#spotchka*gif

[221bshrlocked]

Keep Your Religion

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Jedi AFAB!Reader

Words: 7630

Warnings: 18+ only. Starts off angsty then gets to the smut. Softer than usual Wolffe because that man would be madly in love when he finds his special someone. Lots of Kissing. Possessive Behavior/Words. Dirty/Sweet Talk..but mostly Sweet. Exhibitionism Kink if you like squint! Oral Sex (female receiving). Penetrative, Unprotected Sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong my dudes). Slight Breeding Kink. Wolffe is insatiable yall!

Summary: You try to end things with Wolffe because you fear your relationship will end badly due to the rules set in place for the Jedi and the Clones. Wolffe convinces you otherwise.

A/N: Can you believe I finished another fic? Neither can I. It was about time for another Wolffe fic so here you go my lovely humans. I hope you enjoy. Comments are always always always appreciated so let me know how I'm doing please and thank you. I do apologize that I'm not tagging, it hasn't been working for some reason since post editor changed permanently to this new looking editor. I'll try to figure it out I swear! P.S. this is the second of hopefully many more submissions for @clonexreaderbingo

Something about seeing him so relaxed and loose tugged at the strings of your heart. It was a rare sight, one you thought he would only grace you with when the two of you are alone together. But here he was, throwing back whatever shit drink the bar offered him and his brothers, all the while smiling at Cody’s remark about the new shinies embarrassing themselves in front of Anakin and Obi-Wan. You’re nursing your own drink in the corner, trying to find the best possible way to approach the booth without making a scene. He’d told you before that almost everyone close to him knew of your relationship, but you felt weird about dropping the pretenses. You were his boss, after all. Well, not completely his boss, but a commanding officer regardless. If you started acting extra friendly, you’re not sure how the rest of the Wolfpack would take it. 

As you swirl the spotchka around, you suddenly feel like someone is watching you, hunting you even. There’s only one man who’s ever made you feel so heated and just as you look up from the glass in your hand towards the group of Clones you were previously studying, you notice Wolffe staring you down, the slightest hint of a smirk flashing at you in an attempt to get you to react to his attention. 

Normally, you’d enjoy the subtle flirtatious expressions, even tease him a little to get a rise out of him before escaping to the nearest room to lure him for a private moment. Or, as private a moment as 79’s can offer a Jedi Master and a Commander of the Grand Republic Army. 

But tonight was different. Tonight, you came out to the Clone bar to decide the best way to end things with Wolffe. It was the last thing you wanted to do, but you didn’t want to push your luck any further. Things were getting worse by the hour, and you couldn’t afford losing Wolffe all because some assholes in the Senate didn’t think he deserved to love or to be loved by someone. Then there was the matter of the Jedi Council, and how strict they were becoming. It was already frowned upon before the war, and it only took a few months into this galactic conflict for them to push their ideologies even harder on everyone at the Temple. 

You would never forgive yourself if they punished him simply because you couldn’t stand being far away from him any longer. You narrow your eyes at Wolffe and down the rest of your drink, disappointed in yourself for not having the guts to tell him earlier. 

And for knowing that you probably wouldn’t be able to do it tonight. 

The smile on his face drops instantly when he notices you avoiding his gaze, and you curse yourself for ruining his night. It was going so well, and one look at you made the worry return to his mind again. 

Clutching your robes tightly, you pay the bartender quickly before excusing yourself and heading towards the bathrooms in the back. You could feel the tears threaten to spill down your cheeks and the last thing you wished for is for someone to see you and make a huge fuss about it. As you push through the crowd, you feel those same pair of eyes hold you down harshly, as if they were refusing you permission to leave without confronting them. 

Quickly wiping your eyes, you push open the doors and turn around to lock them behind you, only to nearly bump into the chest of the man you were hoping to avoid tonight. You gulp nervously, and before you can say anything, Wolffe tilts his head to the side and studies you closely, his eyes roaming down your body to see if anything needs his immediate attention. 

When he finds nothing out of the ordinary, he takes a step closer to you and shuts the door behind him, not bothering to lock it as he continues to back you up until you hit the wall. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to avoid me.” His gaze is direct, unfaltering in the haze of lust he was sending you under. You furrow your eyebrows and try to look anywhere else but him, but as always, he doesn’t give you the easy way out. Grabbing the bottom of your chin, he turns you until you have no choice but to look straight into his eyes and respond. 

“What if I was?” You’re not sure what pushes you to say something so defensive, but the chuckle it gets out of him makes you realize you had already lost whatever game he was playing with you. 

“I’d say you should have gone to another bar.” He’s right. You know this, and he definitely knows this too. The ease with which he continues to have an effect on you would normally be welcomed, but you’re pissed at him. Pissed for being so weak for him. For not bothering to put up a fight. 

“But here you are…at the one place you knew I was coming to tonight.” Wolffe leans down and nudges your temple with his nose, breathing in the scent of your sweat and perfume, and forcing you to reach for him so you don’t topple over from the sheer amount of control he has on you. 

“So tell me mesh’la, what have I done to deserve the cold shoulder?” He whispers the question in your ear, slowly sliding his hands down your body until they reach your waist. You’re having a difficult time breathing, and you moan his name as you throw your head back when he squeezes your hips and pushes his chest impossibly closer into your own. 

“I- you didn’t…it,” you can’t form a coherent sentence, let alone a sensical thought, when you’re so overwhelmed by his presence alone. You thought he would laugh at you, but when his breathing becomes nearly as erratic as your own, you understand that he was genuinely trying to figure out if he’s done something wrong. His methods seldom changed, and you weren’t surprised that he was trying to get you to talk by touching you as intimately as possible without tearing your clothes off. 

“Don’t tell me I did nothing wrong…sir. Something must have happened, or else you would be begging me to have my way with you right now. So what is it? What have I done?” Wolffe repeats again, making you feel guilty for your behavior and for what you’ve been thinking of doing since the last time you were together. You remind yourself that he deserves someone better, someone who wouldn’t compromise his position in the GAR all because of their messed-up religion. He deserved so much more than you. 

And the mere mention of your rank made it worse.

“W-Wolffe, I umm, I can’t do this anymore.” You know this was the last thing he expected you to say because in the blink of an eye, he’s removing himself from you completely and putting space between your shaking body and his own wound up chest. When you muster up the courage to look into his eyes, a shiver courses down your spine. 

It has been so long since he’s given you such a look, one that was filled with nothing but suspicion and guardedness. He’s quiet for longer than you like, and when you reach for him in an attempt to console him, his frown deepens and he twitches away from you. You hadn’t expected such a reaction to hurt this much, but it does, and like before, you have no control over the stream of tears rolling down your chin. Again, it’s not what he expects to witness from you, certainly not after what you just declared to him, and when you sniffle to get yourself under control, he closes the space between you more aggressively than before, slamming his hands on both sides of your face and clenching his jaws tightly when he sees you pouting at him. 

“I don’t know what I’ve done, I don’t. But I’m sorry regardless. I am so very sorry. Whatever it is, we can talk it out. It’s not worth throwing away all that we have. Please. Just- krifff…tell me what it is I have done, and I will get down on my knees right now and beg for your forgiveness. But don’t do this, don’t give up on us.” In all your time knowing Wolffe, you’ve never once heard him speak with such a tone. He was always assertive, confident and unwavering in his commanding presence. 

But the only thing you could feel now is his fear. 

“You did nothing wrong, it’s me…it’s all me Wolffe.” You know this won’t be enough for him, but you try to convince him regardless. Then he drops his head against your shoulder and you know you won’t be able to hold out much longer. 

“I wasn’t born yesterday sweetheart. If you’ve ever held an ounce of respect for me, you’ll tell me what I did wrong. You owe me that much. I- I deserve to know.” If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was close to breaking down as well. 

“I do Wolffe, I respect you…more than anyone. You have to know that.” You hope he doesn’t turn away when you reach for him again, and as you cup his cheeks in the palms of your hands to raise his attention to you, you’re met with an expression you never thought you’d see on his features. 

“You haven’t done anything baby, it’s me. It’s…all me.” If you were a better person, you would have been consistent in your tone with him, but seeing him so torn down broke you, and you couldn’t not soothe him the way you always did whenever he comes back from a particularly difficult mission. 

“You deserve someone better Wolffe, someone who would never compromise your safety. Being with me is- it’s getting dangerous. The Council is becoming more strict…the Senate even worse. If they court martial you because you’re with me, I- I don’t know what I would do.” There’s something so gut-wrenching about the way he refuses to look away from your moving lips, and when you stop talking, he doesn’t blink once, his cybernetic eye focusing in and out before slowly blinking along with the other.

“Someone better?” It’s clear that he’s still hurt by the word vomit you threw at him, but whereas his voice showed it earlier, the shakiness and reluctance is gone now, replaced with a menacing, almost angry tone that you were too familiar with, one that you’ve witnessed during battle when his orders weren’t obeyed immediately. 

“I can’t give you what you want Wolffe, not without hurting you eventually…unintentionally. My- my religion, it’s becoming a threat to your well-being. It’s not worth the hassle. I am not worth the hassle. You could do so much better than-” Whatever you’re about to say gets lost in the damp air of the room as soon as Wolffe decides he’s heard enough of what was on your mind. He grips your neck tightly, winding his other arm around your back and violently pulling you into his embrace as he swallows your surprised shrieks. Your frown deepens for another moment before you surrender yourself to the possessive kiss, and Wolffe must feel you melting into his arms because he growls against your lips and claims your tongue without remorse. 

His hold on you only grows stronger when he feels your arms move to wrap around his neck, and when he’s sure you’re trying to get closer to him and not push him away, he tilts his head to the side and deepens the kiss, not caring for how messy or aggressive he’s being with you as he shoves his tongue past your lips and reminds you of what you could be missing if you got what you wanted and left him. 

As the need for air becomes difficult to ignore, Wolffe breaks the kiss and gives the two of you a moment of respite. When he opens his eyes and finds your orbs glistening with unshed tears, he swears beneath his breath and lunges for you again, the hand around your throat loosening for a fraction of a second before tightening around your jugular and forcing you to accept his rejection of your wishes. You moan into the kiss, allowing him to take whatever he wants from you, knowing that he wasn’t going to allow you to go through with whatever it is you thought you could get away with tonight. When he’s content with the reactions of your mind and body to his touch, 

“You nearly broke my heart, ner runi. Don’t ever say that to me again!” Wolffe refuses to let go of you, afraid you’d leave the room thinking that he agreed to the sentiment you dropped on him a second ago. When you say nothing in return, he shakes his head and crushes you into his arms, nuzzling into your neck and breathing you in to attempt and calm his nerves. He prays that you give him some form of an answer that confirms your understanding of what he just said, but when you don’t, Wolffe sighs heavily and pulls back enough to take a better look at you. 

“Wolffe, we need to talk ab-” Again, he doesn’t care for what you have to say and cuts you off, letting you know that this was definitely the end of the conversation. 

“No, we’re done talking. You can keep your religion sweetheart, I couldn’t care less for its consequences…but don’t you fucking dare and ask me to abandon mine.” His voice is firm, the familiar unyielding articulation confirming to you that he’s already made up his mind on the matter. There would be no more on the matter. 

As much as you hate to admit it, it feels like a bantha has lifted one of its feet off your chest. You look into his eyes and find them filled with a more familiar emotion, one that kept you going ever since you confessed your feelings to him. You thought it would be difficult to get him to accept your proposition, but you realize then and there that it was definitely harder for you to come to terms with your initial thoughts. 

You slowly smile at him, and it must be what Wolffe needs to hear to forget the last few minutes because his touches become less crazed and more soothing, a level of intimacy you’re always yearning for when the two of you are away from each other for too long. 

“And what...what is your religion?” You barely find the attention span to ask, the familiarity of his touch and his voice sending you down a spiral of lust-filled thoughts that only increased the longer Wolffe remained in your presence. 

“Your body is my religion cyar’ika, and I’m not planning on losing my faith any time soon.” The confession is lewd, mostly because he’s using your weakness to drive the message home. But as dirty as the admission sounded on his lips, you couldn’t help but sink into his embrace, wanting to hear more of him so you could forget about why you were here in the first place. 

“Is that s-so?” You’re practically shaking in his arms, and Wolffe uses your momentary distraction to tug your robes apart and leave a trail of kisses down your neck to where he wanted to bite you most. 

“Yeah,” he licks at your skin, wishing with all his heart he could have you right then and there. It’s not as if the two of you haven’t fucked at 79’s before. He just knew that you both needed something more, something that he can only accomplish in the privacy of his rooms. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to excuse myself for the night, tell the boys I have to finish reports for the General.” He slips a hand underneath the edge of your shirt, drawing circles on your waist until you slowly begin to roll your hips into him. 

“Ahuh,” you’re not really paying attention to what he’s saying, your body already frozen with anticipation now that it felt his hands and his tongue leaving marks across it again. 

“Focus,” he squeezes your ass, shaking it twice to get you to open your eyes and look past the haze to obey his next commands. 

“Yes sir.” You bite into your lip and giggle when he narrows his eyes at you and mumbles something about punishing you for being a tease. 

“You’re going to leave shortly after, something about being needed back at the Temple.” Your stomach twists in knots when you realize he’s using his ‘Commander’ voice on you, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck and mold your lips with his own when you remember the last time he used that same tone on you. 

What a night it was. 

“And where w-will I actually be going?” You ask as soon as Wolffe pulls you away and breaks the kiss. 

“My room baby, where you’ll stay for the rest of the night.” He says matter of factly, as if you shouldn’t even be asking his such a question. 

“Pray tell, Commander. What will we be doing that- oh kriff, that will require me to spend the night in your quarters?” You throw your head back when his hand slithers up your body and cups your breast through your Jedi robes. You can almost feel the heat radiating off the palm of his hand, and the harder he gropes you through your clothes, the more you wish he would just push you down on all fours and fuck you into oblivion. 

“Well, I don’t know about you sweetheart, but I’ll be practicing my faith...and worshiping every inch of your body until the only thing you can feel is me.” The smirk on his face would be menacing if you weren’t so used to it by now, and you gasp lightly when he leans down and bites the skin of your shoulder peeking from beneath your cloak. 

“Oh gods-”

“That’s it, moan for me cyar’ika. I want the whole fucking bar to know who makes you feel good.” Wolffe shoves your thighs apart and pushes his leg in between, slowly moving you back and forth on him to give you a preview of what’s to come tonight. 

“Wolffe, please. I need you.” You fall forward against his chest, whining for him as he continues to move you across his thigh and dares you to come from such a simple touch. 

“Oh, now you need me?” You know he’s joking without looking at him, but the question throws you off guard and you snap your gaze up to see if he was hurt by what you said previously. 

“I- I didn’t…I’m sorry.”

“None of that.” Wolffe shakes his head, not wanting to ruin the moment by something so trivial. He slows down his touches but keeps you moving on him, hoping to distract you long enough to make this night a little better for the both of you. 

“Wolffe,” you call for him again, not in warning but in desperation, hoping that he can see how sorry you are for ever doubting what the two of you had. 

“That was cruel of me, forgive me sweetheart.” His voice is soft, so much sweeter than before, and you’re reminded by how quickly his mood changes whenever he senses you’re upset or angry. 

“How could you ask that when I am the one who hurt you?” You should drop it, everything that he’s done is proof that you should let this go and get back to more important matters, but you can’t stop yourself from asking him, wanting to know why he’s always so patient and caring with you when he was the one who deserved better. 

“You didn’t hurt me, cyare.”

“I did, I- I almost…”

“You could never hurt me, little one. Never.” Like before, he doesn’t care for whatever you have to say, not because he doesn’t value your words, but because he knows how difficult your relationship with him probably weighs on your mind. 

Even from the beginning. 

You study him for what feels like hours but is probably only seconds. And you wonder how anyone could ever think him cruel and rude when he was so loving and unbelievably long-suffering. Without warning, you throw yourself at him, mirroring his actions from before and shoving your mouth against his own to feel grounded. He doesn’t waste a second, pushing you harder against the wall and sucking on your tongue until you were a moaning mess in his embrace. 

“F-fuck, if you keep that up, I won’t- kriff, I won’t hold back.” Wolffe rests his forehead against yours, trying to keep himself in check so he doesn’t end up embarrassing the two of you by what his body is willing to do. 

“Then don’t!”

“You want me to fuck you right here, where anyone can walk in and see you getting filled with my cock?” He shouldn’t be surprised by how wanton you are, and although he knows he should step away and put some space between you and him, he can’t help but retort with his own teasing comment. 

“Please Commander.” You lean up and kiss his jugular, nipping at the skin just above his armor and soothing it with another kiss before laying your head back and meeting his intense gaze. 

“Always playing dirty. Just for that, you’ll have to wait.” Wolffe clears his throat and eyes you up and down before taking a few steps back. He barely manages to hold back from laughing when you stumble forward and nearly lose your footing. You’re about to complain when he raises a hand and silences you, furrowing his eyebrows at you in an attempt to look intimidating. 

“Another word, and I won’t give you my cock tonight.” He warns calmly, smirking immediately when you shake your head and tell him you’ll be good.

“No please, I’ll stop. I’ll behave, I swear.” 

“You’ll behave-?” The question trails until the room is silent again and you know instantly what you said wrong. 

“Commander.” You whisper to him as you try to fix your clothes and hair so you don’t look like you were fucked against a wall by the Commander of the 104th Battalion. You don’t dare smile at him, afraid he’d misunderstand the gesture for another one of your teasing expressions and completely throw the night away. 

“Good girl, now do as you’re told and I promise to reward you.” He watches you saunter past him and before you unlock the door, he smacks your ass quite harshly, watching you closely to see if you were going to behave or retort like you usually do. 

“Yes, sir.” You don’t dare give into his tricks, hoping to get through the next hour or so without getting distracted, or worse…caught. 

“Off you go.” He gestures for you to leave before him, and when you’re no longer in sight, he shuts his eyes and sighs in relief. Wolffe is not sure how the two of you got to where you are now, but considering the fact that he expected something like this to happen since you got together, he’s relieved that it was for reasons different from what his mind conjured up all those nights he spent alone in his bed. 

You walk out and move towards the bar again, your eyes roaming across the busy bar and waiting until Wolffe walks out before you make sure that no one noticed the two of you together. He follows you soon after, finding you almost instantly and winking at you before he heads towards his men. You watch as he tells Sinker to give him his helmet, and you assume they all roll their eyes not a second later because he told them he needed to get some paperwork done. 

But as soon as Cody looks at you, he knows what Wolffe is planning on doing, and before you can turn away from him, he raises his glass and smiles at you before downing the rest of his drink. You should be embarrassed at being seen, but something about the way the Commander gestures at you makes you smile, as if he was telling you that he hoped the two of you are okay. You shake your head at him and throw your hood up, walking to the Commander of the 21st Nova Corps to let him know you’ll be leaving earlier tonight. 

“Ah General, I was wondering when you’ll be joining us.” You smile at Commander Bacara and the boys, giving them a few credits to let them know the next two rounds were on you. 

“Sorry Bacara, I’m calling it early tonight. Needed back at the Temple!” You feel bad for lying to him, but as always, he doesn’t ask for an elaboration, telling you that he hopes you don’t have to do too much paperwork while you’re still on break. 

“See you later,” you nod at him and the others when they salute you, and just as you walk out of the bar, you vaguely hear them yell for the droid making its rounds to get them a round of quanya. 

“Hmm, didn’t peg them for the type.” You mutter to yourself as you step out into the chilly Coruscant air, looking around to see if Wolffe was anywhere to be seen or if he has already left. When you don’t sense his Force signature nearby, you make your way towards the speeder bike Anakin lent you and bring it to life, trying your best to contain yourself so you wouldn’t be caught by another Jedi nearby. 

You make your way through the streets as quickly as possible, and when you make it to the Temple, you park the bike nearby and think of the best way to make it through the barracks without being seen by any of the Masters…or Commanders. 

It’s not the first time you entered the barracks, and under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be strange to see a Jedi making their way through the hallways. But it was nearly midnight, and you weren’t sure you could lie your way through a question if you were caught before you made it to Wolffe’s quarters. You’re about to reach out to the Force to see if anyone is awake when you hear footsteps approaching you from behind. The familiarity of its warmness sets your mind at ease, and you take a deep breath before you turn to face him. 

“Commander.”

“General, is there something I can help you with?” He’s putting on a show for the surveillance cameras, and you clear your throat before you tell him something about wanting to review the plans for the next mission. 

“Very well,” he’s curt in his response, and you get the sense that he may be avoidant because he has about as much control around you as you do whenever you so much as hear the mention of his name. 

“Thank you, Commander Wolffe.” He nearly falters in his steps at hearing you call his name, and he swears beneath his breath as a way of warning. You nearly smile at his reaction, but you remember how closely the guards watch the cameras and you choose to switch your attention to the ground. Not another word passes between the two of you, and as you reach his room, you feel your heart threaten to leap out of your chest at the prospect of finally spending a night with him. 

Up until now, the two of you had to make do with stolen moments and short breaks, whether on missions or back here. Neither of you have ever spent the night alone, and you find it fitting that tonight would be it. It’s comforting and nerve-wrecking all at once, and as soon as you step into his quarters, you allow yourself to take in the calm before the storm. 

Before the door slides completely shut, Wolffe is on you like a moth to a flame, nearly ripping your clothes off of your body as he pushes you down onto his bed. 

“W-Wolffe, I-” You try to ask him why he’s so frantic and crazed all of a sudden but he lets go of you and stands to his height, making quick work of his armor in record time all the while keeping you still with the mere look in his eyes. 

“I can’t do slow tonight, can’t wait another fucking second without having you.” You always admired how much care he puts into his armor whenever he’s taking it off or putting it back on, so seeing him drop each pass to the ground sends a zap of lightning down your spine. 

You mirror his actions without another word, throwing your boots and socks away before struggling to take your pants off. Moments later, you feel the bed dip once Wolffe crawls towards you, his muscles flexing in such a menacing way that makes you fall back into the sheets and wait for him to tell you what to do next. 

But then he says nothing, and you’re torn between asking him what he needs from you and letting you do whatever the fuck he wants. He reaches for the edge of your pants and tugs them right down your legs, not once blinking as he violently takes your sweater off and throws it somewhere behind him. You’re left in nothing but your undergarments, and as you twist your arms to take your bra off, Wolffe shoves your thighs apart and makes space for himself in between. 

“I need you, now.” His voice should terrify you, it should be enough of a warning for what he has in store for you. But you find it exhilarating, knowing that only you could get him to lose this much control. You try to reach for him, wanting to feel his skin beneath the tips of your fingers, but Wolffe shakes his head and grabs both of your wrists in one hand, slamming them above your head and tightening the hold he has on them while he slithers his other hand down your nude body. 

“If it were up to me mesh’la, I’d tie you to this fucking bed and have my way with you whenever I want. I’d- kriff, I’d fill you with my cum every minute of every fucking day…so everyone would know you’re mine…so they know that I’m yours.” He teases you through your panties, rubbing lazy circles across the damp spot quickly becoming larger. 

“Wolffe, please…take me.” You whine his name in desperation, hoping he’d finally give you his cock and end your misery. 

“I swear to the maker sweet girl, I’m going to fuck you all night long…kiss every inch of you, mark you with my teeth and hands until you’re my very own altar. I’m going to worship you baby, but only if you promise me one thing.” Wolffe slips his fingers beneath the flimsy material of your panties, rubbing at your clit furiously to get you to focus on him and him only. 

“A-anything…anything Commander.” You turn to the side and kiss his forearm, hoping he’d see how willing you are to do whatever he asks of you. 

“Pray for me.” As you look bite into his skin, Wolffe pushes his hard dick into your cunt, not bothering to give you a moment to get used to being so full before he starts fucking into you with sharp thrusts. You’re screaming his name instantly, arching your back from the sheer amount of pain and pleasure he was bringing upon you so quickly. 

“FUck, there we go…such a good fucking girl for me, screaming my name so sweetly. Go on ner Jetii’ika, tell everyone who fucks you like the perfect cockdumb whore you are.” He leans down and bites the top of your breasts, letting go of your wrists for a brief second so he can rip the last bit of clothing shielding you from his hungry eyes. 

“Wolffe…f-ffuck, oh gods…Wolffe!” You twist your fingers into his bed sheets, crossing your legs behind his back and whining for him when he descends down on you and sucks on your nipple. His hand seeks out your own, and when he intertwines his fingers with yours, he grunts and growls against your skin, reaching for the other breast and groping you harshly until the only thing you can feel is his tongue, and his hands, and his cock wreaking havoc on you. 

Wolffe knows he should slow down, perhaps be a little less demanding with you. But something about seeing you in his bed when everyone else is asleep makes him more possessive, more needy with your body. And it didn’t help how you were reacting to his advances, how completely you surrendered your body to him without so much as a question. He opens his eyes and roams them over your already bruising skin, and when he finds you wanting for more, he increases his pace and fucks you until you couldn’t even breathe out his name. 

You sense his gaze on you, and as you look through heavy-lidded eyes, you find him completely focused on your dazed expression. 

“Wolffe, I- I love you.” You’re not sure what makes you say those words now, but a voice in your heart told you this was the right moment. You’ve spoken before about what this thing between the two of you was, and you knew, as well as he, that this would be it. There would be no one else, not for him, and definitely not for you. 

But you’ve never actually said those words out loud. You’ve said it in the way you kissed him, in the way you gave yourself to him…and Wolffe had pretty much conveyed them to you with every stolen glance and every quick touch he managed to sneak when the two of you passed each other on the General’s ship. 

Like before, Wolffe hasn’t expected to hear you part with such a confession, now of all times. He falters in his pace for a brief moment before he sinks his cock into you and stills completely, wanting to be as close and connected with you as possible when he finally said what he’s felt for you since you introduced yourself to him. 

“Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum…cyare.” You let out a quiet sob at the intimacy of the moment, and Wolffe wraps his arms around your neck and your waist to feel you against every bit of his skin. His thrusts are shallow, barely leaving you empty out of fear of losing this moment. You throw your arms around his neck and bring him flush against you, crying for him one last time as he seals your lips with his own and sinks into your wet cunt. 

The world comes to a halt around you, and all you can feel is Wolffe’s lips claiming your mouth just as he fills you with his seed. You come with him, shaking softly in his arms as his hot cum shoots into you and coats your walls with proof of his need to mark every fucking inch of you. It’s too much and not enough, and you push your heels into his ass in an attempt to bring him even closer to you. It’s not possible, you know that, but you want nothing more than to have him sink into your body until you weren’t sure where he ended and you began. 

Wolffe is fighting for his life, torn between giving you a second to breathe and quite literally stealing your breath to fill his lungs with your essence. He parts for a brief moment and looks at you, kissing your eyes softly before shoving his lips against yours again. You don’t dare ask him to give you a moment of respite, mostly because you’re sure you would miss him if he were to put space between your skin and his lips. 

Suddenly, the world turns around and you break the kiss unintentionally, gasping in surprise when he turns the two of you around until he’s laying on his back and you on top of him. You smile against his jaw when you feel his hands slide down your back and grab at your ass. As he starts moving your hips back and forth, you nuzzle into his neck and breathe in his scent, licking and kissing his skin the more he fucks his cum deep into your cunt. 

“W-Wolffe…”

“I’m not done with you yet, ner kar’ta.” The promise is both teasing and terrifying, but you can’t find it in yourself to hesitate, not when he was promising you the stars all night long. 

And he does, he brings you the heavens until you can no longer breathe without tasting the cosmos on your tongue. With every touch of his fingers, you beg him for more…more of his sweet words, more of his sinful kisses, more of his needy cock.

He fucks you until you lose your voice, and when he’s sure he’s rung your body of every ounce of pleasure it can offer him, he fucks you some more, filling your pussy until you were nothing but a mess, a mixture of his seed and your juices.

