of your clothes on. He’d never appreciated you in all your glory towering over him like this. He gulped and felt his pants somewhat tighter.

You then sat nimbly in front of him, your back facing his front, and left the oil in your right so he could reach it. You noticed that another quarter of the spotchka bottle was missing.

"Confiscated." Giving him a mischievous glance, you twisted your body to reach the bottle and opened it to have a sip directly from it. Mando still hadn't moved a millimeter. A single drop slid along your throat and suddenly he wished he could lick it so badly. He had noted that your demeanor had changed, no longer nervous but confident in your body and sexuality. And that kriffin made him snap. His large hands snaked around your hip bones, dragging your body closer to his chest in one movement You gasped at the sudden contact, but this was familiar. Rough Mando, pressing you from behind against the nearest surface.

His long, muscular legs were spread around you, and you couldn't but appreciate his width and strength, seduced to caress where the beskar wasn't covering them. The time started to go slower as you stroked his skin through the flight suit. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that under all the metal a living red-blooded man resided. And said man was shivering now under your soft touches, praying that you didn't notice his neediness. He was a warrior with a task.

"Mesh'la, let me take care of you." His voice was gentle and raspy when he spoke next to your ear, and if he hadn't been wearing a helmet, you could have felt his breath tickling your skin. The tone in which he pronounced the foreign word made you feel a lot of things, some of them directed to your lower abdomen. You heard the tap of the oil and goosebumps of anticipation covered your skin. When the first drops slid down your column you were the one shivering this time.

When you felt his hands over your skin, you melted. You hadn't noticed when he’d removed his gloves. He rarely did it, and feeling them on your abused shoulders was like warm honey. You almost moaned from the touch of the rough skin of his big palms, his strong thumbs working on the knots that always formed over your shoulder blades. It felt heavenly.

“Is this okay?” If you didn’t know better, you’d swear his voice sounded a bit shy, but it was always difficult to tell through the modulator.

“S’ perfect Mando.” Your tone was breathy as you started to get a bit much worked up by his touch. He hummed and continued with his ministrations in silence. The moment felt fragile: you’d never had this intimacy together before. You noticed he was taking his time with you, feeling every muscle and curve of your strong back, tracing some scars scattered here and there. The alcohol and the massage were finally relaxing your tensed body, and then a moan you couldn’t stop escaped from your lips. His hands, which were working on your lower back at that moment, stopped and you could feel his entire body tense.

“Is this turning you on mesh’la?” All shyness was gone in a second, now his voice was thick with lust, a timbre you did recognize of him. His hands now had a harder grip on your back, like he needed to hold onto something. Sex with Mando was familiar ground, you felt relieved.

“Why don’t you check yourself?” Spotchka made you cheeky like that and you could hear Mando taking a heavy breath, confirming that your words had the effect you desired. Without warning, he dragged you towards his chest plate, the cold beskar biting your back while he positioned his helmet resting on your shoulder. Your heartbeat started to accelerate with anticipation. In this position, you could feel his chest rising every time: he was as worked up as you.

Painfully slow, he started to go over your outer thighs with a feathery touch with his calloused digits when then abruptly, he grabbed them and separated further making you gasp. The heat between your legs was unbearable and the thing you wanted more was for him to touch you. His grip on your inner thighs was almost painful, not that you minded, but you couldn’t stand more teasing.

“Mando, please…” You begged.

“Please what?” His fingers were now hovering over your clothed core, the fabric drenched in your slick. It wasn’t like your business partner hadn’t fingered you before, but it was always as a preparation for you to take his girth, never in this unrushed, lazy manner. Although you were going to explode from anticipation, you were loving every moment of it.

As Mando was too. The sensation of your plush skin filling his hands, your body pressing against his and dank farrik, your smell. It was driving him crazy, so much that he wanted to remove his helmet so he could appreciate the delicious smell of your wet pussy. His head was starting to spin and he couldn’t identify if it was for your fragrance or the quantity of spotchka running through his blood. He decided that the teasing was over then, and unceremoniously hooked his thumbs on your waistband and slid the piece of underwear down your legs, the soaked spot in the middle so evident it embarrassed you and turning him on even more. But he wasn’t still touching you where you needed him most. You were so done.

With your smaller hand, you grabbed his and placed it in your cunt letting go a snort and leaving Mando stunned.

“You wanted to take care of me? Then go on.” You said sassy, but your face was redder and hotter than a Sith’s lightsaber. He kriffing grunted and your breathing stopped when he finally put one of his thick fingers on your entrance to collect your slick. He amused himself at the fact that you were dripping because of him, feeling between surprised and a little proud about it. Then he started tracing lazy circles around your clit while spreading your pussy with the other hand. Mando relished himself in how soft and warm you were, imagining your flavor between his lips. In the confine of his flight suit, his cock twitched, impossibly harder. But today was about taking care of you and he was a man of his word.

His middle finger started tracing your slit up and down and you can’t help but waggle in his lap, feeling the pleasure spreading through your body. You inhaled hard when you notice the prominent bulge against your ass, growing only wetter at the sensation, and Mando could literally feel how your slick slid down your hole. While still rubbing your clit, he took advantage of the dampness to slide one finger inside, looking at that magic spot in your entrance that made your skin tingle. You moaned louder and he licked his lips under the helmet. An all-consuming desire was growing inside of him, the alcohol inside his veins whispering to him that he should indulge in his fantasy. You moan again in his arms and he’s a mess. Needs to taste you, to smell you to see your pussy drenched because of him. Every part of his body is in contact with yours, his helmet against your cheek. He’d love to bite your shoulder and mark your neck, and his need grows stronger while fantasizing about the idea.

“Mando…another finger…please.” Your voice was labored and so sexy he needs a sharp inhale to bring his brain the oxygen he needed. You were a beautiful mess. Your lips parted, cheeks red with lust and a sheer layer of sweat making your skin glow under the lights. This was nothing like taking you from behind in some cantina bathroom. He was done.

“Wait for a second mesh’la. And don’t turn around.” You nodded obediently, at this point you’d do whatever it took to be touched by The Mandalorian. Then you heard the hiss, you panicked a moment, knowing what the helmet meant for him. But inside you couldn’t deny the excitement from the anticipation about what he was going to do. Soon you had the answer. With a loud clank, he let his helmet rest between your spread thighs and then he breathed heavily, finally inhaling your sweet scent. It seemed odd to you that he didn’t choose another spot for his helmet, but then it hit you like a ton of bricks. Filthy bastard.

“Keep your legs spread for me.” His bossy tone made your pussy clench, you were used to his dry commands but in this context it made you drool. His unmodulated voice was like his hands, rough and gentle and warm at the same time, just like him. You found yourself wanting to hear more of it.

Mando’s hands traveled south once again and then he was spreading your lips, totally messy and wet. “Dank Farrik mesh’la look at you.” And you looked. The helmet, well-polished, silver beskar. His position between your legs wasn’t unintentional. You looked at your cunt at display, his large fingers caressing it like it was the most precious thing in the galaxy. You felt embarrassed and your first reflex was to close your legs. But he wasn’t having it.

“Mando, you’re shameless!” His strong hands didn’t let you close your legs but he spread them further. And when he had you like that, his fingers collected your slick determined to finally taste you. You could hear how he sinfully licked every finger and a more sinful, hoarse moan. You’d never hear him make a sound like that and it turned you to putty.

“Your cunt tastes as delicious as it looks.” Now, that was shameless. Who had imagined the reserved, soft-spoken Mandalorian had such a filthy tongue? His fingers were toying with your clit while he explored your hole with the other hand. Pleasure was filling every cell of your body and tiny moans were scaping more frequently from your lips, more aroused every second you looked at his movements reflected on the beskar surface.

“I’d love to taste you too Mando.” You teased grinding your hips on his cock, provoking a delicious sound from him.

“Another time mesh’la, I’m taking care of you today.” His voice was thick with drunkenness and desire and you couldn’t get enough of it. Then a perfect place stroke made you arch against him, leaving your neck at display for him. That delicious-looking skin was calling for him. A sharp bite startled you, provoking a loud moan from you. Even though he had removed his helmet, you didn’t expect him to use his lips on you. It looked like he was sporting a mustache and facial hair. Somewhat, it fitted the mental image you had of him and you siled internally. He continued sucking and biting all over your shoulders and neck, taking his time in your pulse point and you were a panting mess between his thighs, at this point, your slick even pooling on the floor.

His pace on your pussy was faster now, and you could feel and see how his fingers were knuckles deep in your insides, curved toward that delicious spot you could only reach with toys but he easily achieved to stroke. Dank Farrink, he did know your body. You realized he had to be paying more attention than you thought during your intercourses and that somehow made you hornier.

“Mando, I’m not gonna last much more…” Your voice was small, all your cheekiness from behind gone. You felt raw.

“That beautiful cunt’s gonna cum? Lemme see it mesh’la, give it to me.” Mando slurred as worked up and drunk as you. His words sent electricity directly to your pussy and your walls clenched against his fingers. “Kriff your body is amazing…you’re amazing.” His movements over your clit were now frantic and your vision started to blur. You succumbed to the sensation letting it hit you and then you were cuming all over Mando’s tan fingers with a loud cry of pleasure. He kept touching you until you shivered from overstimulation, dragging his fingers slowly from your puffy entrance. The vision was totally sinful. He started drawing lazy circles around your lips, caressing them. Your breath was still heavy while you came down from your high.

“Mando that was…” You didn’t have words for what had just happened.

“Do you feel better now cyar’ika?” His voice was soft again, even sleepy.

“Yeah, thank you for…taking care of me.” The alcohol and your orgasm were making your body drowsy, and you let yourself sink into his arms.

“Anytime.” He then kissed the point where your shoulder met your neck, something he hadn’t done before. You shivered at the sensation of his facial hair against your own skin and couldn’t help but smile fondly. In his odd way, he was sharing this private part of him with you and surprisingly your heart fluttered at the idea. He started then to drag his nose caressing your shoulder, it felt prominent, his mustache provoking goosebumps. You relished in his tenderness and at that moment you didn’t care anymore that this felt too intimate, wondering how it’d feel to kiss him. It was probably the spotchka why you were indulging in these thoughts and the reason you sighed like a teenager when his cheek leaned on yours. Probably tomorrow everything would be back to normal when both of you were sober, but for now, you’d let yourself enjoy how it felt to be taken care of by The Mandalorian.

#din djarin smut #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x reader #the mandolarian #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fanfiction #soft!din djarin #soft!mando #din djarin x gn!reader #din djarin x you #droidwrites

[wrathkitty]

Short Debts Make Long Friends - birthday edition!

SD turns three two today! Have an easter egg.

Oh, this is much worse

“What happened?” Din demands. You appear no worse for wear, but your smile seems oddly…manic?

“Aha! The prodigal husband returns!”

A sinking feeling invites itself into Din’s stomach and starts setting up headquarters. He knows that voice.

“It’s Mr. Satyyr!” you chirp as Din slowly angles himself between you and the jug-eared proprietor that has just appeared in the stockroom doorway. “From Mos Eisley, remember?”

Oh, he remembers. 

Mr. Satyyr graciously executes a quick, overly-unctuous bow. 

“Welcome to Huttson News!” he crows exuberantly. “I’m starting a franchise.”

“Eleanor, get your backpack,” Din instructs. “We’re leaving.” 

In his periphery, he sees Mr. Satyyr send him a sour look. Personally, Din doesn’t like the warning tone he’d heard in his voice either, but if playing the role of overbearing spouse is what’s required to be able to leave, then he’ll walk you through the Mandalorian marriage vows right now. 

“I have her scheduled to work the afternoon shift for the remainder of the week,” the shopkeeper testily informs him.

Din ignores him, too busy studying your face. He doesn’t remember your eyes being this dark…

Frowning, he increases the magnification on his visor. 

Goddamn it.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask defensively, noticing his scrutiny.

He wordlessly unholsters his blaster and aims it at the shopkeeper.

“What did you do her?” 

“This is a respectable establishment, sir!” Mr. Satyyr exclaims, affronted, as if he isn’t staring down the barrel of an IB-94 blaster pistol. “Kindly put your weapon away!”

“He can’t,” you helpfully pipe up, “He’s covered in them.”

“What,” Din repeats, now speaking through clenched teeth, “Did you do to her?”

“Nothing, other than offer hydration and gainful employment," the man huffs. 

“Hey, guys,” you interject, “could y’all use quieter words? My juice is trying to sleep.” You point to the glass bottle sitting out on the counter — the hydration, Din surmises. It is half-empty and filled with a pale pink, crystalline liquid.

The sinking feeling in his stomach sends a jaunty wave to its good old friend, dread. 

“What are you drinking?”

“Snapple,” you reply, and belligerently unscrew the top to take a deliberate gulp. 

“My dear, where did you get that?” 

Din tears his gaze away from you. Mr. Satyyr’s relentlessly effusive demeanor suddenly appears to have developed a crack in its armor. 

“The refrigerated case in the back,” you answer. “Where you keep the things you said weren’t ChiggerBurgers.”

“Ah. Yes. I see. I meant the other case. Not to worry, just a simple mixup…”

Din gingerly extracts the bottle from your hand and takes a cautious sniff. The unmistakable scent of high-proof alcohol  burns the back of his throat, along with notes of – 

His eyes fly accusingly to Mr. Satyyr. 

“This is fire spice.” You might as well have been drinking high-octane rocket fuel spiked with a chaser of barrel-aged spotchka. 

“Oh, this is much worse,” the proprietor muses thoughtfully, still observing you. “It’s whitefire. The good stuff.”

You look at both of their faces and blanch. 

“Oh, God. This doesn’t have sex pollen in it, does it?” 

Link to main fic: Short Debts Make Long Friends - An overeducated, underpaid millennial finally gets to go on her first adventure.

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#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #din x reader #mando x original female character #din djarin x female reader #short debts make long friends #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #baby yoda

[toomanybandstocare]

{Caring Hands}

Program: After months of heartbreak and worry, your roommate takes you out for a night to your old stomping grounds- 79s. A bar that used to hold such fond memories of spending blurry night with your friends of the 501st legion by the side of your riduur, Rex. tonight, it seems the magnetic pull between the two of you is determined to bring you together for one last chance.

Pairing: Ex! Rex x Ex, GN! Reader

Side Pairing: Fives x OC! Kiva

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Second Chances

Length: 3956w

Warnings: Pet names (Lover, Cya're, Cyar'ika, Riduur), Drinking to the point of being tipsy/drunk, Heartbreak, Swears, Barely edited

Captain's Notes: Hi guys!!!! It's been awhile. Life has been a force (hehe, no pun intended), but I've been really enjoying my rewatch of the Clones Wars series. And I am simply in love with so many of the clones/boys. They make my heart very happy and fuzzy. It's been nice to revisit one of my favorite shows from my childhood, and the fact that Rex is still my favorite character (other than Ahsoka) makes me feel happy and at home.

Camp Resolute's Masterlist

Camper Tags: @staygoldwriting

The soft green and muted yellow lighting envelop you in an intimate atmosphere of buzzing excitement. Music thrums through the air as the 79s’ clientele swirl around the dance floor or wrap themselves around this evening’s partners in booths. As the war invades every nook and corner of the galaxy, the GAR’s unofficial bar offers its services for wayward individuals who look for a semblance of normalcy. A chance to forget the lingering, stale breath of unknown destruction breathing down everyone’s necks. Time stands still at the mercy of drunk shouts of excitement.

“You know,” Kiva drawls as he drags his cocktail’s straw across his lower lip, “going out to bars and clubs is more interesting if you actually speak to people”. His deep, teasing chuckle shudders through you more than the deafening bass.

“You know,” you hum as the tingling sensation of your fifth drink courses through your veins, “going out to bars and clubs is more interesting when you aren’t surrounded by your ex's brothers. Who happen to share extremely similar physical features”. Your voice drips with whiskey and venom.

Leaning onto your white knuckled fist, you down the last few sips of your liquor unable to pull your eyes away from the booth in the alcove corner just past the bar. The unmistakable colors of the 501st and 212th battalions flash under the pulsing lights as troopers recline in the booth or lean over the seat backings to join in on the conversation. Your attention flitted between your roommate and the CO table when the two of you sat yourselves at the bar at the beginning of the night. When you caught sight of hidden smirk and mischievous glint in his amber eyes, you ordered the first round of shots. Your eyes stung from neon lights that lit up the bar area of the tenders to see their work and as you watched Rex pull the beautiful Twi’lek close to his side. His hands palmed her soft curves and pulled her as close as possible. Bile rose up and bit the back of your throat as you threw back another drink. 

As alcoholic cloudiness eases into your system, a sigh pushes past your lips and you turn your gaze to Kiva. His dark eyes look past you as a small half smile grows on face. Blinking at him, you follow his gaze. Leaning against the section divider of the CO table, Fives animatedly speaks to a friend from a different battalion whose armor is decorated in a scratched gray paint.

“You know,” your voice light and airy with its teasing melody, “going out to bars is more interesting if you go speak to people”. You jab your elbow into his arm and signal to the bartender for another drink.

“I’m not going to leave you here, heartbroken and drunk,” his tentacle tresses bounce around as he shakes his head, “Especially, alone. It’s a remarkable phenomena that you’re still able to form a coherent thought at the rate you're consuming spotchka shots”. Taking a sip of his drink, Kiva eyes you, “Besides, I don’t even know him”.

A bubbling giddiness washes through you as you look from Kiva to Fives to your fresh drink in front of you. Tracing a slightly trembling finger around the glass, you take a deep breath. Just because your trooper romance didn’t end how you had hoped doesn’t mean the same will happen for Kiva. Especially if he’s interested in sweet Fives.

“His name is Fives- CT-27-5555, if you want to get technical. But, only his twin is allowed to call him that, so don’t even think about it until he says you can use it” your voice is warm and quiet. It drips with whiskey and sweetens the soft smile you share with Kiva. His shocked expression causes a flurry of giggles from your lips. “He’s an ARC Trooper in the 501st. Too charming for his own good, but he knows exactly what to say at any moment,” you share as you watch Kiva’s lovestruck expression fall back onto your former friend. Taking a slow sip of your drink, a wave of conflicting emotions tumble through you. If you stepped one foot too close to that booth, all eyes would be on you. As much as you wanted to help Kiva, you knew that the night would only end abruptly if you inserted yourself back into the group.

“Doesn’t mean he’s into guys though,” Kiva nervously deflects with a wave of his hand and the last sip of his cocktail.

“Every time I would run into him, he would find a way to ask about you. I don’t think we’ve had a conversation that didn’t somehow include your name since he met you at Hellkai’s birthday party,” you carefully use the leg closest to him to start pushing him off the barstool.

“Wha-what,” Kiva stammers as he slightly stumbles out of his seat.

Before he can protest, you throw both your feet on top of the stool and cross your legs. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to leave. Either with me, or with Fives. Just let me know, and I’ll crash a couch somewhere. Now go have an interesting night,” you exclaim and shove him in the direction of the clones.

With every step Kiva took, the fleeting feeling of happiness seeped out of you. Although you see the nerves bouncing in Kiva as he weaved his way through the mass of tipsy dancers, you know he’ll be in caring hands. When he clears past most of the crowd, you see Fives stand up a little straighter and beam past the other trooper’s shoulder. Like a missing piece of the picture, Kiva finds his place next to Fives. A twist in your stomach tingles as he rests a hand on the back of Fives’ neck. With ease, Fives rests his hand on the small of Kiva’s back, and the tingles flame inside you. When their gazes meet, the coil snaps in you and you tear your stinging eyes away from the touching scene. Good for them. They both deserve happiness.

“You alright there, mesh’la?” a gentle hand rests on your shoulder. With a jolt, you snap your head and are met with a concerned clone. Your breathing becomes heavy as you open your mouth to send him away, but the sight of scratched blue armor with a medic symbol on the shoulder causes your throat to constrict.

“Hey, hey,” Kix slides closer to you and rests his other hand on your cheek, “It’s okay. Just too much to drink tonight, huh? How about some water then? Wait, you- you look familiar.”

“I’m fine,” you croak out and swing your body away from his caring hands to face the bar. You keep your shaking hands around your whiskey glass and watch the iceball water down your only ally in the bar.

“Wait a minute,” his timber voice hummed closer as he slid into the now open stool, “It is you. What- what are you doing here?”

“Don’t worry, Kix. I’m not here to ruin anyone’s fun. Just trying to have my own,” you bitterly chuckle.

“That’s not what I meant,” Kix rests an arm on the bartop and shifts his body closer into your personal space. His usually soft eyes flood with concern as he takes in your appearance. “I- we haven’t seen you in months, mesh’la. Thought you moved planets- kriff, even to a different system. Rex wouldn’t let up any info, so we all thought it was an emergency”.

You’re barely able to keep the choked sob locked behind your grimace as your heart pounds in  your throat. The truth trying to break past your loyal lips. Shrugging, you keep your eyes locked on the flowing lights that twinkle behind all the glass bottles. The cold synthetic material of your glass balances on your lip before you throw it back.

“Enough,” Kix hisses and grabs your wrist to pull the cup away. His look of disbelief causes a twinge of guilt to register in your haze.

“Come one, mesh’la. Let’s get you home,” Kix carefully wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you up. 

Panic stabbing into your skin, you throw some credits onto the bar and try to drag your feet to stop him. “Kix, what are you doing?” you hiss. 

“Making sure nothing bad happens to you. Why were you alone over there? You must have seen us in our usual spot,” Kix looks at you in confusion as the two of you work your way through the throng of dancing bar goers.

“Because,” you try to quickly clear the situation before you are recognized by any other clones, “there’s a reason that Rex didn’t want to talk about me”.

You try to wriggle out of Kix’s hold once you see Kiva and Fives wrapped in each other’s arms. “Seriously, Kix. Leave it alone. You’re doing more harm than good,” you practically beg.

“What are you talking about? Look, even if you and Rex are in a bit of a tricky spot, I can guarantee that you’re his endgame. The man won’t stop talking about you,” Kix sends a genuine smile your way and rubs his thumb in soothing circles on your side.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Fives calls both of you over. Kiva straightens up in Fives’ embrace as he watches the two of you walk towards the booth.

You frantically shake your head and try to think of a plausible excuse to get out of this. What was once your safe haven for nights out now spits you deep into enemy territory.

“I thought I said to keep it easy on the drinks,” Kiva chuckles uncomfortably and moves to your other side, “Time to go home, huh?” Slipping his arm around your waist above Kix’s own, Kiva turns to say something to Fives.

“Wait, no. Do you have to,” Fives castes the two of you a sad look. “I didn’t even know you were plantside, and now you try to scurry out in a rush? That’s just rude,” Fives jokes.

“Come join us, mesh’la,” Kix coaxes you, “All the guys have missed you and would be thrilled to catch up. We’ll just get some sodas for the rest of the night”.

“You’re joking. No way in haran that me and Jesse are letting you go home before we start the games,” Fives reaches for your hand as you shake your head so hard, it nearly causes you to tumble over.

“Fives, cya’re, it’s time we go home. This one can’t even stand on their feet,” Kiva tries again and successfully makes one step closer to the exit. Which is one step closer towards Fives and the entrance to the CO booth.

“Cyar’ika, let’s get them in a seat then,” Fives leans into Kiva’s chest to whisper something in his ear. You feel the excited tremble on Kiva's side and another wave of guilt washes over you.

“Guys, come one. I’m fine. Definitely not my worst night out, so I can get home with no issue. Kiva, why don’t you stay here,” you pull away from the group and notice the growing number of glances you’re all attracting.

“Why are you trying to run from us? I thought we were your friends,” Kix’s voice is dry with confusion and hurt.

“We can hang out another time. I promise. I’m just tired. You said it yourself, I’ve had enough for tonight,” you frantically try to deescalate the growing unease in the area as you sway and twist through the crowd.

Not even caring about bumping into other patrons, you focus your attention away from the twisted expression on Kix’s face and the shouts of recognition from the CO table.

You use your elbows to move others out of your way, but the dull, plastoid armor does nothing but bite back at you. Blaster boots and high heels trip you as you lose yourself in the crowd once more. Your heart jumps in time with the rhythm of the song blaring. Sweat sits heavy on your skin as you break free and try to find sight of the exit.

Hallow pants wrack your body from the close proximity of other patrons, but you find the neon blue exit sign for the door. Taking the first step, you continue your trek to fresh air as you narrowly push past another clone and jostle the drink in his hand.

“Watch it,” the gruff voice mumbles.

Two words in a bitter tone are all that cause your blazing body to turn ice cold. He’s supposed to be up in the booth.

“Sorry,” you breathe out.

With a weary look from the corner of his eye, the clone’s stoic expression is broken by shocked realization. “Cyar’ika,” Rex’s voice rumbles.

“I’m just on my way out, so don’t worry about holding back. Okay? It’s all good. Have fun tonight,” you mutter breathlessly and sway a step forward.

“Hey,” Rex gently demands your attention. He twists his body to face you completely and holds out his free arm to catch you from falling.

“Are you-,” Rex looks at you with tense, uncomfortable eyes, “Are you okay? You look-”.

“You don’t get to ask that anymore,” you growl behind gritted teeth. Pushing his arm out of your way, you continue your trek to the exit. You are so close. Just a few more bodies to get past.

“Wait a minute- kriff,” Rex exclaims and gently grasps your arm.

“Stop it,” you hiss, “You’re going to make a scene. Just let me go. Let me go, again.” The final word sits heavy in the air, and Rex’s grip tightens around you for a moment.

“Take this,” Rex mutters, “I’m walking this one home. Too much to drink”. Without a moment to register who he was speaking to, Rex pulls you along to the exit. Not even casting a glance to make sure you could keep up with his determined strides.

Stumbling behind Rex, you can’t find the strength to pull your arm out of his careful hold or tear your glossy eyes away from his figure. With each step closer to the entrance way, you choke back the dry sobs that well inside you. You had hoped that the last time you were with Rex in the 79s that it would be a happy memory. Instead, the galaxy decided to throw the two of you together for one last spat.

The cool night time air soothes your burning cheeks. Speeders and cruisers fly past the entry line of rowdy soldiers and excited patrons as they wait for entry. Coruscant’s cityscape lights up the starry night with synthetic warmth from billboard to skyscraper.

“Same place,” Rex asks softly.

Not answering his question, or allowing yourself to meet his pertinent gaze, you feebly pull your arm out of his comforting hand. “Please, stop,” your hollow voice responds.

“Cyar’ika,” Rex says in exasperation, “Come on, you shouldn’t be out like this. Let’s get you back-”.

“Stop,” your hoarse voice pleads as you begin walking back to your apartment. Memories of walking home with Rex after a night out with the 501st should bring you happiness. You didn’t want them to be tainted by the lingering heartbreak of tonight if you could help it.

The racing sounds of nightlife mutffle your hearing, so a stab of fear strikes you when you feel yourself being suddenly tugged into the side alley of 79s.

“Enough,” Rex growls into your ear. He leads both of you out of sight and behind some of the bar’s shipment crates. With careful hands, he lightly pushes you into the wall and stays pressed up in front of you. Just enough room for you to push him away if you really wanted to. Just enough room to intoxicate your senses with only his presence.

Running his hands over his cropped hair, Rex watches you with a glint of frustration in his eyes. “I tried to be nice,” he starts off in a low voice.

“I didn’t fucking ask. I told you I was leaving,” you bite back. Your finger nails dig into the palm of your hand.

“Will you let me speak,” he snaps. His chest plate rising and falling in heavy breaths. “You were the one kicking up a scene in there and out front. What are you doing here?”

“You don’t own this bar, Rex. Anyone can come and enjoy a night out,” you seethe.

“I may not own this bar in a legal sense, but this is the closest place us clones can call home. You know that. Why not some other bar? I told you- we’re done. We had a nice run. But we need split ways,” he rumbles. With each painful word, his face moves closer your own. Hard, amber eyes lock with yours as mixed emotions flash across the surface to show peeks of the soft look of adoration underneath. The musky scent of his cologne mixes with the whiskey on his breath to make you feel dizzy. “That includes where we spend our nights out. Now I’m going to have to bat off Kix and Fives for who knows how long”.

“That’s what you wanted. Not me,” you lash out. His eyes widen slightly at your volume, and you jab his chest plate with your finger before he can regain control of the conversation. “I didn’t want our relationship to end. I didn’t want you to let me go. I didn’t even get a say in the matter. And, I certainly didn’t ask you to be nice”. Your voice steadily grows in volume as your body trembles in anger. “You're a soldier. You made where your loyalty stands, so fucking clear. If this is your choice then you have to own up to the consequences of your actions. So dealing with your squad’s questions -- my fucking friends, who I haven’t see because I for some fucking reason respected your request for space -- about why I haven’t been around or why I was so desperate to leave tonight, is your own fucking fault. Kriff, for someone who is haran bent to follow orders and lead by a good example, you’re an awful person”. 

Rex takes a step away from you. Hurt melts away his anger, and he looks down at his boots. Fists flexing by his sides.

“This isn’t you,” you quietly sob, “I know you. I know the real Rex. Your boys know you, and they see something’s wrong”. With shaking hands, you softly hold his armored hand in a careful clasp. “Why won’t you let me in? Let me help you. All I have wanted in our relationship is to be by your side and support you”. You take a daring step closer to him, and when he doesn’t pull away, you wrap him in a tight embrace. 

The cool plastoid feels grimy to your skin. They couldn’t have been plantside for more than a few hours. Desperate to taste a sense of home and normalcy after the latest dire mission. Tentative hands drag across the fabric of your shirt and press you further into his chest plate.

Rex flexes his fingers to gently pull your body as close as he can with armor still sitting heavy on his shoulders. Pressing his face into the curve of your neck, he breathes you in to try to ground him. It’s always been you. Your face is the first image that would grace his vision when he closes his eyes each night. Memories of small acts of love keeps him grounded when news of a lost brother is announced. The echo of your laugh overpowers the crashing bomb shells on the battleground. No matter where in the galaxy he travels to, Rex can only think about you and how you have cared for him. He couldn’t risk that being taken away from him. He couldn’t risk anyone trying to use a GAR officer’s riduur as leverage.

“Enough,” Rex’s broken voice pleads into the crook of your neck. He closes his watery eyes and pulls you closer when you tenderly trail your finger across his back plate. Even with GAR issued armor and regulation protection, Rex knows your caring hands will be his downfall.

“Rex,” you gasp in his ear. Your voice light like the cool breeze that causes both of you to shiver. “Rex, I-”.

“Don’t,” he begs, “Don’t say it”. He drags his nose across the column of your neck, and both of you feel slight dampness where your bodies connect. Placing a gentle kiss in the dip of your neck, Rex shakes his head and pleads, “Cyar’ika, if you finish that sentence I will never be able to walk away from you. Not even when I’m called back to base for training or briefings. Especially, not when I know I face death like a familiar acquaintance everyday”.

“But, you didn’t face death today,” you hold him closer. The two of you are trying to mold into each other. Either to rekindle a lingering flame or to imprint a final memory of each other’s body to forever remember. “You face your lover today. Your lover who only asks one thing of you”.

Rex shudders a pained breath that sweeps across your skin. His lips trail everywhere as he can’t find the strength to pull himself away from your hold. “I can’t stay, cyar’ika. And, I can’t put you through the constant pain of not knowing if I’m alive,” his words break with a sob. “I’m trying to protect you. I don’t get to make many choices for myself or my  life, but I have the choice to protect you. I will always choose you, your safety, and your happiness over my own. My runi is tied to yours, and I am bound to you for darasuum”. Overwhelmed by emotions, Rex moves his head to lean his forehead against yours. Tears freely stream down his face as he bares himself in front of you.

“You are my happiness, riduur,” your gentle affirmation is met by a pained whimper. “Without you, I am nothing but a body. My runi is tied to yours, and I am bound to you for darasuum. Come home, lover”.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” Rex whispers. His amber eyes glisten as he watches your own eyes trickle with tears.

“Then come home where you belong. By my side. I don’t ask you to give up your brothers or stay away from the battlefield. Let me know that when you come planetside on leave, that you’ll come home to me and let me care for you”.

Unable to tell where one body starts and the other meets, the two of you keep each other in a searing embrace. Tears stream together as you press closer to his face. Nose bumps cause choked chuckles to fall. Heavy breaths fan across chapped lips just millimeters away from meeting in the middle.

“Please,” your soft plea ghosts over his mouth. Your invitation tastes of home cooked meals and warm caf in the morning.

“Always, cyar’ika. I will do everything in my power to come home to you,” Rex promises and places a gentle kiss on your growing smile, “I’m so sorry I left you, riddur”.

One hand slips just underneath the hem of your shirt to feel the familiar planes of your body as Rex rests his other hand on the nape of your neck. Unable to fight against the force pulling the two of you together, Rex dips down and presses a chaste kiss to your beaming smile. Another falls soon after, slightly longer as he traces the curve of your bottom lip with his tongue. And another when you look at him in adoration that pulls a soft sigh. A new sound to allow himself to reimagine when he misses you. Ready to come home to caring hands.

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[dumfanting]

Lost and Found

AO3 Link

Rating: M, mature

Warnings: Order 66, post Order 66, being shot at, canon-typical violence

Notes: F Jedi reader, second person perspective, present tense

2638 Words

(A big shout out and thank you to @rain-on-kamino for ‘Still Life’ which gave me the idea for this fic. [As if I don’t have enough multi-part series going already!] I actually posted this on AO3 a few days ago but work has been exhausting so it’s a little late coming here. I’m really excited for this new project, I hope you will be too.)

(Edit: I realized that I got the troopers name wrong so I’ve gone back and fixed it, along with a minor edit that makes this chapter flow better)

F Reader/ Nax (clone veteran)

You managed to escape Coruscant during Order 66, but didn’t expect anything to come back for you on Daiyu.

————

You’ve been on Daiyu for nearly ten years now, and every day has been the same. You work your quiet midday shift at the lounge, avoid having to speak to anyone beyond that, and rush home, all the while keeping an ear to the ground for any news about the remaining Jedi like you. It’s your routine, and it’s incredibly monotonous and lonely, but it’s kept you safe. You came to this planet specifically because it’s populated with people just like you. People who want to disappear and go unnoticed and unbothered. Everyone here minds their own business, and it’s exactly the kind of place you need.

You didn’t think you’d be found. And you certainly never expected who would be the one to find you.

It’s been a normal day so far, for the most part. On your way back from work, as you keep your head down and move through the busy street, you suddenly Sense someone familiar. Someone you haven’t seen since you left Coruscant. In shock, you freeze, your eyes darting around and sweeping over all of the faces passing you by. You find nobody, and try to Sense them again, but get nothing. Tired from a tough shift, you decide that the fatigue is getting to you, and continue home, moving quickly.

When you arrive at your small apartment, you double lock the front door and check that all of the windows and balcony doors are also still locked. Another step in the routine. Once you’re satisfied, you step into the refresher, stripping off your Spotchka stained tunic as you go. Undressed, you get under the shower head, the pulsing hot water relaxing your tense muscles. As you soap yourself up, your mind keeps wandering back to whatever you thought you had sensed outside. You repeat to yourself that you’d simply imagined it (even though you’ve never experienced anything like that before). Whatever it was, it doesn’t sit right with you.

You finish your shower, dry off, and get dressed into a plain robe. You return to the living area, lit in shades of cyan blue and magenta from the neon lights just outside your windows, and sit heavily onto the floor. It’s been too long since you last meditated, you think, so maybe that’s what the odd occurrence on your way home was: a side effect of a clouded mind. You settle into position and close your eyes, trying to clear your head.

It takes over an hour, but you manage to do so, then a sudden, urgent knocking at your door shatters your concentration. You get to your feet, confused. You haven’t ordered any food, and you don’t know anyone well enough for them to stop by like this. You cautiously approach the door and check the intercom camera to see who it is. It’s Haja Estree, and a stone of resentment drops into your gut at the sight of him. You know who he is, and what he’s been up to; you want nothing to do with any of it, and he knows that. He knocks again.

“What the hell do you want?” you say, your voice crackling through the old speaker.

He looks toward the camera while saying that someone needs your help. You activate the speaker again and your voice is cold.

“Haja, I’ve told you before, I won’t-,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“It's not me,” he says, then steps aside and makes room for someone else to move into view. They look directly into the camera and appear to make eye contact with you. Your heart nearly stops as you gasp, and you Sense it again, whatever you had picked up on only a few hours ago, except now you know exactly who it was.

It’s Master Kenobi. He’s gotten older, like you, but he looks aged beyond his years, like a ghost of his former self. Looking past the deep lines and heavy shadows, you recognize his eyes, even if they’ve gone a bit dull, and there’s no doubt in your mind that it’s actually him. You shut the camera off and unlock the door.

“Master Kenobi! I thought you were dead,” you say, keeping your voice down, as the door slides open.