And then he pushes you down and parts your thighs to pull you apart with his tongue, and you feel that familiar heat rise in your chest all over again. You tug on his hair, torn between urging him to make you cum again and pleading for him to stop because you could no longer stand the pleasure. You were so sensitive, and Wolffe knew very well how painful the ecstasy was becoming, but some twisted part of him wanted to mark your cunt with his teeth and tongue as well. He wanted to devour you, body and soul. Your release comes in the form of a silent cry, and Wolffe laps up your mixed cum until you can’t take it anymore, softly pushing his shoulders away so he can slow down.

There is a lazy smile on your features, one that deepens further when you see Wolffe crawling on top of you and leaving a trail of wet kisses across your sweaty skin.

“Satisfied?” He dares to ask, lightly pinching your nipples when you don’t respond right away. You giggle at the touch, pulling him closer to you so he can kiss you some more. He melts into your body, roaming his hands across the tired muscles until he has no choice but to fall beside you.

You hum in response, studying his relaxed expression and laying the softest of kisses on his forehead before pulling him into your neck. Neither of you say anything, and only when your breathing steadies does Wolffe pull away to make sure you’re comfortable and asleep.

He sits up on his elbows and takes in his handiwork, biting his lower lip when he sees the bruises already forming all over your body. The contentment falters for a split second, but his worries evaporate when you sleepily reach for him and bring him back into your arms. He mutters his love for you one last time before surrendering to the comfort of your embrace, falling into a deep sleep almost as soon as he rests his cheek on your shoulder. 

It’s hours later when you wake, and you groan tiredly when the sunbeams hit your eyes and make it difficult to escape them. You turn to the other side and peek through your lashes, only to find Wolffe already wide awake, softly touching the length of your arm with his lips and nose, as if he was tracing every little mark he left on your body from last night. He looks up when he notices your breaths coming in erratically, winking at you and smirking at the sudden spirit of shyness falling over your tired form. 

“I can taste the sunlight on your skin.” He moans against your clavicle, lightly nipping at the skin over the bone when you turn away from him and hide beneath the sheets. 

“Hmm…such a smooth talker.” You groan from underneath the shield you’ve created, giggling like a little girl when Wolffe tugs them away and attacks your face with playful nips and kisses. 

“Only for you cyar’ika.” He whispers into your ear before biting at the space just below it, his touches becoming less playful and more needy as he takes in the way your body is reacting to his advances. 

“Wolffe, your lips feel so good.” You throw your head back and sink your nails into the muscles on his back, gasping for air the longer Wolffe continues to mark you up. It’s almost as if he was looking for spots on your skin he hasn’t left his bite marks or fingerprints on. Not that you were complaining. 

“Just my lips, General?” You can hear the smile on his handsome face, and you nearly push back to edge him on, but you realize it would serve you better to give into him and tell him what he wants to hear. 

“N-no, it’s everything you do to me Wolffe. It’s in your touch…your- your voice…your cock.”

“My little Jedi can’t get enough of me.” He shifts you in his arms until you’re laying on your stomach, and when you try to look back to see what he has in mind, he combs his finger into your hair and pushes you into the pillows until he has access to your back. When he hears whine his name, he descends down on you like a crazed man, sinking his teeth into the skin he wasn’t able to reach last night while pulling on your hair to remind you who was in charge. 

“Oh gods…never, Wolffe. Never. I want you all the kriffing time, even now…I just want you to- to,” you forget what you want to say, the need to commit this moment to memory outweighing whatever information your mind wanted to part with. It must be the reaction Wolffe was wanting for because he chuckles against your heated skin and finishes your thought for you. 

“Claim you?”

“Please.” You try to push the sheets away from you so you can feel him against your back, and Wolffe lets go of you for a split second to let you do whatever you wish, returning flush against you once you’re completely nude to his eyes. He’s on you in the blink of an eye, teasing you with the head of his hard cock while keeping a firm hold on your hips so you don’t move against him.

“Can’t really do that now, can I mesh’la?” He struggles through his words, his hungry eyes picturing all the things he still wants to do to you as you lay there beneath him, willingly submitting your entire self to him without a second thought. 

“You’re already mine, little Jedi. You’re mine, have been since you came here all those months ago and told me you wanted me.” He massages your back with his calloused hands, trying to come to terms with the fact that he will never be close enough to you. He’ll never get tired of this. He’ll never not want to touch you with everything he’s got. 

“But since you plead so sweetly,” you moan into the sheets as you feel him part your thighs and slowly sink his cock into your swollen cunt, keeping you filled to the brim and refusing to move until you begged some more. 

“Wolffe...” You reach back and tug on his hair to bring him closer to you, the need to hear what you do to him igniting a flame in your chest, one that only he could put out by showing you how much he craves you. 

“F-ffuck, you’ve ruined the mornings for me cyare. Now I- I won’t stop thinking of your wet, tight pussy when I…kriff, when I wake up.” Wolffe bites into your shoulder as he rolls his hips into you, no longer able to control his desires from you. He wanted you to know the effect you have on him, the hold you had on his very soul ever since you walked onto his ship and offered your aid all those months ago. 

“I’m yours Commander, always. Y-you can have me whenever you want.” You sigh heavily when he growls against your skin and continues to fuck into you without caring for how rough he’s being. 

“E-even at sunrise, General?” Wolffe chuckles as soon as your cunt clenches tightly around him at the mention of the honorific, letting you know that he enjoys calling you by your rank as much as he does when you moan his. 

“Especially at sunrise-” You barely manage to breathe out, smiling through the assault he was bringing on your body as you surrender yourself completely to him.

“My little tracinya,” Wolffe nuzzles into the crook of your neck, content with the way you seem to melt the harder he fills you with his cock. A part of him knows he should maybe discuss the incident from last night, but he finds it difficult to pay any mind to your words when he already has you so willing and wanting beneath him. 

Later, he would consider the little issue of your religion later. 

But for now, he was adamant on showing you his own.

#CFB2023 #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe/reader #commander wolffe #the clone wars #star wars #star wars the clone wars #wolffe #cc-3636 #cc3636 #cc 3636 #clone x reader #clones x reader #clone fanfiction #commander wolffe fanfiction

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

the way i need enemies to lovers smut with cal where reader is a sith lord and gets hurt but cal being the good man that he is, takes her back to his place and things happen yk 😰

i love this so much and I hope it's alright that I changed the prompt a teensy bit. instead of being sith, reader is just a darkside-user more generally. also gender neutral. thank you so much for the request!

Balance (Cal Kestis x reader)

Summary: You encounter Cal Kestis a few too many times, and you can't explain the way that the Force seems to be conspiring to put you two together in a room.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ minors DNI; gn!reader; inappropriate use of the Force; reader is a darkside user and honestly doesn't know how fucked they are; semi-graphic injuries; porn with plot; toxic relationship lowkey; blowjob; mutual masturbation (sort of); penetrative sex; unprotected sex (pls be safe irl y'all); if I missed anything please let me know!

Word Count: 12,765 my hand slipped

The first time you encounter Cal Kestis, you nearly kill him.

You’d heard the rumors, of course, whispered with bright eyes and furtive expressions in shithole Outer Rim cantinas of a flame-headed being cutting down Inquisitors and Imperials. When you first overheard a snippet of the tall tale, you’d nearly choked on your cheap spotchka. Right, you remember thinking, a fiery figure opposing the Empire. Did they run out of good gossip today? 

Most rumors have at least a kernel of truth at their centers, and you figured it was the same with this one. And besides, you are indifferent to the Empire, at best; you’ve been avoiding their attention as much as you can, but you suspect that the thick cloak of the darkside you wear like a mantle has kept most of the Inquisitorius oblivious. They’re looking for Jedi, who cannot resist continuing to do good in a galaxy rotted to its core, and you stopped being a Jedi long before the Empire rose to power. They probably pay no mind to one lone figure who straddles the line of light and dark, temptation and virtue. 

But that doesn’t mean Jedi pay no mind to you. Most of them, you can avoid; you fight when necessary. Currently, you’re thinking a fight might just be necessary. You’re on some planet you’ve already forgotten the name of, densely populated and urban. You stand with one foot propped on the edge of a rooftop, neon lights glimmering on wet permacrete. Rain drizzles in a fine mist. You gaze placidly across the gap to the next building—to the flame-headed being. Without even needing to try, you feel his Force signature: he burns in the Force, even as he tries to hide it. His coppery hair ruffles in the slight breeze, stubble darkening his face. 

With a steadying breath, you tilt your head to one side. “Got a name, friend?”

“Not one you need to know,” he calls back. His posture is loose, casual, but you sense the whipcord tension in his Force aura; he’s on the alert. 

As he probably should be. 

“If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?” You offer him a disarming smile. “Seems only fair, right? Equitable partnership.” 

He snorts. “There’s no partnership.” 

“Fine,” you huff. You tell him your name anyways, and he mouths it silently, but none of that tension dissipates. You take the moment to appraise him a little more closely: lean body, self-assured slant of his shoulders, faded burn scar cut across his face. Heat licks up your spine.

“Cal,” he eventually says. “Cal Kestis.”

You smile wide at his honeyed voice. “Nice to meet you, Cal Kestis. Mind moving out of the way so I can continue on my merry way?” 

“Afraid I can’t do that,” he says, but there’s no trace of regret in that gorgeous voice, only immense exhaustion. 

Your saber hilt twitches against your back as your hand flexes nearly out of habit. Taking another deep, cleansing breath, you shrug as if his answer means nothing. The dark tide of the Force surges through your body, tingling in your fingertips, sharpening the smoggy night air into fine detail. “Well, can’t say I didn’t ask nicely.” 

And then you leap, going from a dead standstill to a flurry of action in the space of a heartbeat. As your unstable crimson blade screeches to life, bathing the rooftops in flickering light, an answering snap-hiss echoes around you. Blue beam clashes with red, showering sparks over both of you. 

Oh, he’s strong, and for some reason that makes your skin flush. You bare your teeth in a mockery of a smile and shove. He staggers back, feet slipping for a moment in the gravel surface of the rooftop, before he recovers. 

“I’ll give you this one chance to stand down,” he says, voice thick and low and oh how it makes you shiver. His eyes glint in the blue light of his saber. 

“Funny,” you snap, “I was just going to say the same to you.” 

A frown tugs at his mouth. Lowering into a defensive stance, his eyes never leave yours as you languidly swing your saber in a half circle around you, content to draw this out. You’ve killed your number of Jedi in the name of self-preservation—necessary sacrifices to ensure the continued balance of Light and Dark—but there’s something about the way his green eyes harden into sharp gems the longer you twirl your blade, the casual power in his veined forearms, the absolutely pure gold energy he radiates in the Force. 

With an aggravated shake of your head, you press the attack. Overhead, backhand, thrust, thrust, parry—you and Cal settle into a dangerous dance. Bright light bursts where your sabers connect, sparks skittering across the gravel. For anyone watching nearby, the pair of you probably look like blurs of red and blue light—another light fixture among this technicolor urban landscape. 

But for anyone skilled in the Force, the radiance of your sabers dims in comparison to the pillars of energy you both become. One golden and bright as a thousand suns, shot through with faint tendrils of inky blackness; one glowing in shadow, a black hole ringed by its event horizon, smears of golden light. 

Both the light and the dark are present in this fight, and you smile grimly. In all things, balance, as your master used to say. 

The memory is a distraction, and Cal manages to break through your guard and punch your nose. Searing pressure spikes through your head, warmth dribbling down your face. 

You merely grin at him with blood-covered lips. “You’ll have to do better than that, Kestis.” 

And again the two of you become a flurry of attacks, parries, counterattacks, feints. In the distance, the low drone of a police siren reverberates off the tall glass buildings of the downtown area. You’ve been spotted. Time to end this now. 

You make a show of appearing to be tiring, breathing coming in heavy gasps, your saber still meeting Cal’s in time to stop him from separating your limbs from your body, but just a fraction slower than what you’d begun with. And you give ground. Just a half step at first, and then several steps. Cal seizes the opportunity to push you back, force you into submission, gain the upperhand—

Not knowing he’d lost this fight the moment he’d placed himself in your path. 

The Force is with you. In the Force, your arms seem to glow with terrible, purple-black ultraviolet power as you surrender yourself to its currents. There is no longer you and your saber; your saber is you. There is no longer you and Cal Kestis; there is you and the last piece of yourself that you’re willing to atrophy. Veins of golden Light criss-cross under your darkly shining skin—and as you stand firm once again with your back to the low roof edge, you will those golden veins to flush, to swell. You’re going to triumph here, and it’ll be with the approval of the full Force.

Cal’s face gleams with sweat, his brow furrowed, delicious mouth curved down in a frown. You lick your lips. 

“Yield, Kestis,” you say. One last chance. 

He just grunts, and in a blur of motion, separates the hilt of his saber. Another beam of blue snaps to life. Fear flares in you for a moment—but the Force remains with you, and you let the emotion siphon into your cracked, bleeding kyber. Plasma spits off the sides of your blade as you block attack after attack after attack; you’re an infinite well of patience—but that siren is getting closer, and you know that time, unlike your patience, is of the essence. 

In a flash of inspiration, you reverse your grip on your hilt mid-parry, then swipe the angry blade out and up. A cry of pain, and one of the blue sabers retracts as the hilt clatters to the gravel. Cal stumbles back, cradling his left arm to his chest, his remaining saber held in front of him. 

You can’t help the surge of pleasure at besting your opponent, even temporarily. As you twirl your saber again, a spotlight suddenly beams down on the two of you. With a grimace, you swing the saber down towards the soft juncture of Cal’s neck where it meets his shoulder—

And freeze when you catch a glimpse of the calm, resigned look in his eyes. Your blade hovers mere centimeters off his skin. 

Amid the roar of hovercraft, the police siren, and the rushing of blood in your ears, he murmurs your name.

“Kark it all,” you spit. Gathering the Force within you, you shove him back. A shout of surprise, a flash of blue, and then he’s tumbling over the edge of the building. You retract your blade and dash in the opposite direction without a second thought. 

Your master had always been honest with you about how little he, or anyone, truly knew about the mysteries of the Force. During your years as a padawan, you spent countless hours in meditation chambers deep below the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, feeling the constant ebb and flow of the Force around you. The first time he brought you there, your master explained in hushed tones how the temple had been built millennia ago over an old Sith temple. The Force resided in a nexus point there; streams of energy flowed from all over the galaxy and converged—and then diverged—from the temple. 

Sitting in meditation now, you breathe deeply and steadily as the memory crests over you. 

“But, Master,” you asked, “if the temple used to be a Sith stronghold, doesn’t that mean the dark side of the Force is strong here, too?” 

His kind, patient eyes crinkled as he smiled. “That is right, my Padawan. In all things, there must be balance. Light and dark only exist because of each other.”

A frown tugged at your lips at that, and you cocked your head to the side. “But aren’t we supposed to resist the darkness?” 

“Yes,” he said. “The darkness is an overbalance—an overabundance—of emotions, passions, fears. The Sith, and all who use the dark side, manipulate the Force to their will, instead of letting their emotions, like the Force, flow through them.” 

Something about that didn’t feel right. “But—” 

Your master held up one hand, forestalling the line of questioning you were about to launch into. He stepped through a large, arched doorway into a dim, echoing room. “Come, Padawan. Perhaps meditating will provide the answers you seek.” 

You inhale slowly and open your eyes, squinting against the bright blue glare of the hyperspace lane. No matter how long or how hard you meditated under the temple, you grew no closer to an answer than by asking your master. Despite your frustration, you kept returning to the chambers below the Great Hall. The Force there was...comforting. Balanced. And yet, so infuriating in its mystery. You could feel both the light and the dark, and neither were good or bad. The Force just...was. Perhaps it was the long hours you spent in the tunnels and vast echoic chambers there that you developed your keen sense for the composition of the Force.

Standing, you groan softly at the ache in your knees. As you settle back into the thinly padded pilot’s seat, you massage at the joints, wondering just when you’d gotten old. 

Probably when that droid shot through your master’s heart on Geonosis, and you’d physically felt the Force tip off-balance half a galaxy away, deep in meditation on Coruscant. The memory is painful, and digs its festering claws into your heart yet again. 

The Council hadn’t even needed to tell you your master had perished in the opening salvo of the Clone Wars. The morning after his funeral, with both his and your sabers in your pack, you’d fled the temple.

The old fool, you think, slashing the memory of him from your awareness.

By now, you’re used to the pit of emotions yawning in your very essence. You hold onto your fears, your angers, your anxieties—but also your loves, your passions, your desires. Without even really thinking about it, you reach for the loose compartment that holds your master’s saber. Its duranium-plated hilt is slowly corroding, matching the slow degradation of yourself. The blade jumps to life with a snap-hiss. The green glow it casts is almost sickly, the blade bright, but thin and tremulous. It’s been weak since he died.

As you stare, eyes burning, into the flickering core of your master’s blade, you reach into the Force for the kyber at its heart. No matter how many times you brush against the crystal with your mind, you’re never prepared. A screech, unending and agonized and fearful, rends through your consciousness. For a moment, the green sputters, crimson taking its place. 

You drop the saber, gasping. The hilt clatters to the floor and blade retracts, and you’re left again in the pressing silence of hyperspace.

In all things, balance, drift the words through you once again. Green against crimson. Crimson for blue. You think about Cal Kestis, his blinding presence; you think of your vacuous silhouette; and you take all the rage you can muster and twist it into your own heart like a dagger. The joists of your ship groan in response.

The second time you meet Cal Kestis, you almost wish you’d killed him all those years ago.

Just a few months after that first encounter on rain-slicked rooftops, you caught wind of a rumor that the flame-headed being attacked the Fortress Inquisitorius itself. This time, you didn’t discount the story, having witnessed first hand—for however short a time—the Force-empowered determination of that single human being. None of the rumors about Cal Kestis surprise you anymore. 

But you routinely have to curse his name as the Inquisitors have now turned their attention beyond just Jedi. The cloak of the darkness is no longer enough on its own to hide you from the long gaze of the Empire. You’ve taken to hiding out on barely populated Outer Rim worlds, hanging around long enough to establish some kind of routine, before the gentle ripples of the Force lapping against your subconscious grow into towering, dangerous waves. And then you hop back in your ship, barely more than scrap welded to a hyperdrive, and scuttle off to the next system. 

Which is where you find yourself now. Koboh could be promising. As you crouch at the edge of an exposed cliff, you study the cosmic anomaly that orbits the planet. The Abyss. You’re not sure what it is, but whatever it is, it creates a strong enough disturbance in the Force that you’re hopeful it will mask your own signature. And, you admit to yourself as your gaze lowers to the breathtaking landscape spread out below you, you’ve hidden in worse places the last few years. Koboh seems promising, indeed.

You spend a few days studying the locals, trying to get a feel for how life works here. For the most part, everyone here seems like they’re from off-world—which is good, because it means you won’t stand out for very long as a newcomer. Everyone here is a newcomer. And everyone here is more concerned, it seems, with the things that lie in the dirt than in the world aboveground. All the better for you. 

Concealing your saber hilt against your back like always, you make sure your ship, bucket of bolts that it is, is well-hidden enough to dissuade any potential scrappers. Tucked high on an outcropping, you hope most folks won’t care too much to check out the shiny metal bits not covered by plant matter. Not when it’s several dozen feet above solid ground. 

And you make sure you look as uninteresting as possible. With your saber out of view, you could pass for a refugee without issue. Force knows you’ve been weeks without a proper shower; you can feel the dirt and grime on every inch of your skin. Your clothing, usually neat and tucked in, is dusty, torn, and stained with dried blood. 

Yes, you’ll fit in nicely here. 

As you pass beneath a metallic archway decorated with a massive horned skull, you reach out in the Force, making sure that none of the town’s inhabitants can get the drop on you. You bypass squat, square buildings that are probably homes of some of the folks here. None seem of interest. Instead, your gaze is trained on the larger, multi-story building near the center of town. As you draw nearer, you realize the sign above the door reads, “Saloon.” Perfect. 

The door opens to admit you into a hallway; at the end, you wait in front of another door for a moment while a mechanical eye studies you. Chattering in a deep, unintelligible voice, the eye withdraws, and the second door whooshes open to reveal the barroom. 

No one turns as you descend the few steps to the floor. Crates and clutter stock most of the booths along the side wall, a few folks talking quietly at smaller tables or sitting alone and nursing a drink. Quiet, staticky radio music plays over the speakers. 

Behind the bar is a tall, four-armed droid who skids to a halt where you lean against the counter.

“You’re a new face,” the droid says. “Name’s Monk. What can I get you?” 

You quirk an eyebrow and give the droid, Monk, an alias, your sixth one in as many months. Then you say, “Got any spotchka?” 

“Indeed I do,” Monk says. “Shall I start a tab?” 

“I’ll pay up front,” you say with a shake of your head. 

Monk gives you the cost as he pours the glowing blue liquid into a clean glass, and you slide the credits across the counter. The alcohol’s familiar burn slides down your throat as you lean your back against the bar. Over the rim of your glass, you study the other patrons here at the saloon. Dusty, tired figures, the lot of them. In the Force, they are marginal, giving off only nominal signatures, no different than most other living beings. Most of them aren’t important enough to even warrant a clear affiliation with light or dark; they just are. Your upper lip quirks in a grimace.

Extending your awareness out farther, you’re not sure what you’re searching for, but you suppose you’ll know it when you find it. The hilt of your saber digs uncomfortably into your skin, but you ignore it, using the pain to sharpen your focus. You sense more townsfolk going to and fro outside the saloon, but none of them of any more note than those inside.

Something in you itches. Frowning, you lower the glass of spotchka and try to focus in on that feeling. It’s under your skin, out of reach, just behind your spine, but if you just push a little farther—

You gasp, cringing away from the sudden supernova that blinds your awareness in the Force. Cal Kestis. It has to be Cal. No one else burns quite like him. 

You yank your Force signature back into your body, hoping he didn’t feel you like you felt him. Figuring you only have moments to get out, you make a split-second decision between the several other doors leading away from this main room. Spotchka glass still in hand, you dart for the nearest door, and it slides open to reveal a staircase that winds upward. You take the steps two at a time. At the landing, you hiss at the sight of a second-floor loft. Stairs seem to continue along the other side, continuing to wind upward, but before you can run for them, a familiar voice drifts up from below. 

“Hey, Monk, good to see you,” says Cal Kestis. 

Your body flushes with warmth. Kriff. 

Monk says something you can’t quite make out. 

“Another newcomer?” Cal says. “I’ll make sure to say hi when I see them.” 

Grimacing, you creep across the floor toward the second staircase. Your foot just touches the bottom step when a voice behind you calls your name—your real name, not the alias you gave the droid. 

You sigh, chin falling toward your chest. “Cal Kestis.” 

“How did you find me?” 

His green gaze burns into you almost as hot as his Force signature. You roll your eyes; typical Jedi, thinking the world revolves around him.

“I didn’t know you were here,” you say. “I’m...laying low.” 

He crosses his arms across his chest, and you’re distracted for a moment by the way his muscles bulge against the fabric of his shirt. “I’m supposed to believe that.”

“Believe whatever you want to, Jedi,” you bite out. “I’ll go find my own desolate planet.” 

“Can’t let you do that,” he says, following behind you as you climb the stairs. 

“I’d love to see you stop me.” 

You feel the disturbance in the Force and brace for it. His attempt to yank you back down the stairs fails as you push against it—but you can’t push past it. Equally matched. Balanced. 

With a growl, you spin on your heel and point an accusing finger at Cal. “Are you really sure you want to do this right now?” 

His eyes narrow at you as you stand there, chest heaving with emotion, both of you crackling with energy in the Force. You down the rest of your spotchka and shatter the glass on the ground. Cal doesn’t flinch. The longer you stand there, the hotter your face flushes. Ignoring the impulse to shudder, you don’t miss the way his green eyes study your face, your posture, your signature. 

“I know you,” he finally says. “From the temple.” 

You snort in derision. “Good for you, kid.” 

“I was still a youngling when the Clone Wars started,” he says. “I...understand what it’s like to lose your master.” 

Your vision pulses black for a moment, and on instinct you reach out with a clawed hand. Cal’s eyes widen in fear as his hands fly to his throat, grabbing at the invisible hand you squeeze there.

“Don’t. Ever. Presume to know anything about me,” you hiss. “You know nothing, Cal Kestis.” 

“You’re—right—” he chokes out. “I’m—sorry—”

You shove, the Force exploding through your palm as he slams into the opposite wall. Sputtering, he coughs, rubbing at his throat. 

“I don’t need your pity, Jedi.” You spit the title like a curse—like the curse that it is—and turn to take the staircase up and out. The door at the top admits you to the open-air roof, the cosmic explosion of the Abyss looming overhead. 

You step over the edge of the roof, calling on the Force to cushion your descent. At the bottom, you ignore the flabbergasted expressions on a few of the locals as you stalk off. Past the saloon, past the stables, through the shallow river—you’re not sure how far you walk, but it’s dark by the time that you realize you’re lost. 

“Kriff,” you sigh. 

Thankfully, whether by luck or by the sheer force of presence of your Force signature, you’ve not been bothered by any of the (frankly terrifying) wildlife on this planet. Tentatively, you reach out, but you find nothing but a few docile Nekkos and, farther off, a dozing bilemaw. 

In the dim light provided by the Abyss and the Shattered Moon hanging heavy in the sky, you determine that a shallow cliff alcove nearby will be as good a place as any to rest until morning. Settling under the rocky overhang, you exhale a shaky breath. 

It’s been a long time since you let your emotions take control like that. You allow yourself to feel them, even to use them to your advantage—but you rarely lose control. Not recently, anyways. 

You bare your teeth at the thought of Cal Kestis. He’s by far only the latest in a string of former Jedi you’ve encountered, but none of them, even the ones who you remember from your years as a padawan, created this amount of turmoil in you. So why him? 

Should probably just ask him myself, huh, you muse, hearing a twig snap nearby. You don’t need to look into the Force to know who it is. 

“Who’s following who now?” you call. 

With a familiar hum, a blue blade sings as it springs to life, illuminating the alcove you’re hunkered in, as well as Cal’s lean figure. You’re too exhausted to be angry at this point, but a different kind of heat licks up your spine as you push up onto your feet. The warmth settles between your thighs, throbbing uncomfortably as he raises the saber overhead, his arm muscles flexing. 

“Had to make sure you didn’t hurt anyone,” he says, halting just a few feet away. 

“No one out here to hurt,” you say. “What are you really doing here, Kestis?” 

He hesitates, shifting his weight between his feet, eyes not meeting yours. Squinting, you extend a tendril of awareness toward him—past the burnished gold aura, past the shell of Jedi honor he projects like a shield, until you brush against one of those tiny black cracks in his signature. He stiffens, shifts his stance into a defensive half-crouch. There is darkness in him. 

And there is lightness in you, sighs a voice that sounds very much like your master’s. 

You ignore it. 

“Well?” you prompt. 

“I- I don’t know,” he says. 

You snort. “Well, when you figure it out, let me know.” Sinking back into a meditative pose, you let your eyes slide shut and effectively shut out all things Cal Kestis.

At least, that’s what you try to do. The karking idiot seems to have decided that you’re not a threat—a poor miscalculation on his part—as his saber retracts and you hear the sounds of someone settling into a meditative trance next to you. Peeking one eye open, you glance over to find him sat back on his heels, palms resting on his thighs, his face blank and serene. He’s beautiful like this, you think. 

“I could kill you right now, you know,” you say, letting your eye fall shut again. 

“You won’t,” he says, sounding so matter-of-fact that you’re almost convinced that you really wouldn’t. 

Then you shake your head. “Don’t be so certain.” 

“You didn’t kill me five years ago. You won’t kill me now.” 

Gnawing at your cheek, you find you have no response for that. 

The third time you face Cal Kestis, you want to hate him. 

Koboh proves to be big enough for two powerful Force users. You keep to the wilderness, and he sticks to the town. For the most part, anyway. You occasionally catch a glimpse of copper hair as he explores the planet, following all the inane rumors of the locals. Why he even lowers himself to their level, you’ll never understand. 

And besides, Koboh has turned out to be a perfect place to continue your search for answers about the Force. You’ve never wanted to stop knowing, never stopped asking “But why?” The Abyss above is a physical presence most days, nearly oppressive in its crushing weight. It absolutely deafens you in the Force whenever you try to reach for it, painful screeching assaulting your senses. There’s something behind the noise, though, but it’s too far, too deep, for you to reach it. 

You haven’t seen Cal in a while now. And you’re fine with that. You’d watched his ship take off in the early hours of the morning a few weeks ago, and it still hasn’t returned. 

Shrugging, you decide that today is as good a day as any to do some exploring of your own. You’ve watched Cal enough to know that there are hidden vaults on this planet, and from what you’ve been able to tell, they’re old. Maybe they’ll have some answers. 

The sunrise peeks over the craggy cliffside, casting a gentle pink hue over the world, still hushed in its predawn slumber. Dew collects on your pant legs as you pass through a small clearing of scrubby bushes. A couple dozen feet up the hill glints a hint of gold. None of the Koboh prospectors would have left this alone unless it were for a reason, you figure. Maybe this is one of the vaults. 

Resting a palm gently on its surface, the gold is cool to the touch. Glyphs in Basic and other languages spiral around the circular door-like structure. When you examine it through the Force, you feel the mechanism that keeps it locked, but no matter how much you push, pull, yank, shove, the door remains sealed. 

“Dank farrik,” you curse. “How does Cal do it?” 

“Very carefully,” a familiar warm voice says from behind you. 

You barely glance over your shoulder, flushing from the embarrassment of being caught unawares, but somehow unsurprised he’s managed to find you. You should have known that even thinking of his absence would cause it to revert. 

“Very funny,” you say. “What secrets are you hiding, Jedi?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Sith,” he says. 

As he sidles up alongside you, you glare at him. “I’m not a Sith.”

“Coulda fooled me,” he says with a shrug. “Red saber, strong in the dark side, angry all the time.” 

Huffing, you roll your eyes. His hair is longer than it has been since you first met him, and there’s another scar, pink and shiny, on his upper bicep, like he’d been cut with a vibroblade. As you study him, you also realize he looks...older. More tired. More weary. 

“You look like bantha fodder,” you say helpfully. 

He hums noncommittally. “Do you want into the vault or not?” 

“You’re gonna let me in?” you say, eyebrows raising in surprise. 

With a half-shrug, he says, “I’ve already explored this one. Nothing left in it for you to gain, except maybe some manners.” 

He reveals a small, handheld device that, when he raises it toward the golden door, blips. The door expands open, revealing a turbolift in the center of the floor. 

“Why are you helping me?” you ask, not moving from your spot. Suspicion bubbles in the back of your mind. 

Cal pockets the device and gestures for you to go ahead, giving you a sardonic two-finger salute. “It’s in my nature.” 

With that, he takes a step back, then another, and then pivots and trudges back downhill, tucking his fiery hair behind his ears. 

The vault teaches you something, alright, but it isn’t manners like Cal hoped. Even two century-old tech and warbled messages from a Jedi named Santari Khri cannot lift the veil of jade that rests over your eyes. The Order has always been faulty. The Order has always been weak. Your master was always fated to die, and you to wander, adrift. You grind your teeth in anger. Is that all that exists for you? For anyone? To live and die at the whim of some cosmic, unknowable power? 

The vault also reminds you of your mortality. As you work yourself into a silent rage about the unfairness of the galaxy, at the cruel and nonsensical nature of the Force, you miscalculate the distance between two crumbling stone platforms. With a Force-assisted leap, your arms windmill as you keep yourself balanced, but your feet only just manage to catch the edge of the platform. You wobble, anger bursting into fear, as the stone grates against itself before your stomach is in your throat as you plummet straight down. 

The rush of frigid air steals the scream from your lungs. Try as you might, the Force refuses to help you grasp onto the quickly receding lip of this chasm. 

And then pain rockets up your legs in jagged, arcing lines from your heels to your hips, and you collapse. 

It’s only by sheer willpower that you don’t black out. Grit your teeth. Take a deep breath. Curse until the pain abates. 

You take stock of your body. Your legs are on fire, and any attempt to move them sends a fresh wave of lava licking up your nerve endings. Otherwise, you wipe away blood from scrapes on your palms and tenderly poke at the bruises already forming on your ribs. Around you, myriad rocks and small boulders litter the cracked, moist ground. Mist clings to the spaces in between. When you look up, the ledge you fell from is completely obscured. 

“No Jedi wisdom for me, Santari Khri?” you croak as you gently shift into an upright position. Your teeth squeak from clenching your jaw against the pain, but you manage to prop yourself up with your back against a sizable rock. 

The mist deadens your words. Instead of an echo, it’s like the words get clipped short before they can fully materialize in the air. The back of your neck pricks. But, studying your surroundings once more, there is nothing for you to do but meditate. Perhaps, for once, the Force will provide.

You have no way of knowing how much time has passed as you sit in meditation, methodically stretching your awareness to its limits, trying to snag onto any signature in the Force that might help you out of this predicament. Your butt goes completely numb, as do your legs—a fact you feel should incite panic in your already-tight chest, but you can’t find it in you to care. By the time that you’re ready to give up searching, your throat tickles with dryness and your stomach begins to feel empty. 

But just as you heave a sigh, rising out of the meditative trance, the Force tugs on your awareness. Furrowing your brow, you concentrate: up, up up up, and to the left. Something steadily growing closer. Something bright, and familiar, and warm. 

Cal. 

For once, you’re grateful for his annoyingly Jedi-like qualities. You track his presence through the Force, unable to do more than monitor as he seems to approach your location with frustrating slowness. 

“Come on,” you mutter, mouth thick. “I’m here. Come find me like you always do.” 

After what feels like another small eternity, you finally open your eyes and peer up through the opaque mist. Above, you swear you hear boots crunching on loose rock, and the distant bwee-boop of a droid. 

“Down here,” you half call, half croak. The words don’t seem to make it past your throat. 

For a terrible moment, you think Cal is going to search the seemingly empty vault and, not finding you within, leave. You can’t tell, through either his footsteps or his Force signature, what he’s doing up there. At the last moment, a burst of panic seizing your limbs, you lean forward with a groan and retrieve your saber, still miraculously tucked into your waistband. 

The spitting crimson blade is a comfort as it screeches to life in the oppressive space.

A voice calls your name, cautious. 

“Here!” you shout, voice cracking painfully in an effort to be heard. 

Blue flame bursts to life somewhere above—much farther above than you initially thought—and you nearly sob in relief. 

“Watch your eyes,” Cal shouts down, and you have only a moment to register what he means before you duck, retracting your blade. The unmistakable sound of saber scoring through rock reaches you, heated pebbles showering down on your covered head, and then the sound of two soft leather-clad feet touching down beside you. 

Wary, you raise your head. Cal crouches next to you, his face painted with a cautious kind of concern. 

“You came back?” You don’t mean to make it a question, but the softness in his eyes, the gentleness with which he ghosts his hands over your many injuries, makes you reconsider your previous anger toward him. At least, for a moment. 

“Like I said,” he murmurs, “it’s in my nature.” 

“Legs are the worst of it,” you say, gesturing weakly to your two limbs stretched in front of you. Both are angry shades of blotchy red and purple, but no bone peeks out from within your skin at the very least. 

Cal casts a questioning look up at you, his palms hovering over your legs. You give a small nod, and he lowers his hands until they make feather-light contact with your skin. Even as careful as he’s being, pain erupts all over again when he brushes over your shin, and you squirm, cursing. 

“Probably fractured the bones,” he says. “Need to get you back to town.” 

You groan. “Unless you plan on carrying me out of here, Kestis, I’m not in any shape to make it all the way back.” 

He studies your face for a moment, really studies it, and you can’t help the way your lips part at the intensity in his gaze. Despite the aching pain in your legs, you can’t suppress the heat blooming up your neck into your cheeks the longer his eyes roam your face. Surely he can sense the way your Force aura grows more agitated. 

Whatever he’s searching for on your face, he seems to find it. Shrugging his shoulders, the curious little BD unit you’ve noticed with Cal peeks its white-and-red head up. With a boop?, Cal jerks his chin at you.

The droid slides down Cal’s back and trots up to you. Tilting its head, the mismatched eyes whir and toggle as the droid seems to study you with the same scrutiny as Cal just had.

“What—”

In the blink of an eye—faster, even—a flash of green light dazzles you, followed by the sharp pain of an injection. But that doesn’t even matter, as a blissful, cool relief spreads immediately from the injection site through the rest of your body. The ache in your legs subsides to a dull throb, and you find that you can finally move the limbs without wanting to vomit. 

“Stim,” Cal explains. He rises to his feet, and holds a hand out. “Come on. It’ll wear off soon.” 

His hand is warm, achingly so, when he grasps yours and tugs you to your feet. Grimacing at the wave of nausea that sweeps over you, you cling to his hand until it passes. 

He’s studying the sheer rockface to either side. “I may be carrying you out of here either way. Come on. Hop up.” 

He turns to retrieve your saber where you dropped the hilt—he stiffens for just a moment, so quick you think you imagine it, before he hands the hilt back to you. And then he remains facing away from you. You realize, with a deep-seated groan, that he’s removed the jacket he was wearing earlier, when he let you into the vault. His shoulders are bare and so strong and pretty and freckled and— 

His soft question of your name breaks you out of your reverie. 

“Right,” you say, clearing your throat. Tentatively, you hook your arms over top of his broad shoulders, trying to ignore the way his skin feels against yours, and he crouches so you can more easily clamber onto his back like a pack. 

“BD, up,” Cal orders, and you squirm as the droid clambers up your back to rest with one foot on your shoulder and the other on Cal’s. 

Even with the stim working through your system much like coolant in your ship’s engine, and even with Cal doing all he can to keep you steady on his back as he Force-propels himself up the vertical rockfaces of this cavern, you bite into your cheek hard enough for it to bleed to keep yourself from yelping in pain. It’s bad enough that he had to save you from a slow death in this Force-forsaken vault; he doesn’t need to know the fire that licks up your nerve endings with every jostle. 

You shuffle off his back as soon as you’re able. A grimace contorts your features as you stumble a few steps, but you wave away Cal’s steadying hands.

“I’m fine,” you grit out. 

“Yeah, you look fine,” he says. 

You shoot him a glare, but you’re more exhausted than you are angry. “You didn’t have to come back for me.” 

“If it makes you feel better,” he says, gesturing for you to step onto the turbolift first, “I don’t expect anything in return. You don’t owe me anything.” 

“Ha,” you bark out. Your stomach lurches as the turbolift shudders into its ascent. “Of course I owe you, Kestis. It’s all about balance.” 

“Balance,” he says, his voice strangely hollow and contemplative. “You murdered Rexan Binette and Sarela Webb and the others for balance?” 

The names of the Jedi you killed reverberate off the curved walls of the lift chamber. Breathing through your nose, you avoid his gaze—and then shake your head at yourself, angry. Why should you be ashamed? It was them or you. 

The lift comes to a smooth halt at the top, and you’re somehow unsurprised to find that it appears to be dawn again. Your eyes find Cal’s green ones. They look nearly black in the early morning haze. His expression bares all of his emotions: hurt, suspicion, concern, worry. But he doesn’t seem...afraid. Not of you, anyways, and instead of filling you with rage, that realization makes you deflate. 

“The galaxy changed,” you say, voice flat. “You change with it, or you die.” 

He fixes you with his stare for a moment more, and then shakes his head and begins the long walk back downhill without a word. Heaving a sigh, you follow him. You can’t repay the debt you now owe him if you die from an infected wound. You tell yourself that the heat bubbling in your chest is hate, hate that you’re now bound to this life debt, hate that of all people you’re in debt to Cal Kestis. But hate has never felt so soft.

The final time that you and Cal Kestis cross paths, you remember why hatred is easier. 

It’s only a few weeks after when you’ve fully healed thanks to Cal’s quick intervention, the extra stores of bacta that you had the good foresight to stash in your ship years ago, and perhaps a nudge from the Force. You’ve retreated to your ramshackle abode in the wilderness; thankfully, the worst you have to deal with upon returning is a stray Bogling. No matter how hard you try to shoo the pesky creature away from your hut, it comes back again. 

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” you grumble, watching the Bogling scratch at the dirt out front of your hut. It chitters as it works to burrow its den. 

Cal has disappeared again, which works just fine for you. It’s easier to attune to the Force when he’s gone. When you’re not distracted by his burnished radiance, his soothing calmness, his serene meditation posture, his hair that looks as soft as the Bogling’s fur, his...him.

Genuinely, who the kriff does Cal Kestis think he is? Where does he get the right to continue to do good in the galaxy when all the galaxy wants is to kill him? To kill everyone like him? How does he continue fighting? 

For that matter, how do you continue fighting? The sudden self-introspection is jarring. You squint a glare up at the Abyss, the technicolor explosion hanging heavy in the sky, as if it personally arranged your fated entanglement with the Jedi. As if it asked the question of your purpose, not your own conscience.

You have to squint in part because, in the Force, the Abyss is blinding. Stare too long and you’ll be blinking away spots from your vision for hours afterward. As your eyes start to water, you shake your head and bring your gaze back to terra firma. Kark it all, you think, bitter. You continue fighting because you have to. Because you have to know the answer. You have to understand the balance. 

In the Force, you’ve watched for years as the streaks of light in your otherwise void-like existence pulse and contract. Here, underneath the staggering presence of the Abyss, the galactic, even cosmic, struggle between Light and Dark, splashes across your own skin, a microcosm. It makes you angry all over again, as you study the vapors of golden lightness drift around you. The anger is good. The anger makes the darkness pulse and surge and rise; the anger makes you more focused. 

Gritting your teeth, you try to hang onto the anger. 

And then you don’t have to try at all. In your peripheral awareness, the Bogling has scurried in fright into your small hut as the sound of footsteps—many, many footsteps—echoes off the surrounding cliff walls. Your lips curl back in a snarl at being interrupted. Saber hilt smacking into your palm with a familiar weight, the unsteady red blade fills your small clearing with a threatening hum. 

Around the corner comes a full squad of Imperials. For a moment, you have to blink, to make sure that what you’re seeing is correct. But no. The hard white duraplast armor gleams in the midday sun, the mixed group of scout- and Stormtroopers advancing as one giant, grotesque organism. And at its midst, in the nucleus, are two black-clad figures wielding crackling electrostaffs. 

Purge Troopers. 

How dare they. How dare they come to your planet—and you hesitate only a moment over the possessiveness in your anger—and only another moment more when you find that you include Cal’s place on Koboh in that possession. This is your planet, together. The Light, and the Dark. 

In all things, balance. 

“Enemy located,” crackles the voice of one of the troopers. You don’t know, and don’t frankly care, which. 

As the white-clad troopers fan out in a loose semicircle, blasters and batons raised at half-ready, the two Purge troopers continue a few paces forward. They’re nearly identical, all the way down to the way that they settle their weight on their right feet, perfectly unbalanced. 

“You won’t get away,” the one to your left calls, his voice imperious and cold. “Not this time. You’ll be coming with us.” 

“Don’t be so sure,” you call back, feigning disinterest. Through the Force, you mentally draw the battle map, the path of carnage and rage and blood you’ll wreak through the ten troopers in front of you. 

“There are ten of us,” the other Purge Trooper says, voice cocky and self-assured. The battle map in your mind halts, then reasserts itself with a new pattern. One that places Mr. Cocky and Arrogant at the top of your assault. 

You snort. “Glad to know the Empire is teaching its troopers basic math. Let’s get this over with, shall we?” 

You twirl your saber in a half circle around your body, a familiar ritual, a reset button to remind you to keep your head clear. As blasters raise to full height, you take a deep, centering breath, and close your eyes.

A silence takes over your ears, your mind, your very being. You are one with the Force; the Force is with you. Despite all your issues with the cosmic Force, you know it will not fail you now. You don’t hear the order to fire, you don’t hear the clicks of triggers, you don’t hear the scream of blaster bolts. You don’t need to. Guided by the Force, void-like and in command, your arms—your saber—jumps into place. 

Four blaster bolts pelt your way. Four blaster bolts ricochet and catch their originators in the chest. Four troopers fall. 

You open your eyes, lips tugging back over your teeth in a mockery of a smile. Sound returns to you just as one of the scout troopers, shaken, stumbles back with a cry: “St-Stormtrooper KIA!” 

You enact your battle map. 

Gathering the Force to yourself, you push off the ground and shoot forward with a Force assist, your saber swinging up and cleaving back down at the critical juncture between the cocky Purge Trooper’s neck and shoulder. The glowing plasma sinks easily through duraplast, fabric, and flesh alike; the trooper’s groan of pain gurgles as your blade cuts through his lungs. Now there are five. 

You whirl, saber moving nearly of its own accord to intercept each blow that the remaining troopers rain upon you. It’s nearly child’s play to parry their attacks, send them staggering off-balance. In a crucial moment where all your opponents hesitate to move forward again, you bare your teeth. Reaching out with a clawed hand, you grip the throat of one of the troopers, lift him bodily with the Force, then yank down as hard as you can. There’s a satisfying crack when he hits the ground.

You’re doing fine. You’re going to triumph here; the Force has willed it so. The fear of the remaining troopers is palpable and you draw on it, siphoning it into yourself, into your cracked and screaming kyber crystal. With a leaping slash, two trooper heads bounce away.

The remaining two troopers look at each other. You don’t need the Force to smell the fear rolling off of the scout trooper in waves, and you fix him with a feral grin. 

“No more quips?” you ask, voice harsh. 

He drops his baton and runs.

“Just you and me,” the Purge Trooper observes. 

“How very astute of you,” you say. “Your friend was the smart one. You can still run; I’ll let you go. For now.” 

“Not a chance.” The buzzing electrostaff twirls through the air as the Trooper lowers into a defensive crouch. “Surrender.” 

“Not a chance,” you echo, matching his stance. “Now, why don’t—”

A voice, familiar and warm and distracting, shouts your name from above. Like a fool, you hesitate, turning. There’s a glimpse of coppery hair, a blue flame, and golden radiance. You growl at the interruption—

And cry out as the electrostaff comes down across your upper back, singeing into your clothing, biting into your skin. 

You drop to your knees, vision blurry. Stupid. That was stupid. 

The Purge Trooper immediately raises the staff for another strike, but before it can make contact with the back of your neck, a rush of energy steamrolls over you and shoves the trooper fifteen feet back. His heels dig into the soft dirt. 

“Jedi!” If the trooper is surprised to see Cal Kestis coming to the rescue of the likes of you, you can’t hear it in his voice. “Guess this is my lucky day.” 

“Don’t count on it,” you wheeze. Grunting in pain, you shove to your feet and reset, saber singing in the air, the smell of ozone stinging your nose. 

Your name again, gentler this time, and closer. This time, you don’t turn, instead waiting for him to come to you. And he does, just like you knew he would. In the corner of your eye, Cal Kestis and his supernova signature provide something like...comfort. Heat bubbles and sputters in your chest at his closeness. This feeling is hate, you reassure yourself. 

“You’re hurt,” he says, voice pitched low. 

“I’ve had worse,” you say. “You here to help, or to mock?” 

He fully faces you, and you sense more than see his eyes rake over your profile. With a shake of his head, his copper hair flowing nearly to his shoulders, he raises his saber, point-first, toward the Purge Trooper. With a satisfied smile, you swing your saber in lazy circles. Finally. 

The two of you attack at the same time, nudged along by the Force. Together, you flank the trooper, whose training seems to have prepared him for a moment such as this. But for all the training this trooper has, you and Cal have more. You and Cal have more to fight for. More to lose. More to gain. 

Cal’s blur of a blue saber slashes through the air, at every turn blocking the trooper’s pressing attack, forcing the Imp to recalibrate. And when he attempts to do so, tries to even catch his breath, you’re there, the Force driving your swings harder. You know the blows that land on the staffs jar the Imp’s wrists all the way to his shoulders. You know he’s going to falter. You know he’s going to die. 

When the fear once again rises from this trooper, you smile. 

Overconfident, you twirl, blade seeming to bend as it whirls through the air. It will connect with the trooper at his waist.

It does—but his staff connects with you once again at your own waist, and this time it bites into your flesh and holds. 

“No!” Cal’s shout is harsh and angry. With a final flash of blue, the Purge Trooper slumps sideways, body collapsing into the dirt. The momentum yanks the electrostaff out of your side. 

You drop your saber hilt to press against the bleeding wound, hands shaking. Kark, this hurts. Why does it hurt so bad? Cal’s face, with wide, scared green eyes, appears in your field of vision. 

A spark of anger temporarily distracts you from the pain in your side and along your back. “Kestis,” you grind out. “I had it under control.” 

“It’s in my nature,” he says, like that explains everything. You suppose it does. Your anger abandons you, and you stagger forward, into his embrace. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against you as he ducks under your arm, taking your weight. “C’mon, we’ll get inside and I’ll patch you up.” 

“Got any more of those stims?” you ask, words slurring a little. You glance down at your side and blink dumbly at the amount of red staining your clothes. 

“A few more,” Cal says. “They’re yours. Just need to get you inside.” 

The several dozen feet to your hut pass in a blur and in a blink—you’re not sure which. Maybe it’s both. But you sigh as you settle down into the familiar comfort of your small cot. In the corner, you’re dimly aware of the Bogling cowering below the small kitchen table. Critter is cute, you suppose. Maybe it can stay. 

You’re delirious. That has to be it. You’d never willingly take in a stray. 

BD hops up on the cot next to you and, at Cal’s nod, ejects a glowing green stim canister. Cal catches it and then plunges the small needle into your side, just above the gash there. Cool relief tingles through you, and you smile at him. 

“That feels good,” you mumble. 

“I’m glad,” he says, an odd note in his voice. “You got medical supplies?” 

You gesture vaguely to the screened-off back corner, your ’fresher. “If I do, s’in there.”

BD stays with you while Cal rummages through your meager supplies, the little droid’s head tilted to the side as though studying you. You blink at him. 

Bwoop-beep? the droid chimes. 

“I don’t speak Binary, sorry,” you say. 

Cal chuckles, returning with a handful of supplies. “He’s wondering if you’re feeling okay.” 

You feel okay enough to feel annoyed at the question, and you shoo the little droid off your bed. When you return your attention to Cal, he’s hesitating, a roll of gauze, bottle of alcohol, and a needle in his hands. 

“What,” you ask, flatly. 

“Need to take your shirt off to clean the wound properly,” he says, and if you knew him better, you might think he sounds nervous. Embarrassed, even. 

But you don’t know him that well, and so you ignore his tone of voice. “Fine.” 

You struggle for a moment to lift your shirt over your head, hissing as the movement pulls at the wound in your side. Once it’s off, you throw it toward the ’fresher. 

Cal still hesitates, his eyes everywhere but on you. Another surge of annoyance flares in you, and you snatch the medical supplies out of his hands. 

“I’d really like to not bleed out here, Kestis,” you admonish. He at least has the sense to look abashed at that, and assists you in cleaning out the wound, stitching it shut, and wrapping you in gauze to keep pressure on it. You don’t let out a single curse, hiss, or groan the entire time, making the inside of your mouth bleed with how hard you bite down. 

“You okay?” he asks once you’re bandaged up. 

“What do you think?” you retort. “M’gonna sleep. You can go.” 

“I’ll stay,” he says. He withdraws, but remains in your small hut, slinging himself into the hand-hewn wooden chair at your dining table. “Rest. I’ll keep watch.” 

“Why?” You can’t help the way the question sounds equal parts frustrated and incredulous.

“Just sleep, Sith,” he says. His voice brooks no argument, and for once, you have none.

When you wake, it’s still light outside. Your mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with gauze and left to dry out, your head not much better. With a soft groan, you roll onto your side and peer into the half-lit room. 

Cal’s already watching you. His gaze meets yours and pierces you, pinning you to the small cot tucked against the wall. Swallowing against the dryness in your throat, you study his features. The dark scar across his face. The lean lines of his torso and muscles. The strand of fiery hair that curls over his forehead and teases his chin. Despite the lingering shards of pain in your side, heat flickers in your core.

“Why did you really come here, Cal?” you ask, voice low, the stillness around you demanding to remain unbroken. “Why did you come back for me at all? You know the things I’ve done. The people I’ve killed. I can’t be worth saving.” 

He is quiet as he contemplates your question, his hands loosely clasped in his lap. Silence stretches between you, slow and languid, and you nearly hold your breath waiting for his response. 

Eventually he gives a half shrug. “There was a time when I believed everyone is worth saving. Since the Empire, things have...been different. I’m not so sure everyone deserves to be saved.” 

“So why come back?” 

His eyes are soft when they find yours again. You want to be angry, want to latch onto the residual pain in your body and sharpen it into a vibroblade, hurl it outward from yourself and hope it hurts him as much as you’ve been hurt. In your gut, the darkness stirs, but in your heart, the light whispers patience. 

“I see too much of myself in you to not come back for you,” he says, so quiet you nearly don’t process the words. 

But when his confession does register, you blink in surprise. You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. 

“We couldn’t be more opposite, Kestis,” you say. “Do you know what you look like, in the Force?” 

When he remains silent, shifting in the wooden chair uncomfortably, you push yourself up into a sitting position. A sigh sloughs out of your throat. 

“You’re the most...beautiful thing I’ve seen,” you say, hesitating only briefly over the words. “You shine. You’re a beacon of light. Stars, Cal, you’re practically a star yourself.” 

His lips part in surprise, and you can’t ignore the way your core twists at the expression. “But—”

You raise a hand. “There’s darkness there, sure, but you are the light, Kestis. And sure, there may be light in me, but believe me, I’m a void. The void. You’ll never carry the sins that blacken my soul.” 

His toned chest rises and falls with his rapid, shallow breaths. When he swallows, you watch the way his throat bobs, the muscles that strain at his neck, the tightening of his hands into fists. Without even needing to look, you can feel the way his Force signature roils with confusion and surprise. You’ve caught him off-guard, yet again. The knowledge sends a pulse of heat to the apex of your thighs.

“Show me,” he whispers. 

You frown, brows furrowing. “What?” 

“In the Force,” he says. “Show me.”

“I’ve never—” 

“I have a gift.” He grimaces. “Psychometry. It might not work. But I want to see.” 

Ah. You understand how he knew the names of the Jedi you murdered, and glance at your saber hilt resting on the table near him. How much has he seen? 

Apparently, not enough. 

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you shrug. “Fine. C’mere.” 

The cot groans under the added weight, not meant for two people, but it holds. You adjust yourself to sit with your legs crossed, your knees touching Cal’s as he mirrors your posture. A slight twinge tugs at your ribs as you move. Cal’s eyes soften again as you grimace. 

“Don’t,” you grit out. “Save your pity.” 

“It’s not—” He huffs. “Whatever.” 

Glaring up at him through your eyelashes, you nevertheless rest your hands palm-up, fingers outstretched toward him. Cal gently rests his hands over yours. His skin is heated, electric where it touches yours. The thought crosses your mind, fleetingly, what your odds would be if you decided to finally end it here and now; the thought disappears as soon as his calloused fingers wrap around your forearms. 

“Like this?” he murmurs. 

“Feels right,” you reply in the same tone. “Here goes nothing, yeah?” 

You inhale a deep, centering breath, and allow yourself to sink into the currents of the Force. For a moment you have to squint as Cal’s truest form explodes across your perception. This close, you’re surprised he doesn’t radiate any extra heat. You’re also surprised at the imperfections you find in his signature, the small nicks in the otherwise flawless, gleaming golden skin. You have to restrain yourself from leaning forward to examine him even closer. The desire to know him, to pick him apart and put him back together, rushes through you, pulsing in your fingertips. 