“That was the idea,” he says, and he sounds worn down, defeated, nothing like the confident and decisive leader he once was. Your heart aches for him. He’d clearly been through just as much as you, if not more. You step back and invite him inside. Estree, who you had forgotten was still there, tries to follow, but another hard glare from you stops him in his tracks. Master Kenobi looks over his shoulder at him.

“Go, but don’t wander too far,” he says. Estree nods, and sets off down the nearby stairs. You shut the door and double lock it again, then lead Master Kenobi into the small kitchen to brew him some tea. He settles in at the table, watching you. You can tell that there’s something urgent on his mind, but you have a few questions for him first.

“How did you find me?” you ask, handing him a steaming mug and sitting across from him.

“Pure chance,” he says softly, sipping at his tea. “Only a few hours ago, I thought I saw you in the street, but told myself it was merely someone who looked like you. I was sure you hadn’t survived. Then it was confirmed once I Sensed you. Estree knew where you were.”

“I didn’t see you, but I Sensed you too. I thought I had imagined it,” you say, also speaking softly.

You want to ask Master Kenobi what happened to him, but hesitate. He seems to know what you’re thinking, though, and quickly recounts his fight with Master Skywalker on Mustafar, not long after the clones turned on him. You listen with rapt attention, shocked by what you’re hearing.

After a long, silent moment, he finally sips at his tea. You can tell that he wants to ask what happened to you too. You take a moment to collect your thoughts, then sigh and tell him your own story.

You didn’t work with Master Skywalker and the 501st, but you knew them well enough, and happened to be in the hangar when you noticed a large group of the men standing around. You stepped closer, scanning over the familiar faces for one in particular, but he found you first. Nax wove his way through his brothers and smiled at you, his amber eyes shining in the late afternoon sun.

“Commander,” he said, inclining his head at you.

“Trooper,” you said, doing the same. You glanced around to make sure that nobody was watching the two of you. Satisfied to find that everyone else was focused elsewhere, you subtly jerked your head toward a darkened maintenance hallway. Nax picked up on what you were implying immediately and followed you inside, first making sure nobody had noticed.

About a dozen feet from the open doorway, you came to a stop and leaned back against the shadowed wall. As soon as you did, Nax was on you, his lips crashing against yours while he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you as closely as he could. You reciprocated with enthusiasm, running your fingers through his closely cropped hair before clasping your hands together behind his neck. You opened up and after your tongues slid together for a few seconds, he pulled back with a groan.

“Good Maker I missed you,” he said, kissing you along your jaw and down your neck.

“It was only three rotations,” you said, chuckling at him. You moved a hand to cup the side of his face, his tanned skin smooth and freshly shaven.

“Mesh’la, three hours is too long to be apart from you,” he said as he straightened back up, and your chest fluttered at his words. You kissed him deeply again, gripping his shoulders and holding him close. The kiss intensified, and when he set his hands on your hips, something loud echoed into the hallway from the hangar, and the two of you were abruptly reminded that you could be caught here.

Nax pulled away from you and rolled his eyes before he pressed his forehead into yours. You took a moment to close your eyes and breathe him in while he did the same.

“God I wish this war would just end, I want to be with you so badly,” you said. He hummed thoughtfully.

“I know, love. I do too,” he said, though he sounded unsure of something. You knew what he was thinking though. The Jedi Order forbade attachments like this.

“I’ll leave,” you said, and he stepped back, looking confused.

“For me? Are you serious?” Nax said in disbelief. You stepped forward and softly kissed him again.

“Yes,” you said. “Then we wouldn’t have to hide.”

“Cyare,” he whispered, holding you closely again, and you can sense a bubble of hope rising in his chest.

A split second later, you pushed away from him without realizing it, suddenly overcome by an intense feeling of doom within the Force. It was suffocating and your head spun from the intensity of it. This was unlike anything you had ever felt before, and on top of this, there was a sudden explosion of blaster fire and hollering from the hangar. You grabbed at either side of your head and fell into an odd crouch while groaning with fear and confusion.

Nax was halfway through asking what was wrong before he just as suddenly froze and stood stock-straight. A feeling of desperate conflict pulsed out of him and hit you hard enough to drown out the sense of panic that was threatening to overwhelm you. You lowered your hands from your head as you stood and looked towards him, but held them up again when you found Nax pointing his blaster at you with one hand.

Despite the shock of this, you noticed how badly he was shaking, and it looked like he was in physical pain, so you stepped closer to him, obviously worried.

“Don’t!” he shouted, startling you into backing away by a few steps.

“Nax?” you said, lowering your hands again as you took a step forward, reaching out for him.

“Get away from me!” he shouts again, now pointing his blaster at you with both hands. You felt something overshadow his conflict. Whatever he was doing, it terrified him.

“Nax, what-?” you said as you took another step closer, but he cut you off by growling and firing at your feet. You barely jumped backward in time, and the shot left a smoking scorch mark on the ground where your left foot had been only a second before.

Also terrified now, you pulled out your lightsaber and activated it, the bright green light filling the dark hallway. With this, you were able to see his face more clearly. Whether it was from exertion or emotion, tears were streaming down Nax’s face and fear filled his eyes.

The two of you stared at each other for only a second. Nax, panting, met your eyes and said, in a shaky whisper, “Run,” before firing at you again, but this time he aimed for your chest. You barely deflected the shot, and after another was fired, Nax roared for you to get the hell out of there.

Confused and scared, you did just that, sprinting away from him down the hallway and dodging more blasts as you went.

When you finish speaking, your hands are trembling enough to spill a few drops of your tea onto the table. Master Kenobi watches you with an unreadable expression.

“I always had a feeling about the two of you,” he says. You brace yourself for a reprimand, but when it doesn’t come, you simply sit there, unsure of what to do or say. You both stay quiet for a while as you relive the worst day of your lives.

After a few seconds, you wipe a few stray my tears off of your cheeks, and get Master Kenobi’s attention again.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. He hesitates, but the feeling of urgency you sense in him intensifies. Stalling for time, he drains his mug and appears to be having a silent conversation with himself. “Master Kenobi?” you ask, and despite your soft voice. He can hear the concern there. He takes a deep breath, sets the mug down, and begins speaking.

He tells you that Master Skywalker and Senator Amidala had two twin children, Luke and Leia, a boy and a girl. You’d already suspected that something was happening between Master Skywalker and Senator Amidala, but never would have guessed it had gotten that far.

In the moments after their birth, Senator Amidala had died. He and Senator Organa decided it would be best to split the two of them up, for their own safety. Luke went to Tatooine to live with his uncle and aunt, and Senator Organa had taken in Leia. Master Kenobi also went to Tatooine, keeping an eye on Luke from afar. A few rotations ago, Leia had been abducted, and Senator Organa and his wife called Master Kenobi to help get her back. So far he had been able to track her down to this sector of the planet, and he suspected that the Empire was involved with it.

Master Kenobi pauses to sip at his tea again, but sets the mug back down. “I’ve told you too much. I’ve put you in danger now,” he says gravely, his eyes scanning your face.

“Who am I going to tell? I don’t know anyone I can trust here,” you say.

“And you managed to stay hidden for all this time,” he says, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself.

He stops talking for a moment and hesitates again, making your heart sink. You both know what he’s about to ask of you. He meets your eyes, but you look away.

“Master Kenobi, I-,” you say, but he softly interrupts.

“I stopped being a Master the moment I left Anakin on Mustafar,” he says, barely audible. “It’s just Ben now,” he continues.

“Oh,” you say, trying not to outwardly react to the strong wave of regret and grief that just rolled over you from him. “I’m sorry, Ben, but…,” you say, trailing off.

“You can’t take the risk,” he says, finishing your sentence for you. You meet his eyes, but look away again, unable to take the way he’s scanning your face.

“I’m sorry, I really am,” you say, and your voice trembles.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, gently placing his hand, rough from years of labor but still just as warm, over yours. “I know that I’ve asked a lot of you, I understand.”

When he says your name, you look back up at him, and despite the tears shining in your eyes, you hold his gaze.

“You’re alive,” he says, speaking softly. “But more importantly, you’re safe. I don’t want to jeopardize that.” You blink back the tears threatening to spill over and apologize again. He says nothing, withdraws his hand, and gets back to his feet. You follow suit, taking a moment to pick up the empty mugs and set them down in the sink nearby.

Wiping at your eyes, you walk back to the front door with him. As it slides open, you get his attention one last time.

“If you really need me, come back. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye out for Leia,” you say. “Please, be careful out there,” you continue, your eyes pleading as they meet his for the last time.

Master Kenobi, or Ben, that is, says the same to you before stepping into the hallway where Estree is waiting for him.

Next: Chapter Two

Taglist: @kaminocasey @madameminor @jennamelinda12 @arctrooper69 @the-cantina @jedi-hawkins

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#my fics #series #nax #kenobi series

[themand0lorian]

T’ad Baar, Solus Runi (Part 3)

Summary: The ball arrives, bringing unexpected events; the baker and the Mand’alor experience a loss; two become one.

Pairing: Mand’alor!Din Djarin x F!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating:  PG-13 (Mild swearing, canon-typical violence, mentions of abuse)

Words: ~6900 (Part 1) (Part 2) (AO3)

Tags: Cinderella!AU, mentions of canon-typical violence, enough Mando’a to kill a man (meanings, hopefully, can be inferred from the text but I did include a list at the end), ReluctantMand’alor!Din, playing fast and loose with The Way, ANGST, death of a minor character, recollections of past abuse, love confessions, they all live happily ever after

Notes: The long awaited final part! Part of my 300 follower celebration! (As I’ve said previously, this may be less edited/proofread than my usual fics due to the amount of writing I am doing for this!)

Whatever sense of confidence Ava provided soon diminishes as you quietly walk to the palace. Even from a distance, you can see shadows of figures moving, hear the low din of conversation and music, of opulence. By now, most of the guests have arrived, and you are the only one patting up the dark path. You’ve never been to the castle up close before, truthfully uninterested in its sole inhabitant, but as you approach, you start to take it in. There’s a protective wall surrounding the grounds, steep and sleek stone, with a metal gate, which is propped open for the ball. Behind the wall stands the castle, large, dark wooden doors somehow both an entrance and a warning. Above them hangs a mythosaur symbol, large and gleaming under low light. You run your finger over the matching one on Ava’s helmet, worrying the raised bumps with your thumbs as you stand below it, staring.

You take a deep breath, making eye contact with the hollow eye sockets where the mythosaur’s once were, and slide the helmet over your head, blinding you completely. The sensation is entirely foreign as you nudge the underside in several places; despite having never worn one, you had been around enough Mandalorians to know how it works. Immediately, your vision returns, a clear image of what’s in front of you. You’re thankful to Ava for her previous choices, a realistic and non-filtered image showing through the helmet instead of a distorted one that many others got.

When you looked back to the imposing wooden doors, the helmet continued in its momentum; slightly too big, not made for your face, it takes some righting to get it back into place. It covers your face and hair completely, the edge brushing your collar bone. Surprisingly, it doesn’t feel heavy; it feels as though you’ve worn it forever. With a deep, now modulated breath, you pull open one of the heavy doors, entering the castle.

It’s easy to find your way to the ball; your hearing is heightened in the helmet, and you follow the sound of the crowd to another large set of doors before pulling them open. At that moment, you were even more thankful to Ava, as her helmet portrayed full color. Brilliant purples and oranges decorated the large ballroom, swaths of fabric hung from high up rafters to give a festive motif. Rich tapestries hung from the walls, likely the permanent décor, depicting a horned skull, different from the mythosaur out front, but a creature you had never seen before; the fabric rust red and thick. There were large tables set out with all kinds of foods—meats, cheeses, breads-- even a few sweets you glanced at, your eyes falling to a pile of blue cookies before being swept by the band as they started their next set. Strings, brass and lyrics sung in Mando’a quickly filled the space, several groups moving toward the open dance floor to enjoy the music. At another table, Mandalorians clinked cups full of caf and spotchka, raising their glasses before raising their helmets to imbibe.

Twinkling lights hung from every open space on the ceiling, illuminating the crowd of Mandalorians in various states of armor in a sea of sparkling beskar. Some wore their full suits, others just the helmet and formalwear, all reflective and painted in various colors. You had never seen so many people, so many warriors in one place; it almost felt like the room was spinning with them; the movement of the helmet, the whispers of nosy neighbors at an unidentified warrior deafening. You had never felt more like an imposter, standing there in your borrowed helmet in a room full of people you disagreed with, living their life for a day for the sake of a stranger who you were just starting to trust—the thought made your stomach turn. Then, like the Force itself, a hand snuck its way to your hip, grounding you in place and releasing all the tension you felt with a single word.

“Sarad.”

The ball was well underway, and Din was already huffing in contempt, much to Paz’s glee. Each eligible person introduced themselves readily, including their clans, their long family history as Mandalorians in their introduction. Din would nod once to each before moving on, courteous but clearly searching the crowd as his head turned slowly. Paz followed behind him at a distance, ready to assist but knowing Din would never ask.

“He isn’t cooperating.” Tonko’s voice catches Paz’s attention, and all he can do is laugh and nod at the desperate man.

“Sounds like the Mand’alor,” he replied dryly, taking his eyes off the Mand’alor to face the shorter advisor.

“He needs to take this seriously, Viszla! He needs a riduur, heirs to the throne! The creed!” Tonko is practically combusting, watching Din shrug off yet another suitor in passing as he makes his way across the ballroom.

“I told you this wouldn’t work, Tonko,” Paz chides. Tonko is quiet as Paz speaks, causing Paz to follow his gaze to Din, stopped with a young woman in a flowing dress. Din is holding a conversation with her, posture eased in the crowd, even reaching his arm to her body as they talk.

“Yeah! Then what do you call that?” Tonko replies excitedly, as if he himself would be getting married. “Who is she? Do you know her? Who is her clan?” Paz struggles to make out her form from the distance before answering.

“No, I’ve never seen her,” Paz answers, though he has some inkling of who she might be.

“Well, now that this is settled, I am going to go enjoy myself,” Tonko replies, almost giddy. “When they swear the riduurok, notify me immediately!” Paz rolls his eyes under his helmet at the man walks away, seemingly content that the Mand’alor will be married by the end of the week, if not by the end of the night.

Din had been waiting on bated breath, eyes scanning the entrance of the ballroom for the entire night for your entrance. He trusted the woman at the market, who seemed to know too much, but still worried his lip under the helmet that you wouldn’t show. When you cautiously walked in, it felt like all the air had been knocked from his chest. He knew it was you immediately, from the unsure way you wore the helmet, to the sway of your walk, to the shining purplish-silver dress you wore, sparkling like the brightest parts of the galaxy. It was like you had come from his dreams, manifesting in front of him and he was drawn to you, pushing through the crowd lightly until he was at your back.

“Sarad,” he breathed, running a hand along your waist to get your attention. You twirled to him quickly, heart racing at the unfamiliar faces and the helmet on your head seemed to move on its own accord, rotating too much until you righted it again. The man in front of you was dressed impeccably, dark suit fitted to perfection over a light button up; a familiar orange poppy pinned to the lapel. His helmet was shiny silver, a black T down the middle with concave edges for the cheeks. Your breath caught in your throat.

“How did you know it was me?” You asked quietly, voice modulated for the first time. Your heart was racing, but somehow, here in his presence, you knew it was the man you had been looking for.

“I told you, I would know,” he insisted, resting a hand on your shoulder to pull you slightly closer. All your senses were heightened at his touch, the surround sound of the crowd overwhelming. You could hear murmurs over the stringed music playing, wisps of gossip and information in the helmet speakers, your heart rate increasing at all the unfamiliar stimuli. The man seemed to sense this, pulling you closer. “Would you like to step out to the green?” You nodded, helmet flipping wildly as your head moved. The man placed his hand on your lower back and guided you through the crowd to the large open area behind the room, expansive with lush trees and grass despite the arid climate. The side walls were filled with flowers, not unlike the one you had found at your stall, and you were raised slightly on a platform to overlook the vegetation. The tension seemed to roll off of you once in the cool air hit, darkness cast from the walls offering some anonymity. Before you could thank him, he broke your thoughts.

“You can take the helmet off out here, if you are uncomfortable.” You were unused to his modulated voice; you missed the expression of his eyes. But you followed his instructions gratefully, taking the helmet off and resting it on the ledge of the overhang next to you before taking a deep breath.

“What about you?” You gestured to the silver helmet peering back at you. Light from inside the room was catching on the creases of his helmet and the sparkles of your dress, the chatter much less muffled now that the helmet is off your head, but he stood perfectly still in front of you.

“I can’t tonight, Sarad. I’m sorry.” You nodded solemnly, deciding not to press for further questions.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I want…I want you to be happy.” You nodded, slightly confused but pushing back the tears pricking at your eyes at the sentiment.

“I could never be uncomfortable with you,” you offer, moving slightly closer to his rigid body until you’re almost touching. Your breath fogs the visor imperceptibly, and you know he is holding eye contact despite not seeing it yourself. The stringed music in the ballroom shifts to a lilting ballad, and before you can pick up on the change, his hand has snaked around your waist.

“Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Sarad?”

“The honor is mine,” you smile, holding his gloved hand in yours and placing the other on his broad shoulder, the fabric underneath smooth and pressed. Under the smooth music, he leads you to sway back and forth gracefully; it feels like your body is electrified and the tension is palpable. You enjoy the gentle lead he provides, moving you in tight circles while holding you close, like the moment was just for the two of you. You speak softly again, like the words are reserved just for him. “I missed you at the market today, Mandalorian.”

“My name is Din. Din Djarin,” he barely rasps out, and you are almost shocked by the confession. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop by today.”

“Please stop apologizing, Din,” you smile sincerely, and his heart flips in his chest hearing his name from your lips. “What took you so long to tell me your name?” He turns his head away from you for the first time, likely from embarrassment, and you use your free hand to push it gently back in your direction until his eyes meet yours again. He never breaks from your body, still guiding you gently in a sway.

“I am not a good man, Sarad…” he starts, but you cut him off.

“You’re right. You’re a great man,” you counter, touching your forehead to his lightly, closing your eyes as you continue to move to the music. He takes a deep breath, closing his too, trying to remember this image for the rest of his life before it crumbles before him. He wonders if you understand the significance of the movement to him, thinking you must, but unsure of his own feelings at the moment. Instead, he pulls away, trying to look you in the eyes.

“I need to tell you something, I--” he pulls away, but when he meets your face, it’s devoid of emotion and color as you stare into the distance.

“I have to go, Din, I’m sorry,” you stutter, moving quickly to grab the discarded helmet from the ledge and try to escape the party.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Uh—the Mand’alor! I haven’t met the Mand’alor, and I need to go,” you ramble, offering the first excuse you can think of while trying to leave him, not prepared to face the full truth. He lightly grasps the other side of the helmet in your hands to stop you. Your eyes are moving around the party in a frenzy, and he tries to follow your gaze as he speaks.