When you feel adjusted to his presence, this close, this intoxicating, you squeeze his hands. Focusing on the places where the two of you connect—your palms, your knees, your signatures—you will your unique sight to bleed into his awareness. 

Judging from the way he stiffens and gasps, you figure it worked. Your combined abilities and strength in the Force, overlapping just this once, let him see the world like you do.

“You’re so...” He trails off, voice strained. “Empty.” 

“Thanks for noticing.” You squeeze his hands again. “Do you underst— oh.”

You nearly choke as the Force nudges against your mind. For a moment, you’re no longer in your hut, but instead on an unfamiliar ship, palms pressed against a stranger’s—no, not a stranger—her name drifts to you. Merrin. You’re comparing palm sizes with her, and her hands are nearly as big as yours—as Cal’s. 

You rip away from Cal Kestis and the illusion breaks. 

Heat burns up your neck to your face. “What the kriffing hell was that?” 

“What did you see?” he asks, concern flashing in his eyes. He reaches for you, and you lean away, glaring. 

You don’t even know why you’re angry. Any emotions you’ve felt for Cal have been ones you can explain: anger, frustration, begrudging respect, competitiveness, hatred. You recognize his attractiveness, and you don’t deny the effect his presence has on your baser desires—but the nearly painful flare of possessiveness pulsing in you right now is foreign. Inexplicable. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you eventually mutter. “Did you see?” 

“I saw you,” he says. Tentatively, he skims his fingertips over your leg, up to your knee. When you don’t retreat, he gently snags your hand and threads your fingers together. “I’m sorry.” 

You bare your teeth and tug your hand away—or try to. His fingers tighten around yours, holding you in place. “I told you before, Kestis. I don’t need your pity.” 

“Then don’t see it as pity,” he says. “See it as an understanding. A mutual experience.” 

Sucking on your teeth, your jaw clenches for a moment before you sigh. “Fine. Who’s Merrin?” 

“An old friend,” Cal says, a little too quickly. “She’s... She went her own way a while ago.” 

Something like triumph glows in you. “Good.” 

He fixes you with a confused look, a crease forming between his brows. “Wha—” 

You cut him off, surging forward to press your lips greedily against his. The impulse to be closer to him, impossibly close, is overwhelming in this moment. His palm is warm and steady and grounding against yours. He grunts against you, going absolutely still. 

When you pull away, not moving more than a few inches away, you meet the shock in his gaze with a sense of pride. His eyes flit between yours, searching. You drag your eyes down to his lips, parted and damp and so fucking pink.

His other hand cradles the back of your head and pulls you forward into another kiss. 

You groan into his mouth. His lips are warm and soft and sweet against yours, moving slowly, uncertain. You tilt your head, nudging his nose with your own. With your free hand, you grip at his shirt and claw your way into his lap. You need more. More of him, more of his warmth, more of his touch, more more moremoremore. 

He breathes your name against your lips, and you shush him gently. His body is hard and lean beneath yours, his touch hesitant. Fingers still intertwined, you guide his hand to your waist. Without the barrier of your shirt, his touch burns, scorching you from the outside in. His fingers splay across your skin, trailing molten desire in their wake. Heat pulses in your core.

“Kriff,” you sigh, “please.” 

“Didn’t think you had manners,” he quips, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your jaw, down your neck. 

You reach up and tug on his fiery hair, earning a low groan. “Rude.” 

He chuckles against your skin, his lips brushing against a sensitive spot. A shiver dances up your spine, a quiet sigh passing your lips. When he bites down there, you moan. 

“Kestis,” you pant. 

“Shh,” he soothes. The hand on your waist trails down to your hip and squeezes in time with another bite to your skin. With another groan, you rock your hips down into him. A grin curls your mouth up in pleasure at the feeling of his half-hard cock beneath you. 

“Off,” you order, tugging on his shirt. 

He breaks away from you long enough to yank the offending article up and over his head. Your palms smooth over the rippling muscles beneath his pale, freckled skin of his stomach, and he shudders. Brushing your thumb over a blaster scar under his ribs, you press a kiss to his shoulder. 

“Did it hurt?” you ask. 

“I’ve had worse,” he says. 

“Show me.” 

His green eyes are dark, nearly black, when he meets your gaze with a questioning look. In response, you skim a featherlight trail over his torso, lingering at the scars that mar his otherwise perfect skin—mirrors, you realize, of the imperfections of his golden aura. 

When you trace the pink scar that bisects his face, he shivers. His hand catches your wrist, halting your movement. 

“That one,” he whispers, voice pained. “That was the worst.” 

You recognize, this close, the telltale signs of a saber wound. He’s lucky to have survived that, you realize. 

Kriff. You press your mouth to his once again, wrapping your legs around his torso. His body fits against yours, hard planes to soft edges, and you groan in unison. His kiss is still tentative, but he moves against you without hesitation when you deepen the kiss, your tongue licking across his bottom lip. His tongue is hot against yours. Spit slicking your lips, you groan into his open mouth. 

Fuck, you need more. Pulling at his hair, you urge his head to tip back, exposing the pale column of his throat. You lick a stripe down his skin, tasting his natural saltiness, delighting in the way his cock hardens against your clothed core. 

“Want you,” you mumble against his collarbone. 

He hums. “I’m yours.”

That possessive flare from before practically obliterates any coherent thoughts your brain was still capable of producing. Growling, you push him onto his back, shuffling down, kissing and licking and biting at his skin as you fumble with his pants. The buttons come undone; his hips raise to help you shuck the clothing off. His cock bobs as it comes free of the confines. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan. “Been holding out on me, Kestis.” 

“If I’d known—” His voice cracks. “If I’d known all you needed was to be fucked, we coulda done this sooner.” 

Tingles spark through your core hearing him curse—hearing him talk about something as base and dirty as fucking you. Stars, the heat in your core is nearly unbearable. 

You need to taste him. 

Wrapping your fingers around his heavy cock, you smear a droplet of precum over his flushed head. His body jerks in response, his eyes half-lidded as he gazes down at you, a smirk playing at his lips. Without warning, you envelope him in your mouth. Cal cries out, hips jerking up. You moan in satisfaction around him. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink your mouth further down onto his length, before sucking, tongue teasing the underside of his head. One hand cupping his balls, you relax your throat and take him deep. The curls at the base tickle your nose. 

“Oh stars,” he breathes. “You’re so good at that. F-Fuck.” 

You hum, settling into a rhythm. His hand, broad and strong and warm, rests on top of your head—not pushing, just there, feeling you. His chest heaving, you can’t help but admire the flush rising to his cheeks, painting him in sin. Spit dribbles out of your mouth, coating the parts of him you can’t reach. Your eyes never leave his. 

Snaking your free hand down your body, you moan at the pleasure that zings through you at the momentary relief of touching yourself. 

“No.” Cal’s voice is strangled, strained. He flicks two shaky fingers, and your hand is yanked out from beneath your body by the Force. 

An obscene pop echoes in your hut as you pull your mouth away from his weeping cock. “Either touch me, or I’ll do it myself,” you growl. 

“Then c-come here,” he stutters. 

Shimmying out of your pants, you discard the garments to the floor without a second thought and climb your way up his body. His hands skim your sides, his touch barely there, as your mouth reconnects with his. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of his mouth, his touch, his cock. He feels too good. 

You hiss when his hand brushes against your aching sex. He breaks the kiss long enough for his eyes to find yours, a silent question there as his fingers find purchase at your core. 

You can only nod, not trusting your voice. When he moves his hand against you, your vision blurs and you press your forehead to his. 

“Stars, Kestis, just like that,” you hiss. 

He rubs his nose against yours. “Let me take care of you.” 

His touch is electric. Your body jerks against him when his fingers move just right, applying just the right amount of pressure. Heat and tension build in your belly, growing more and more taut by the second. Your legs shake on either side of his hips. 

“Cal,” you whine. “Gonna cum.” 

His touch retreats, and you whimper at the loss of contact. 

“You’re g-gonna cum on my cock,” he promises, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. The sweetness of the action contrasts with the filth of his words, and your stomach lurches. 

“Fuck, yes, okay.” You spit in your hand and reach down to make sure you’re ready for him.

He slicks his own palm with spit and jerks his cock once, twice, getting himself prepped. With his hand at his base, steadying his length, you slowly sink onto him. He splits you open inch by inch, the delicious burn of him in your core drawing a pitiful moan from your chest. When he bottoms out, you twitch in his lap, chest heaving. 

“T-Take me so well,” he murmurs, ghosting his fingertips over your face. “Stars, you feel so- so good.” 

You whine. “Cal.” 

“I know, baby, I know.” 

The pet name seems to surprise him as much as it does you. The heat that’s been simmering in your chest for months now, since the first time you encountered him, dulls into something...softer. More muted. More pliant. 

Eyes locked together, you test the waters and raise your hips a fraction. Moans tumble from both of you at the friction, and that’s all you need. Rolling your hips, you work his cock, drawing the most delicious noises from him. He caresses your face, smooths a hand over your back, kisses you sweetly. You find just the right angle where his cock brushes against that bundle of nerves deep inside, and you shudder. 

“Cal, I—” 

“Yes,” he groans. “Don’t stop.” 

You don’t. You drag your hips frantically against his, chasing the sparks bursting in your core with each thrust. His touch turns harsh as you ride him; your hips will surely bear bruises tomorrow in the shape of his fingertips. You moan at the thought. Mine. Mine mine mine mine. 

Rutting against that raw piece of heaven in your core, you’re blind to everything else. Your injury forgotten, the empty void that yawns in your soul, your frustration with Cal Kestis: all of it is irrelevant right now. All that matters is that you keep fucking Cal. All that matters is the way his cock feels sliding in and out of you, dragging against your walls. All that matters is the way he moans your name like a prayer. 

“Need you t-to cum,” he orders, words faltering as you clench around his cock. 

“I’m close,” you say, voice hoarse. The tension in your belly draws hot and tight, ready to snap. 

Cal finally thrusts up to meet you when you bounce down, and you scream. That taut cord in your belly releases, snapping in two, and you see white. Pleasure explodes through you; every nerve lit on fire, tears dew in your eyes from the intensity. You claw at Cal’s chest, searching for purchase as he absolutely rails into you, chasing his own release. 

Through it all, he babbles. “J-Just like that, baby. Cum all over this cock. Fuck, you’re g-gonna make me— I— fuck, ngh, I’m—” 

He stills as he cums, his cock pulsing against your walls, and you jerk at the sensation, oversensitive. 

Your eyes flutter as you look down at him in the gathering darkness. His skin shines with a thin sheen of sweat. As his cock softens inside of you, letting some of his cum drip out, you groan softly. 

“This was a mistake,” you whisper. 

He swallows visibly, and nods. “I know.” 

You capture his lips in another kiss, one he returns with a fervor. Stars, you almost wish you really did hate him. This would be so much easier. 

“What now?” he asks, thumb brushing over your tender hips. 

You shrug. “Same time next week?” 

He huffs a laugh. “Very funny.” 

“Thanks.” 

He hums. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

All of the heat of the last few minutes dissipates immediately, and ice knifes your insides. You push away from him finally, his cum dripping down your inner thigh as you stand, bend to retrieve your clothes, tug them on. 

“Okay.”

“That’s it?” 

“What do you want me to say, Kestis?” 

He sighs as he reaches for his own clothes. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” 

“You should have left when I told you to,” you say, arms crossed over your chest as you stare out the single window of your home at the rapidly falling dark. 

“Yeah, maybe.” His hand is warm and familiar where he rests it on your shoulder. “You could...come with me.” 

You narrow your eyes. “And have to live by your Jedi code? No thanks.” 

“No code,” he says, quiet, contemplative. “Just the fight.” 

“Just the fight,” you echo. When he nods, something you sense more than see, you sigh. “I could...tag along. Just this once.” 

“Of course,” he says. His lips press against your temple. “Just this once.” 

Swallowing against the strange metallic taste rising to your mouth, you blink and summon the Force. You’re grateful for Cal’s grounding presence behind you. Your signature is...muddied. Marbled black and gold. When you glance down at his hand on your skin, you find that his aura is the same as yours. Mixed. Confused. 

Balanced.

Yes, you think. Hating him would have been easier.

#cal kestis x reader #cal x reader #cal kestis x gn!reader #jedi survivor spoilers #jedi survivor fanfiction #rhiplies #rhiwrites

[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

[eatommo]

Like Real People Do [d.d]

Summary: You and Mando have a history of broken hearts and are both looking for a place to land in the galaxy you live in, but you'll always have each other.

A/n: Not beta'd! mistakes are my own! and look a Hozier song to a Pedro fic what's new! I love this. I hope you do too! 6.2k

Cw: Canon typical violence, mentions of human trafficking, use of weapons, mutual pining, discussions of loss, discussions of war, brief mentions of grief, Reader is from Alderaan (trauma that comes from that), the reader has some of my tattoos because we love a self-insert, broken glass, pubic hair?, unprotected p in v, mentions of marking, hickeys, mentions of oral sex m/f receiving, fingering, the helmet stays on, breeding kink if you squint, as always touched starved Din, themes involving depression and loss, takes place post season 3 but has a flash back to season 1, I probably missed something but let me know!

It had been ages since you’d seen him. You’re not sure how many rotations, but not a day has passed that you didn’t think about him.  But there, just passing the entrance to the trading post, his shiny beskar helmet flashes over the crowd.  

You put your head down, looking at the spare parts you were hoping to auction off for some measly credits at a holiday festival for some caf and to help you hopefully buy some piece of junk craft to get you off this dusty and dry planet.  

Maybe you’ll be lucky and you can slink away, and evade an awkward reunion all altogether.  You found an outcropping and a small table covered in different smoked meats and small roasted animals.  

You try to sell the fact that you look busy while you think about the last time you spoke to him.  Your conversation about the rebel symbol marred into your skin with black ink, Cara had done it herself, and you’d helped her put the very same symbol on her cheek. The pain felt good, it mirrored the grief that felt immeasurable and it almost felt like a release of all of the terrible thoughts of your family’s final moments.  Had your family suffered? Did they even know what was coming for them?  

You were young and had just gotten off the planet in search of something greater, a higher purpose. Something to believe in, and the empire stole everything you’d ever known in one simple explosion. 

It had handed you a purpose, for a time. Working with the rebellion, standing with your Princess, and fighting and punishing the Empire for the loss of Alderaan.  Cara and you were hiding out on Sorgan after leaving your post as shock troopers. You were in the fresher when they started to tousle outside, you expected some gruff Klatoonian who she sharked in a bet, as it often was.  Instead, she lies on her belly, a blaster pointed at a chrome-covered Mandalorian, who is lying on his back with a weapon drawn.

The only thing that holds your attention is a little green baby holding a cup of soup, mirroring your amusement waddling up next to you.  

He coos, looking between you and his companion like he expects you to save him.  “Sorry bud, I’m with her.” 

An aggravated harsh pant cuts you off, “Stay away from him.” The blaster shifts to you, but you raise your hands and keep an even temper.  He looks between the two of you, who clearly have no intention or idea what he is in possession of, and offers to buy the two of your dinner.  

He didn’t speak much at first, but as you and Cara drank away a flagon of spotchka and you shared your interest in his ship, having to grow up around the rebel's fleet and wanting to see such an old military craft, he offered to show you.  

“It’s a short walk, the kid is falling asleep in your lap anyway.”  You look down at the little wrinkled green monster, blinking slowly with his massive eyes as you stroke his ears, you can’t help but fawn over him.  

“I can’t believe they’re hunting a baby.”  Whispering, as you feel the warmth of his tiny body, heartbroken at the idea of an imperial remnant looking for children.  

“He is older than I am.” His surprisingly playful voice almost startled you, he’d been quietly walking by your side as you carried the little guy nestled into your chest.

“He’s” you struggle to find words, but you can feel an energy emanating from the little creature in your arms “magnificent.” 

The Mandalorian hums lowly, agreeing with you.   There’s a pause for a few moments while you look over at him, “Did you find a lot of purpose? With the rebellion?” 

It's your turn to be broody, “For a time.” Suddenly feeling subconscious you speak a little bit more quietly, “Just waiting for the next thing to believe in I guess.” You sigh, gazing down into the dark black ink just above your rebel stripes, “It feels like I could keep fighting forever, but hearing all this, seeing such a small child threatened by the same evil as I was, it feels like I already have.” You’re not sure if he understands you,  or even what side of the war he stood on.  

“You feel like there’s reasons to fight.” He looks down into the baby drifting to sleep in your clutches.  “But afraid that you have no fight left.”  You half expect him to be criticizing you.  Mandalorians have lost almost as much as you have, but are warriors by nature and have fought and continue to be feared across the galaxy as mercenaries and bounty hunters.  His voice is soft, and understanding, as if processing his words himself. 

 You spot the ship ahead, falling silent in your admiration you trudge through the leaves and sticks that have fallen from the ship clearing its landing.  The ramp hisses as it falls open to welcome its pilot, but you stop outside to admire the twin engines and their decades-long wear and tear.  

Walking around the ship to admire her heavy laser cannons and her yellow markings.  He watches you with a quiet but proud silence, as you eventually shuffle up the ramp to set the little one into a floating pram.  Your eye catches a glimpse of a carbonite freezing chamber, and a little anxious butterfly seems to stir in your belly, how much do you trust him?  

“I always thought I’d die looking for a bounty when I got too old, too slow, or just in plain luck.”  You turn heel to face him, heartbeat clipping unsteadily in your chest, but you raise an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.  He hesitates and sets himself on top of one of the shipping containers. “But protecting this child has made me dream of a life I never thought I could fight for.” 

You can feel your body soften at his confession, cursing yourself for thinking lowly of a man whose been nothing but kind and trusting of you.  “I’m sure it's lonely.” You take a small but calculated breath, “He is lucky to have you.” The smile is soft, and you try to reassure him despite yourself. 

He looks at you standing but a few steps away from him, and nods, “I’m just as lucky.” 

The bustle of the holiday market slows to accommodate him, traversing through the stalls as all shapes and sizes scurry out of his way.  You swear to yourself, turning away and buying some meat you can’t afford.  When you hear your modulated name fall out of his mouth like a prayer, soft and delicate.  He steers around the crowd, veering right into your path as a child walks in front of you blowing bubbles from the straw of a festive drink.  

The Mandalorian approaches you with purpose, his walk deliberate and commanding as if everyone in the vicinity answers to him.  “Mando.” you smile briefly, warmth heating your cheeks, and the never-fading crush you have on this man skipping around your belly.  “Hi.” 

His gaze stays fixed as he reaches for your arm, touching a patch of ink that not only is new to him but you completely forgot about.  His glove runs over it and when it doesn’t smear it might’ve made his knees buckle. “The Crest.” 

You peer into the helmet, glad to have him near you again, and realizing how much you missed hearing his voice, a rush of blood washes over your cheeks again.  “Yeah,” you fumble around doubting your reasons for getting that tattoo in the first place, “I’ve been adding a couple of ships that are important to me.” 

You hear a small noise but are unable to determine the emotion behind it, “I was hoping to see you on Nevarro,”  your heart rate picks up in your chest, and of course, his helmet picks it up, “the last few times.” 

“I’ve been moving around, looking for something new.” There’s a sleepy squeal coming from his satchel, “is that?” He swings it around to the front and opens the top of the bag to reveal your favorite green forehead. “Handsome man! I’ve missed you little mudscuffer.” 

Mando chuckles under his breath as you pull the baby from his confines and offer him a piece of the meat you just bought. He swallows it down greedily.  “I swear he eats. He just woke up.” 

You smile and give him a playful look, “Is daddy feeding you enough munchkin?” You hand the baby another strip, Mando is glad you don’t see him adjusting his pants as the word daddy slips between your lips innocently, “Don't worry I’ll get you something sweet too.” 

Mando rests his hands on his hips, and shakes his head in mock defeat, “He’s not gonna want to leave.” He follows at your back as you carry the child through the marketplace, sometimes letting his palm rest on your back to keep close to you.  

He would not be one to admit but seeing you carry the child around reminds him of the times on Sorgan, of the weeks you spent together and his floundering inability to court you.  Even now the way you look at him has him hiding behind his beskar helm like a foolish schoolgirl.  

“He doesn’t have to, are you here for business?” You cast a look over your shoulder, “He can stay with me while you take care of whatever you need.” You find a stall selling some fruity overpriced drink for the planetary holiday. 

You look into your bag, coming up just a few credits short, and cursing at yourself.  Starting to walk away, “I’ve got it.” He cuts in front of you while gripping your shoulder and standing over the top of you, handing more than enough credits to the man in exchange for two drinks.  

Yet another blush creeps into your cheeks, “No need to spoil me.”  You offer the child his drink and he snatches it away from you eagerly with a screech.

“I want to.” That causes your brows to knit together and a deep ache below your belt to settle and warm. 

You sip away at the luxuriously sweet drink, wishing you could at least share it with him. “I have a room at an inn,” you offer, “or we could go back to the Crest, and catch up.” 

You lean against one of the walls so that you don’t accidentally traverse even further from his bounty.  “I don’t have the crest.” 

Your drink turns to ash in your mouth, “What? Is she in disrepair? I’m sure Karga-“ 

“It’s rubble on the planet Tython.” He’s sad, of course he is, but his hand finds the mark on your skin again, and you can’t help but mull over the memories, the connection you shared on that ship eviscerated. 

“I’m so sorry.” You let your head hang low, remembering how many conversations you shared hoping he’d invite you aboard as crew.  “I loved that ship. I mean not as much as you I’m sure.” 

He chuckles, thumb brushing over the silhouette as he speaks, “You don’t happen to know how to rewire an N-1 starfighter engine?”  

“I’m sure I could look at it, but I don’t think I’d be much help. Where the hell did you find one?” You’re a bumbling mess, wanting so eagerly for him to scoop you off this planet like he had before, but also knowing your heart couldn’t bear to watch him leave a third time.  

“I didn’t think so but I have no idea what you’ve been up to and-“ he pauses, stopping himself to watch you take a sip of the drink after licking some whipped cream off of the straw.  

“And?” You prompt him to continue, but he stares between you and the child who have matching bright red tongues and are both sporting some whipped cream out of the corners of your mouths.  

You catch a hint of strain in his voice, “We can rest at your place for a while. He’s due for a nap.” You squint at him a little, easily reading his stiff body language and the change of subject.  

At the word nap, the baby babbles away while chewing on the straw of his drink, “There’s a lot of sugar in this, so we might have to wait it out.”  

Mando lets out an exasperated sigh, “What have you gotten us into.” You’re both sitting on the floor of a modest single room with the little one taking turns climbing up and over the two of you.  

“You bought it,” raising your hands in defense, smile splitting ear to ear,  “I was going to split one with him.”  You reach out to try to grab his surprisingly quick body but he darts away with a giggle.  

“He’ll crash, eventually.” You could hear him talk about the baby for hours,  to sit with him and watch the two of them play together always felt like a treat on its own. “Get down from there.” 

“He’s fine, this place is a dump anyway.” You smirk over your shoulder as he climbs up onto your bed, rolling around and giggling half to himself while chewing on the mythosaur skull pendant around his neck. 

“How did you end up here?” Your face falls a little, but he’s kind, and soft, and you can tell he doesn’t want to pry but his curiosity is getting the best of him.  

“I was tracking a bunch of smugglers, the republic got word that they were hauling children to Canto Bight, and exporting them maker knows where.” You continue, trying to keep your breath even, “Cara had asked me as a favor, but I had a run-in with a group of pirates who saw my stripes and stole my ship.” 

“Does she know?” He shuffles closer to you, folding his knees in so that he can run a hand soothingly across the skin of your leg.  

“I don’t know,” You clear the tightness in your throat, “At least I don’t think so.” You find the words pouring out of you as if he is comforting you into realizing something you’ve been fighting for a long time.  “I don’t think I can fight like this anymore, and I don’t know how to tell her that.” 

He is quiet, giving a simple solemn nod, before pulling the rising phoenix from his back, and laying it on the floor.  He scoots closer to you, settling next to you as you both lean against the foot of your bed.  His beskar shoulder plate is cold on your cheek, as you lean against him, seeking reassurance you haven’t felt in so long.  

Silently a tear falls down your face, and as if prompted by his little superpowers the baby, climbs into your lap nuzzling your cheek and touching your face gently with a warm hand.  There are a lot of things this child is capable of, things you can’t begin to understand, over a lifetime that is marred with more violence and confusion than you will likely ever know existed. When he touches you, you can feel his pain and loss, but he also shares with you a joy and unfathomable curiosity over the smallest things he remembers.  

“I can’t take you on the N-1,” his voice startles you out of your stupor with the baby, “but if you’ll give me a few days, I’ll be back to pick you up, and you can stay with us on Nevarro until you find somewhere else, something else to do.” 

Your breath is shaking, and you’re not even sure the last time you felt safe enough to cry.  A small piece of you wants to run because that's what you've been doing for these last 10 or so years of your life.  Running from the Empire, running after them, and then running from yourself.  “I don’t think I could.” 

“Why not?” he reaches for your shaking hand, setting his gloved hand on top of yours, driving the energy in the room with the ease of piloting a speeder bike.  

“You’re a family, he has a routine, you’ve settled into this beautiful life that you’ve worked tirelessly for.  I couldn’t impose.” You try your best to sound strong like you’ve got a plan ahead of you, and the idea of not being around the two of them doesn't make your heart ache. 

He hums, and for a moment your cry is less of confusion and more out of pain.  His hand is gone from yours, and the lack of his warmth feels like a slap into reality, as you pinch your eyes shut to stop yourself from being embarrassed even further. 

You jump.  There's a much larger warm hand caressing your cheek, and turning your head into the dark stare of his visor.  You can see the tanned skin of his wrist as he turns your face slightly, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. “It is the greatest mistake of my life leaving you on Sorgan.” 

You sniffle, the words sorting through the emotional fog of your brain, searching the blank emotionless canvas of metal for a hint of human connection, a flutter of an eyelash, anything.  You can’t find anything, until you hear the faint sound of his breath from beneath his mask, stuttering and insecure, his chest rising and falling like he’s fighting a battle with his own emotions.  

You feel it again, a swell in your chest of love and admiration and then you feel the tiny claws digging into the skin of your bicep. You look down at the tiny man as he steps between where your chests are separated by mere inches, “Could I have her come and get us?” You’re quiet as a loth cat, voice heady and rough. “I don’t think I could watch you go.” 

He lets the little one settle into his lap after a moment, this time you can hear relief and a half-broken smile in his tone, “Let’s just wait until he falls asleep, I’ll go to the ship and send a transmission.  I’ll come back with his pram, and then where we go. You go.” 

You clear your throat again, wanting so desperately for this to be real and aching to touch him.  “Okay.” your voice barely makes a squeak, he pressed the cold beskar helm to your temple.  

Wondering if he feels as raw as you, you place your hand on top of his suppressing the need to comment on how large it is, and tangle your fingers with his.  You stare at his hand, tanned and massive and warm. Human. You fold your legs in on themselves and shift your body so that you may properly look at him. 

The glove sits in his lap, and he looks so imposing in this tiny half-furnished room, polished and chrome in the dingy and ill-lit space you've called ‘home’ for these last few cycles.  You take his other hand, and look up to see if he’s going to stop you, but he is still and silent, so you slip the glove off his hand.  You trace from the tip of his middle finger, down his palm and up towards the pulse point of his wrist. 

He shudders beneath your touch, thankful for the mask to hide the crimson flush of his cheeks. He’s never had the opportunity to enjoy a tenderness like this, to feel his pulse quicken and the nervous butterflies he’s heard described during love stories on a holodrama.  It’s terrifying, he feels like he could vomit, but the way your delicate fingers trace circles over the palm of his hand makes him want to run his hands over every last inch of your body until he knows it inside and out like his blaster. 

The child settles into his lap, leaning his head against your arm as his head and eyes grow heavier with sleep.  “Why don’t we walk to your ship together?”  

Your eyes are bright, and he can tell by your posture that you feel better, but he can’t stop the audible grumble, not ready to let you or even your hand slip from his.  He nods and swallows harshly to clear his throat, “Alright.”

You walk across the market again, and the crowd parts before the two of you except this time you are holding onto his hand, and rather than trying to avoid his gaze like every other soul walking the market, you cling to his him trying to suppress the smirk curling the corners of your mouth.  

Nevarro has changed so much, you spend the first few days just getting accustomed to the new layout of the town.  Dropping the child, ‘Grogu’ (it took a while but it grew on you) at school, and then going to spend time in the market picking up some rations and some of the seasonal veg you’ve been coaxing into the little one’s belly.  

The domestic bliss that comes with living with Mando is both welcome and intoxicating.  You’re awake at odd hours of the night, talking and sharing stories about Jawas and your run-ins with Ewoks,  and sharing your dreams and hopes for the galaxy.  

He shares stories about Mandalore, about visiting there for the first time and bathing in the healing waters, about Bo Katan seeing a Mythasaur alive. All things you heard about as a young child, and symbols that brought hope and purpose to the entire creed were real and were aiding to heal the planet and its inhabitants. 

Then there were times when you both laid on the floor, watching the little one interact with a metal sphere, using his magic to hover it just out of your grasp and giggling himself to a peaceful sleep.  You’d lay together, wrapped in the comfort and protection of his house, and stare at the little man as he sleeps occasionally peaking into the reflection of yourself in his helmet, and blushing when you catch your own heart racing.

You want to tell him how you crave to be with him, how addicting his presence and his mind are to you, but you’re afraid.  Afraid to move too fast, to step over his barriers, but also knowing that each second without knowing the softness of his mouth is torture. 

The first time you see him in his sleep clothes, a plain dark green shirt with three buttons on the top and loose-fitting black canvas pants, no metal aside from his helmet, you choke on your cup of Jawa juice.   He’s large even without the metal beefing up his silhouette, his back broad and the fabric thin enough for you to see his muscles move as he opens a drawer for silverware. Even treating yourself to a glimpse of his waist and the way it tapers to his ass and hips.  

It’s become more common, in fact when he gets home, he almost immediately strips out of the armor in favor of something more casual and comfortable.  

Tonight the energy is different. The kid passes out early and you’re soaking a pot you used for dinner in the sink when he emerges out of his room.  You hear his footsteps, but they’re muted and soft, he’s barefoot. As you glance over your shoulder as he offers you a glass from his bedroom you see he’s in briefs, (the house is admittedly warmer as the seasons change) but the shock is plain as day as you turn so quickly away the glass slips from your hand and shatters on the floor. But the image of his chest spattered with hair that trailed down his soft belly and into the top of his black undergarments. 

You both are silent for  a moment, hoping the noise isn’t loud enough to wake the baby, in his silence you swear, “Kriff, don’t move I’ll get a broom.” You shy away, looking to the ground for a safe path.  

He cuts you off arm darting in front of you to halt your movement,  “I’ll get it.” His hand comes to rest on your hip stalling your movements with his warm palm. 

His other hand reaches out and before you can grumble in discontent he's lifting you onto the counter. You sit there, flustered with your hands tucked between your thighs as he fiddles with the control of his helmet flicking through to see which would help him find the scattered pieces of glass the best.  

It's moments, but it feels like an eternity as he searches for a broom, sweeping the glass into a neat pile before discarding it into the bin silently.  He settles between your legs, silent as a mouse.  

“I'm sorry.” You smile sheepishly, struggling to maintain eye contact as he hovers in front of you, inches separating your face, and if it were any cooler you would’ve fogged the front of his mask with your breath. 

He chuckles dryly, “Don’t be, I’ll take it as a compliment.”  His posture is full of confidence, but also comfortable and relaxed.  You long to touch him, to run your hand over his chest and abdomen, to feel the muscles shift in his back as he- “Mesh’la?” 

You blink yourself out of a daze, “You should, you’re so handsome.”  He braces his hands on the counter next to your hips and leans ever closer.

“Yeah?” His voice is hot like a pant, stroking a fire in the room that neither of you are able to ignore any longer. 

“Yeah.” You smirk at him, emboldened and smoothing your hands up the strong plains of his arms, squeezing lightly around the muscles of his biceps.  You let your foot run across his calf, urging him closer to your body, his hands find your waist, firm but careful as his thumbs stroke the skin just below your breasts.  You curse yourself for even bothering with a bra band.  

“I like having you here.” His head tilts, you can almost see the gears turning in his brain as he continues, “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” He uses his strength to pull you a little closer to him, so with each breath your chests touch and your core is flush to his abdomen.  “Having you in my kitchen, sitting on my counter looking so pretty, so-” He swipes the hair off your shoulder exposing your neck and throat, “edible.” 

Any chance you had of playing it cool is gone, you want nothing more than to bend to his will.  His hand disappears from your side, and he tangles it in your hair, using it to fix your eyes to his through the helm, as he strokes your cheek with his thumb.  You feel completely safe, but there’s something about him thats dangerous, hungry even, and it makes your skin damp with sweat.

He sounds like he’s in agony, like each passing moment without consuming you is torture, and you ache for him in a way that astonishes you, embarrasses you, not even sure that you could stand on your own two feet.  

“I need you.” He whispers, breath uneven almost a growl, “Tonight. Now.” He reaches between your legs, letting his fingers ghost over you ever so gently, as if asking, no begging, for permission.

You swallow hard, his helmet tilts, admiring you, and you hardly manage to stutter a yes.  Part of you expects him to be quick, tearing at your clothes and taking you right here in the kitchen. 

 He doesn’t.

 He goes slow, letting the crest of his helmet fall to rest on your forehead, taking his time to caress your hips, tracing up your sides and taking your shirt with it.  His hands are warm, but bring goosebumps to your skin as he touches you, hands squeezing your breasts and rubbing your nipple.  You keen, pressing desperately against his hands.  You lean in, placing a kiss to his collarbone, gentle and moving slow so he may stop you if he wants, but he drops his shoulder and tilts his head to expose his neck.  

You kiss his collarbone again, letting your tongue dart out to taste his skin, he’s vibrating beneath you. Trembling as you kiss the hollow of his throat and nibble at the skin of his neck.  You run your hands down his chest, basking in the intimacy and living for the scent of his skin.

He lifts you in a fluid motion, whisking you out of the kitchen and into his modest bedroom.  Laying you on the bed, he runs his hands down your legs and removes your pants.  You blush, unable to hide your arousal but noticing the prominent tent in his briefs, your mouth waters and you get to consider getting on your knees for him briefly.  

He’s faster than you, and not thinking about himself.  Ripping your underwear from your body and running the tip of his index fingers through your folds. “All this for me?” He circles your entrance, gathering your slick before brushing across your clit with leg-shaking precision.  

You chase his touch, the pleasure coating your tongue and fogging your brain even more than you can put into words. You beg for him to get closer, to press your bodies together until you weren't sure you'd ever part.

You're expecting to feel shorted by the absence of his mouth on yours.  No taste of him, and not getting to hear his words directly from his mouth, but his touch is consuming.  Like he's worshiping and waking each cell with caresses and adoration that's as palpable in the air as his sheets were soft on your back.  

There are noises, words you think, that he is muttering between each supple squeeze and tease, words you've heard him say before but their meaning is only now defined by his actions.  

Love.  He loves you.  You can feel it in the heat of his hands as he spreads your legs apart and admires the way you part for him, and he sinks two fingers into your fluttering pussy, pushing up and stroking something dangerous. 

His erection is nestled against your leg, and he shifts his hips with every twist of his fingers for a few moments, pressed between your bodies he feels a glimmer of relief with a groan, as much as he wants to bathe you in attention, he thinks that if he waits any longer his heart might give out before the best part.  “Mesh’la,” he twists his fingers as if to be sure you're listening, “Please.” 

“Yes,” you nod, swallowing harshly as he slips free of his underwear, cock springing free of its confines.  You gawk, unabashedly, as he did to you just moments ago. He's large, intact, leaning slightly to his left, and the skin is tanned brown, slightly darker than the rest of his body, thick and weeping out of the brilliantly flushed pink tip, the base adorned with sparse but dark hair that trails up to his navel deliciously.   When he steps between your legs and lets it rest on your abdomen to press your forehead together again, you feel its heady weight against you and stoop so low as to beg, “Please.”

You're echoing each other's moans as he grinds against your folds, coating himself in your slick before sinking into you in a single brutally slow thrust. When he bottoms out, you do your best not to squeak as the girth of his member breaks you open, it doesn't hurt, rather it feels like you've both waited an eternity to come to this very moment, euphoric and fulfilling the needs of your body and soul.  

He grinds his pelvis against yours letting his hand shift to cup your cheek, staring at you, he hopes somehow you can sense it. How he is barely able to stop passing between the pout of your lips and the deep pleading look in your eyes, begging him for the same thing his heart is calling for.   He could weep, having finally shorn the armor to dedicate himself to you, because the truth is, all you needed was to ask. He would've dropped his creed, everything he had achieved, and the meek life he'd planned for himself to grovel at your feet for the rest of his human life.  

Devotion, that's what it was called.  He had felt at many moments of his life that he was in the right place, blessing along his journeys that started out as miracles, friends, familial bonds he didn't think he deserved.  It felt misplaced, the little blessings that had entered his life so quickly that he swore they had to have been accidents. It had taken losing the child and abandoning you on that god-forsaken planet, for him to reflect, and to realize that the life he deserved was not determined by some blasters and an army, nor his home planet.  He had the life he wanted in his palms once, and watched it slip through his fingers with the charred remains of his ship.  His grip tightened instinctively, twisting the sheet in his fist. 

It was you.  You were the representation of all of the things he wanted but never thought he deserved.  A family, a place to call home, and you even had committed something as passing as his ship to your skin with a permanence that scared him.  

Here your skin was warm, surrounding him, nurturing him, squeezing him, and his mind was trying so hard to be a person, not a machine, loving someone else for the first time.  

He found the words, he said it to you, over and over with his pelvis angled just right as he ground his hips into you.

He was throbbing inside of you, you could feel the slick slide and pulse of him with each thrust. The pleasure was so intense you were whimpering and mewling beneath him, wetness smearing onto your thighs and running on the sheets below.

You've had sex before of course, and now you seriously doubt you've been doing it right. You kiss at the hollow of his throat, and in response he hunches over you, arms on either side of your head, animalistic yet praising affirmations go straight to the building heat in your core.  

You let your hands, come up to his back digging your nails into his skin.  He moans in shock as his thrusts grow more frenzied, spurred on by the bite of pain at his back.  He reaches between you and circles your clit with his thumb, pulling you headfirst into your orgasm.  You're body goes taught and relaxes all at once, the pleasure blinding you as your vision goes white and each tilt of his hips makes you stutter out an overstimulated moan. 

The fluttering of your sex around him would be enough to send over the edge but as you catch your breath you begin to beg for him to finish inside you.  He does, still feeling you shivering through the after waves of your own, as he groans and revels through the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, complete with curled toes and a knuckle-popping grip on the sheets.  He’s still looking at you, the rise of fall of your chests bumping into each other and your breath fogging the front of his helmet so much that when you kissed right over his eye, he could see the imprint of your lips for just a passing moment. 

“I can’t believe we waited so long.”  You chuckle, all smiles but looking as dazed and spent as he felt. A shiver coming over him as the small sounds cause you to tighten slightly around him as he softens, his body incredible sensitive. 

“I’ll spend the rest of our life making up for it.”  You note the sound of him speaking through the grit of his teeth, and do your best to lie still, not wishing to be parted just yet.

Months later, you’re married in a private ceremony in front of friends and his brothers and sisters of the clan.  It's quick, and everything you had expected of a warrior’s wedding.  You get the mudhorn symbol tattooed into the skin nestled behind your ear, wearing it proudly and with your vows you are made a family, a clan of three in front of all the important people you care about. 

You’d be remiss if what had you most excited isn’t the filthy promises he’s made to you about that night, taking his helmet off and kissing you everywhere he can for as long as he wishes.  Promising to leave a mark over your new clan sigil as he marks the rest of your body for him, as you’ve done to him many times over. You get to admire his face and the most handsome man in the galaxy who kneels before you with reverence and vows to take care of you with more than just his words. 

#pedro pascal #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin #eatommos 🗞️ #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian smut #din djarin x reader smut #din x reader #pedro pascal fanfic

[zoeykallus]

Ello!! Zoey how are u doing? 😚

Can i request a funny hc’s with the bad batch where the batcher sees their gender neutral s/o bending down thinking they’re gonna propose but they’re actually tying their shoe,

Batcher: “yes I will marry you!”

S/o: “oh I was just tying my shoe.”

Batcher: “we’re still getting married anyways 😒”

😁

I think I'm gonna have fun with this one!

The Bad Batch x Reader HCs - Accidental Proposal

Warnings: So far none/Mostly Fluff and Fun

______________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

______________

You've been a happy couple for quite a while, so this misunderstanding doesn't really seem that far-fetched.

Hunter

As you bend down to tie your shoe, which has come loose, you hear Hunter draw in his breath sharply, and a moment later, a soft, "Oh my God." Just before you reach for the laces, you pause in confusion and look up, alarmed, already prepared to perhaps be in for an unpleasant surprise. But Hunter stands there staring down at you, downright expectant. Suddenly, a smirk appears on his lips, and he asks, "Too nervous to pop the question?" You blink several times, completely perplexed. "Uh..." His smirk widens, and he waves it off, his ears turning red. "It doesn't matter sweetie, honestly I thought I was going to. But I'm certainly not complaining, and I'm saying, 'Yes'" You stare at him. "Okay? That's fine. But what's the question to this yes?" Hunter freezes in his movement, his smirk disappearing. "You're on one knee in front of me, looking up at me," he says, pointing at you with both hands. "Yeah, right. My shoelace is untied." Hunter's eyes go wide. "Oh..." Then he says defiantly, "We're still getting married". You stand back up and look at him with raised eyebrows, "Oh yeah?" "Yes, and what just happened here, we won't tell anyone. If anyone asks; I proposed to you, romantically and all"

You giggle softly and he raises a brow critically. But then he smiles and gives you a gentle kiss.

Echo

He turns to you and at the same moment you go down on one knee because of your shoe.

"Oh my God."

You look up, startled.

Echo is standing there, one hand on his chest as if he has to stop his heart from racing away.

"Are you okay?" you ask.

Echo takes a deep breath and then says with a soft laugh, "Sure, everything's fine, I just wasn't prepared for this."

You frown and say, "Well, neither was I, I was sure I made a double loop thus the shoelace wouldn't keep coming undone."

Echo blinks, holding his breath, freezing in his movement, then his gaze moves to your fingers, already gripping the laces.

"Goddamn it," he curses softly, rolling his eyes.

He turns away again, and you stand up, confused.

"What's wrong?" you ask in alarm.

"Nothing at all, it's fine," he says curtly.

"It doesn't sound like it"

"Just forget it," he waves it off and plunges back into work.

It's not until a few weeks later, over a small barbecue and some spotchkas, that Echo tells you what he was really thinking and misinterpreted your kneeling as a proposal. That same night, you propose to him for real. You've never seen Echo so radiant before.

Wrecker

As you kneel to tie your shoe, you hear Wrecker say breathlessly, "Oh boy…"

You look up questioningly.

"What's wrong?"

"This is so unexpected," he says, grinning sheepishly with flushed ears.

You frown, imagining all sorts of things about what he must be thinking you're up to.

"I don't know," he says slowly, "Are we there yet? I think we might really be ready. Are you really ready?"

You say dryly, "To tie my shoe? Yes I think so, in any case I am in the right position already."

His eyes get big, and he stares at you stunned, suddenly he laughs so hard that tears come to his eyes. You grin at him, but you don't really know what he's laughing about. Then you think about what he said and join in the laughter.

Finally, Wrecker wipes the tears of laughter from his face, grabs you by the hips and sits you down on a waist-high wall in front of him.

"That was funny, but we'll keep that between you and me, right?" he asks gently.

You nod with a grin and kiss his strong chin.

"Don't worry, big guy, it'll be our secret".

Tech

As you get down on your knees, he begins to stammer uneasily. "Oh gods, oh my goodness, this is unexpected.... uh, okay, take it easy." Astonished, you look up at him. "You okay, Tech?" His hand runs over the back of his neck, as he often does when he's very nervous or having a particularly shy moment. "Um, well, I'm fine. I'm just not sure if we're ready yet. Both of us as a couple, I mean. This gesture is wonderful, and I've been thinking about it too, we'd make a great couple I think..." "Tech." "Maybe even great parents. So when I think about spending my whole life with someone, I have to say you're the only person I can really imagine that with..." "Tech?" "But there's so much to consider, finances, living situation, family and so on. That's a big, heavy decision-" "TECH!"

He blinks and looks at you, startled. "Why are you screaming like that?" "Because you completely misunderstand me and have drifted back into one of your tunnel modes. I was just tying my shoe, my shoelace had come undone. There are no serious decisions to be made at the moment" He blinks several times and looks at you from wide eyes. "Oh" he says softly, "Somehow I'm very embarrassed right now". You smirk and draw his attention back to you as his gaze wanders with his ears reddening in shame. "Tech?" "Hmm?" "I love you." He blinks, then smiles and gently reaches for your waist to pull you close. After a soft kiss, he whispers, "I love you too".

Crosshair

As you drop to your knees, he almost immediately pulls you back up by your shoulders in a downright panic.

You stare at him in confusion.

You ask startled, "Hey, what are you doing?"

"No," he says sternly, "No, we're not there yet, I'm not ready for that depth of commitment."

You frown, at a loss for words at first.

"I'm not ready yet," he says sternly, "But I will be, at a later time, okay?"

You blink and look at him calmly, even though you're suppressing a laugh right now. But Crosshair obviously misunderstands your demeanor.

"Don't look at me like that," Crosshair murmurs, "You know I love you, but that's a step too far okay, I can't go that far yet."

"Neither can I," you say dryly, "Because my shoelace is untied."

He stares at you, and you stare back, hard-pressed not to laugh.

He clears his throat and says, "Okay, that's a good one, I'll give you that, the one about taking the next step and leaving your shoelace untied."

You start grinning broadly, and he says dead serious, "You won't tell anyone about that, or I'll make myself a widower before we get married."

You laugh and let him pull you into his arms. He kisses your neck and murmurs, "I mean it".

"Sure, honey," you say with a laugh and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

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@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

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@either-madness-or-brilliance

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@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

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@hated-by-me

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@echos-girlfriend

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@1vlouds

@starwarsnerd111

#star wars #tbb #the bad batch #clone force 99 #sw tbb #tech #tbb tech #crosshair #bad batch tech #tbb x reader #bad batch x reader #the bad batch x reader #tech x reader #hunter #echo #wrecker #wrecker x reader #echo x reader #hunter x reader #tbb headcanons #tbb fluff #tbb fun #crosshair x reader #star wars the bad batch #star wars: the bad batch #the bad batch crosshair #the bad batch echo #the bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch hunter #the bad batch tech

[bits-and-babs]

hi, i'm so very sorry for your loss, hope you're okay since it's been a few days since you posted this

could i ask a combo 14 - 16 - 23 with our favorite flyboy poe dameron with a nice and happy ending <3

sending you all my love :))

-ˋˏ 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐊𝐀 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 ˎˊ-

— pairing: Poe Dameron x f!Reader

— word count: 1.1k

— warnings: Jealous Poe, Tipsy Poe. Thigh riding, exhibitionism, dirty talk as ALWAYS. Consumption of alcohol. References to sex, 18+, Ya Nasties.

— authors note: Thank you so much for your condolences, I am doing much better now <3 this ask was DELICIOUS to write, I really appreciate the distraction. I don’t know if it’s exactly what you wanted but I started writing and couldn’t stop!

poe dameron masterlist I| main masterlist |I send me an ask

A sour scent of Spotchka permeates the cantina booth you sit in and burns your nose. It's flowing heavily today to celebrate a significant win against the First Order, the liquid soaked into the seats. The implosion of the Star Killer base had been a critical mission success, one that guaranteed The Resistance the opportunity to fight another day.

Morale was high, and General Organa saw no reason to put a stop to the celebrations when everyone was in need of some sort of release.

However, you feel tenser than you did in the sky, blasting tie fighters; muscles primed and ready to spring. Your brain has initiated evasive action, but your body is frozen in place by the oak-brown eyes that settle intensely on your face.

Poe swirls the blue beverage in the tumble glass, creating a miniature whirlpool, not unlike the twisting feeling in your stomach. His gaze, irises obscured by his hooded eyelids, sets sparks across your skin like an ion charge.

He lifts the glass to his lips, taking a swig of the azure liquid and savouring the burn on his tongue. You hear him exhale slowly through his nose despite the din of the bustling Cantina. It's like your senses are honed in on the gold leader, blurring out the background noise.

"So, you and Gold-Twelve, huh?”

Your mouth dries when his eyes lift back to you, a playful spark of something dangerous flitting in his pupils. Had he seen that? The flirty arm that Kori had wrapped around your waist. The squeeze he’d given your hip— the brush of his palm against the curve of your ass.

“H-Huh?”

“Sure seems like he was getting cosy with you, Seven.” His tone is pointed but not vicious. There’s something clipped in his voice- something envious.

“N-No-… No, we’re jus-“

“No?” He asks you, pointing to the bar while maintaining a grip on the crystal glass in his hand, “Could have fooled me, Seven. He seemed ready to take you to his bunk.”

You feel heat flush your face, eyes burning into the ak-wood tabletop. Had it been imported from Tython? The rings and swirls within the grain were pretty, maybe pretty enough to convince Poe you were too distracted to listen to his probing questions-

“Come here.”

Your body betrays you. Startled by his order, your eyes snap up to his face. Poe’s eyebrow is quirked upwards, indicating his unwillingness to wait. He’s radiating this energy, something that makes your insides scream with delight.

“B-But-“

“If you’re not seeing Kori, come here.”

Seeing?! What the kriff did he even mean by that? Did he think you two were sleeping together, because you sure as kark weren’t dating! You stumble like a newborn foal out of your side of the booth, practically floating around the table to reach where he waits expectantly.

You barely slide into the booth when he’s pulling you onto his lap, hands vice-like on your hips as he settles you on his left thigh. A gasp rips itself from your throat, whiny in pitch, when he balances on his toes and grinds the muscle of his against your clit.

He’s gazing up at you, those eyes melting like chocolate when he looks at you through his lashes. Poe reminds you so much of it, rich and sweet and rare. When he parts his lips, your tongue begs to taste them, craving the oxytocin.

“I-“ you stumble; the sweep of his hands up your back in a soothing gesture makes your heart stutter and slam into your throat. “I’mnotdatingKori!”

The induced slur of the admission makes him smile, leaning up ever so slightly to get closer to you. Spotchka hangs heavy on his breath when he exhales a sigh, the tip of his nose brushing against the soft flesh of your cheek when he presses a kiss to your jaw.

“Good. That’s good,” he murmurs, his own words dripping together as though all the blue alcohol has hit him all at once. Poe isn’t totally drunk. He needs rivers of Spotchka to get intoxicated, preferring the much stronger Jet-Juice as it was less of a drain on his credits and more of a buzz on his brain.

No, if you knew better, you’d realise that he’s inebriated by you. The feeling of your body on his, the feeling of your cunt grinding on his lap when he drags you forward.

Whimpering, your hands fly out to hold onto the leather shoulders of his jacket. You’re trembling already, the effects of his touch hitting you much harder than even the strongest of alcoholic beverages they served in this shitty cantina. The friction, even through your clothes, settles a twisting feeling in your abdomen when he slides his palms under your ass, grabbing a handful of you and using it as leverage.

“P-Poe-“ you moan out his name, knowing damn well that half of the patrons in the damn bar could look over and see you getting all but fucked by the Black Leader, right hand to General Leia Organa.

“So pretty for me on my lap,” he whispers, eyes engulfed by the blackness of his pupils as he sweeps them over your form as you roll your hips across the length of his muscular thigh. Poe Dameron was well known for being too damn ‘thick’ for his x-wing seat, and you can feel why. “Think you’d look so pretty for me on my cock, baby. Fuck, look at you-“

Stars, you’re gripping the leather of the booth, fingernails scratching the surface beyond repair as you feel a surge pass through you, crackling like force-lightning up your spinal cord and short-fusing your brain.

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head at you, lips pulling apart in another Dameron-Dreamy smile as he works his hands between you, belt clicking quietly amongst the loud celebration of drunk revellers. “Pretty baby’s gonna wait until I’ve got a taste of what she looks like all filled up.”

Spotchka and endorphins are flooding your system; you don’t even bother to second-guess the location, the people in the room, the logistics. You just scramble to remove your cargo pants, Poe’s fingers hooking into the waistband and yanking them down just enough to slip you onto his aching dick.

The whole of Yavin 4 learns that you most certainly are not ‘seeing’ Gold-Twelve and that Black Leader Poe Dameron had already staked his claim, much to Kori’s disappointment.

Much to your delight.

END

#poe dameron #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron smut #poe dameron fic #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x you #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron x reader #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars smut #oscar isaac #oscar isaac smut #oscar isaac x reader #જ⁀➴ mail: received

[skellymom]

"Sunset Over Pabu"

Hunter X OC/Reader One Shot

Word Count: 910

Background: An "Old Love" relationship. Nostalgia. Saying Goodbye. Using planet and star interchangeably. The celestial body in this fic is a Moon, similar to our planet Mars it reflects light so the appearance is a shining star.

The inspiration for this story came from @lightspringrain artwork. Including the link to her Etsy shop and image of "Hunter's Moon"

https://www.etsy.com/listing/1556715876/star-wars-the-bad-batch-omega-or-hunter?ref=yr_purchases

There are parallels to the first time Mad met Hunter in this fic. To read how they met, here is the link:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/738467105361494016/vagabonds?source=share

Warning: Sadness.

(Credit: Cool moving star dividers by @4ngelic-wh1spers )

They snuggled close on that settee just as they did the first night meeting on Ord Mantell.  In between trips off world, children, weddings, funerals, holidays, and all manner of life Hunter and Mad carved out while on Pabu to watch the sunset together.  Approximately 10 standard cycles of building a bonfire on the beach and cuddling up together to watch the sky turn deep shades of crimson, purple, and eventually black.  Gazing at the stars as they cycled by with the seasons in the night sky. 

The broken settee was resurrected by Hunter’s own hands when they first settled.  He built it strong enough for two.  A solid foundation so it would never break again.  Mad helped weatherproof it to withstand the ocean salt.  Together, they performed maintenance when needed, so it would last for many years.  A continuing project and labor of love. 

In addition, a firepit was constructed to hold the burning heat kept within.  Hunter and Mad collected stones on their travels around the galaxy.  Bringing back chunks of memories to line into a continuing never-ending circle.  Occasionally family and friends would add their own additions when returning to Pabu. Wrecker kept his eye out for oddly shaped or colored rocks while fishing and would surprise them with a new addition already stacked against the ring. 

Tonight, Hunter had a bit of difficulty making his way down the stone steps to the beach.  Mad took his hand, providing support.  His long hair and beard had gotten greyer the last few months.  She joked that he was almost as silver as her.  The wrinkles and laugh-lines accumulated since being together, a happy long life for a clone prominent on his face. He smiled as she fussed about him being careful not to slip. 

“Taking good care of me.” 

“Of course, what else would I do.”  

She winked, and he chuckled. 

He told Mad tonight he’d forego their usual “Spotchka under the stars” and just do “The Stars” for tonight.  The alcohol was wearing heavily on his system, making for extremely tiring mornings after...even with him cutting back considerably. 

In the last few months, Hunter and Mad watched a vibrant moon make its transit across the heavens.  It stood out amongst the other stars.  Burning a brilliant red flicker that could be easily seen even though it was millions of light years away. The bright red star reached the zenith of its orbit and total brilliance tonight per Tech’s calculations.   