“Sarad, that’s what—"

“Dral dala,” a heavy, modulated voice sighs, almost in a laugh. Suddenly, you’re plastered in your spot, hands limply at your sides and face fallen as Din turns and instinctively moves an arm in front of you, now holding your helmet in his hand. A man about Din’s height, dressed in yellowish armor with a diamond visor is looking at you, swirling a drink in his hand.

“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong person, I was just leaving,” you stutter, trying to make it past the two men.

“No, I’d recognize that soft heart anywhere,” he slurs drunkenly, and your body almost reflexively turns in on itself as he lifts the helmet slightly to take a large slurp of his drink, allowing it to fall again roughly. “Didn’t think you’d still be following Mandalorians like a lost Massiff after you refused the creed. You must really be desperate.”

“Hey!” Din yells, firm, as you stay frozen. The man seems to regard him for the first time, a laugh escaping through the vocoder.

“Ha! Not just Mandalorians! The Mandalorian! The Mand’alor,” he yells loudly and proudly, mocking a bow, and his voice is swimming in your head. Din’s fist clenches at the helmet, and he starts to approach threateningly, recognizing the man from your story as you process his words. Din’s about to wind back but your hand meets his bicep, bringing him back to you.

“You—you’re the Mand’alor?” you whimper, eyes wide and breathing heavily like he had punched you in the gut the way Gar had all those years ago. When he doesn’t respond, you continue. “All this time? You’ve been the Mand’alor? And you never told me?” Gar is swaying side to side, but in a sudden feat of courage, you ignore him, only making eye contact with the T visor in front of you.

“Sarad, I—”

“No. I--no,” you reply, tears threatening to escape your eyes as you pick up the front of your dress and quickly start to walk back into the ball.

“Turning down the Mand’alor. I knew you didn’t have it in you, to be a Mandalorian.” Gar smeared his words as he spoke. You took one final look into his visor before speaking.

“I have more Mandalorian in my pinky than you have in your entire body, hut’uun,” you spit, looking his drunk form up and down in disgust before turning on your heel and walking back into the party. He was so smashed he sauntered back from negging; unsure feet caught by few palace guards who forcefully led him from the party.

Din didn’t even see him go, instead moving frantically between the crowd after your retreating figure. The lights, the people, the noise was all too much, reeling in his head as his heart felt like it had plummeted to his stomach, like the dread he had felt all too often was resurfacing. He was desperate to catch up, but the sight of the Mand’alor brought a murmur to the crowd, and suddenly he was being blocked by suitors again. He tried to move around them silently, distractedly, but when he got to the exit of the hall the door was already closing behind you. He ended up in the ballroom entryway alone, too late, before looking to his hands to see your discarded helmet still held in them.

“The baker?” Paz was standing at the door, the hum to the party closed behind them as he spoke gently. Din only nodded once, running his hands over the signet emblazoned on the back of the helmet in his hands before retreating through the castle halls himself, leaving Paz in the doorway as it swung sadly from his fingers in his gait.

When you break from the walls of the palace, you’re almost sprinting, running from some unknown terror that’s risen back in your throat. There are tears running down your face, ignored as you continue through the trees to your home. Your dress is gathered in your fingers as you run down the hill to the village, a deserted, uneasy quiet interrupted by the beating of your heart in your ears. Unable to face your own home, haunted by memories of Din—the Mand’alor, you remind yourself with disdain—you keep pace until you’re back in front of Ava’s hut, the soft glow of her lantern emanating from the window.

When you knock, there’s no answer, no stirring from within the house, but the glow taunts you, shows you she’s awake. Further terror seems to rise in your chest as you hurl the door open, calling out her name through the empty home as you make your way to her bedroom. The door was unlocked, unwise for an older woman in the middle of the night, but you continue further into the house, your feet moving before your clouded mind can keep up.

“Ad’ika,” she breathes slowly, her huddled form almost limp on the bed. You rush to her side, kneeling as you listen to her labored breathing as fresh tears gather in your eyes.

“I’m here, Ava. I’m here. What’s wrong? What hurts?” you rush out.

“It is time for me to go, ad’ika,” she says with an eerie calmness.

“No, it’s not Ava. I—I’ll go get the medic. He will help!” you yell and start to your feet, but she grasps your hand in hers weakly, keeping you at her side.

“Tell me of the ball, ad’ika. Of the Mand’alor.”

“The man from the market is the Mand’alor, Ava,” you cry, lowering your forehead to your joined hands. “We will never be. He—he lied to me. Maker—I’m so stupid for thinking he was different,” you breathe into her fist.

“The Mand’alor is your Kenth, ad’ika,” she chides slowly.

“What? What does that mean?” you stammer, trying to understand her words as she closed her eyes.

“The helmet, ad’ika?” You look to your side, suddenly remembering its location.

“I’m sorry, Ava—I’m sorry. I must’ve left it at the palace.” She hums. “I will get it back for you, and you can have a piece of Kenth again, and--and a warrior’s funeral,” you choke on the last words, coming to terms with what was happening.

“No, ad’ika. It is my time,” she breathes heavily between each word, like they pain her to say. “I do not want a warrior’s funeral; I want to die as I have lived. I will be with Kenth again. That is all I want,” she breaths slowly. “The helmet is yours.”

“No, Ava, I can’t--” you cry into her hand grasping yours, holding it to your forehead.

“Ad’ika. You did not swear the creed but you live by it every day. It is yours.” You gasp a deep breath before speaking again.

“How am I supposed to do this without you, Ava?” you sob.

“The same as you have done it with me. With strength, honor, compassion. This is the way. Your way.” You nod into her fist as you feel her grip loosen around your hand, and you search her face with a sob as you watch it soften with the rest of her body, passing peacefully to another life.

You end up staying at Ava’s for a few days, trying to get her affairs in order. Per her wishes, she was buried simply, a small goodbye for a woman who you felt deserved a great one, a nameless stone along a hobbled path among those before her. You thought often of her and Kenth, reuniting in whatever afterlife there may be, surrounded by wildflowers with broad smiles and shining sun; the scene of your dreams of your home planet transformed to one of reunion instead of separation. You wondered if, when your time came, you would also run in the field, if the faces you assumed were your parents would morph to Ava and Kenth instead, but pushed those thoughts aside as you sorted through her things.

Ava was a simple woman, not many possessions to her name, and you were able to sell most of her larger belongings quickly as you settled her estate. Some smaller trinkets, a hairpin you had always had your eyes on, an unfinished radio she had tinkered with, a set of jewelry making tools she never left home without ended up in a pile at the door, to be brought to your own home when you returned. Shoved in the back of her closet you found her remaining set of armor, returning most of it to the armorer in town for reuse save her chestplate, which you planned to carry along to her gravestone, hoping for some sense of honor of her past to be restored now that her helmet appeared lost to the Mand’alor.

Your thoughts had not gone to Din in some time, too overwhelmed by Ava’s passing for anything to clear the cloud of your mind, but on the walk out of town to the burial grounds, they meander back to the ball. The feeling when he told you his name, of his hand snaked at your waist as you danced. The way the crowd parted for him, his protective stance when Kene approached.

You huffed as you continued up the trail, cursing yourself for being so stupid, for falling for another Mandalorian, for believing his lies. Not just any Mandalorian, the Mand’alor. Sure, your first question upon meeting usually isn’t “hey, have you recently become the ruler of a planet of warriors,” but you feel like you should have known. The way the messenger in the square lingered on you, the secrecy around the ball. How many times had he asked you about your feelings on the Mand’alor? As some sick ego fuel for himself?

You arrive at the upturned grave, wrapped in your own thoughts as you set the chestplate down in front of it, kneeling in the dirt to pay your respects. You send a silent message to Ava, wherever she is, to give you strength for the day, to erase your thoughts of the warriors. When your head lifts and you start to leave, you notice a single orange poppy laid across the stone, striking against the cool gray. You stare at it for a long moment, considering removing it and crushing it, like he had done to you, but instead choose to leave it as you make your way back to Ava’s home. You miss the note in familiar handwriting tucked underneath.

Having a soft heart in a cruel world is courage, not weakness.

Din spends the rest of the ball, and the entire following cycle, in his quarters, unwilling to even look away from the lifeless visor sitting in front of him. The reflection of the metal projected your crushed face back to him, your panic as you saw the man who approached you. The way your head gently brushed his, the way you moved so smoothly in his arms. The way one touch felt like he had finally found his way again, like with Grogu all that time ago.

He lets Paz in after two cycles. His hulking brother sits quietly with Din, looking to the visor as well, hoping it will provide some answers. He’s spent the last two cycles talking Tonko down from a ledge, insisting Din would find the woman again—after all, she had left her helmet behind. Paz knows that’s not fully true, that Din knows exactly where she might be, where the helmet belongs, but he still stares at it, not even looking to Paz as he asks him to track down some citizens, to learn their histories; Paz’s helmet hides his surprise when your name was not on that list.

The warrior makes quick work of the list, reporting back to Din within another day with his findings. A drunken man with yellowed armor, Gar Kene. Kicked out of his covert for violating the Creed, left awash in the galaxy to take on more uncouth jobs, lost in the drink and returning to the planet only a few weeks ago at news of the ball. An elderly woman who sells wares at the market, Ava. A previous Mandalorian, of marriage into Clan Vane. Fought in the Great Purge before abandoning the Creed with her husband. Returned to the planet at the beginning of the reclamation; passed away only a few cycles ago.

Din barely shows any emotion as Paz speaks, face as blank as the helmet that sits before him. At the mention of Kene, the explanation of his crimes, his fists tense at his sides, but his face gives nothing away. When Paz announces Ava’s death, Din stands with a start, looking to the man in silent confirmation. When he receives a small nod, his face falls, and he grabs the feminine helmet before him, barely shoving it into his bag as he walks past Paz with growled instructions.

“Get Kene off my planet. Whatever it takes.” Paz nods, happy his own visor hides his smirk; Din has finally taken ownership over his rule. Instead, he replies simply.

“Mand’alor.”

Din starts at your home, haunted by the memories of your baking excursion. He thinks Grogu would like you, especially if you had sweets in your bag like you always seemed to, if you treated him like the other foundlings. He wonders if you saw the biscuits at the ball—he had the palace chef recreate the recipe, illegible handwriting leading to a kitchen disaster before the man ended up buying some himself to try to reconstruct. Din swears they’re not as good. He waits all day, hidden from the blistering sun under an awning, feet planted firmly in the sand. You never show up.

He goes to the market the next day. Your stall is empty, dusted in silt like you haven’t been there in days. He goes to the Taap’bajir, and Jax singles him out immediately—asking about you. You haven’t been by in days; he’s worried about you, ready to go to battle to bring you back to him. He has Paz pull the travel records for those going off world every day; your name does not appear. Every day, he trudges through the streets, his streets, looking for you; helmet heavy in his bag. He knows he could look harder, could turn to a bounty hunter in an instant, but he wants to respect your wishes—maybe, you don’t want to be found. It’s the second target he’s ever lost, and like the first, it’s one that’s important to him.

Finally, he visits the burial grounds, finding Ava Vane among the stones. He leaves a poppy, a note underneath, his true message unwritten. Please let me find you again.

It had been several weeks since you set out for the market, but credits were low, and you knew you had to get back to whatever daily life you had left following Ava’s passing. You took her remaining trinkets to your stall, setting them along your baked goods for the market as warriors and commoners flitted about. The market was bustling, most paying no mind to the stalls as they continued on their errands, but without Ava to distract you, you began to overhear conversations between the townspeople.

“I have heard the Mand’alor has chosen a riduur.”

“Oh? Anyone we know?”

“No, he has not announced who it is yet. They must be a great warrior.”

“Indeed. It is such a shame he--”

You quickly busy yourself by straightening your stock, trying to fill your ears with the scrapes and sounds of your goods instead of talk of the Mand’alor. Of Din. You barely notice a hush fall over the crowd until a loud clang reverberates from the table, drawing your eye; a heavy beskar helmet, metallic silver with a T-shaped visor, looks back at you.

When you look up fully, Din is standing at your stall, in full armor but without the helmet, boring straight into your eyes as you stutter.

“Mand’alor,” you whisper, starting to bow before his hand reaches out for your shoulder.

“Stop that.” You straighten again under his touch, unable to meet his gaze. “Please, let me explain.”

“Explain what?” you breathe. “You are the Mand’alor. And you have chosen a riduur.”

“What? No, I—look, Sarad, I—”

“Please don’t call me that,” you say calmly, trying to temper the hitch in your voice.

“Please let me explain? We can go somewhere more private, I just—”

“Are you asking me as Din or as the Mand’alor?” A crowd has gathered around you now, staring in awe at their unhelmeted leader. You realize this may be the first time they have made the connection, feeling some solace in the fact that you knew how they felt when the connection was made yourself.

“Whichever one will get you to listen to me,” he begs softly, and after a few tense moments, you nod. “Paz’ll watch your stall, sell your goods while you’re gone,” he offers, and you turn to the sky-blue armor standing a respectful distance away.

“As you wish, Mand’alor,” you nod again, and his entire body seems to fall as you come out from behind the stall, leading him to your hut in the distance.

You walk in silence, allowing him to follow you softly as you enter your own home. You haven’t been inside in weeks, dust and dirt settled across most of the surfaces, a job too big for Emtoo to keep up with in your absence, batteries drained without charging. Din seems to take in the stale air as you remain standing in the living room, your eyes still not meeting his, waiting for him to break the ice. His eyes dance over the dried poppies in the windowsill, the fact that you kept them giving him a dose of courage to begin speaking.

“Kene has been extradited from Mandalore,” he begins, and you nod to take in the information. “He was wanted for crimes on Coruscant.” Din shifts from foot to foot, unsure if he should explain further—how a well-placed holo and a promise of trades may have expedited the process of conviction. He decides against it, placing the helmet he grabbed on the counter to his side before trying to broach the subject of his title. “Sarad, I—”

“Din, why didn’t you tell me?” you finally met his eyes, tears gathering in the corners as you bite the bullet for him.

“I—I was scared,” he huffs, holding your eye contact. “You knew me as Din. As me. I was worried—if you knew who I was, that you would think differently of me.”

“And you thought this was the way to prevent that?”

“No, I—I don’t know what I was thinking! That day we met, I had come from the advisors, and they were telling me I needed a riduur, and I wanted to put on this show for them. Pretend to find someone so they would get off my back, and I could go back to just being me, and someone else would become the Mand’alor.” You hold your eyes steady on his as he speaks. “But then I met you. And you treated me like another Mandalorian, another person. You weren’t trying to impress me or marry me or convince me of anything. Do you know how long it’s been since someone just…talked to me? Saw me?” You stay silent for a minute, taking in his words before speaking again.

“So what? This was all some little game to play commoner for a while before you go back to your castle?” you spit, fueled by your own hurt.

“Maker—No!  I—I’ve come here every day, looking for you. To the market, to your home, trying to apologize. And if you can never forgive me, if you never want to see me again, I understand, but I needed to tell you. I can’t stand the idea of hurting you.” You’re freely crying now, and Din is torn between wanting to comfort you and breaching what little trust you had in him anymore, so instead he moves to the door of your hut.

“Din, wait, I—" He stops at the doorway, turning on his heels. “Ava is dead--”

“I know, I’m so sorry—”

“No, let me finish,” you interrupt him. “She died the night of the ball. She told me—she said when she died, she hoped she would see her late husband in the afterlife. She spoke of him often.” Din only nods as you continue. “They knew everything about each other, every mistake, every triumph, and loved each other all the same. And she told me this story, about how when the Maker forges Mandalorians, he splits one soul into two bodies, and the two are destined to find each other. He was the other half of her soul. T’ad baar, solus runi.” He’s started to approach you slowly as you speak, closing the distance between you until you could practically feel his breath on your skin. Still, you held his stare. “You hurt me, Din. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel that way about you. You—I think you are the other half of mine.”

“Please, Sarad, forgive me,” he begs, falling to his knees as he grasps your hands. You follow, kneeling into the dusty floor of your home, bringing you to equal height. “Please, you are it for me. My soul, my heart. I want to marry you, to raise children with you if you want them, or—or to raise the foundlings together, to grow old together.”

“No more secrets?” you whisper into his face, bringing your forehead to his as you snake your hands from him to rest on his shoulders.

“No more secrets,” he breathes in return, feeling like the weight of the world has lifted from his shoulders. Tentatively, you push your face closer to his, allowing him to envelop you fully with his arms as he kisses you fiercely. You wrap your hands around his neck, as you move together, only pulling back for breath despite Din looking weary to let you go, soft smiles exchanged in between a light peck.

“I forgive you, Din,” you reply, enjoying his embrace as you nuzzle into him. You’re both silent for a moment, enjoying the closeness, when he speaks again.

“I brought you this,” he exhales, reaching around to his pouch to produce Ava’s helmet.

“It was Ava’s,” you take it sorrowfully, brushing your hand over the petaled visor. “She left it to me.”

“I’ve been carrying it for weeks, trying to find you,” he hums, and you sit back on your heels, seeming to remember something as you gaze into the helmet. You look between the man in front of you and the lifeless visor in your lap.

“Din—I’m not a Mandalorian. How would this—”

“You say that, Sarad, but tell me—have you ever heard the creed?” He asks, and you nod solemnly. It was tradition to keep the actual words of the creed secret until it is sworn, to keep the sense of pride and exclusivity until a helmet is donned. If children were ready, they could swear the creed earlier, but for the most part, it was sworn at 18 cycles, never to be repeated again. “You—you live it every day. I would never ask you to become a Mandalorian for me. But I think if you heard it, if you knew what it was really about—I think you would find it’s not much different than who you already are.”

“But I thought you have to marry a Mandalorian, it is the Way,” you say smally, brushing invisible dirt from the crown of the helmet.

“It is not the Way,” he informs you, and your gaze meets him confusedly. “It was a law set by previous Mand’alors, to ensure the continuation of the Mandalorians.” You nod slowly, silently urging him to continue. “That means the current Mand’alor can change the law. Which is good, since I heard he’s in love with a non-Mandalorian.” You smile broadly, causing him to smile back, practically launching yourself into his arms for another kiss.

“I love you, Din Djarin,” you mumble into his lips. “My Mand’alor.”

“I love you, too, Sarad. My everything.” He embraces you fully for a few more minutes before pulling you to your feet with him, only putting you down once he’s stood fully. “Now let’s get back to the market, before Paz eats all your sweet rolls.”