“There’s YOUR moon, Hunky!” Mad pointed up above.  

There was a number for this moon at one point. With millions of celestial bodies orbiting the galaxy, only numbers were given to keep track of them all. That wasn't good enough for Omega though. She named it “Hunter’s Moon” rotations ago before leaving on her own journey with Echo and Crosshair. 

“Shame it’s the last night we’ll see it on Pabu.” Hunter mused. 

Mad sighed. “Didn’t Tech say something about it being visible somewhere else?” 

“Think he mentioned another planet not far from this one...” Hunter trailed off. 

“Whattsamatter Hunky?” 

He looked a little guilty “Not sure I’m up to traveling much any time soon.” He also sounded tired. 

“Not in any hurry. We have a sky full of stars.” 

“Mhmm, that’s my Mad... always thinking ahead.” 

“It’s the wanderlust. Brain never shuts off.” 

“I LOVE you, Maadienne.” 

Mad smiled and squeezed his hand. “I LOVE you too, Hunky.” 

They both gazed up at Hunter’s Moon.  

“Make a wish, Mad!”  Hunter said quietly.  

They were both silent for a while.  Then Hunter gently rested his head against hers. 

She knew he wouldn’t come out and tell her his wish, that to tell it wouldn’t come true.  Mad still liked to chide Hunter and try to playfully tease it out of him.  It would end in tickling, laughter, hugs, kisses...and on less tiresome nights love making. On tiresome nights they fell asleep in each other's arms on the beach. 

“Okay Hunky, spill the beans.”  Mad hugged Hunter tighter.  He didn’t reply.   

“Hunky..?”   

Mad brushed Hunter’s long locks away from his face. She gazed down at him, marveling at how the bonfire illuminated his hair, tattoo, dark skin. The face of a sleeping angel.  A rhyme in time back on Ord Mantell all those years ago.  The younger man who decided to buy her a drink in Cyd’s Parlor.  A partner that travelled with her across the galaxy, helped care for her family, whose brothers adopted them all, and a partner that never left her side. 

She caressed his face lovingly, immersing herself in the scent of his skin, hair, and... 

...breath...? 

Hunter’s chest had stilled.  An expected, but heavy weight resting against her body, a bit heavier than his usual bodily presence. 

“Oh...Hunter...Hun...” Mad suddenly hitched and exhaled, tears running down her face. 

She knew this day would eventually come.  And as the full rotations went on, she kept wishing on a certain red star that she could have another standard day with him.  Every standard day she wished to have another. 

But wishes only carry you so far...and there are only so many wishes granted. 

And you must accept that the universe has other plans. 

To believe in having just a moment of happiness instead of none. 

Mad kissed Hunter’s forehead.  “Aw, Hunky...we were REAL good...  Weren’t we? 

The red star above Pabu twinkled in reply to Mad’s words as she hugged Hunter for the last time. 

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#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #bad batch #clone force 99 #tbb hunter #hunter #hunter x oc fan fic #hunter x oc fan fiction #tbb hunter x oc fan fic #tbb hunter x oc fan fiction #the bad batch hunter x oc fan fic #the bad batch hunter x oc fan fiction #sergeant hunter #tbb hunter x reader fan fic #tbb hunter x reader fan fiction #skellymom #sunset over pabu #tbb sergeant hunter x reader #tbb hunter x reader #the bad batch hunter x reader #sorry i made you cry #i cried writing this

[howaboutcastiel]

Out of This World (Din Djarin x Reader)

Summary: 18+ NSFW BE GONE CHILDREN. the title couldn’t be cringier, I know. You never get to leave Tatooine, which means your only chance to see the Mandalorian is when he visits your shop in Mos Espa. He seems to be finding more frequent reasons to stop by. 

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Smut (Finally!) Oral sex (male receiving), thigh riding, dirty talk, praise kink. Goes kinda from 0 to 100 in terms of explicitness. Din is a beast in the streets and a babygirl in the sheets. He wants so hard to be a dom but… fate bows to no man. 