The next few months seem to go by in a blur; Din asks you to move into the palace with him, and helps you pack up your few belongings, taking special care to preserve your dress from the night of the ball. Even Emtoo makes the trip up the hill, chittering along at your feet as Din carries some of your bags across his shoulders. Your furniture and housewares, no longer needed, were packed up for the Taap’bajir, Jax helping carry furniture twice his size in a show of strength, other kids and teenagers carrying what they could across the sand.

You had become somewhat of a spectacle, the chosen riduur for the ruler of the planet, but tried to ignore the impolite stares hidden behind visors and soft modulated murmurings you would overhear at the market. Din never asked you to stop selling your goods, and the kitchen in the palace was beyond your wildest dreams, leading to dozens of new recipes debuting at your stall before making it to the foundlings. Eventually, the gossip became too much, and you chose to give up your stall, instead focusing your efforts on baking and cooking for the children. They kept you busy but satisfied, spending most of your time when Din attended to his Mand’alor duties with the children. Despite his identity being revealed, he got to spend more time there, too, meeting you to help out before getting dragged into a gentle sword match or story telling about his bounty hunting days.

Jax was deflated when you told him you were marrying Din, a low rumble in Din’s chest at the boy’s reaction to the news until you elbowed him in the side. Din held you around the shoulders possessively, like he would lose you to the foundling, but when you promised he was welcome at the palace, Jax lit up again, excited to announce that he had once bested the Mand’alor in battle and would train even harder so he could do it again.

 You and Din fell into an easy rhythm, truly two halves of a whole. Every day felt happier than the last, every shy smile and passing kiss electrifying and grounding at the same time. You easily found your place in the palace, even standing up to Tonko yourself as needed, no longer afraid of masked warriors; you knew Din would protect you to the very end.

Tonko had insisted on another ball in celebration of your riduurok, for you both to say the vows in front of anyone who would listen. Privately, you and Din had decided on a plan of your own. Right before the large gathering, you met in the small throne room, completely empty save for the town armorer who was sworn to secrecy. You wore the same dress as the night of the ball, keeping Ava with you; Din had the helmet resized to fit your head for the occasion. You still hadn’t sworn the creed, and didn’t plan to, but the helmet was a badge of honor, an image to show your history, your found aliit, and you respected it. You were able to say your vows in private, repeating in Basic and Mando’a with each other in front of the armorer as witness, before even he whisked himself away, leaving you both for privacy.

Immediately, you both upturned your helmets, letting them sit idly on a table as you kissed with fervor. You were married, truly one when together, one when parted. When you pulled away, Din brushed his hands over the flower tucked behind your ear, a small orange poppy he had left on your nightstand a few hours before with a grin. You turned away, grabbing your helmet around to show Din the reverse side, Ava’s signet now replaced. It still contained the two circles, coming together in the middle; but instead of a mythosaur, a mudhorn laid in the center, and Din brushed his fingers over the emblem in awe, whispering into your ear as he pulled you into an embrace.

“I will thank the Maker every day for giving me the other half of your soul, for sharing your soft heart with me.”

“Don’t thank the Maker, Din. Thank the Mandalorians,” you counter gently, finally, utterly, blissfully happy.

TRANSLATIONS:

Riddur/riddurok: spouse/wedding

Aliit: family

Taap’bajir: orphanage (original word)

Mand’alor: ruler of Mandalore

TAGS:@farfromjustordinary @elinedjarin @ajeff855  @eury-dice3 @andiesturgss @ophelialoveshandsomemen @ksd24670 @rosiefridayrogersunday @evelynseventyr @thewintersoldierswife @knowledgefulbutterfly @sarahjkl82-blog @dream-visual-51 @fangirl-of-randomness @aquilacorvinal @rebel-fanfare​ @notagamersdey​

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #tad baar solus runi #mand0lorian300

[killianglyndon]

hey guys! first of all, i just wanted to say THANK YOU to all of you who have followed me! i never thought i could make this far haha, so i decided to make a celebration!

also I made a discord server insidetechsdatapad! a place to discuss/chat about sw stuff

edit: if u want to join the server pls dm me for new link

reminder:

must be following me cause I want this celebration for my followers and mutuals/friends

pls DO check out the characters I won't make under the cut before sending a request, and it might take a while to make your request!

i don’t know how many requests i’ll get but i’ll try to do every requests.

- gifs request

what i’ll make: tcw/tbb/rebels s1-3

what you can request:

make me choose (for example: fives or rex)

a scene (pls tell me what season and episode)

character(s) in certain ep

planet scenery

- header request

what i’ll make: tcw/tbb/rebels s1-3

headers will be: one white paper torn texture, one black paper torn texture, one without paper torn texture.

pls tell me what character(s) or a certain scene you want, and it would be great if u also tell me what season and episode.

characters or scenes i won't make:

martez sisters in tcw

pong krell

mother talzin

fives' death scene

tagging some mutuals/friends: @vanilla-chip-101 @damerondjarin @kittfisto @sibbismullet @earthlogy @obiwansjedi @obihoekenobi @howie-ner-cyare @jmobiwanspadawan @sana-katarn @ct-9904 @ct-1994 @djarrex @spotchka

#schafer talks #schafer's 1k celebration #*schafers1k

[artcupcakes]

This sketch is called “This was supposed to be the groundwork for a much better picture but Paint.net crashed before I could save it so now all I have is a jpeg I got from the snipping tool at last second, instantly killing my motivation for the day”....yeah

So I wanted to join in

@okeymakeydude

keldabekush

’s Casual Cowboy Fridays with a nice little piece because I love this kinda of stuff even if I’m a bit late to the train. Plus it would help me get back into a posting schedule

(Something I thrive under but have trouble setting up myself)

* 

....And then I lost it all because my pc is dooddoo at times. But hey, maybe I can remake this pic before next Friday. Who knows? I don’t control the attention span and motivation

For now take this messy sketch of an OT3 heading home after have an alright meal and a good round of Spotchka 

(They bought a bottle for the way home. And then went to pick up Grogu. The nice grandma taking care of the little kid adored him. And then made him some clothes to better match his Buir)

Either way, y’all really need to check out

Kush’s Stuff

! It’s really good both what they reblog and their own work and interactions. It’s quite a good time if I do say so myself

*Double side note I do make a lot of art behind the scenes but I never post as it’s mostly reference pose/designs for OC’s/AU’s and I already clog my dash as is

*Edit Finished Version here

#BobaXDinXCobb #DoubleMarshMando #Yeah that's the ot3 ship name now lol #Casual Cowboy Frieday #Yes Boba's Poncho is loosely based on that one scraped concept of him #How is Cobb's hat hanging on to his belt? #Space Cowboy Magic #Don't ask why Din needs a helmet and a hat and a mask #Same about his suspenders over his armor #Cowboy au #Cobb Vanth #Grogu Djarin #Grogu #Din Djarin #Boba Fett #the mandalorion season 2 #the mandalorian #DinXBobaXCobb #DinXCobbXBoba #Cw alcohol #fantasy alcohol #Spotchka #Cowboy!Din #Cowboy!Boba #Cowboy!Cobb #But that's just canon anyways #Star wars #Sw fanart #star wars fan art #the mandalorion fanart

[oh-no-a-whovian]

Like real people do pt 2

Boba Fett X daughter reader. Din Djarin x Fett! Reader

Summary: [Y/N] Fett is ready to inherit her father’s armour. He just has to help a Mandalorian and his son first. A Mandalorian you feel an immediate connection with.

Warnings: none?

Word count: 1544

Links: masterlist

You groan and bite your lip as pain surges through your side, pulling you from sleep. The smell of hygiene equipment and sterile surfaces fills your nose as you fight the stark white lights to open your eyes.

“Your father isn’t very happy with you.” a deep voice sounds to your right and you freeze, racking your mind trying to remember who it is. Forcing your eyes open at last, the bright lights hurt your eyes as they reflect off the man’s shiny armour as he sits relaxed on the seat beside you.

“No, he wouldn’t be” you huff out a pained laugh, wincing and clasping your side as the wound seems to burn. “First time he begrudgingly lets me join and I get stabbed”

“Thank you”

“For what? Getting stabbed?” you groan as you try to sit up. Swiftly the Mandalorian is by your side, helping you move and shoving pillows behind you.

“For trying. You almost died trying to help and… I’m… grateful” he says as he sits back down. You simply nod as you nestle into your new position.

“I’m guessing we didn’t have enough bacta?” you ask as you eye the bloody bandage on your side.

“No, there was enough. It was a deep wound, even bacta can’t heal that instantly.”

“I’m sorry I lost the kid” you say as you stare into the visor of his helm. “I tried but… I doubt even my father could have handled four specialty battle droids” he nods solemnly as he leans back into the chair, his visor still locked on you. “We’re in hyperspace right? Where we headed?” you ask as you notice the familiar buzz through the ship.

“Nevarro. I have a friend who can help us find the people who took Grogu.” He says looking over as Fennec enters with a tray of food for you. “Will take us a few days to get there though”

“His name’s Grogu?” you smile, never looking away from the man in beskar, you only have eyes for him right now. Even as Fennec places your tray down. “Do you have a name?” you smirk as you gently lean towards him, grabbing a wafer from the tray without even looking.

“Not sure your father would approve of you flirting with the Mandalorian [Y/N]” Fennec huffs in amusement. Gently she moves the blanket and pulls off the bandage, checking the progress on the wound.

“If you’re trying to embarrass me, it’s not gonna work” you grin, point a finger at her as you crunch into the wafer. “So? Name?”    

“Din” he replies and you hear a huff of amusement through his vocoder.

“Din” you grin “it’s nice to meet you. I promise we’ll get your kid back.”

“Good to see you up” your father says behind you making you stand up straight in front of the mirror. You turn when you realise what he’s wearing from the reflection. The armour is scraped up, patches of silver beskar shining through the chipped green and red paints. A huge dint sits above the left eye and an antenna rises above the right side of the head. It’s so similar to Din’s but so uniquely Fett. “You had me worried sick [Y/N]”

“I know daddy” you sigh, looking down feeling shame.

“I didn’t argue. I let you out of the ship, and you almost die.” He says as he pulls off his helmet dumps it on the bed and within just a few steps, is pulling you into his arms. It’s uncomfortable compared to what you’re used to, the beskar doing its job. Making a hardened exterior.

“I’m okay daddy. I promise.”

“I’ll fix the armour up for you, make sure it never happens again” you can hear the worry in his voice as he tries not to crush you in his arms. You know you’re all he has apart from this ship and although he’s a hardened bounty hunter, you know that if he lost you it would kill him.

“My side is almost healed” you mention as you pull away, grabbing your necklace from beside the sink. “Should be good to go before we even reach Nevarro” you see him tense when he realises you’re saying you’re ready to try again but he says nothing just nods. You know he hates it but surely e knows he can’t keep you hidden from the dangers of the galaxy forever.

“Guess I’ll have to get to work on the armour then” he sighs, grabbing the helm from the bed.

“Thank you daddy” you smile, placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Should you really be doing that?” you hear the Mandalorian ask from the doorway as you do pull ups in your room.

“Probably not but I feel fine” you huff as you pull yourself up, hold, then drop.

“Nice necklace” he comments and you smirk as you approach him. Your necklace sits practically in your cleavage that is very on display. “What’s the symbol?”

“Thanks, I’m not sure actually. It’s from a market in the colonies near the centre of the galaxy. Apparently the merchant got it from a planet called Earth on the un-charted side of the galaxy. Apparently it’s called an ankh.”

“It’s… interesting.”

“Was there a reason you came to find me?” you ask as you pour yourself a glass of spotchka from your hidden stash. Your father would be none too pleased to find you’re hiding this stuff.

“Uh… no… I was just walking by. Was clearing my head. Not used to not being the pilot.”

“Mmm, well feel free to use the exercise equipment in my room” you offer gesturing around to the stuff behind you. “I definitely won’t mind the show” you wink as you recline back against the head of the bed. You hear his modulator try to hide his small laugh, a smile spread to your cheeks at the sound. You wish you knew what he looked like, could see what his smile is like.

“Maybe some other time. Like Fennec said earlier not sure your father would approve” he echoes in amusement. You eye him up and down, tilting your head as you watch him hover by the door way, not seeming to want to leave.

“You’re probably right. Feel free to have a seat” you hum, gesturing to the space beside you. he hesitates for a second, looking between the door and your prone form.  Eventually he gives in, taking up the space beside you. His position is stiff, laying as if he wants to relax but also ready to bolt from the room. “You’re trying to distract yourself aren’t you?” you ask as you turn onto your side to look at him better. “Your head is running through the thousand things they could be doing and you have no idea what to do for the two days it’s gonna take just to get to Nevarro”

“You know the helmet is supposed to make it so you can’t read what I’m feeling… among other things.” He deflects, keeping his visor staring straight at the stark silver ceiling, almost as bright as his helm.

“He’s going to be fine.” You say quietly as you lay the rest of the way down, placing a hand gently on his bicep. You feel him tense more, if that’s even possible, but eventually he relaxes, the tension filling his body seeping away. “You’ll see him again and he will be so happy to be in the safety you will make for him. He’ll be so happy to be with you again”

“Don’t know about how safe it is for him to be with me. I lost him.”

“I lost him. You can only say you lost him if you were the one stabbed by a massive robot.” You tease, making him finally look at you. “You feel it right? Even with all the worry, you know he’s ok.” Slowly he nods, the motion practically unnoticeable because of the full get up. “Hold onto that feeling and it will give you the strength you need.”

For a while you felt his eyes on you as you kept yours closed beside him. It’s like this weight, a buzz under your skin and in your mind. A feeling that makes you want to move the helmet just to check. But instead you lie still until you feel the buzz leave and his breathing even out into soft breaths. You almost want to touch him, place a hand on his chest and feel the fall and rise, but you keep your hand where it is, on the cloth on his bicep. Opening your eyes, you stare at the metal clad man in front of you and smile. The moment quickly diminishing when there’s a knock at your door way.

“Your father wants you so he can make sure he edits the armour shape properly.” Fennec says, keeping her voice low as if she knows the man beside you is asleep. With a small nod, gentle movements and a glance back at the man in your bed, you follow her out. You can’t help but think though how well he fits in your space. You don’t know why but you really like that he does.

 Tags: @yamaktaria @rand0m--fangirl @salty-sith-bitch @periwinklehoney  @itsroguelife @rogueheretic555

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin #boba fett x reader #boba fett #mandalorian x reader

[insomniamamma]

Dragon: Boba Fett X Reader

A/N: this started as what would happen if the reader had a nightmare and was comforted by Boba. It mutated some. Sorry. Self indulgent because I have terrible nightmares, and Boba would make the best weighted blanket ever.

Warnings: Language. Implied sexual harassment. Cannon typical violence. angst hurt/comfort. Soft!Boba. No beta. I tried to make this GN! but don’t know if I caught everything. let me know and I will edit.

"It's a funny feeling being taken under the wing of a dragon. It's warmer than you'd think." --Amsterdam Vallon "Gangs of New York"

          "Get up," Sassak kicks at your bedroll, "Big day for you." You hated Sassak, but he owned your contract and that meant doing what he said, wether that meant cutting down the hulks that littered the dunes for scrap, fixing whatever ships limped into port, or whatever grimy deed he'd lined up for you. You sit up, glaring at him through gritty eyes.           "Got a buyer on the rest of your contract," he leers,"We meet them at the cantina and then you're someone else's problem."

          You get up and dress. You are numb. Sassak's owned your contract for three years. One year indenture at going rate was the initial deal. Sassak offered to teach you the mechanics trade. Your wages would square up the cost of room and board and education for a year. At the time it had seemed like a good deal. Only deals have a way of getting altered. There was always some excuse. Hard times love, got to cut your hourly rate, imperial traffic ain't what it was, you're lucky I don't just cut you loose to starve. Then there's times when Sassak came back after blowing credits he swore he didn't have at the cantina, reeking of spotchka, shoving you against the mud-daubed walls and grinding his bony hips against yours, hey, pretty thing, I knock a thousand cred off your debt if you fuck me like you love me, and luckily, he's always drunk enough that you can fight him off. Sometimes you have to hold him while he cries about his misfortune at being stuck in this backwater with the likes of you.          So now, someone else will own your debt. And Sassak is viciously happy about it. Maker only knows what this means. You worry the steel cuff welded around your wrist, tight to your skin with your contract number stamped on it as the two of you walk to the cantina.           The contact is not what you expected, a slight woman with a rifle slung over her shoulder and bright red thread woven through her hair. Her face is impassive as she haggles with Sassak over your worth. You keep your eyes down and sip at your spotchka, never quite got a taste for the stuff, but, as the object of negotiations, you at least get a drink out of it. Sassak laughs and seems satisfied, passes the contact his data pad, and she keys in her name, Fennec Shand.           "All yours," says Sassak and, mock bows, "Have fun."           You ride behind Fennec on her speeder, arms gripped around her middle, watching the only place you've ever known blur by. The ship is old, a make you have not seen in some time. Fennec leads you up the ramp.          "Time to meet your new boss," she says, and you are confused.          "I thought you--"          "No," says Fennec. "We both serve the same master." The cowling's been removed from the hyperdrive housing. A stream of yellow sparks spills down.          "Boba!" She calls,"I've got you some competent help." A Mandalorian clambers down out of the ship’s infrastructure and you shrink back. You've never met one but you've heard the stories, all blood and thunder and brutality, planets turned to ash. He looks at you, but you can read nothing from that look, just the dark of his visor, the stillness of his body.          "We're getting power drain from the hyperdrive," he says, "The reactor is stable, so I'm not sure where the problem lies."          "Give me a light and boost me up," you say, "I'll see what I can do."

          Fennec cuts the cuff off your wrist at Boba's orders.            "But my debt--"          "We've paid your debt," says Fennec, "You're crew now. You get pay."          "But what if I just take off? What if I run away?"          "What if you do?" She says, "We're not slavers." Fennec smiles. Her smile is small and controlled but warm. "No one will make you stay."