A/N: I haven’t written smut in months and I haven’t written for Din ever. Be gentle wit me 

~~~

There was a rumor in Mos Espa that Mando would be back on Tatooine by the week’s end. He stopped by every few weeks, sometimes to repair his ship, sometimes to take jobs in town, and sometimes just to drop off The Kid with Peli so he could run around the galaxy doing morally questionable things. Whatever the reason, he was bound to be reaching Mos Espa any time now. You hoped that he’d stick around for a few days, as you only ever got to see him when he was visiting. You hadn’t been off-world in years—and the price of fuel pretty much guaranteed you wouldn’t be flying anytime soon. 

So now, all there was to do was wait for him to show. The mandalorian almost always stopped by the Cantina to order a spotchka to-go and to scout for potential jobs to do on-world. When he did, you would be there waiting to serve him. Spotchka, that is. You were there to serve him spotchka. 

He always tipped you extra, and his gaze always lingered on you as you prepared his order. 

It was nearing the end of your shift for the night. The Cantina would be closing soon and you would be heading off to the shitty quarters that you could barely afford on a bartender’s salary. The lobby was nearly empty, save for a few drunkards you knew you’d have to kick out at closing. You were just about to lock the register when a familiar face—or more appropriately, familiar mask—entered your sight. The helmet was hard to mistake. 

“Heard you were around,” you called to him, not looking up from the bar. He didn’t reply, either. Instead, he walked silently to the stool closest to you. His gait was slower than usual. Sloppy. “The regular?”

The mandalorian’s voice was gruff and tired. “A plate of dustcrepes, too. If you have any.”

“Must’ve been a long day.” Mando never ordered food from the cantina, not even when he came in to grab a meal for the kid. You figured he must be too tired to cook himself something. “They’re not warm, by the way.”

“That’s fine,” he hummed. 

“It’ll just be a second.” You started preparing his order. As usual, his helmet tilted with every movement you made, following you around the bar as you poured his drink and fished the last of the day’s food out of the icebox. He didn’t seem to be hiding his ogling at all. Perhaps because it had been a long day and the effort was too much for him. 

You sat his bag and drink in front of him, collecting the credits he had placed on the table as payment. After that, you expected him to get up and leave. You knew by now that he didn’t eat or drink in front of people. He only remained in his seat, though, and his gaze continued to seer into you. At least, that’s what it felt like. 

“Will that be all for you?” You asked after a beat. You turned to deposit his credits in the register, hoping it would help distract you from the burning feeling. 

It only intensified, though, with his gruff reply. His silken, gravelly voice was quieter than normal. He didn’t have to shout over the other customers at this time of night. It wasn’t that his voice didn’t normally make you weak in the knees, but something about his tone had you ready to claw out of your vest, the heat overtaking you from head to toe. 

“Do you mind if I sit here for a while?”

You managed to stutter out an answer. “Not at all, but we’re closing soon.”

“I won’t be long,” he assured. 

You started making your rounds, cleaning tables and shooing away the stray customers who had nowhere better to be, but that you couldn’t allow to stay here any longer. The streets of Mos Espa were not a pleasant place to be after dark, and loiterers only invited trouble, especially in cantinas. The mandalorian, on the other hand, would probably serve to repel raiders instead of enticing them. His reputation had spread across the planet quickly, and no one at this point was stupid enough to provoke him. 

His voice interrupted the rhythmic sound of your cleaning once the other guests had left. He hadn’t moved to touch his food and, at this point, you weren’t entirely sure that he hadn’t fallen asleep at the bar with his head propped in his hand. He spoke clear as day, though, pulling you from your work trance. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been away from the kid,” he started. You were surprised by the evenness of his tone. “I thought I would be worried. I mean, I am worried, but it’s good to be away.”

He paused, looking up at you. “I don’t mean to bore you with my thoughts.”

“No, it’s okay,” you piped, maybe a little too quickly. “I was wondering where the kid was, anyway. Folks confide in me all the time about their day. That’s in the job description for a barkeep.”

He chuckled lightly, breathily. “I guess that would be true. Grogu is with Peli for the night. I told her I would come back once I finished my job, but it’s too late at night now. He’s probably asleep and I don’t want to wake him.”

“Grogu?”

“Oh, yeah.” He straightened up as you returned to the bar and took a seat next to him. “The kid’s name. That’s its own long story.”

“Well, it’s thoughtful of you to not want to wake him.” You poured yourself a glass of spotchka while he watched. “And it’s normal for parents to feel relieved when they have a night off.”

He scoffed. “It’s the first one of those I’ve had in a while. If it’s not taking care of him, it’s something for the guild or for throwing Imps off our trail.”

“Sounds like maybe it’s time for a break, then.” You took a swig of your drink. The mandalorian’s head tilted with yours, following your lips as they wrapped around the glass. 

“I’m not sure I have time for a vacation,” he countered. You shook your head. 

“But you do have tonight.”

He didn’t say anything after that, not until you’d finished your drink and stood to rinse the glass. The room was quiet enough that you swore you could hear his breathing up to the moment you started the faucet. Mando’s breaths were shallow and shaky, which you’d never imagined of him. You figured he was as much steel on the inside as he was on the outside. 

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he breathed. “I know you should have closed by now. Wouldn’t want your folks at home to be worried.”

You shook your head. “No folks at home to be worried.” 

“Well, still. It’s late—”

“I don’t mind,” you interjected. A sharp inhale rang through his modulator. You blushed at your impulsive interruption. 

The two of you were at a stalemate then. You were sure what you wanted at this point. You wanted under that beskar. Something about the mandalorian… you just couldn’t shake. Maybe it was his voice, as warm and velvety as it was. It probably also had to do with the power he normally exuded. The self-assuredness and authority that, now, seemed to have vanished into the air. Part of it was the mystery of it all. You’d seen him a hundred times, and yet you’d never laid eyes on an inch of his skin. You didn’t know anything about him. Not where he was from, not even what his name was. All you knew was that he was a strong man and a decent father. 

And that, behind that helmet and jet-black visor, he looked at you like a prize to be won.

You were right in his grasp, now, but he couldn’t seem to make a move. You weren’t even sure he could manage to breathe. He probably needed a little shove in the right direction. 

“You know, you’re right. It is getting pretty late. I wouldn’t mind a mandalorian walking me to my quarters, just to be sure I get home safe.”

He was frozen in place for a moment, then something shifted in him. The mandalorian lifted his head, grabbing his drink and food bag in one hand and hoisting himself off the barstool. He didn’t look in your direction as he made his way to the front door, only pausing when his hand met the handle and he realized you hadn’t moved an inch from your place behind the bar. 

“Well? You coming?”

The walk home was uneventful, aside from your pitiful attempts at small talk. Usually you were good at this—your entire job revolved around talking to people about their lives—but you found yourself choking up at even the simplest of questions. 

“Where are you and the kid headed after this? You staying on Tatooine for a while?”

“Oh,” he sighed, “I don’t know. Things are complicated right now. It just depends on what’s best for the kid.”

You laughed, mostly to yourself. “Little Grogu.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled with you. “Took some getting used to.”

You rounded the corner closest to your lodging. It occurred to you that Mando had ordered his food nearly an hour ago. 

“You must be starving by now,” you observed. He cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“I’m not really hungry at all,” he explained. The words hung hesitant on his lips. “I just wanted the company.”

There was a tight feeling in your chest. You were unsure of it. “Well, if you wanted a party, there’s a cantina near the town center that stays open late. They have music and escorts—”

“Not that kind of company,” he rasped. 

You reached the entrance of your home and the two of you stood in the doorway. Still at a stalemate. You wondered if maybe you were reading something into him that wasn’t really there.

“Thank you for walking me,” you praised. He didn’t budge, only giving a small nod. “Would you like to come in?”

This time, there was no hesitance in his voice, despite the words that came out. “I don’t want to intrude.” 

He knew exactly what he was doing. 

“You wouldn’t be.”

From the moment the door shut behind you, you were swept off your feet and into Mando’s grasp. His gloved hands held your thighs as your legs wrapped around him. The two of you made it from your front door to your bed in record time. 

You resisted the urge to go straight for his helmet. You didn’t know much about his religion, but you knew enough to never make the mistake of trying to take it off of him. Instead, your hand found its way to the nape of his neck, digging into the fabric underneath his beskar. He keened at the touch. 

“I’ve been thinking about this for months,” he purred. Mando lowered you gently on the bed until your back hit the mattress. “Coming into your bar, finding excuses to stay. I don’t even like spotchka that much.”

You chuckled, disbelieving of him. “It takes you that long to land a hook-up?”

He stood back, towering above you. The mandalorian reached to the inside of his wrist, unclasping the base of his glove before switching to the other. All of that apprehension from before was nowhere to be found. He more resembled the Mando you were used to. The one that, admittedly, you were a little intimidated by. The one that was the reason you knew your walk home with him was safe. 

“I don’t typically engage in those.” He pulled off the glove on his right hand, revealing his warm brown, freckled skin. The image was foreign to you, but the smooth movement of his fingers made you quickly forget that feeling. The other glove followed suit and he was straddling you before you realized. 

Your hand darted up to touch his. He flinched when the pad of your index finger made contact with his palm, and he didn’t dare move as the digit traced upward. Slowly, delicately, you laced your fingers into his. When your palm was flush with his, you looked back up at him for assurance. His chest shuddered, and the mandalorian pushed forward until your hand was pinned under his above your head. He bent down so his helmet was inches from your face. 

“Such a pretty thing,” he hummed. His body was barely touching you and already you felt the need to grind upward. “I wonder if she’s still as feisty here as she is at her bar.”

“I hope so,” you breathed. You couldn’t conceal the shudder that ran through you as a small hum of amusement rang out from his helmet. 

He brought his free hand up to your chin. “So do I. But if she is, that means we’re both in for a long night.”

The mandalorian rolled his hips down into yours, keening and running his fingertips across your lip. His touch was slow and gentle, like he was savoring the feeling of your skin. With your free hand, you moved to cup his backside, and we’re pleased to find that the fabric there left much less to the imagination than the beskar did. He traced your lips for a moment before centering his thumb between them. You let him press forward, parting your lips and sinking his thumb deep into your mouth. The taste of sweat on his skin sent shockwaves down between your legs. 

You closed your lips around the digit, licking and sucking with halfhearted effort. A shaky exhale rang in your ears and the ground down again. He moaned, low and choked, and dipped his head forward. The mandalorian withdrew his thumb from your mouth and let go of your hand. You tried not to chase his touch as it left you. 

He stood up, apparently catching his breath and smoothing his hands over his chest plate. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you watched as he figured out what the hell to do next. Finally, he huffed a defeated sigh that clued you into the fact that he probably hadn’t done anything like this in a while. 

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes widened in shock. You were fully expecting this man to take whatever he wanted from you, not to ask what you prefer. You hardly knew where to start. “Well, how much of that armor are you allowed to take off?”

He chuckled. “The beskar? None, technically, but the rest is fair game.”

“Excellent.” You stood up to face him, pushing his chest plate until the back of his knees met the one good chair in your apartment. As he sat, his hands shot to your waist and you slotted yourself into his lap. 

His hands were under your shirt before you even settled yourself. By now, an uncomfortable-looking tent was forming in his pants. You were more than grateful that there was no beskar codpiece on mandalorian armor. Fair game, you repeated to yourself. First, though, your fingers hooked underneath the base of his helmet, finding the edge of his scarf and pulling it down to reveal no more than an inch of his neck. Your mouth latched onto the small patch of skin and he nearly jumped from his seat. 

“Dank Ferrik,” he whined. “Don’t stop.”

You were amused by the sudden thought that you could paint his whole body purple and red without another soul knowing but the two of you. 

It was uncomfortable to sit on his lap when the beskar made a barrier between your heat and his thigh. The armor was cold against you, stealing the warmth from the single layer of fabric between it and your skin. You hissed and squeezed your thighs together and the mandalorian shivered at the pressure. His hands tightened on your waist, ready to guide your movements. 

“That’s it,” he purred into your ear. You rested your head against the helm. “Keep going, just like that.”

You pushed your hips downward and back, grinding your core down into the metal. The movement sent a shockwave up between your legs as the cool beskar pressed against your sensitive mound. You shivered, and he shivered again, too. A small, breathy whimper fell through your parted lips and he pulled you back to look at your face. 

“Good girl.”

His voice was gruffer in his lower range, broken apart by the hiss of the modulator and his quietness. You rolled your hips again. He let out a shaky breath and stroked his hands along your waist to the curve of your ass. The fabric bunched above his hands. His fingers pinched your skin, and you couldn’t help but lean into the feeling. 

You started a slow, steady rhythm, rolling your hips forward into the fabric at the waist of his pants, and rocking back into the beskar plate on his thigh. The pleasure was already building to a dangerous point and the tiny hums and whimpers you made began to increase in frequency. 

“You have no idea how sexy you look right now,” he practically whined. You fished desperately around the borders of his armor for a place to snake your hand underneath his shirt. All you wanted was to feel more of him. “If you keep sounding so pretty, you’re gonna make me finish without even touching me.”

The thought made you groan. “I want to touch you.”

“Let me help you then,” he beamed. He brought one hand to yours, guiding you down to the band of his pants. You ran your fingers along the skin just above it, making him shiver. Your palm found his happy trail just as a roll of your hips sent lighting up your spine. In spite of yourself, you dug your nails into his skin. He bucked his hips into nothing and a feral whine escaped him, higher in pitch than his normal voice. 

“I w—want,” he stuttered, “I want you to finish like this. I want to w-watch you.”

“Yes, sir,” you taunted and grinned. Somehow you knew he was rolling his eyes under the helmet. “And then we’ll take care of you.”

He started moving his hands against your hips, helping you grind against his thigh as your stamina faltered. It wasn’t long before you were right on the edge and your face found its way back to the crook of his neck. One of his hands darted up to your hair. 

His breath was heavy. “That’s it, baby. Doing so good.”

You hissed and groaned as every muscle in your body tensed up, electricity blossoming from your core all the way to your fingertips and back. You slumped forward into him, hand still firmly holding onto his stomach. The other arm was thrown haphazardly around his neck. It took a minute for you to come down. 

And the mandalorian was rock hard. He hadn’t been joking before about nearly coming undone while still in his trousers. Now, he was aching for relief. 

You hoisted yourself off of him, holding him down by his thighs as you settled on the ground between his legs. His head fell backward the moment he realized just what you were doing and the groan that escaped him was the most desperate noise that you’d heard from him all night. You let your hands trail his thighs for a while, then his stomach. Finally, your hand came to rest on the button of his pants. 

“You said fair game, right?” Wouldn’t want to ruin a filthy one-night stand by violating a man’s religion. 

“Fair game,” he assured in a choked voice. 

You undid the button. Your hand dipped below the band of his underwear and you could feel exactly what you’d gotten yourself into. For someone so starved for human touch, the mandalorian was well endowed for intimacy. He didn’t jerk as you took his shaft into your hand, but you were almost certain that he’d stopped breathing. 

“Can’t believe this is what you’ve been hiding under all that beskar,” you purred. “You’ve been holding out on me, Mando.”

He whimpered and laced his fingers in your hair. Slowly, you pulled him out from his boxers. “Din.”

“Hmm?” You spread his leaking arousal over the head of his cock. 

“My name is Din.”

Oh. “Oh. I didn’t realize you were allowed to say that.”

“I’m allowed. I just don’t.” But you just did, you thought. You peered up at him, obviously unable to read the look on his face. His breath was loud in the modulator, and quickening by the second. 

“Well, Din, I’m gonna try to make you feel good,” you stated. “But I have to warn you that I’m not really great at this.”

“You’ll do fine,” he countered. “More than fine.”

You didn’t know the Mando’a words that left his mouth as you ran your tongue from his base to his tip, but you could guess from the tone that they were some form of expletives. His grip tightened on your hair and his thighs flexed on either side of you. When your lips wrapped around his head, his words became familiar again. 

“I’m not going to last very long.” You sunk down as far as you could without gagging and Din’s whimper almost sounded more painful than pleasured. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I don’t do this often.”

“It’s okay,” you pulled off with a wet pop. There was humor in your voice, but it was gentle. “Just relax and enjoy it. You’re not hurting my feelings.”

“You feel so good,” he breathed. You resumed your movements, stroking with your hand the length that you couldn’t fit in your mouth. After a few passes over him and a half-successful attempt to take him to the hilt, you hollowed your cheeks and Din was done for. 

You elected to pull off of him, letting him watch as the strings of his load painted your tongue and lips. Your hand stroked him through his climax and, when the pleasure turned to overstimulation, he grabbed it away and laced your fingers together. 

After a while, he managed to catch his breath. “I feel like you were the one doing all the work. That doesn’t seem fair.”

“I agree,” you teased. He scoffed as you stood lazily to your feet. You tugged him toward the bed, which was much larger and softer than the cot he was used to. Your thumb brushed against the back of his hand. 

“You’ll have to make it up to me next time you’re in town.”

“Oh,” he chuckled. “I think I’ll stick around for a while.”

~

~

An author’s note: the reader only thinks it’s a one-night stand because she assumed that Din is the whore that he acts like. Turns out he’s just a hopeless romantic 🥰 which is preferential to her anyway. 

#din djarin #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #the mandolarian #mando #mandalorian #star wars #pedrohub #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #smut #sub din djarin #masterlist

[eyelessfaces]

boyfriend

poe dameron x reader

summary: basically "your boyfriend sucks, and I can be way better than him." GOD I love this trope and I feel like it fits poe so well.

warnings: alcohol. getting cheated on. technically we kinda cheat too but the shitty boyfriend did it first so that's on him. too bad bozo

tags: gn!reader, mutual pining, friends to lovers, poe is fucking perfect, I really want him to be my boyfriend, please poe I'm begging

word count: 1.6k

“Your boyfriend treats you like shit” the words echoed over and over again in Poe’s head and hung over the tip of his tongue, aching to say them out loud. 

You didn’t need to hear the words from him, you already knew that; you were the first one aware that he treated you like shit. 

You had asked Poe if you could spend the evening in his quarters, now sitting on his floor downing a bottle of spotchka between the two of you, explaining that you found one more proof that your boyfriend was cheating on you. 

Cheating on someone was one thing, but being so conspicuous and obvious about it was something else. 

He didn’t even try to hide it; in fact you didn’t know if he tried to, but if he did, he was certainly doing a poor job at it.

You hadn’t been dating for long, and thankfully you weren’t that attached to him, but if he cheated so early into the relationship then did he ever even care about you? Were you so boring that he had to go look somewhere else?

Poe bit his lip incredulously as he looked at you shaking your head in despair before taking a long sip from the spotchka bottle. 

It drove him insane that someone like you dated someone like him, but most of all it drove him insane that someone like him cheated on someone like you.

“I think I’m gonna blaster shot your boyfriend” Poe spat out of the blue, saying it out loud though he didn’t mean to.

“Oh he’s not my boyfriend anymore” you snorted, letting the bottle slide towards Poe as you brought your knees to your chest. He stopped the bottle as the neck hit the palm of his hand, preventing the liquid from spilling out. “He just doesn’t know it yet. But does that change anything for him anyways” you muttered rhetorically under your breath, letting your forehead rest against your knees.

“You know what,” he started, taking a sip from the bottle before continuing. “I always found him obnoxious. Apparently never takes orders correctly and struts around. And he’s gotta be one of the worst mechanics I’ve ever seen in the Resistance. Couldn’t even properly run tests on Beebs. What did you even see in him?” Poe asked raising an eyebrow, still genuinely confused that you dated a guy like this one. It was nonsensical for you to date an asshole of his kind. You were smart, and he knew you wouldn’t let yourself be pushed around because you knew how to stand up for yourself.

“I don’t know.” your lie slipped away easily. What you saw in him was the rich dark curls and deep brown eyes that reminded you of someone. Unfortunately the guy couldn’t compare, and by far. “Maybe I happened to be desperate” you declared, looking back at Poe. it was half true.

Poe chuckled before taking another sip of the washed out blue liquid. He winced at the strong taste of the alcohol, and took his jacket off and put it aside as the warmth of the drink took over his body. 

You sighed and reached out as he handed you the bottle back. “You know what’s the worst part of this? I don’t think I even care.” you admitted letting a groan out when you sat back against the wall.

“Really?” he asked, the expression on your face telling him otherwise. Maybe what you were saying was genuine, but there was something beyond that, and he knew you too well to be convinced of the contrary.

“...Yeah. Does that make me a bad person?” 

Poe snorted and burst into laughs. “Oh sweetheart you’re not the bad person here” he smiled. “But it’s a good thing you’re not suffering from it!” he exclaimed, shrugging. “I wouldn’t want you to be heartbroken over a guy as shitty as this one.”

“Yeah” you mumbled, leaning your cheek over your forearm propped against your knees.

Poe observed you closely. You looked tired, and despite the results of a tough mission and the deception of finding another person’s clothes in your boyfriend’s room you still looked like the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in this galaxy.

“What” you called glancing at Poe, noticing that his gaze was glued and lost on you.

Poe shook his head, looking away from you. “You deserve someone good.” he declared, a small frown on his face as he bit on his lower lip and nodded.

“Yeah well, anyone’s better than him at this point” you chuckled, extending your legs on the floor. Except you didn’t want just anyone. 

Maybe you weren’t sad over the fact that your ‘boyfriend’ was a cheating piece of shit, but you were over one specific cute pilot you had been having a massive crush on for years.

He cleared his throat before talking. “I don’t know if this is what you need to hear but,” he paused, a small smirk growing over his face. “I could treat you right” he shrugged.

“Don't make fun of me” you chuckled, grabbing the bottle at your feet. “I don’t doubt you could treat me well” you admitted, raising your eyebrows before drinking from the bottle.

“I’m not making fun of you” Poe snorted in disbelief. “I’m very serious, I could be a better boyfriend than him. If you let me be”

You looked at him and frowned, trying to decipher whether he was making fun of you or not. You shook your head and rolled your eyes. “Come on Poe, this is the spotchka talking” you said shrugging it off, trying to diffuse the tension, not believing Poe really meant what he proposed.

“You drank way more than me and you’re not even drunk, I can’t be drunk.” he said as a groan escaped him while he got up from the floor. “Look” he paced around the room. “I can still walk straight”

“Pfffff” you sighed, shaking your head before laughing.

“What? Wanna bet that I can be a better boyfriend than that shitpile of a man?” he asked, stopping in place.

“Okay.” he half expected you to take his offer seriously. In his mind, he expected you to decline his offer with a sarcastic comment, and he would respect that you don’t want anything with him. It would break his heart, but at least he would know for certain and would try to move on.

“Really?” he asked raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah” you shrugged, putting the bottle back down on the floor.

He kneeled in front of you, your gaze following him as he did so.

“Really?” he asked again, one side of his mouth rising into a smile.

“Yes Poe” you whispered, the same smirk growing on your face. “Be my boyfriend”

He licked his lips in a quick motion and nodded frantically.

“Okay. Let’s do that” he smiled, and reached for one of your hands. He looked at the ring you were wearing, a ring he had brought you from his homeplanet, Yavin IV. The gesture had made your heart skip a beat.

“Never took it off” you declared as you looked at it too, the carved symbols shining slightly.

“I’ll take you to Yavin IV one day” he promised, bringing your hand to his mouth and leaving a kiss at your knuckles. You smiled at him and blushed a bit, because even if you were accustomed to Poe’s constant flirting, it felt real now.

“I would love that” you smiled back at him, brushing his hair back with your other hand, which shifted to rest on his lightly stubbled cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, 

“Yes you can. Please” you almost implored him.

“Good.” a sly smirk adorned his face before his lips slotted against yours.

It was soft, soft but a bit desperate, and you felt like teenagers all over again. 

You framed Poe’s face and brought him closer, almost making him fall; thankfully he had enough reflexes to block his fall by putting his hand on the wall behind you. You both laughed into the kiss before he pulled away, a dopey smile on his face.

“Fuck your cheating boyfriend” he whispered accusingly, stroking his thumb along your cheek.

“What cheating boyfriend?” you asked sarcastically. “My boyfriend treats me well” you declared, confidence gaining you again.

A laugh escaped from his lips, and he grabbed the spotchka bottle before quickly kissing your forehead.

“I’d stay down there to kiss you more but my knees are starting to hurt” he said getting up again.

“Okay grandpa” you teased him. “But I can get up, you have no excuse” 

“I’m fine with it, and what can I refuse you since I’m the best boyfriend ever?” he asked rhetorically, offering you his free hand to help you get up.

“Straight up best boyfriend ever?” you asked as he helped you up before taking a gulp of the blue liquid and putting the bottle on the table behind him.

“You’ll see!” he exclaimed holding his hands up, raising his eyebrows too. “I’m planning on making up for your latest disastrous relationship so you won’t have to think about it ever again”

You nodded, a downwards impressed smile on your face.

“Sounds like something a perfect boyfriend would do” you admitted.

He softly smiled, a new kind of smile you had never seen on him. “C’mere” he called, extending his arms.

You weakly smiled at him and threw your arms around him, resting your head over his shoulder. He hugged you back and cupped the back of your head. This was possibly the best hug you even received, even if you had hugged him so many times before.

“A hug is nice but where are my kisses?” you teased after a while, looking up at him.

He chuckled before executing himself, taking his role very seriously.

And the next day, the face your ex made when you told him you couldn’t hang out because you already had a date was priceless.

—

comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated :)))))))

star wars taglist: @apollo-enthusiast @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @beccabecs521

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[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

[lady-djarin]

yes sir

din djarin x f!reader (drabble)

warnings: pure smut, semi-brat tamer din, outdoor sex, spanking, some degradation, teasing, p in v unprotected sex (wrap your willies!) 18+ minors dni GO CHILDREN GET OUT

word count: 1.8k

a/n: just a short drabble… tbh sometimes i hate writing the end of a smut story, i never know what to do lol. i just really wanted to write brat tamer shit with din, enjoy my lovelies!

Three days. You had been hunting this quarry for three days, non-stop. you were tired, covered in sweat and dirt and not happy. The tropical landscape normally would have been your cup of tea, if you had a large cup of spotchka instead of chasing a madman through the forest. You and your Mandalorian companion were growing impatient with this hunt but the bounty was large enough to make it worth it. He was wanted for trying to blow up a government building on Coruscant and multiple accounts of aggravated assault; clearly a gnarly guy. You knew he was no match for the two of you.

You two worked like a well oiled machine, complimenting each other in perfect harmony. He was the big strong brute force and you were the sly and stealthy one. You were both smart that’s for sure and that’s why this case was particularly frustrating. On the third day, the sky decided to open up and pour down on you as if you didn’t have enough issues. You both groaned at the first droplet, knowing what was coming your way. Almost as soon as the first drop hit your head, the next thousand rained down all at once you both quickly ducked into a cave nearby, just deep enough to shelter both your bodies from the downpour.

“Dank Farik…” The large man slumped down on the wall of the cave, a small thunk from his helmet hitting the stone. You did the same on the opposite side, your legs touching in the small space. “We just can't catch a break.”

“Maybe if you stopped picking the hardest bounties we could actually get some of them done…,” you mumbled, only slightly to yourself.

“Me? You’re the one who suggested we follow behind and stay quiet instead of just jumping his ass in the first place!” You were both exhausted, and you knew it, but that didn't stop you both from getting in each other's faces. It's normally very civil between you both, some slight disagreements but nothing serious. You could recognise the anger bubbling up in your gut but didn't have the energy to stop yourself.

“Maker forbid I have any input! You're always the one deciding what we do and where we go next! Fuck, I’m so tired of it…” You got up and paced across the entrance to the cave, like a lothcat behind bars. Running your hands over your face you could tell the Mandalorian got up to meet you. He was on you in a second.

“If you’re complaining, I can leave you on this fucking planet for all I care!” Mando never curses, like ever. You knew he was pissed, especially the way his voice tore through the modulator and he was backing you against the stone wall.

“Maybe you should!” The air suddenly became wired, a tension running between you two. You were both breathing heavily, you could see it fogging his visor this close. The anger burned in your blood, so why was the only thing you could focus on the sudden need to have him touch you. Your body screamed for his hands to roam your skin, wishing his hand was around your neck. You were ashamed to say that this was actually turning you on.

“Don't try me, sweetheart,” his voice was a low rumble that you felt in your chest. Just as he went to turn away from you, you shook your head as you sarcastically rolled your eyes.

“Yes sir.”

He paused, his heart stopping as he smirks under his helmet. Sir? Why did he like hearing that so much from you? You had always been a little bit of a smart mouth but ‘Sir’? He never thought he would love one word so much.

“What?” He stepped even closer, pressed up against you entirely. “What did you say?”

“I said… ‘yes sir’,” you knew exactly what you did, but didn’t know if it would actually work, until now. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just tilted his helmet at you, pinning you down with his gaze. You started to worry that he might have taken it the wrong way but when his hand grazed up your arm, you knew you read him right. You had a feeling he felt the same as you but didn’t know for sure until now. Before you could even think, his large hand wrapped around your throat, just tight enough to make your head spin. Finally, the tension was broken and you smiled against his helmet.

“You're such a brat, you know that,” you smiled wider, knowing what was coming. “Am I going to have to teach you a lesson?” You felt your heart drum in your chest and your core clenched around nothing.

“Maybe…” The end of the word was strangled by his palm pressing on your vocal cords. The seams in the leather gloves were pressing deliciously into your delicate skin, somehow turning you on more.

Suddenly you were spun around, your hands flying out to keep you from colliding with the cave wall. His hands disappeared from your body for only a second before one returned to the back of your neck, and they were his bare hands.

“Unbutton your pants…now,” his voice was something you had never heard before, something almost scary. You did as he instructed, practically ripping the button and zipper off. Before you could push them down, Mando tore them down over your ass along with your underwear, the cold air causing you to jump. You thought that was as shocking as it would get but maker, were you wrong. Before your mind could register anything else, a loud crack split the air as his hand came down on your ass cheek. You shrieked in response, a sting left behind along with no doubt a large red mark in the shape of his hand. “You like that? Hmm? Like when I spank you for being a brat?”

Another slap. You were dripping, your slick coating your inner thighs as his hand came down on your ass another time. The hand around your neck was tightening with every spank. How could this man already read you like an open book, how could he know your every desire? Your brain was trying to think but all your body could focus on was the low grumble of his voice as he started to roam his hands over your soft skin, his fingers starting to trail up your inner thighs. Mando used his boot to kick open your legs, spreading them without having to ask. You moaned softly as he pushed on your upper back, bending you over as you were on full display for him.

“Mmm, look at you, so easy for me.” You were almost ashamed of yourself at how easily you followed his command, considering how much you fought him in every other aspect of your partnership. You were putty in his hands now, and he knew it. He reveled in the feeling of you relinquishing control to him, knowing that you were completely his in this moment. “You're so pretty when you listen, so obedient.” You were trying hard not to mewl at every word he said but for a man of few words, you wish he never stopped talking.

His fingers were grazing every part of you except where you wanted him most. You tried to rock against his hand when he got close to your clit, but never close enough to build any friction. You grew frustrated after not receiving enough attention on your clit, your legs already beginning to shake.

“M-Mando, please, just to-touch me,” you were trying not to sound too pathetic but the way he was teasing you, that was becoming harder.

“I like you begging for me.” Another loud smack on your ass earning a squeak from you. When all that came from you was a moan, his hand came down on your reddening skin again. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes! Maker, please just– please, I need more,” you begged, begged for just one touch. Like magic, his fingers found your dripping center and circled your bundle of nerves. Your whole body sagged at the releaf, pleasure spreading in your veins like fire. He moaned, moaned, at seeing you respond to him and your slick on his bare fingers. He could tell that he was going to lose control soon, getting lost in the feeling of you. “Mmm, Man-Mando, more… I need more,” you whined again, hoping to get him to relent.

“Fuck– I can’t wait to be inside you,” you heard the sound of his zipper being opened and your whole body burned with excitement. You felt the large man shift behind you, his hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. “You want me so bad? Fine, I’ll give you what you want, but I want you to scream my name.”

“Yes Mando please, wha-whatever you want,” you were a stuttering mess, the only thing on your mind was finally feeling him inside you.

“No,” he stopped himself for a moment with his tip lined up with your entrance. “Din. My name is Din.”

His name. He gave you his name, his real name. You felt your head swim and your heart ache. Not only was he giving you your deepest desire but he was giving you a part of him.

“Din,” you liked the taste of his name. “I need you.”

A low grunt escaped his chest as he thrusted his hips forward, sheathing himself fully inside you. You both froze, the feeling so incredible and new, it felt like your world was turning on its axis. You had waited so long to know what he felt like, what he would fuck like. He was certainly not small, he was filling you up like you had never felt before. Once he adjusted to the feeling, he started moving his hips slowly before snapping them into your ass. The metal covering his thighs hit the back of yours and the cold bite of the feeling brought to your attention that he was still fully clothed and a helmet on his head. It felt almost wrong how much you loved it all; his roughness, the contrast in clothing and this all happening basically out in the open.

Your hands were barely holding you upright against the cave wall as he pounded into you. His length hit that perfect spot inside you every time he moved, causing the coil in your lower stomach to tighten again. Your knees began to shake, almost buckling under the pleasure of Din’s motions. As you started to slide down the wall, Din wrapped his arms around your body holding you tight to his chest, never ceasing to hammer into you.

“All this time… this is what you needed? Huh? This is all it took to get rid of that attitude? You fucking brat.”

You couldn’t even respond, you were done for.

“Use your words…”

“Y—yes…yes sir.”

You were sure that if anyone was in those woods, they heard both of your screams.

#din dijarin x reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian #fanfic #mando x reader #din djarin #mando x you #mando smut

[kiwisbell]

The Light of the Stars: Chapter 2 [din djarin]

Your celebration for Din’s name day goes horribly wrong. And a group of pirates sees the worst of your Mandalorian.

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

read part one here (not necessary, but encouraged!): told before and told again

series masterlist | my masterlist!

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: established relationship, unprotected piv (no following the leader), the helmet stays on, but the gloves come off, in more ways than one, hand kink???, animal handler!reader, grogu being a good kid, extremely protective din, kidnapping, BAMF din, din gets mad, dirty talk, fingering, blood and violence, creampie, rough sex, multiple orgasms, top din, soft din, din fucking the babysitter, extreme amounts of fluff, din is in love, mando'a pet names, porn with feelings, porn with plot (there actually is a plot this time), feral din, din is touch-starved, it's din's birthday!! (sort of), din djarin being so in love that it's disgusting

word count: ~ 5k

chapter 2: where the lonely wind abides

Happening upon an impromptu festival on Nevarro, you try to find your Mandalorian a name day gift. But someone is watching from the crowd.

Nobody knows when or how it happens. Time is an ever-reaching rope to the stars and it disappears into the unfathomable blackness between them. At some point in that blackness, the word gets out that the most infamous Mandalorian in the Outer Rim is travelling with not one, but two companions. 

“You’re kidding.” The pirate lifts his brows at the holopad, managing a sideways glance at his partner. Her image is perfectly clear, as is the chain code beneath it. 

“That look like a joke?” His companion tosses back his pint of spotchka and swipes the sleeve of his ratty jacket over his mouth. “This could be how we get our money back from that hunk of junk. She's a pretty picture, ain't she?”

“Sure, she's pretty. That mean she's worth a trip across the galaxy?”

His partner just grins. A couple golden teeth glimmer in the light of the bar. “Isn't a pretty face always worth it?” 

He thinks about it. It isn’t like there’s a bounty to collect on the girl. In fact, it seems she has never pissed off a single being in the ‘verse—there’s so little information besides the chain code that the pirate wonders if this Mandalorian has intimidated some people into keeping her existence as discreet as possible. Certainly, she’s a captivating sight to behold. From his pocket, the pirate produces a credit. The small rectangle is all that remains of the botched deal, of his crew. That, and the man next to him. 

In the cycle and some months since the incident, the pirate has turned the idea of revenge over and over in his head. It had seemed pointless at the time—the Mandalorian was able to overwhelm his forces for a reason. He is capable. He is a skilled warrior. The pirate’s forces are depleted; how could he have hoped to track down the Mandalorian and claim revenge for the massacre of his crew?

Now, he is presented with a new angle. Perhaps it will be worth it. 

She is a lovely thing. 

“Well.” The pirate slams down his own spotchka and beckons for another from the droid behind the counter. “I’d like a taste of the girl who’s won the favour of such a deadly warrior.”

~

High Magistrate Greef Karga is the first to greet you when the Razor Crest touches down. Your cloak weighs you down more than your typical clothes, the hood protecting you from the sun and from prying eyes, but Karga is beaming at you. Wrapped comfortably in a sling at your hip, Grogu makes grabbing motions at his human friend. 

“It’s been a long time, my friends,” booms Karga, all widespread arms and dramatic displays. “What brings you to Nevarro?”

Behind you, Din is occupied with scolding a droid who seems to want to fiddle with the once-again-faulty control panel at the ramp. So, you smile apologetically at Greef Karga. “It’s his name day,” you inform him in a hushed voice. “Don’t mention it, though. It’ll make him grumpy. I want to find him a gift.”

“Well,” says Karga in a thoroughly amused tone, “there’s plenty here to find since we started rebuilding this town. Anything particular you have in mind?”

You ponder the question for a moment, bounding Grogu on your hip. “Something he can fight with,” you decide. “He’ll appreciate weapons the most.”

Greef Karga shakes his head good-naturedly. “Nevarro can only handle one Mandalorian. They would clean our blacksmiths out of house and home.”

“I still may.” You smile up at him, squinting a bit in the sunlight. “Could you point me in the right direction?”

“Well, your typical route might find some delays,” he tells you. Frowning, you try to peer behind him into town, but you’re too far away. “I decided to hold a festival to celebrate Nevarro’s newfound liberation from the Empire.”

Oh, no. 

“Oh, Maker,” you mumble. “He… doesn’t like crowds.”

You don’t fancy the idea of spending Din’s name day surrounded by bodies, pressed in together like cattle. He will hate this. He will want to head back the way you came immediately. He will—

Greef Karga waves his hand dismissively. “Plenty of places to go outside the main strip. I’ll direct you to the blacksmith’s if you’d like.”

You shake your head. “I want it to be a surprise.”

“What surprise?”

You press your lips together as Din steps up beside you, apparently satisfied that the droid will no longer attempt to ruin his ship. “It’s good to see you again, Mando,” says Greef Karga, thankfully drawing attention away from your scheme.

Din clasps his friend’s arm. “You, too. Looks like you and Marshal Dune have done well with the place.”

He shrugs. You don’t remember Karga acting so humble. Perhaps life as a magistrate has changed him. The three of you, along with Grogu still attached to your hip, begin walking toward town. “I had plenty of help, as you have.” His eyes slide pointedly toward you, and you feel your cheeks flush. “She’s as lovely as ever. I could name a few flowers in the courtyard after her.”