          And for a time things are quiet. You do maintenance on Slave I. She's old, and you can't always find the right parts, but mostly you make due. You man the galley, bringing Fennec and Boba their meals on the bridge and then retreating to your bunk belowdecks. Things are quiet. But then Tython happens. The light cruiser happens. And you find yourself contending with one more crew member. He is Mandalorian, like Boba, but he never gives a name. He is just Mando, and silence spins out from him like the arms of a galaxy. He is always polite, even though he does not need to be. You are junior-most crew after all. Now there are four of you. Enough to sustain a proper two-shift crew rotation. Boba insists on cross-training which means that Mando and Fennec are together for main shift, and you and Boba are together for the alter shift. He teaches you the weapons systems. You teach him emergency shortcuts for when the boards fry out. There is little conversation between you. Working the same shift means you sleep the same shift. Sleep has a hard time finding you most times. Boba can drop off in an instant, you are not so lucky. After Tython the nightmares started. Sometimes it's Slave I that gets hit and turns to ash. Sometimes you see Fennec and Boba in the dirt choking on their own blood, sometimes, Maker damn him, you see Sassak in Imperial dress, mocking you as if the present and the past have gotten tangled together. But there is one nightmare worse than all the others, in which the man with the darksaber cuts your friends down, melts through their beskar armor like ice under a hot blade, and you are left naked and without defense, waiting for the last cut.          You wake up screaming in your bunk in the belly of Slave I, the last of your nightmare dissipating even as your body still protests that every bit of it was real, so real this time, the spattered blood, the blaster cooked flesh, the smell, and you sob, trying to remind yourself that you're safe, that the hull's intact and them you care about are safe inside.          "You're crying," Boba's voice comes raspy through the dark. He flips a switch and dim reddish lighting fills the crew quarters. You rub at your eyes.         "Bad dream," You say, "It's nothing. I'm sorry."         "You're crying," he repeats, his dark eyes peer at you, unreadable. He slides himself towards the inside of his bunk, and pats the thin mattress, "Come here."  And you do so, the deck plating cold beneath your bare feet. Boba grabs you and pulls you into the bunk with him, gripping the back of your neck and settling you against his chest. You tense, expecting violence, but there is none. Just the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, his broad palm cupping the back of your head. He makes no other move. Slowly, you relax against him. Your hands unfist. Your arm creeps around him and Boba makes a low sound like a contented cat. 

      "Sleep, burc’ika." He says, and you drift off in the safe cage of his arms.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett x oc #the mandalorian #boba fett #the mandalorian AU #fennec shand

[mythosaur34667]

I would like any commentary about Mando-ger please <3 It's my favorite of yours (so far). Spill the (coffee) beans!

Yay, I will gladly spill the tea for you (just like IG, lol!). ♡ ALSO! I added up my posted + unposted fic for 2021, and my wordcount is 153,304 words! (All Dinfeld!) Only 40k of that is posted, so I will have a lot to post in 2022 as I finish polishing and editing. 😊 I Demand to Speak to the Mando-ger Director's Commentary for Chapters 1 and 2! Chapter 1 The whole fic was born from a post about plot bunnies, literally something like, "Tell me your ideas." And I was only writing my (still unposted) longfic at the time, but then I started thinking, wouldn't a Mando coffeeshop AU be funny? And then I started writing it down. Then I went for a walk and basically came up with an outline for 3/4 of the story. It originally had more of a "hopeful ending" than the happy ending it is going to have now. The first sentence of the doc for a long time was, "Oh no, the Grinch had a wonderful, awful idea." Other than that, the first part I wrote was the exchange that appears in the summary. Also the title existed from the very beginning. I had the title before I worked it into the actual story with the nametag prank. I was worried about it being too silly, but thanks @urisarang for saying to go with it! I really can't imagine it being called anything else.

When Bo-Katan is trying to combine coupons and Din lets Cara deal with it, I wrote it that way because I didn't want to deal with Bo any more than Din did! I added the line about someone thinking spotchka is vegan because I had no idea the first few times I watched Ep 4 that the spotchka was made FROM the krill! So, very much not vegan, lol. Glasses!Paz was inspired by art of Jon Favreau as Paz without the helmet. Also I really enjoyed writing Paz being a supportive big brother and then turning around and stealing Din's krill snacks! Chapter 2 Lots of the operational details from Chapter 2 are remixed from real life, including the horrible ice machine. I did have a coworker who rode a motorcycle to work and brought his helmet in with him, but he wasn't an a-hole like Toro! And I toned Toro down by having him dance *behind* the bar; I had a real-life coworker who danced *on* the bar! Greef would have fired Toro on the spot if he'd done that on top of everything else! IG breaking the blender is a memorial to my friend's blender that broke irl due to a spoon being left inside. RIP! For the looooongest time, the draft of Greef's line read, "Sometimes this job sucks like [Star Wars metaphor for something that sucks]." This was one of the very last hurdles for posting the chapter! I wanted something that sounded vaguely inappropriate, but not too bad. I was so satisfied when I finally came up with, "Sometimes this job sucks like a mynock’s mouth on an unshielded power converter." One element that was always part of this fic was Din deciding to show his face for his own sake. I wanted Din and Migs to be able to interact later without Migs having that guilt associated with seeing Din's face. The cashier at the gas station is the Weequay bartender from Mos Pelgo, but he doesn't have a name in the show, so it was hard to make it obvious who it was supposed to be. In the book "Tales from Jabba's Palace," the Weequays have what is essentially a Magic 8-Ball, so that's why the cashier has one in Mando-ger. I spent a long time figuring out which Star Wars animal to use in the "deer in the headlights" line before deciding on "kybuck." At first I had "fathier," but then I remembered that fathiers are really freakin' tall and might not be blinded by a car's headlights? So I looked up a bunch of other Star Wars animals for this one line. Okay, so. I do not like slushies very much. I also hardly ever go inside at the gas station. BUT for this fic I went to the gas station when I did not even need to buy gas, purely to buy a slushie to make sure I wasn't getting any details completely wrong!! And then I gave most of the slushie to my husband, because he does like them! Similarly to Migs, I didn't want Grogu doggie to be the reason Din had to show his face. While Din had to go through a lot more than he planned by rescuing Grogu, Grogu wasn't the reason he broke with the Creed. Thanks for the ask! ^_^ Rereading the first two chapters to write the commentary was fun! I'm planning to have Chapter 3 up before the end of January!

#Dinfeld #My fic #Director's Commentary ask game

[tvfilmspot]

Welcome to TVFILMSPOT’s creator shoutout series! 

Once a month we’ll be making a post listing a number of our favourite gifsets. However, please do check our *creatorshoutout tag to check all the wonderful edits that didn’t make the list! 

List below the cut!!

SHOWS!

 avatar: the last airbender (2005-2008) by @shangs​

merlin ladies by @aleksandr-morozova​

bridgerton by @bridgertonland​

julie and the phantoms by @amandaseyfried​

wandavision by @dicapriho

shadow and bone by @timothyolyphant​

shadow and bone by @generalmorozova

that’s so raven by @thankunnext 

schitt’s creek by @davidbrewer

good girls by @sdktrs12

shadow and bone by @bathroombreaks

FILMS!

moulin rouge! by @ewan-mcgregor

loki by @elwes-cary

disney + rainbow colours by @neve-campbells

star wars by @spotchka

pitch perfect by @hope-mikaelson

the old guard by @niccolos​

star war by @zoriis​

pride & prejudice 2005 by @keirahknightley​

star wars by @niinazenik​

knives out by @magnusedom​

titanic by @danis-clayton​

#admin post #ours #*csm1

[space-blue]

Ben has been living on Tatooine for five years when Maul appears in Mos Eisley without warning. General Kenobi would have ignited his lightsaber and gotten ready for a fight, but Ben buys a bottle of spotchka and sits across from the wayward Sith. This conversation is long overdue.

In honour of the upcoming Kenobi series, I've rewritten this fic and done extensive edits. It was written back in July for the prompt of drinking with the enemy. I never suspected how close to the premise of Kenobi's show this would turn out to be, with inquisitors being one of the main drives behind Obi-Wan leaving the planet... Yet I suspect Maul won't appear, nor would he have a drink with Obi-Wan.

#obi wan fanfic #star wars #sw #fanfic #Darth Maul #obi wan kenobi #kenobi #kenobi show #sw kenobi #obi wan kenobi series #kenobi series #obi wan show #drunken conversation #dialogue heavy #my fic

[prideandprejudice05]

Hi anon! I hope you don’t mind but I am answering your ask here instead of as an actual ask bc I would like to redact my real name! I’ll explain a little more as to why :)

TL;DR Yes I am she from wehaveabucky :) I’m glad you found me! I’m doing much better than a few years ago when I was on that blog which is always good! I’m no longer really an active part of the mcu fandom as I don’t hold as much enjoyment for it anymore however I am writing and making gifs for Star Wars over on my sw side blog @spotchka and do occasionally reblog marvel stuff here :) as for why I no longer use my real name on tumblr, it is for my own protection. I now go by ‘plum’ (an old cheesy nickname) and would like to ask anyone who knew me from my old blogs to not refer to me by my real name on the internet!

If you would like the full story… tw that this story contains mentions of anxiety, depression, stalking, suicidal thoughts and actions and paranoia so I will be putting it under the cut

I’m sharing this now because I would like to encourage young people to STAY SAFE on the internet. I know this is an extreme story but please be really cautious with what information you share where and how accessible you are to strangers!

I deleted wehaveabucky some time before the summer of 2019 (I can’t remember when exactly because I have the worst memory for anything pre summer of 2019 ajsjjskkaksksdjs) bc I was in a very dark mental place and struggling with university

unfortunately, I was never too safe with my identity on tumblr and even linked my Instagram on that blog. furthermore on wehaveabucky, I was rightly and frequently very vocal with my political and personal opinions. unfortunately, some troll would harass me on tumblr daily, sending me messages and making new accounts to tell me I was a liberal whore and a slut and anything else you could think of. I got unsolicited dick pics from this person. They would tell me they wanted to kill me and wanted r*pe me. when I deleted tumblr, this moved to Instagram.

In the summer of 2019 i was travelling around Asia and the harassment ramped up to an unbearable point. This person, whom I would block repeatedly but would then just make new accounts to harass me from, commented on every photo sexual or violent things about me. I didn’t make my Instagram private bc I enjoyed sharing photos of my travels and I realise now this was a mistake. By the end of summer I was going insane. I was paranoid and anxious. I hadn’t told anyone about this guy because I was scared and didn’t know if I was overreacting, but the comments would only become more frequent and more graphic. I emailed Instagram at the time and got a automated response telling me how to block someone.

Eventually I went private.

Unfortunately this didn’t stop them.

After I privated my Instagram account, multiple accounts popped up requesting to follow me. When I went to them, they were accounts of my photos and me but with graphically violent or sexual edits and captions.

That night I had the biggest panic attack of my life and was so exhausted, depressed and overwhelmed by the situation that I tried to take my life.

Luckily I was staying with my parents at the time as they live in Hong Kong and they managed to talk me off the ledge and I deleted my Instagram account.

Even though I was now off the internet, my anxiety only worsened. I feared that this stalker already knew too much about me and would not restrict himself to the internet realm and I would eventually encounter him in real life. I grew so paranoid that I convinced myself he had learned information about me because he was actually one of my friends and because of that I lost friendships. I accused people in a panic without thinking and then isolated myself with no friends around me.

I moved back to England for my final year of university. My anxiety and depression had got so bad and I was hurting myself frequently.

This is when I started a job in a hotel working breakfast shifts. (It was a horrible job and I hated every minute of it but that’s besides the point.) After working there for two weeks, the Chef decided to ‘initiate’ me into the staff by pulling a prank. The oven in the kitchen sounded like a phone that rang and rang till you opened the door. At the time I didn’t know this.

In the middle of service, chef called me over and told me someone was on the phone for me. I instantly started to panic. I hadn’t told any family member or friend I had gotten this job and even though I tried to tell myself it was maybe just the manager calling from upstairs, I also feared it was my stalker. When I picked up the phone and there was no one there, I was convinced it was him and burst into tears. The chef was very kind and apologised and explained the situation but I unfortunately still had a massive panic attack and hid in the bathroom for twenty minutes.

Luckily at this point, I realised I was spiralling into a dangerous place. I decided to reach out to my GP who prescribed me medication and reached out to the mental health services at my uni and was able to get 6 weeks of talking therapy, which gave me the confidence to book in with a regular therapist.

I have been very fortunate to have never heard from this person again.

I’ve had a lot of ups and downs in the last few years and my progress has been hindered thanks to rona, but I can honestly say I am in a better and more well-equipped place than I was then and even before :)

Im really sorry I derailed what was a very positive ask and made it a very heavy story! I just wanted to take the opportunity to share and hopefully encourage people to be more aware of cyber safety!!

#I hope you find this anon I’m sorry I couldn’t answer it as an ask ask :) #plum.txt

[sirtadcooper]

10-20 please 🥰

Phew! Thanks for putting me to work, Joy! <3

10: An old creation that will always have a special place in your heart

Answered here and here. Another one is this Pearl Mackie edit. I made five edits in this style of the Doctor Who cast and Steven Moffat, but this one is the neatest I think. I drew the doodles myself, I like the navy colour and of course Pearl’s orange nail polish in the middle photo!

11: A new creation that you’re very proud of!

Answered here and here. Another one is Starring Pedro Pascal - it came out pretty well, I think! I used to make edits like this with a fading effect but I was doing it manually with opacity and duplicating layers (I think there is a way to do it in Timeline but I don’t know how to do it) but this time I just went with no transition between the photos in the background and I think it actually looks better for it.

12: Pick your favourite creation of yours based on the colour palette

These Jim Kirk icons. I made these slap bang in the middle of two huge editing breaks, but I was very pleased with them. I was obsessed with Star Trek: TOS at the time and I wanted a new icon so I made these. I ended up keeping the green one with stars as my icon from October 2019 up until February this year. This colour palette suits this screencap perfectly, well done me, haha!

13: What is your preferred format? Moodboards, gifsets, poster sets…?

Any of these done well I will fall head over heels for! @radiantskywalker does fantastic moodboards, @sylvia-tilly made many inspiring ones back in the day. I have made a few myself but they’re not on par with those two at all. @millenniumsfalcon and @trashcora spring to mind for their stunning gifsets. Guess who I immediately thought of for posters? You have three guess but you won’t need them, it’s @sith-maul.

I realise I have not answered the question, and I guess that’s because I don’t stick to one format - I jump around all over the place. In terms of edits I have recently developed a clear style of inverted colours, best demonstrated here and here and here. So I guess I love edits because they get more notes than headers or icons, but! That feeling you get when someone uses one of your headers or icons? Unmatched.

Wait, I’ve got it! My answer to this question is anything but gifs. I have a love/hate relationship with gifs, in that I mostly hate them but I love to know how they are made.

I really belong on Tumblr, huh?

14: A fandom you want to create more content for!

I want to make some things for Star Wars and Rogue One! I haven’t made anything for them at all yet because I keep getting distracted by how much I love Din and Grogu and that’s perfectly understandable, I think. 

15: Talk about some of your favourite creators: what do you love most about their creations?

Oh gosh, okay! I’ll try to keep each of these to a few words as I am prone to writing essays.

@ewan-mcgregor | What can I say? Quality and Quantity. 

@sith-maul | Creativity, thought, precision, technical prowess.

@javier-pena | Coloured to perfection, every time, without fail.

@voidlila | Beautiful gifs and graphics with perfect colour palettes.

@millenniumsfalcon / @thernandalorian | Gorgeous colouring, not always what you’d expect, but perfect.

16: List some creators that always inspire you with their creations and talent!

Those mentioned above are a given, but a few more, in no particular order: @abednadir, @300mirrors, @cvanth, @skyshipper, @darksber, @kenobismullet, @trashcora, @sharoncarrter, @spotchka, @whimsicalrogers, @sugardaddyahxu, @djarsdin, @argetnallison, @perfectopposite and many more besides.

17: Do you enjoy working with gifs?

Gosh, no, I find them so stressful! Sometimes I fancy making a gif but the fancy doesn’t last long once I actually go to make them. The process of making gifs is so long and arduous and there’s only so much you can do with a gif and I just don’t enjoy the process at all. As I said I hate gifs but I also love to see what others have done with them! 

18: Do you enjoy creating graphics?

Gosh, yes! I find the whole process so much more rewarding, that you have the freedom to do anything, really, as long as you can work out how. I’m able to zoom in and put a lot of detail into my graphics which pleases me no end. I think it’s far more creatively exciting to work on a graphic, whether it’s an icon or a header or an edit. You’re transforming the source material completely, you know what I mean? I just get excited about graphics. It’s wonderful that so many people are learning how to make gifs but graphics? That’s where the fun really is in my opinion!

19: Do you like mixing up your style and trying new stuff, or do you prefer to have a more consistent style?

I’ve sort of answered this above, haven’t I? Oops. I like to try new stuff sometimes but always with a view to doing it my way. It has to fit in with my style or I’m simply not interested. Like the trend at the moment for text to be warped slightly into a shape? Not my style at all, I like my text boring, thank you. I have an inkling how it’s done but I’m not bothered either way. Almost everything I do now is informed by my love of making icons and headers - nearly everything is cut out from a background and put onto one of my creation. I’m an obsessive cutter-outer.

20: A creator you look up to!

Just one!? @sith-maul. I’m obsessed with Nik’s creations and I will not shut up about it. I’m like an embarrassing parent telling everyone how talented my child is because I’m so proud of them.

creators ask game | send me an ask

#ask #kenobismullet #this is longggggg again i just will not shut up

[theboredwritertm]

Din x Mandalorian!Reader x Cobb Vanth? Say like Din and the reader are partners and they’re both kinda into Cobb and if it’s your thing maybe the reader can be a little bossy?

The Arrangement

A/N: Sorry/not sorry for using that ^ gif - it made me laugh. (No, they don’t technically do anything in front of the kid.) There’s a lot of ways I could have taken this request, but honestly, I’m glad I went with this. (I may or may not have a part two in mind already). Also, I guess I’m just horny on main for this entire episode, since I want to write all my requests around it?? Hope you enjoy, anon! The request was for reader to be bossy – I might have accidentally made them a bit of an asshole, haha. Also, I ignored a lot of things on my to-do list to get this edited and posted today! 

Rating: I’m going to say 18+

Pairing: Din Djarin x Mandalorian!Reader x Cobb Vanth

Warnings: Swearing, partner sharing (cuckolding, I guess), like a bunch of smut at the end. 

Word Count: 7,272  (consider the first 3000 words foreplay)

Summary: You and Din are partners in every sense of the word, loyal to each other in every way, but you have one very simple arrangement: you can fuck anyone who takes your interest, and he gets to watch.

Tags: @justanotherblonde23

***********************************************************

It was like the opening of a bad joke.

Three Mandalorians walk into a bar. One of them is an imposter.

You’d felt Din tense beside you the moment you’d spotted the familiar armor, both noting the casual way it was worn, as if it were merely an accessory to the man beneath it and not a reflection of his religion. This complete separation from the creed was further proven as the man you knew only as ‘The Marshal’ stepped up to one of the tables in the bar, calmly removed his beaten-up beskar helmet, and set it down on the wooden tabletop.  

You’d had to pause for a moment as you took in the face in front of you, all thoughts of backing Din up about the beskar not belonging to this man suddenly far from your mind. He was older than you – older than Din, too, if his greying hair and beard were anything to go by – but there was a youthful kind of mischief to his face, in the way he gazed curiously between the two of you. 

You’d traveled the galaxy and seen a lot of faces in your time, and this certainly wasn’t the first handsome one – but, Maker, if there isn’t something just a little bit tempting about it… 

You turn your head, now, to look at Din. Though he gives no sign of noticing, his visor still directed forward, you knew he’d sensed the movement – understood the intention. His helmet dips almost imperceptibly for a moment, then he turns his head to look back. You grin beneath your visor. It had been a long time, but he still remembered the gesture; a silent approval regarding a long agreed-upon arrangement between the two of you. 

It was simple: you could choose any man who caught your particular interest – though, with a man like Din by your side, you couldn’t say there’d been many – and Din got to watch.

You loved Din, had been by his side for years now, but you’d be lying if you said your first thought at that moment hadn’t involved getting pinned against the wall in some dusty, back-room by the man in front of you and letting him drill you to the point of oblivion.  

The Marshal sits staring between the two of you with a lopsided grin that certainly doesn’t help with your current line of thinking, eyes sparkling with easygoing humor. 

“Never met a real Mandalorian,” he states, as he takes a seat and sets down three cups and a bottle of what you recognize as spotchka. “Now, two walk into my town. What are the odds?” He glances between the two of you as he carefully pours out three equal serves, sliding two of the cups in your direction in what you assume is a peace-offering – or maybe just a show of small-town hospitality. 

“I’d say they’re in your favor,” you reply, your sly smirk clear in your tone, even through the modulator. Din throws you a look for how obvious you’re being, but you can’t say you care. If the man manages to pick up what you’re putting down early on, so be it. It makes things that much easier for you.

The Marshal looks up at you, curiosity clear on his face as he hears your voice for the first time, not expecting you to be a woman. Your armor doesn’t give that away – forged for protection rather than showing off what’s underneath – and even though you are a little smaller in stature compared to the big guy next to you, he wouldn’t have made the assumption. He’d fought all shapes and sizes and knew that size didn’t always denote ability – or gender.

“From what I’ve heard about your kind, I figured at least one of us might not be walking out of here. But now,” he says, gesturing with a nod towards you, since you’ve given yourself away, “Between her and the kid, I’m thinking maybe this isn’t the kind of situation I thought it was gonna be.”

You’re deep in thought about the kind of situation you’re hoping it’s gonna be, when you feel little hands grasping at the back of your leg. You look down. Right. The kid. You’d been so busy picturing every position you’d let this man bend you into, you’d almost forgotten about the little womp rat. 

The Child looks up at you with big eyes and raises his little arms in a gesture you’ve grown familiar with over the past few weeks. Conceding to his demands, you reach down to scoop him up. Not that you and Din were ever particularly careful when it came to sex, but you really hadn’t expected to be thrown into parenthood like this. You doubted a town like this offered much in the way of babysitters, and even if it did you didn’t think Din would trust just any person to watch over the kid; not after everything you’d been through so far to keep him safe. And certainly not just to satisfy whatever devious thoughts were running through your head. 

“You got a name?” you ask, your eyes never leaving the marshal’s – even if he can’t see yours – as you settle the child in your arms. 

“Cobb Vanth,” he replies, and you’re glad to finally have a name to put to the face – something to whisper or cry out when the time calls for it. 

“Where’d you get the armor?” Din asks. 

Right. The armor. You’d completely forgotten about that.

“Bought it off some Jawas,” Cobb replies.

You cringe, knowing that’ll be a sticking point, especially for Din. It’s a mark of disrespect to the beskar, even if Cobb doesn’t know it. But you don’t think it’s enough to break the silent agreement you and Din have made. 

“Hand it over,” Din tells him, and you have to roll your eyes at his attitude. Always straight to the point.

Cobb seems to find something amusing about this. “Look, pal, I’m sure you call the shots where you come from, but ‘round here I’m the one who tells folks what to do.”

Bouncing the kid on your hip, you glance towards Din, wondering what he’s going to do and if that something will ruin your chances of carrying out the wicked ideas currently playing out in your mind. You know he’s got to hate being called ‘pal’ by someone like this – someone who wears the armor without any right to – in the same way you know Cobb is using the term just to stir him up. You glance back and forth between the two of them patiently, waiting to see where this goes.

“Take it off, or I will.”

Now, that’s more like it.

Clearly not how he meant it – at least you don’t think so…but then Din was prone to a darker humor that sometimes went over your head when you weren’t expecting it. Maybe he was fucking with you both.

You find yourself distracted by the way Cobb grins in response, unsure if it’s the way it lights up his attractive features, or if it’s his cocky kind of fearlessness that gets you the most. You didn’t encounter a lot of people who stood up to Din, and most of the ones who did were almost always bluffing, but, staring down a member of an infamous warrior clan, Cobb manages to look quite at ease. 

“Two on one? Doesn’t seem very fair,” he says, adding fuel to the thoughts running through your head. You’re sure you can change his mind on that.

“Maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement.” Your tone is low, words steeped with intention, and the way he looks back at you now says maybe he’s finally caught on. 

He glances between you and Din, trying to work out the dynamic here. You’re standing close – could just be business partners, but he thinks not. There’s something in the way the larger Mandalorian keeps pausing when you talk, as if, even with a baby in your arms, you’re the one who’s really calling the shots. He opens his mouth to give his answer, but before he can tell you the sort of arrangement that he thinks might be suitable, the ground begins to shake beneath you. 

Behind you, at the bar, cups, and saucers chatter and clank together on their shelves. One of the bottles of bright blue liquid shuffles towards the edge of the counter then dives, shattering on the floor below before the bartender can catch it. It’s a shame. Liquid is hard to come by out here.

Cobb stares at you both for a minute, then holds up a single, polite finger to give him a moment. Your gaze trails after him as he heads for the doorway, then you glance back towards the bartender to find they’re making a beeline for the back exit, too. 

You and Din exchange looks. Whatever this is, it looks like any kind of arrangement is going to have to wait.

***

A new arrangement falls into your lap in the form of an enormous, cock-blocking krayt dragon. 

As if driven by some constant compulsion to play ‘defender of the people’, Din agrees to take care of this problem for the town in exchange for Cobb’s armor. Of course, you follow along – you’re not completely heartless to their cause – though you’re not sure you’ve ever had to work this hard for a lay. After all, you’d had a much simpler way in mind for getting the man out of the armor.

Yet, as you travel towards the dragon’s lair, clutching onto Din in a manner you find a little undignified as you ride on the back of his borrowed landspeeder, Cobb begins to tell you some of his history – of how he came to be marshal of Mos Pelgo – and you find yourself growing more intrigued by the man. You’d never usually make the effort to get to know the people involved in your arrangements, knowing you’d probably never have to see them again, and sometimes extra information tended to get in the way of what should have otherwise been a simple one-night stand. You already had Din; you weren’t interested in getting to know someone else on that level. But as the night found the three of you lodging together at a Tusken Raider camp, you found yourself warming up to the man. 

So, now you’re sat around a fire, the three of you on one side, the Child on your lap, and several Tuskens across from you engaged in an odd, barking conversation with Din. You’d traveled enough to understand most of what was being said, but that didn’t mean you weren’t wishing they’d go back to the silent hand gestures they’d been using to converse with earlier in the day – the sounds were just so grating.

An argument eventually erupts over some smelly peace offering, a drink Cobb isn’t familiar with, and you’re amused to find that he’s a bit of a hothead. It’s a nice contrast to Din’s cool, calm nature. In an ironic twist, Din ends the row with a blast from the flamethrower on his arm and you turn the baby away from the heat, unfazed, used to this kind of behavior from your partner by now.

Cobb collapses back into his seat beside you, looking slightly defeated, and catches your quiet chuckle.

“You agree with all this?” he asks you, glancing between Din and the Tuskens in an irritated kind of disbelief. You both watch as Din moves to sit closer to the tribesmen to continue their strategizing. As far as you’re concerned, since this little endeavor is Din’s idea, you have no qualms letting him do most of the work. Cobb, on the other hand, used to being the one running things, seems mighty put-out.

“Me? I go where he goes.”

“Doesn’t seem that way to me.”

You look back at him and find his handsome face turned back towards you, looking like he’s trying to take in what he can’t see beneath your helmet. You smile. “No?” 

He shakes his head, looking amused. “Sometimes I get the feelin’ you’re the one in charge.”

You think of how best to phrase that, as two idiots in love, you and Din are prone to following one another into idiotic situations, but settle instead for trying your luck with something different.

“He’s got a habit of volunteering us for things. Personally, I had an easier way in mind for getting you out of that armor.”

You watch his face carefully, at least as much as you can make out in the flickering light of the fire. He seems to pause and take this in, not at all expecting it, then takes on a curious expression.

“Am I readin’ this wrong? I thought you two were together.”

“We are.”

He stares at you again and only looks more confused. But you can’t say he doesn’t look interested. It’s like he’s weighing up a few things.

“Well, forgive me for sayin’ so, but I am not about to risk gettin’ my junk blown off for manhandling some Mandalorian’s girl.”

This time you laugh a little louder, pleased to hear that he’s at least imagined it in enough depth that his intended actions might warrant that kind of reaction. Din looks over at the two of you for a moment before returning to his own conversation. 

“What’s so funny?” Cobb asks, smiling at you.

“That you think he’d have a say in that,” you reply. You watch him for a moment, finding this one of the few times you’re wishing you could take off your helmet and be properly face-to-face with someone. There was a lot you wanted to say to him, and not a lot of it could be said using words. 

“If it helps,” you add, “He’s cool with it. We have an agreement.”

Cobb’s staring at you, eyes bright with interest below a shock of salt-and-pepper hair, thinking a few things over. This isn’t a situation that he’s encountered before. Flirtatious women, sure; but none who seemed pretty attached to the man they were already with. He hadn’t even seen your face yet – but he’ll admit, that kind of adds to the thrill. 

“So, what, we do this right here, right now?” he half-jokes, glancing back at the surrounding tents as if the Tuskens might be so hospitable. He waits for your response, because in all honesty, he’d be up for it if you were.

“I figure we take care of the giant monster eating your townsfolk, first. Then, assuming at least two of us make it back alive, we see what happens.”

He chuckles.

“Sounds like a deal to me.”

***

It goes surprisingly well, aside from a very stupid stunt on Din’s behalf; one you’re quick to pull him up on, because for a split moment all thoughts of Cobb had evaporated from your mind at the very real prospect of losing him. 

There are still losses on both sides, of course – for the Tuskens and the Mos Pelgons. The krayt dragon had lost entirely. 

A celebration takes place in the bar that night, back in Mos Pelgo, and you imagine the Tuskens are having a little party of their own back at their camp, with enough meat now to feed their entire clan for weeks to come. 

Cobb’s sitting on his own, watching his happy townspeople with a smile, a bottle of spotchka in hand. He pours himself another cup - his third one. He’s waiting, now. Assuming you hadn’t been leading him on the entire time. You and your Mandalorian had disappeared not long after everyone had arrived back. Maybe it had all been a lie – some twisted game of foreplay the two of you had going on that you had never intended for him to be a part of. He’ll admit that handing over his armor back at the den of the dead dragon might not have been a smart play. He kind of preferred your idea for the handover. He sighs and takes a long sip of his drink. 

Oh well. 

He takes a moment to look around the room, remembering the last time they’d had such a joyful celebration – at least the first half of that night, back when the Empire had finally fallen, given how it had eventually ended. As he continues to look around, a flash of steel catches his attention towards the very back of the room. 

There you are, standing in the doorway. 

He wonders how long you’ve been there; if you’ve been watching him, and how the hell he hasn’t noticed. He’s not sure how he feels about that. Despite spending the past few days with you both, he’ll admit he’s still a bit intimidated. Especially by you. Still, when you beckon with a single jerk of your gloved index finger, he finds himself already on his feet.

Oh. Well.

He throws back the last of his drink, thinking that tonight he’s probably going to need it. 

***

You lead him up a flight of stairs in the back to a room that sits above the bar; a room where only moments earlier you’d set the final boundaries for the night with Din. 

Although you’ve done this a few times before, it’s still important that you remain on the same page. Most of his rules hadn’t changed from previous occasions: no sleeping with the outsider (actual sleeping, that is – it was a form of intimacy he drew the line at), no cumming inside of you (that was for him, and him only), and you were to always remain in control of the situation. 

There had been one unfortunate incident where the guest for the evening had proven a little too rough with you. The moment the dynamic had flipped, Din had left his seat at the sidelines and preceded to drag the guy – who had still been completely naked at the time – out into the darkened streets. You didn’t know what had happened after that and hadn’t bothered to ask.

You didn’t think you were going to have the same issue with the marshal. There was a gentleness about him that perfectly balanced with his cocksure attitude. He seemed respectful. A good man, just like Din. Maybe that’s what had attracted you to him in the first place – how the dirty could balance just right with the sweet.  

He follows behind you looking a little wary, but after everything you’d been through together in the last forty-eight hours, he didn’t see any reason not to trust you. Or maybe that was his dick talking. It had been a while for him. Most of the women in the town were married, and for those that weren’t, he was friends with most of their fathers – practically old enough to be their father. It wasn’t a situation he wanted to get himself into, especially not in such a small town. And Mos Pelgo didn’t exactly get a lot of visitors these days. He’d take his chances with you.

When he enters the room, he sees the other Mandalorian seated on a chair against the wall, facing the bed; completely still, hands resting on his beskar-covered thighs, waiting. 

“You know, I realized I haven’t even seen you, yet,” Cobb says to break some of the tension, turning back towards you as you hit the button for the door – tension only he seems to be feeling, apparently. You both seem oddly at ease. 

“And you won’t get to.” Your voice, though slightly distorted by the helmet, still manages to sound alluring. It almost manages to take some of the edge off your vaguely threatening undertone.

“Not even a peek?” he teases, but he knows enough about your people to understand what he’s getting himself into. “How’s that gonna work?” His eyes glide over your full form for the first time truly taking in your body. Admittedly, he’s looking for any unfamiliar lumps and bumps, but from what he knows Mandalorians are usually humanoid. He watches as you take out a long strip of cloth from one of your pockets.

“One rule for tonight. The blindfold stays on.”

“That’s it?” Cobb asks. He can do that. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time, though at least he’d gotten to see that person’s face first.

You glance over at Din, catching the barely perceptible way he cocks his helmet, then add, “There are other rules, but for now those can wait. This is the most important.” You turn back to Cobb. “No living person can see us without our armor. This is The Way.”

“Huh,” he replies, thoughtfully, catching your choice of words. “After everything we’ve been through, you’re still threatening me?”

“It’s not a threat,” you say, and the gruffness added by your modulator does no favors in convincing him of this. He lets you secure the strip of fabric firmly across his eyes, then almost immediately after hears the hiss of your helmet being removed. Then your voice, clearer this time, hot breath against his ear: “It’s a guarantee.” 

He wonders if it’s possible to be terrified and turned on at the same time.

You barely pause to let this sink in before you’re pressing a mixture of kisses and bites down his neck. Though you’d lived a long time wearing the armor, letting it become like a second skin, you couldn’t deny the added pleasure of the cool, fresh air against your face once it was off. Then there was the added sensory layer of scent and taste. After spending hours with your head inside the confines of your helmet, breathing filtered air, you always found your senses heightened once you were finally exposed.

Cobb smells of sand and sweat, and as you trail a few light, teasing kisses along the lower line of his jaw, his beard bristling against your soft lips, you pick up the sweet-and-sour scent of spotchka on his breath. He turns his head in the direction of the armor seated opposite the bed, having momentarily forgotten about your one-man audience, giving you a much better angle of his neck in the process. As you continue working your mouth over him, he keeps his ears pricked for any sound of movement, feeling suddenly vulnerable in more ways than one.

“You sure he’s in there?” he half-jokes, voice breathy as you continue to lap at his sensitive skin. He could have sworn the armor hadn’t moved since you’d arrived.

“He’s in there. Let’s see what kind of show we can put on, and maybe he can prove it.”

You have his full attention now.

Completely blind, he fumbles to help you out of your armor, fingers finding straps to undo as he feels your hurried movements assisting him. There’s a number of clanks as heavy plates fall to the floor, and he takes a moment to run his fingers over you, feeling the cloth of your tunic still separating his fingertips from the warmth of your skin. It has to come off. He tugs at it, signaling this, and you happily comply. Once you kick your pants and boots off, you stand before him, confident and completely naked, a smirk tugging at your lips as you work out what you want to do with him first.

Din drinks in the sight of your bare figure. It still feels like a rare occasion when he gets a full view like this – so used to the dim lights of the Crest, since it’s one of the few places you both feel comfortable removing your armor – but even those opportunities have become rare now that you had the Child to worry about. It was a blessing that you’d managed to get the little womp rat to sleep in the adjoining room, but then Din wasn’t surprised – despite your ability to come off tough and uncaring, you were better with the kid than he had ever been. If there was one thing the Child might inherit from him, it’s a deep adoration for you.

Even from this seated distance, he can see how smooth your skin looks, his thoughts triggering a kind of muscle memory in his fingertips as he recalls all the times he’s run them across it. He’s almost tempted to call this whole thing off and take you for himself, leaning forward ever-so-slightly, hands braced against the arms of the chair, then Cobb starts to run his hands down along your curves and he catches the way you glance back at him. He’s always caught off guard by your beauty when he’s lucky enough to see you without the helmet, forgetting just how much he’s missing out on when you wear it. As a smile slants across your face in his direction, he settles back into his seat, heart thudding in his chest. He’ll happily let you enjoy this, if only to have you look at him like that forever.

Cobb’s adjusting to compensate for the sense he’s had taken from him, guiding his fingers slowly over your body as he tries to picture how you must look. He starts with your shoulders and you remain completely still across from him, waiting patiently for him to take you in with the only method he’s got left. He feels you shiver as he brushes his fingernails over your neck, then he reaches up for your hair. It’s longer than he’s expecting, given you have to wear it under a helmet all day, but silky and soft. He spends a moment running his fingers through it and you take the opportunity to close the gap between the two of you, grasping the back of his neck to encourage him down to your shorter level so you can press your mouth to his. The kiss becomes heated and has you backing him towards the bed. 

Pausing for a moment, voice breathless, you say, “You’re still dressed.” He grins and takes the hint. You watch as the layers of red are stripped off, then step in to help him with his belt, your mouths less than an inch apart, breath ghosting over each other’s lips as you watch his face for little reactions. Then he dips his head forward to find your lips again, both of you forgetting about his clothes for a moment as you become engrossed in the simple pleasure of the kiss. You feel him smile against your lips as your hands find his belt buckle once more, your fingers making quick, eager work of it. You pull back once it’s undone and let him take care of the rest, your gaze dropping down at the same moment his pants do to catch sight of what you’ll be working with. You’re happy with what you see. There was something to be said about a cocksure man with something to back it up.

Cobb resumes exploring your body as his fingers drift downwards this time; down your arms, briefly stopping to cup your breasts, smiling to himself when he rubs the pads of his thumbs across your hardened nipples and hears you sigh, then down along your sides, finally reaching your hips. His fingers dig in for a moment as he draws you in closer to his warm body, then in one swift movement, he scoops you up under your ass. You wrap your legs around him instinctively to keep you both steady and find yourself rewarded as his hot, hardened member unintentionally brushes against your folds. He has to stop for a moment when he feels how wet you already are, reminding himself he wants to take his time, despite the sudden urge to slide into you. He presses a couple more kisses to your cheek and neck, whatever skin he finds he can reach in this position, then carefully drops you down onto the sheets. They’re cool and refreshing after your long day in the desert heat, but you’d worked hard to set the room just right for your evening, sourcing these little luxuries in the short time you had after the fight with the dragon. 

You lay back so your head’s pointing towards the foot of the bed, towards Din, where you can easily look back at your man. You do so now and feel the heat of his gaze even through his visor. You glance down at his hands, which still rest on the arms of the chair, and see his fingers clutching tightly at the wood. 

Cobb feels his way up onto the bed, using the headboard to steady himself, looking to where he thinks you’ve landed, getting a feel for your position. He feels off-balance without his sight to help him. You’re still busy watching Din when a hand finds your thigh, and your attention is torn back to the marshal as he drops forward, caging your body with his arms. He presses warm, ticklish kisses down your belly, his close-cut beard scratching at your sensitive skin, using the intimate gesture to help guide him down to his intended destination. He ruts his throbbing erection against your thigh to help give him some relief, but that only seems to make it worse. Managing an impressive level of self-control, he shuffles back to give himself more room, then continues using his lips to map out your body. He starts at one of your knees, kissing his way down your thigh, catching the heavenly scent of your arousal as he nears your core. His face hovers above it, feeling the heat radiating off it like a sand dune at the end of a long, hot day, then he licks a stripe where your thigh meets your crotch, dangerously close you where you want him. Your hips rise ever-so-slightly off the bed to try and meet him, but he backs off, blowing cool air against you to tease. You reach down to run your fingers through his hair, urging him closer to you, and hear him emit a soft growl in response. 

When his mouth finally finds your center, you both moan – his sending vibrations that rattle your already-buzzing nerve-endings, yours a little higher pitched as you find a craving finally satisfied. You’d been thinking about this since your first run-in on the day you’d arrived in Mos Pelgo, and the relief it brings to your needy body is better than you could imagine. Still, as his tongue continues to work you up, your pussy clenches with the need for something to be inside of you – a finger, a cock, at this point you don’t care – and you wonder how long he’s planning to take before he finally fucks you.

He starts slow, his tongue pointed and direct as it traces circles and lines over your clit, then the more he relaxes, the sloppier his movements become. You much prefer it that way. The sounds soon coming from between your thighs – a combination of wet slurps and his delighted groans – are as lewd as they are divine, and you’re already fast approaching your first orgasm. As he continues to fuck his tongue into you, your hips bucking mercilessly against his face, fingers twisted in his hair, he hears you mutter something. It sounds almost like a chant. Words he can’t make out. Another language.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. Ner cyar’ika.”

Din’s currently entranced by the way your body is moving, his gaze firmly directed at the man between your legs as your cries and whimpers reach his ears like a favorite symphony; his hips grinding in tiny movements against the chair in an attempt to get some relief. Then he catches the familiar words spilling from your lips. He stills. They’re words you had only ever said to him, and for a moment he thinks they’re being wasted on the marshal. Then he looks at your face, sees your neck curved back, and realizes all this praise is being directed at him. His heart swells – along with certain other body parts – to have you still be thinking about him while your pleasure is at the complete mercy of another man. He thinks he’s never loved you more than at this moment, just to know that you’re his. It takes every ounce of willpower he has left to remain seated. 

The first shockwave of pleasure hits you harder than you’re expecting and the cry that rips from your throat, as if pulled from your very core, is so loud you wonder if the whole damn bar can hear you downstairs. As you ride through your waves of pleasure, your cries the only relief from the full-body torture, you think you probably don’t care. Let them hear. It’s a time for celebration, after all, and who’s to deny you yours.

By this time, Cobb’s slipped a couple of fingers inside of you, working you towards your second orgasm already, and you brace your body for the impending over-stimulation. Once his lips and tongue join in, you find it doesn’t take long; his deft fingers somehow managing to hit just the right spot as he presses a kiss to your thigh and curls his fingertips upwards. He keeps his fingers moving even as your whole body tenses up, your back arching off the bed, his tongue lapping at your clit as your mind goes blank. When you finally look back down at him to see a teasing smirk plastered on his face, along with the sheen of your juices, you know you can’t wait any longer. You push yourself up and take him by the shoulders, using the strength of your toned legs to flip him onto his back so you’re on top. He’s not expecting the sudden maneuver and releases an ‘oof’ then a soft chuckle. 

“Sick of that already, darlin’?” he asks, face still wet and shining as he grins beneath you. Even with half of his face covered by the blindfold, he’s still a handsome motherfucker.

You smile back and trace a couple of fingers down his cheek, managing to gather up some of your slick as you go. Looking over at Din, you lift your fingers to your mouth and lick the residue off of them, grinning when you hear the strained growl that rasps through his modulator. It was always a roll of the dice whether or not he would fuck you after you’ve been with someone else, but that sound was all you needed to hear to know that you probably wouldn’t be making it back to the ship that night.

You turn your attention back to Cobb, finally responding, “I could do that all night, mesh’la, but if I don’t get you inside of me soon, my partner’s going to have to step in, and I don’t want you feeling left out.”

He hums, pleased by how forward you are, and grasps your hips to direct you over him. His grip loosens when you push a hand down on his chest, forcing him back into some semblance of submission, then he releases you completely when you reach back and take hold of him. You stroke your hand up and down his length a few times, smiling to yourself as he bucks into your hand, then finally lean forward to place it at your entrance. You hover over him, his tip angled inward to hold him in place, and your palms come down to his chest to force him to remain still. He takes the hint, even if his hips are free and every instinct is begging him to thrust. He can feel the warmth of you, how slick you are against him, and knows that all he needs to do to relieve the feeling is a quick buck of his hips, but there’s something about the weight of you on his chest that has him completely at your mercy. You feel the small movements of his indecision, his hips twitching below you, then when he’s least expecting it, you slide down, full engulfing him. The tortured whine that erupts from him is reward enough for your patience. 

You start up at a rough pace, hands still pressed on his chest to balance you as you buck your hips and start to ride him. You look down at his hands and watch him clutching desperately at the sheets before he reaches back for you, hands hovering tentatively by your hips like he’s not sure you’ll allow it again. You grab hold of them and set them firmly against you. Taking the cue, he begins thrusting upwards. Soon, you’ve fallen into blissful sync, running your hands up to your chest and pinching at your nipples as you look back over at Din. His stance in the chair has changed since you last looked; his legs sitting a little wider, his body a little more slouched like he’s relaxed into it. His hands are back on his thighs, rubbing slowly at the beskar covering them, as if he’s fighting to keep them away from other parts of his body. Every so often you see his hips shift like he’s trying to gain some relief.

You’re caught off guard when Cobb sits up, but the new angle hits deeper and has you seeing stars. It’s put his face in a better position, his mouth now at level with your breasts, and as he pulls your body closer his lips and tongue latch onto one of your nipples. Your head drops back as you let out a deep moan and his thrusts begin to pick up, as if he’d been waiting for the signal. After being inside of your armor for almost a day straight, it’s a lot of sensation all at once, and with your pleasure fast approaching another peak, a familiar tightening in your lower belly, it’s almost hard to keep up. 

“How’s that, sweetheart?” Cobb asks between panting breaths, running his fingers down your back until his hands are cupping your ass again. “You like that?”

“Fucking perfect,” you reply. You reach for the back of his neck, tilting his head back as you look down at him from your position on top, and you find it’s a turn on in itself to have this kind of power over the man. You gently tug on his hair, giving you both a minute to bask in your shared pleasure before you lean down for a sloppy kiss, both too far gone to care. The minute you’ve parted Cobb buries his face between your breasts, grunting and moaning against you as his thrusts grow slow and uneven. You think that maybe he’s close, but the man’s self-control has proven impressive so far – he’s not going to cum until you do.

The tightening in your lower belly stretches towards its peak, threatening to break. Almost as if he knows, Cobb leans back, ever-so-slightly changing the angle of his hips, and suddenly he’s hitting a different spot, as if he was saving it for the perfect moment. Your pitch changes and you’re holding onto the man for dear life as your body goes into involuntary spasms around him, your fingers clawing against his back for purchase as he holds you tightly against him and forces you to ride it out. He pulls out at the last minute, since you’re currently so outside of your own body that you can’t remember to tell him to do so (and he gets the feeling your partner isn’t the type to let him mark you like that) and you feel warm spurts along your belly as he shoots his load against you, his strained groans adding one final note of obscenity to round off your pleasure. 

It takes you both a moment to return to your senses, and you lean down to kiss him again, ignoring the sticky sensation on your skin as you let the simple pleasure ground you. As you slip back onto the sheets, disentangling yourself from him, you look around for something to clean yourself up with but come up short. 

“Just use the sheets,” Cobb tells you, like he’s reading your mind, “I’ll wash’em up later.”

Your gaze narrows, though you’re too hopped up on endorphins to be concerned about much of anything right now. “Can you see through that thing?”

He grins as he falls back onto the bed, utterly spent, and shakes his head. “Just figured you wouldn’t be too keen on keeping my mess on you too long,” he replies, and it’s enough of an answer for you. 

“I could have said the same to you before,” you reply.

“I don’t think I’m wrong in sayin’ yours is much finer than mine. If there wasn’t a drop left to drink in this town, I think I’d find a way to live on what you just gave me.”

You chuckle, still soaking in your blissful afterglow. “All your townsfolk would go thirsty,” you comment with a smile.

“And it might just be worth it.” 

You know he doesn’t mean that – not after everything he’s gone through to save the town – but the sentiment is nice all the same, and you show him your gratitude with another kiss, intending to make it your last. Then it deepens, grows heated, and you find you have to pull away to gain back a little self-control. You part, both of you laughing, satisfied, and you reach for the sheets to wipe yourself down. Your skin still feels sticky afterward, but you doubt there’s much in the way of hot showers right now considering the water situation in the town, so you’re content to wait until you reach the Razor Crest, knowing you’re at least guaranteed better bathing in its refresher. 

As you look at Din, at the ruined way he’s sitting even though he hasn’t even touched you or himself yet, you think that if you both even manage to make it as far as the Razor Crest, you’re definitely guaranteed a better bathing experience.

“So, how’s this work? We never see each other again?” Cobb asks, hands resting behind his head, looking in your general direction with the blindfold still respectfully secured across his eyes. 

You look over at him as you begin to redress, beginning with your socks, still conscious of Din’s heated gaze on your back as you purposely bend over in front of him to pull them on. “Not usually.”

You catch the quick way the corner of the marshal’s mouth pulls down in a click, realizing he’s disappointed by this news, and then glance over your shoulder at Din. He’s inched forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging lazily between his legs, as his gaze rests between your legs where you still glisten from your romp, and it takes him a moment to tear his eyes away and look up. But he seems to catch the meaning in your glance. His helmet tilts slightly to the right – consideration. 

You smile and step towards him in nothing but your socks, running your fingers down the sides of his helmet affectionately. He finally allows himself to reach out and touch you, his gloved hands grabbing handfuls of your ass, cold steel helmet resting against your belly, as you look back at the marshal.

“But I might find a way to make an exception.”

A grin blooms on Cobb’s face as he imagines all the things he’s yet to do to you – or, perhaps even better, all the things you’re yet to do to him. “I sure hope so.”

And honestly? So do you.

#din djarin x reader #cobb vanth x reader #mando x reader #fic request #the mandalorian

[secrecyissurvival]

Din ‘Strictly Business’ Djarin Headcanons

It’s the end of the year! Hooray! 🎆🎆🎆 We survived 2020 my dudes! May 2021 bring you smiles and health. 💖💖💖 I’ve never done one of these before but here are some headcanons that I just can’t stop thinking about for our fave repressed Mandalorian. 👀 This got kinda long so strap in if you want to read!

Warnings: none, loosely edited, SFW (just a tiny mention of a certain...state of being you may inspire 😳) 

• You and Din have been travelling together for a while now and he's been a bit of a lone wolf these years past, but having you around reminds him of his younger days with the covert and even working with Ran's crew...just with less antagonism and lawlessness. The way you fight together, the way your independent and easygoing manner tempers his headstrong and overbearing nature, the way you respect and even go out of your way to accommodate his creed...It Just Works✨

• It's only recently that Din's started to catch himself looking at you. He admires your way with the kid, your efficiency, your curiosity. He looks and looks through that helmet, studying you all the time without really realising. It's only when he suddenly feels like he doesn't just want to look, but also to touch that he begins to recognise what's going on.

• He represses. Of course he does. You're a team, partners. You fit together like a well-oiled machine and he'd be a fool to threaten that with the thought of anything more. It manifests at first in a slightly shorter fuse, a little more recklessness on the job, even a few biting comments that you're more than happy to fling straight back when something hasn't gone exactly to plan.

• But he feels hollow and shameful after an argument with you and even his pride won't be enough to keep him from apologising in the end, even if the apology takes the form of a jug of spotchka and a shooting match. Still, there are a few more lingering silences afterwards that he refuses to acknowledge, a slight awkwardness that he hates himself for creating. 

• In the dark of night, staring up at the ceiling of his bunk on the Crest, you asleep in the cockpit above, and him with his heart in his mouth, Din finally admits to himself what's going on. The pit in his stomach when you look at him, the way his heart beats faster when you’re in danger, the way his mouth goes dry when you breathe heavily, sweat glistening on your collarbones, standing cockily over a target...He admires you. Hell, he’s even...fond of you. He wants to be with you all the time, to lay with you (and fuck if that doesn’t get his blood pumping and rushing south, but he won’t disrespect you like that, not even in the darkest corners of his mind). He folds his hands behind his head in the dark, elbows sticking out, and resolutely ignores the way he aches for you.

• Instead, he wonders if you could secretly feel the same way. It’s an entertaining fantasy except for the fact that Din’s pretty sure you’re not interested in him in that way. For all his beskar, it is you who is completely impenetrable. Nothing ever changes, it seems to him, with you: you are as teasing and independent as ever, as nurturing and caring as always, as beautiful and steadfast as usual. And Din just can’t get enough. You take up his attention always; he is always aware of you. Now, he can’t deny it to himself but he vows, going forward, that he's just going to let himself look and that is all.

• Okay...at first he just looks. They come gradually, the changes. First, it starts when he’s watching you train. He finds he can't help himself from offering helpful suggestions because--while he knows you can absolutely look after yourself--terror has taken up alongside the fondness, the terror of anything happening to you, so he needs to know you are always at your best. Din guides your fists with words and, when that’s not enough, there’s one beautiful, intense moment when he shifts your body with his, altering your stance, hips pressed in close. Every touch through his gloves as he tilts your waist with his hands sets his blood ablaze. When he stands back and watches you hit a bullseye with your blaster, he is grateful for the helmet to hide the way his cheeks burn.

• Later, he watches your gentle way with the kid until his mind imagines you cradling a child you have made together and..

don'tgotheredon'tgotheredon'tgothere.

But he starts to join in with games you play with the little one, knowing he is falling deeper every time you laugh together at something the kid does. He brings you blankets when the cockpit is cold and the child is snuggling into you for warmth. The starlight reflecting in your eyes on those quiet, peaceful nights in the Crest has started to become one of his most sought-after sights in the galaxy. 

• But Din’s favourite thing to watch is your smile. He relishes the curve of your lips, the sparkle in your eyes. He starts to actively seek it out. He finds it's his dry humour that brings a smile to your lips most often and, if he's especially lucky, even a rippling giggle. So, if he finds himself making more sarcastic and coarse comments these days, well...it was you that started it.

• Just because he’s trying his best to contain these feelings, doesn’t mean that they aren’t there. He never feels them more intensely than when you make a pitstop in a cantina or are bartering at a market stool and someone makes an impolite comment or, worse, they actually make you laugh or smile. You can take care of the assholes yourself, and he knows this more than well. Still, it doesn’t stop him from sidling up behind you, shoulders squared, weaponry on display. He’s pretty sure you don’t know he’s doing it. At least, he hopes.😳

• But when someone makes you grin or even chuckle...It’s white-hot, the feeling. Like a supernova in his veins. He’s self-aware enough to know he’s being territorial and tells himself to cool it before you catch on. But in the moment, the Mandalorian can’t help it if he diverts your attention away from the culprit and back to him. 

• He gets an unexpected opportunity to touch you when you cop a punch from a target on a job. You catch it in just the wrong way and it knocks you out almost immediately.  The horror he feels seeing you go limp makes his stomach twist and his hands shake. He takes care of the bounty (gotta be the first priority even though he feels nauseous leaving you) and he’s intensely enraged, subduing the target with an excessive amount of force. 

• When Din is finally at your side on the ground, rolling you over, he would rather he never gets the chance to touch you again than to ever feel your head lay listlessly between his hands the way it does. He carries you back to the ship bridal style and tends to your wound with an almost reverence. You wake up a few times and he’s there right away, with water for you to drink and a cold rag for the headache. He curses himself for not having some bacta to hand. 

• Once he’s satisfied you’re through the worst of it, he still can’t bear to leave you. He watches over you and the child for hours, his heart sinking in his stomach, hands tightening gently on the child and loosening again, unable to bring himself to touch you. He waits and waits in the dark, thoughts going round and round in his mind, his mouth full of all of the things he can’t say. 

#i have literally looked at this for hours be fREE #it's about the yearning #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian headcanons #din djarin headcanons #my writing