You open your mouth to reply, thrilled at the prospect, but Din clears his throat and inquires after the state of the cantina. He wants to warm his hand on your lower back. He wants to lock you inside the ship and shuck your pretty, flowy dress up around your hips, getting a glimpse of the cum still dripping from your tight hole. He wants to be the one who warrants the wondrous smile now overtaking your face as you see the colourful streamers adorning the storefronts and homes just within the town border. 

He will settle for the instinctive way you grasp his arm to get his attention when you see a beautiful dress inside a store or a vendor selling baked goods that make your mouth water. He will settle for knowing that he is the one you want to touch when you’re happy. 

Greef Karga leads you both to the new-and-improved cantina, tended by a Sullustan and already bustling with patrons despite it being early in the day. A little too early, perhaps, for the amount of spotchka he sees. “Is there a party going on?” he asks dryly.

Karga claps his hands together. He looks positively gleeful. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I know you aren’t one for festivities, but the cantina’s got specials, if you’re interested.”

He is not. He can’t say the same for you and Grogu. Still, he’s hungry. “Thank you,” he says, a bit tightly, holding himself reserved as he ushers you toward a booth in the corner. Greef Karga winks at you, and again, Din’s hand flexes toward your back. 

“Enjoy the new Nevarro,” announces the High Magistrate, “and happy name day, Mando.” Once again proudly sweeping his arms out wide, Karga stops on his way out to greet a couple locals. When he’s ostensibly out of earshot, Din’s helmet tips toward you. 

“You told him.”

You smile sheepishly. “He’s your friend. He would want to know.”

“You seem to forget…” A hand finds your upper thigh beneath the table and squeezes. Your mouth is dry, but he’s acting as nonchalantly as ever, drumming his fingers on the table. “I don’t have a name day.”

“Of course you do. Everyone does.” Grogu coos his agreement next to you. “See? Even he has one.”

“We don’t know his, either.”

“Well, I’m very talented at making them up.” Grogu climbs onto the table as a Twi’lek server approaches. Din orders broth for all three of you, along with a cup of jogan fruit juice, because he knows it’s your favourite. 

“Soon,” he says once the server disappears, “you’ll be responsible for giving name days to everyone in the galaxy.”

You shrug your shoulders. “I’m all right with that. I did it for a lot of animals.”

“Do you ever miss it?” he asks. 

You watch him thoughtfully. He is assessing his surrounding without moving a single muscle, his eyes flitting back and forth behind that helmet of his, keeping his hand firm on your leg. It will be difficult to convince him to part ways. “I miss the animals,” you tell him, toying with his fingers. “I miss taking care of them. But I don’t miss the way some of them would come to us: battered and beaten. I don’t miss wrestling plasma rods out of owners’ hands as they proclaimed themselves caretakers.” You look down at your hand atop his. “I don’t miss my boss.”

His body stiffens. There’s a steely look in your eye, even if you won’t meet his. He remembers your first day together, when he arrived at the handler’s place and asked for a babysitter. He remembers you setting down your embroidery in the corner and greeting Grogu before you even lay eyes on Din. He liked that about you. He liked your eagerness to bond with the creature, even if he himself hadn’t figured out how at that point. 

He remembers your boss grabbing you harshly by the ear and demanding that you show the Mandalorian at his door some respect. Din does not know what he would do now if he saw that happen to you. Then, he only gripped his blaster pistol a little tighter and asked to speak in private, away from your boss’s oppressive hold. Now, he thinks he would take out his pistol. He would train it between the coward’s eyes and demand, evenly, that he release you. He would wait until you stepped just behind him, and then he would fire anyway. 

Perhaps it’s for the best that he didn’t know you then the way he does now.

“So,” he says, watching the server place your food down in front of you. Grogu chirps, happily sliding his broth toward him and spilling a little over the lip of the bowl in his zealousness. “How are we celebrating?”

You bite your lip, and for a moment, his focus breaks. He never thought himself to be a simple man, confined to somewhat primal instincts, until he watched you bite your lip for the first time. Until he saw you bend over, laugh, tease him for the first time. He’s embraced that side of him in private. But here, in a crowded cantina in a crowded city, he needs to stay vigilant. 

You wince. You don’t want to tell him that you’re here to buy him a gift, but it may be your only option if you hope to give him some semblance of a good day. 

Din’s vambrace chirps. Greef Karga appears between the two of you, looking significantly more distressed than a half-hour ago. “Mando,” he says urgently. 

Just like that, his focus returns in one dizzying rush. “What?”

“Seems our festivities have drawn unwanted excitement,” says Karga, rubbing the back of his neck as if he hesitates to continue. “Some pirates are in the meatpacking district, harassing my locals.”

Since when has Nevarro had a meatpacking district? Din’s frown matches yours, but you cannot see that. “How many?”

“A good plenty. Fifteen?” Karga shakes his head. “I know you don’t fancy mercenary work, but I can’t stop them alone.”

You don’t fancy when people use him as a mercenary, either. “Where is Marshal Dune?”

“Off-world.” Greef Karga sounds more desperate now. His eyes flick away from Din briefly as if he's monitoring a screen just to the side. “Please, Mando. You’ll be paid for your services. And thanked, endlessly.”

You squeeze Din’s arm, the crook of his elbow where there is no armour to protect him. His helmet tilts your way for a second before he looks back to Karga. “Okay,” he says roughly. “Send me the coordinates.”

Karga visibly deflates. “Try not to take a long time. You know pirates.”

Din cuts the communication and sighs, his fingers curling into a fist on the table. “Dank farrik.” He’s standing up just as fast as he lets the frustration go. “Stay here.”

“Hey!” You grab his arm, forcing him to turn back around without making a scene. You keep your voice low. “Din, I don’t like this. Fifteen is a lot more than two.”

“I can handle pirates. It may not escalate.” Din watches the terror that briefly flashes in your wide eyes and feels pangs of guilt strike him. He may not care about his name day or his life nearly as much as you, but you care. It wasn’t fair of him to just bolt. He was used to making hairline decisions when he was alone. He’s learned—he’s trying—to be less reckless. 

A gloved hand curls around your hand. Prying open your fingers, he places something small in your palm. “Use this,” he says. “If you can’t find me, use it.”

He’s given you a communicator. It’s a tiny, round, black thing, just big enough to fit comfortably inside your ear. He turns it on to demonstrate, and it blinks with a microscopic green light. “Din,” you whisper, your stomach roiling with slow-release anxiety.

“Just…” He takes the communicator and fixes it in your left ear. “Just in case.”

“Don't you dare get hurt.” You poke him in the chest. “This armour takes ages to get off, and I can’t help you when you do.”

He briefly brings his hand to the back of your neck, a sure weight. “Be safe for me, dangerous girl. Understand?”

You nod, and he goes. Like that, you're left alone in the dark corner of the cantina, watching Grogu grip his small bowl and drink down the soup with little ceremony. “Careful, cyare,” you tell him. “You’re going to get more of it on yourself than in your mouth.”

His ears flick, indicating he heard you, but he continues to guzzle the bone broth like it's a final meal. You wince when he finishes, slurping the pulp at the bottom and belching. “Well,” you say. “You and I have similar listening skills.”

He gurgles. You keep your chin in your palm as you eat, warmed from the inside with your own broth, even though you hardly need it in this cantina. It's hot as the blue part of a flame, and your hood does nothing to let any of that heat escape. Luckily, Grogu seems as starved for relief as you are: he’s reaching for your glass of jogan fruit juice. “Hey,” you chide gently. “Let’s take it easy. You know that gives you a bellyache.”

He coos, a bit grumpily, but you smooth over the wrinkle in his brow with your thumb. Your glass still half-full, you slide out of the booth and let the baby hobble over to you. “Hop in.”

His giant ears flick off some broth—how did he get it there?—and he waddles inside the sling. “Comfortable?” He blinks up at you. “Good. Let’s go find a present for your dad.”

~

He may murder Greef Karga. 

These aren’t pirates. They’re speed bikers, and they aren’t causing a ruckus so much as packing themselves inside the cantina and drinking a bit too much. They certainly aren’t harassing the locals.

Slowly, very slowly, Din turns to face Greef Karga. He tries to look casually surprised, leaning against the doorway. “Looks like they’ve calmed down.”

“There was never a disturbance,” says Din roughly, “was there?”

“Well… I mean, that depends on how you define—”

“Was there?”

He does not have the time nor patience for this. He should be with you and the kid. Instead, he’s spent an hour navigating through the swell of the crowds enjoying the festival just to find that the meatpacking district is possibly the most peaceful area in Nevarro right now. 

“Not in the traditional sense,” says Greef Karga, evasive as ever. “Listen, Mando, I’m sorry. Your girl wanted to get away for awhile, find a name day present for you. She wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s not my—” Din stops himself, curling and flexing his fingers, trying for a few deep breaths. He recognises that he has been fooled. He knows Karga was only trying to help you. He doesn't deserve the brunt of Din’s simmering anger. “It’s not my name day.”

“Try telling her to drop an idea once she gets it in her head,” huffs Karga. “I really am sorry.”

Din suspects he’s more sorry about spoiling the surprise, but he shakes it out. He lets it go. You wanted to do a good thing for him. “It’s all right. Just… Just tell me the quickest way back.”

Outside the cantina, he tries the communication link. “Can you hear me?” he asks. 

A crackling response momentarily settles the tension in his bones. “Loud and clear. Are you all right?”

“There were no pirates.” He sends a pointed look Karga’s way. The High Magistrate just shrugs. “You and I are going to have a very long talk later.”

“He lied to you?” 

“You didn’t know?”

You make an indignant noise. “Of course not!”

“Are you buying me a present?”

He can't help it. “I think,” you say, “I’m going to need to have a very long talk with Greef Karga.”

And while he does think that would be vastly entertaining, having seen glimpses of your fiery anger, your next words dim his senses to a dull roar. “Come back to me, Din.” 

You're using the voice that makes it impossible to stay angry, or even frustrated. You sound like that whenever you've just detangled your bodies and you're trying to catch your breath. “I will,” he tells you. “I will.”

“Good.”

“See?” Greef Karga grins, like nothing’s happened. “All worked out well. She’s safe. There aren’t any pirates.”

Din just walks away. But not before turning his head and pointing in Karga’s direction. “I still want my payment.”

~

You’ve never known a blacksmith to be so friendly. 

Not that you've met many. In fact, you may have met none. But the ageing man has told you about his five grandchildren and shown you pictures of them within five minutes of greeting him. Within ten minutes, he showed you his vast collection of custom-made knives. From curved blades to gemstones wedged in the hilts, you were overwhelmed with choice. But, like he could see the indecision in your face, the smith beckoned you to follow him around his desk. From a drawer, he produced the gift you now hide under your cloak: a simple, elegant blade the colour of asphalt. 

He placed it on the pad of your index finger and both of you watched as it refused to list one way or the other. “Aside from impeccable balance,” he told you, an excited glimmer in his steel-grey eyes, “the hilt is reinforced with beskar, for deflecting attacks. If necessary.”

Your brows lifted. “Beskar is rare.”

“Not on Nevarro,” said the old man with a little melancholy in his tone. “At least, not for a while. Once all the Mandalorians were purged from the planet, old men like me found some use in the ingots they left behind.”

A part of you felt guilty for wielding such a powerful weapon, even if it was the mere length of your fingertips to the midpoint of your forearm. This could have belonged to a Mandalorian, once, in a different form. Now, you told yourself, it will belong to one. 

The smith did not give you a discount, on account of tough times, but he did give you a leather sheath to holster the blade around a person’s waist. You paid him handsomely and left the smith feeling somewhat proud of yourself, silently thanking a group of pirates for deciding to occupy your warrior’s time—no matter how deeply you worried for him. 

Then his voice crackled in your ear, revealing that the pirates were a ruse and that he knew about your present, and your shoulders deflated altogether. Tucked inside the sling at your hip, Grogu grabs hold of your finger and pulls gently. 

“I know,” you say miserably, picking him up and holding him close to your side. “I didn't want him to find out, either. You think he’ll like it, right?” He coos. “I think so, too.”

A concerned gurgle makes you frown down at him. “He’s coming,” you tell him, trying to soothe his worries. He gets nervous when he’s away from Din for too long. “We just spoke. He’s all right, cyare.”

Grogu bats gently at the hood of your cloak, and a dreadful prickle of goosebumps erupts from your head to toes. His eyes are wide and afraid. “What is it? What do you feel?”

You dutifully back into an alley between the smith’s and the bakery next door, not stupid enough to ignore the telltale scrunch of your charge’s little nose. Soon enough, you begin to feel the twinge, too. 

The crowd has turned onto this street, a parade of young and old, colourful and plain, some holding instruments and others clapping rhythmically to a song you do not recognise. They are all blissful, grateful, dancing down the main strip. 

Minutes tick by. Din does not materialise from a magical part in the crowd. And there's something prickling at the back of your neck: insistence, danger. When you step out slightly to look for an easy exit, you catch a pair of eyes hidden beneath a weathered leather tricorn hat. They are unmistakable in their destination: you. You cannot stay here. 

You follow the surge of the crowd down the main strip, keeping Grogu tucked in your arms instead of the sling. The knife at your waist is an unfamiliar weight, and you do not know how to use it. But the crowd is padding. You tap the link in your ear. “Din.”

Engulfed in the noise of the parade, you can barely hear yourself, let alone his voice. Looking up toward the sky, you squint against the sun. They are headed to the south, and the Crest is north. You quickly turn on your heel, shoving unceremoniously and unapologetically through the crowd, keeping one hand secure on Grogu’s head, shielding him from an accidental prod or blow as the wave of people surges. 

You make a choice. Tearing at the brooch clasping your cloak together, you toss it onto the stones. 

Din’s ear roars with the sound of cheers and music, but he’s too far away from the parade. It’s you. You, trying to reach him, caught up in the swell of celebrations. He won’t be able to heard you like this. He just hopes you’re enjoying the festivities more than he is. 

Idly, hurrying through the residential district, Din wonders what you got him as a gift. 

Once you reach the Razor Crest, you slide open Grogu’s compartment and slot him safely inside. You’re panting from the run and the heat, your cloak lost somewhere on the way. Your hair is loose and a little wild. You imagine your eyes must look as much, too. 

“Cyare.” You kneel before him and he coos worriedly. “I'm going to close this door. Only Din and I know the code, which means you'll be safe. Even breaking the panel won't force it open.” He blinks, and you nod. “Now I need you to do something brave for me. Can you keep this door closed and stay quiet, no matter what you hear?”

He babbles, and you take it as a yes. 

"Good," you say, reaching out your hand. He holds onto your index finger. "You'll be all right, little one."

The door slides closed at the press of a button, and you rise with Din’s new knife taut in your hand. You forget all the training. You forget everything but your primal, clawing desire to keep your ward safe. 

A man, wearing a tricorn hat, boards the Crest with a henchman in tow. The lower half of his face is covered with a scarf, but his eyes are incisive. They take in every corner of the ship before they find you, and you get a distinct feeling that belittling action is intentional. “You are quite pretty.”

“More than pretty.” His partner lifts his brows. He isn't wearing a hat, and he is bald, his complexion darker. “I’ll gladly pay for your services, unless the Mandalorian has worn you out.”

You bristle at the presumption. "You'd do well to learn some manners," you return. "Get off this ship. Please."

"You've never killed a man," says the pirate, "have you?"

You sneer, hoping he cannot see how correct he is. "You know very little about your bounty."

"You aren't my bounty. You aren’t a bounty at all." He takes another step forward. "You handle that knife like you're afraid of it."

"And you have all those weapons on you because you're so confident in your natural abilities." 

The man next to him closes more distance until you're mere feet away from the accosters. “Does he fuck you?”

“If you’re here to threaten him, you won’t get close enough to try. You won't find him unless he wants to find you. You're going to keep me alive no matter what." Your smile is vindictive. "You need me."

"You're very brave," the pirate says, "for someone who cannot fight."

"Just because I can't handle a knife doesn't mean I can't fight," you say evenly. 

"What kind of life does a pretty thing like you have to live to get so cozy with a Mandalorian?"

You shrug. "Wrong place, wrong time. A couple bad decisions. Some good ones."

"For what it's worth"—the bandit gestures to his partner, who advances toward you—"he would have gotten you killed eventually, either way."

"Maybe." You grip the beskar hilt tighter and level it at your opponent. "But he has honour. Can't say the same thing about any of you."

The bandit clicks his tongue and the other man draws a knife. But before you can move, a hand snakes around your head from behind and presses a damp cloth to your face. Dimly, you realise you never checked to see exactly how many pirates had surrounded the ship. You jam the knife backward too late, and the squelch of blood is the last thing you hear before you slump into the bandit's arms. 

"Aru-e," you manage: a spit, a curse. 

Enemy. 

~

Something is wrong. 

Din does not feel it until he enters the city centre. If not for Grogu’s ineffable senses, he would not believe in mystical forces. But there is an invisible thread that connects you to him, and he can feel when you hurt. He can feel your joy and your pride and, inexplicably, your affection. He knows there is little to be worried about. Truly, there shouldn't be trouble on this planet. It has long since been wiped of Imps and bandits. 

But now, he feels the familiar tug. His instincts lift the hairs at the nape of his neck. His visor whirs with its typical pitch, and detects no peculiar signatures. But he feels it. It's a barrage of ice-hot needles prickling each knob of his spine from top to bottom. 

He says your name. When you do not reply, he picks up his pace, weaving through bodies and knocking some aside.

Now, he’s panting your name into the communicator, running as fast as he can and spinning frantically as his helmet scans every single face in the crowd for yours. “Answer me,” he bites out, pleading. 

Silence. A throbbing, deafening silence. He can no longer hear the crescendo of happy cries from the crowd. 

He tries again. “Do you hear me?”

Nothing.

This is wrong. This twists his stomach and makes him dizzy. You were with him. You were so close to him. 

Din pitches forward, finally breaking free of the crowd, grasping blindly for the wall of a nearby building. It’s a blacksmith’s.

A glint catches his eye. He bends to one knee and his heart tumbles out of his chest, rolling to a stop on the filthy stone ground and beating slower and slower until it stops, dead. At his feet lies the brooch you wore on your cloak: the small, metal mudhorn he had made for you long ago. So long ago he can no longer count the days definitively.

I will know you forever.

His own voice, creeping up the back of his neck and latching two clawed hands into his skin. It’s not gonna happen. Not with me.

He does not remember his hand flying to his chest, but now he is clutching his heart, trying to hold on. He cannot breathe. 

Your name rattles like an empty chamber in his head. Your smile is pasted to the ceiling of his brain.

Din slumps onto his haunches and stares at the small metal brooch. It’s beautiful, you gasped, tracing the hard edges with your fingertip.

It’s yours.

Din… Your eyes, wide and watering, met his. Time stretched between eons. He never wanted you to stop looking at him.

His hand closed over yours and he could feel the cold metal through his gloves. 

~

"Kid?" Din calls, stumbling up the ramp to the Crest. A faint, muffled gurgling is his reply. Din unlocks his chamber and kneels down. "Hey, you okay? Where is she? Where'd she go?"

The Child blinks twice, rapidly, distressed. Something smacks into the back of Din’s head. "Ow," he hisses. "I told you not to throw things." 

There's a knife he's never seen before, next to his foot. He picks it up and examines it: the hilt is beskar steel, the blade perfectly balanced, the point lethally sharp. New. This was your gift to him. His heart wants to warm at the knowledge, but there is no time.

There's blood on the blade. His helmet indicates it’s not yours, but that does nothing to assuage his terror.

"You threw a knife at me," he says. 

Grogu babbles urgently.

Din’s head is dizzy with rage. “Someone came aboard,” he says darkly. "Someone took her.”

Grogu shuffles closer to him. His hand clenches the knife so tightly it would cut his hand if he weren't wearing gloves. “She hid you,” he mutters. “She kept you safe, huh, kid?”

Grogu watches him with watery eyes. Din nods vaguely. “Yeah, ‘course she did. You know where they took her?”

The kid looks down and mumbles sadly. "That's okay," says Din, rising to his feet. "You and I are gonna find her."

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #din djarin x female reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #grogu #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x reader

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Obi-Wan trying to understand what is troubling you...

Obi-Wan approached the vacant seat beside you at the cantina bar. He frowned at the empty glasses and gently pushed away the one you were toying with.

“I think you’ve had enough spotchka for one night.”

You glanced at the Jedi and let out a groan that you could have sworn was internal but judging from his expression, it wasn't.

“How did you find me?”

Leaning against the counter, Obi-Wan stared out towards the crowd. “Dex saw you in here. He mentioned it to Cody and Cody had the right sense to inform me.” He explained and looked at your saddened form staring into the blue liquid. “What’s going on? You know you can confide in me.”

Taking the glass back into your hand, you tipped your head back and downed the rest of the drink letting the empty item hit the bar table with a loud thud. “Not about this, I can’t.”

Obi-Wan took a seat, facing you. "Please try." He requested. "This sudden behaviour of yours - it has me very concerned."

~ More imagines here ~

#gif is not mine #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #theladyofmanyfandoms #obiwan kenobi x reader #obiwan imagine #obiwan x reader #obiwan kenobi imagine #obi-wan imagine #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan kenobi x reader #star wars imagine #star wars x reader

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Clan of Three - Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen: The Rescue

Plot: A Mandalorian, an infant with a history of the jedi, and a teenager with similar powers with an undiscovered lineage. An unlikely group to travel the galaxy together.

Word Count: 9.3K

Pairing: Father Figure!Din Djarin x Platonic!Teen!Reader

Warnings: fighting/violence, injuries, blood, semi-angst, PTSD, some wholesome moments, sad moments, Fatherly Din

------

Din wasn’t sure what he felt about Slave I they had found Dr. Pershing’s ship and were currently pursuing it when he felt this feeling that something is either going to go horribly wrong or something already has. It was like a gut feeling but he had to push it aside his priority was the two kids of Moff Gideon’s ship. The ship had just been disabled by an ion cannon and he could hear their panicked voices through the close-range communication, “They hit us with an ion cannon. Avionics are down. Comms are down!”

“Lower your shields, disengage all transponders, prepare for boarding,” Fett says as the ship docks the shuttle. Din leads first followed by a shock trooper as he enters the cockpit taking in the two pilots and the person he was after, “Before you make a mistake, this is Dr. Pershing.” One of the pilots says and Din nods,

“We’ve met. Are the kids alive?” Din looks over at the doctor whose face grows still.

“Yes, the child’s on the crew–” He starts but the second pilot grabs Pershing holding a blaster to his head. The door behind Din opens and Cara steps in with her blaster also raised. “Stay back, Dropper.”

“Easy, pal. Okay? I’m not with him. We can work something out.” The other pilot says holding his hands up easily surrendering. A bullet hits the pilot and he drops dead as they aim their blaster at the one holding Pershing hostage, “Drop your weapon.” Cara warns.

“No. No, you listen to me. This is a top-tier target of the New Republic. This is a clone engineer. And if they find out that he’s dead because of you, you’re gonna wish you never left Alderaan,” He says and Din sees Cara freeze slightly at the comment, “I saw the tear. You wanna know what else I saw? I saw your planet destroyed. I was on the Death Star.”

“Which one?” Cara grits and the pilot gives a fake laugh, “You think you’re funny? Do you know how many millions were killed on those bases?” He says pushing a very thin line and Din could feel the anger coming off Cara from the insults of her home planet.

“Drop your blaster.” She says her finger resting on the trigger, “As the galaxy cheered?”

“Last chance.” Cara warns her patience is stretched thin but the pilot just kept pushing, “Destroying your planet was a small price to pay to rid the galaxy of terrorism.” A bolt hits the co-pilot in the face narrowly missing Pershing, who screams in pain clutching his ear from the part of it singed off. Din turns watching Cara walk out heading back to the ship and Din grabs the doctor forcing him to the ship.

Arriving on the planet Lafete Din followed by Boba Fett enters a diner a hush instantly falls in the room with the appearance of two Mandalorians. Ignoring them Din heads to the corner where two Mandalorians in blue armor sit, “I need your help.” He asks and Bo-Katan turns to look at the man.

“Not all Mandalorians are bounty hunters. Some of us serve a higher purpose.” She comments taking a swig of her drink, “They took the kids.” Din says and Bo-Katan pauses slightly now fully looking at him.

“Who?” “Moff Gideon.” Din says and Bo-Katan turns away hearing the name disdain in her voice, “You’ll never find him.”

“We don’t need these two. Let’s get outta here.” Fett says to Din and Bo-Katan looks over at the man wearing Mandalorian armor, “You are not a Mandalorian.” Bo-Katan comments and Fett shakes his head, “Never said I was.”

Reeves scoffs taking her shot of spotchka “I didn’t know sidekicks were allowed to talk.”

“Well, if that isn’t the Quacta calling the Stifling slimy. Easy there, little one.” Fett comments and the girl stands getting nose to nose with the bounty hunter, “You’ll be talking through the window of a bacta tank.” She hisses and Bo-Katan raises her hand.

“All right, easy. Save it for the Imps.”

“We have his coordinates.” Din says and Bo-Katan has surprise written on her face, “You can bring me to Moff Gideon?” she asks and Din nods,

“The Moff has a light cruiser. It could be helpful in your effort to regain Mandalore.” He brings up and Fett scoffs, “You gotta be kidding me. Mandalore? The Empire turned that planet to glass.”

“You are a disgrace to your armor.” Bo-Katan says her voice laced with venom, “This armor belonged to my father.” Fett retorts and the woman snarls, “Don’t you mean your donor?”

“Careful, princess.” Fett warns the former princess, “You are a clone. I’ve heard your voice thousands of times.”

“Mine might be the last one you hear.” Fett threatens and Reeves strikes with fists and kicks the two brawl out in the bar, Fett getting thrown onto a table and breaking it as he responds with flamethrowers before pulling out their blasters but the other female Mandalorian finally steps in, “Enough! Both of you! If we had shown half that spine to the Empire we would’ve never lost our planet. We will help you. In exchange, we will keep that ship to retake Mandalore. If you should manage to finish your quest, I would have you reconsider joining our efforts. Mandalorians have been in exile from our home world for far too long.” She says to the two before looking over at Din

“Fair enough.” He agrees, “One more thing,” Bo-Katan adds, “Gideon has a weapon that once belonged to me. It is an ancient weapon that can cut through anything.”

“Almost anything.” Reeves adds and Bo-Katan nods, “It cannot cut through pure beskar. I will kill the Moff and retake what is rightfully mine. With the Darksaber restored to me, Mandalore will finally be within reach.”

“Help me rescue the kids and you can have whatever you want. They are my only priority.” Din says as he gains the final two allies he needed as they return to Fett’s ship.

“This is Moff Gideon’s Imperial light cruiser. In the old days, it would carry a crew of several hundred. Now it operates with a tiny fraction of that.” On Slave I Bo-Katan briefs them all with the hologram of Gideon’s ship, “Your assessment is misleading.” Dr. Pershing speaks up seated with restraints.

“Oh, great. An objective opinion.” Cara says rolling her eyes, “This isn’t subterfuge. I assure you.” He says and Bo-Katan holds her hand up to Cara, “Let him speak.”

“There’s a garrison of dark troopers on board. They are the ones who abducted the Child and the girl.” Pershing explains and Din nods having seen these Dark Troopers with his own eyes on Tython. “How many troopers do they have armed in those suits?” He asks

“These are third-generation designs. They are no longer suits. The human inside was the final weakness to be solved. They’re droids.” Pershing explains that these troopers sound like a threat to their plan, “Where are they bivouacked?” Fennec asks and Pershing looks over at the map and then at Bo-Katan silently asking for permission which she grants before he points at a second of the map as it grows larger.

“They’re held in cold storage in this cargo bay. They draw too much power to be kept at ready.” He says, “How long to power up?”

“A few minutes, perhaps.” He says and Din is staring at the map

“Where are the kids being held?”

Din notices the slight hesitation in Pershing before he pointed at another section of the map, “This is the brig. He’s being held here under armed guard.” Pershing says and everyone seems to notice how he only addressed one.

“Where is the girl being held?” Din says and sees the fear in Pershing’s eyes and hidden behind the beskar helmet his expression was grim. “Where. Is. She.”

“Moff...Moff Gideon disposed of the girl,” His words were like knives that impaled Din and the room went deathly silent as Pershing tried to find a less harsh way of describing it, “Gideon saw her as a threat.”

“A threat!? She’s a child!” Cara hisses at the doctor her own anger and sadness thick in her tone. Din couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe, this wasn’t real. He would close his eyes and be back on the Razor Crest, you and the child would be with him and everything would be alright. He would take you to a planet where you all could be safe..you were safe. You weren’t de- He felt bile fill his throat but he forced it down.

“She was a threat to the revival of Mandalore,” The comment brings attention to the Mandalorians in the room, “What revival of Mandalore?” Bo-Katan says hearing this news of her homeworld and Pershing feeling the danger of not speaking more and being forced to keep going.

“Gideon planned to retake Mandalore and rebuild the empire from there…with the girl, he initially gave the option of her taking the Mandalorian throne beside him,” He pauses the thought itself even disgusted him, “To take the throne beside him and produce Mandalorian heirs..” Din felt sick no he didn’t want to picture any of this. You were a child you were only seventeen, you haven’t lived and to hear you would be forced to create children by Gideon...He was going to rip Gideon apart.

“But the girl is from Tatooine how could she…” Cara comments stopping from saying that part, “Do that.”

“She is born on Tatooine her mother is from the planet but her father…” Pershing starts and his gaze briefly meets Din before moving to Bo-Katan, “Is of Mandalore..her father's parents being...Obi-Wan Kenobi and Duchess Satine Kryze.”

Bo-Katan’s head instantly snaps up hearing the names before it all clicked, “No..” She shakes her head stepping back slightly, “They said neither of them survived. No, they didn’t survive. I-” The fear crossed her face before there was no way of denying the truth. How did she not see it..her nephew’s daughter..how did she not see the features of her nephew or her own sister in the girl. Bo-Katan covers her mouth the truth that her entire family was truly gone was too sickening.

“What did he do to her,” Bo-Katan whispers the horror in her eyes as Pershing guilty has to continue, “She rejected his proposal and he..he killed her.”

“Where is she,” Din speaks up having been deadly silent and the energy coming off him was only rage. Anything could set him and he was going to kill everyone on the cruiser…and when he got to Gideon. He was going to put him threw more pain than he’ll ever experience. Din wouldn’t grant him the mercy of a quick death but something that will last years. He would push aside his own survival to make sure he feels this pain to remember what he did to you.

Pershing looks at the Mandalorian in fear, “Gideon put her in the brig.” He says and Din looks forward.

“We split into two parties.” Bo-Katan says quickly swiping the tears brimming her lashes as she quickly clears her throat, “I go alone.” Din says his word final and everyone looks at the grieving man and doesn’t argue.

“Okay. Phase one, Lambda shuttle issues a distress call. Two, we emergency land at the mouth of the fighter launch tube, cutting off any potential interceptors. Koska, Fennec, Dune, and myself disembark with maximum initiative. Once we’ve neutralized the launch bay, we make our way through these tandem decks in a penetration maneuver...” Bo-Katan’s voice drowns out as Din is pulled into his head. His hands were in tight fists his armor felt like a deadweight on him he couldn’t think it was just acting now. What was he going to do when he finds you…how is he to tell the child..he would have to tell Cobb. He wasn’t even sure how he was keeping it together, he was split between killing anyone in his path or screaming and crying his heart out. He was never more thankful for the beskar for hiding the tears that silently slid down his face as their meeting for this final fight ended and they moved to the shuttle to go to Gideon’s cruiser. He was going to avenge you and you would be given a true Mandalorian burial…maker he was going to do everything right for you. He was going to save the child he would promise you that he won’t fail twice.

You open your eyes finding yourself in your old home in Mos Eisley… it was the night you lost your parents everything looked exactly the same. “Mama? Papa?” You call out as you see a shadow blur past you entering your parents' room. Walking towards the door you pause before pushing it open about to step in.

“Y/n? What are you doing up?” Your mother’s voice makes you turn around and you see her standing in the middle of your living room with a confused look on her face. She didn’t look different at all shock was written on your face. “Mama..?” You whisper your voice gets choked up as your eyes begin to burn. You step closer looking at her with wonder as she smiles cupping your face a gasp pulled from your chest feeling her warm touch. Her smile is comforting as she frowns slightly wiping a tear you didn’t know was there, “Why the tears sweetie?” She says and you were certain she was real..this was real.

“I-” The doors cuts you off as a tired-looking man walks in, “Now where’s my little womp rat!” Your father’s voice produces more tears as he drops his bag spotting you scooping you up in the air just like when you were a child hugging you, “I’ve missed you, my daughter.”

“Papa…” You whisper your hands instantly digging into the back of his shirt holding him close, your face pressed into his shoulder breathing in the scent of your father. His touch, his voice, his warmth, everything..this was real. You pull back seeing the wide smile on his face and you can’t help the broken cry to come from your mouth.

“What’s wrong darling?” Your father asks and your mother joins his arm wrapping around her side and you have to take a step back looking at the two of them.

“I…I just never thought I’d see you again.” You whimper trying to hold in the broken cry, that little girl praying maybe it was a cruel joke and you would see your parents again. The hope that girl held onto all these years was that she would have her mother’s comforting words again and her father’s strong hugs back in her life. She thought that girl had died along with her parents but they were in front of her.

“You must have missed me a lot when I’m gone from work.” He says with a laugh and you chuckle with tears in your eyes from his joke. You still couldn’t believe your eyes. You must have died and gone to heaven for this to be real.

“This is the non-diplomatic option,”

A searing pain fills your body and you feel your insides rip apart. You cry out hitting the ground as your parents rush to help you. Your hands hold your stomach as they help you to your feet, pulling your hands back seeing red coating your hands and stomach. Your gaze snaps up and your parents are gone the lights in your home out leaving you in eerie darkness. “Mama?! Papa!?” You shout looking around and your stomach churns seeing your father’s deceased body on the ground the sandstone soaked with his blood. You gasp turning away from the view only making yourself see a part of your mother’s body through the doorway to their bedroom. You hit the door pushing hard against it to let you out and it slides open as you fall out. The sand digs into your palms as you try to catch your breath focusing on calming the panic in your heart.

“Y/n?” Cobb’s voice calls out and you look up as he stands over you looking over you with a concerned look on his face. “What are you doing out?” He takes your hands helping you up and he doesn’t even notice the blood that covers your hands that doesn’t transfer to his.

“Cobb…I..was just..what am I doing..” You try to explain but grow even more confused looking around not in Mos Eisley but Mos Pelgo the second home you had with the Marshal looking after you.

“I think you had a long night of training and you need some sleep,” Cobb says trying to lead you toward your guys' home. Training..going across the dunes…the jedi texts…your lightsaber..the Krayt Drag-no that didn’t happen.

“Ni vor entye gota'la par ner ad's oyay” “Ni'm Ni ceta Din.”

Arms hold you close as comforting words are whispered to you a language spoken lightly to you. There was a man he had…you never saw his face..why?

“Din…” You whisper out and Cobb gives you a look as he tries bringing you inside but you pull away.

“Din? Not sure where you got that name from come on I’m taking you off helping the elders tomorrow you need rest.” His hand reaches out but you recoil back. Why had you thought of this man…who was he. Cold flashes of metal, a ship of the old republic, the giggles of a child.

“No..this..why am I-” You shake your head moving further away from Cobb concern on his face, “Come on kid, this isn’t funny whatever joke you’re pulling.”

“Put her in the brig and let her die a jedi,”

You gasp in pain as it grows stronger your knees hit the ground hard now metal not the sands of Tatooine. Your hand presses hard against your stomach cringing in pain a metallic taste fills your mouth as you spit on the ground seeing red. Struggling to stand and looking around find yourself on a ship the hallways are long, and the coldness surrounded you as you move through them feeling yourself grow weak. Your hand is still held against your stomach as your other grabs the wall to stabilize yourself as a gasp of air tries to fill your burning lungs.

“Kid..” A voice calls out and your head snaps up at the end of the hall stands a man covered in armor. He seemed familiar but you couldn’t remember where as you stand on opposite ends, “olaror yaim,” He calls out the language smooth on his tongue his hand raised held out for you to take. Then it was flashes of memories watching them as they played out in front of you.

“You need to get patched up or it’s going to get infected.” You look over your shoulder glaring at him. “I don’t need your help.” His hands are rough as he cleans the cut on your temple on Arvala-7 the first real interaction between you two.

“Come on we have to go!” He jumps off the speeder grabs the child and you jump over the side almost falling to the ground if he didn’t grab you. You shake your head trying to keep the pain in. “I can’t...my foot.” You say your voice trembling and he looks around before handing you the child again and scooping you up being held in his arms as blaster fire soars over you as bounty hunters and Mandalorians fight for your escape.

The bolt hits the pan dead center it knocking over. Your hands drop down holding the weapon to your side. “You did well.” Mando says and you look up at him before nodding slightly returning the weapon to him, “Keep that up and you’ll be a sharpshooter.” You can’t ignore the warmth that fills your chest hearing the compliment and noticing the pride that was in his voice. The confident feeling didn’t leave you just hearing the pride in his voice something you could never get rid of the feeling.

“I’m assuming you knew I was coming.” You say and he looks down at you the damn helmet hiding his emotions. “No, not really, just a shot in the dark.” He says taking the rifle and slinging it across his back but not taking the blaster, “Keep it…it will keep you safe.” He says pushing the blaster back into your hands and you look down at the item gifted to you, just like the knife.

“Down!” He yells and you drop down as his flamethrower burns two droids as they melt together. You stand up your blaster firing at the droid he was once fighting in the head, while he shoots at the droid you cut the foot off. The six droids lay dead around you, oil and parts surround the two of you. The cheers from the prisoners witnessing the fight. “You good kid?” He looks at you silently checking you for injuries and you nod. “I’m fine Mando.”

“No what are you doing?! Cara let go of me. Mando get up! We have to go!” Cara begins pulling you towards the sewer vent, struggling slightly pulling you with one hand and the other holding her blaster. “Mando stop her! Please don’t leave me! Din! Get up, please! I don’t wanna go! Cara let go of me! Din! Din Please!” Your voice screams out your hand trying to reach out to him as his hand drifts off you falling to his side.

Your body collides into Mando’s your arms wrapping around his waist tightly and his free hand rest on the back of your head keeping you close to him as he whispers words that you can’t understand. The beskar cold on your skin as tears fall down your face. You pull back looking up at him grateful to see his metal helmet, his rough gloves wipe away the tears on your face. “I thought you were gone.”

“I know I shouldn’t have done that but there was no time to explai-” You’re cut out and pulled into his chest as he holds your head close to his chest not caring the saliva was getting on him. This surprises you and Cobb as well who feels like he’s intruding on a moment. “Ni vor entye gota'la par ner ad's oyay” Din mumbles so quickly that you could barely pick up any of the words he rushed in Mando’a. Din holds one hand on your upper back the other clutched within your hair though it doesn’t hurt you. You felt safe in his embrace.

You curl up against his side the child cooing in your arms as you try to steal as much heat of the Mandalorian, his arm around your back holds you tight against him, “Get some sleep kid,” He says looking down at his two children making sure they were alright before worrying about himself. The cold was harsh but the heat you had gotten by being cuddled with two others made going to sleep pretty easy.

But it wasn’t coldness from the air but his words as your heart breaks, “Din I only just learned your name! You probably weren’t ever going to tell me anyways. No matter how much you try to teach me about the Mandalorians I won’t be one. I’m not your daughter and you are not my father!” You spit and the atmosphere is quickly cold and you step back realizing the words that came out of your mouth. “You're right…You're not my daughter and I sure as hell ain't your father. When we meet the Jedi we will be going our separate ways.” Din declares and you can’t ignore the malice in his words. You knew you hurt him with what you said but just hearing him say those same words back to you felt like a dagger in your chest. You nod sharply looking away from him trying to keep the quickly forming tears. You don’t deserve to cry...you caused this. You just ruin everything and push people away. What you feared so deeply...being alone had smacked you in the face so face  

The pain in your heart turned physical as you gasp for air as he holds you down, “You’re going to be alright..you hear me…you’re not leaving me.” He promises you his hand squeezes tightly on you before he pulls away slightly and you see him rip something off himself and you feel rough skin against your hand and on your face. Your eyes though weak and hazy widen feeling the skin touching yours, the contact of his against yours. You knew the importance of his creed the reason his skin, his face is hidden behind beskar and he just broke a part of it…for you. He squeezes your hand again his other swipes the tears from your cheek the pads of his fingers warm, “You’re going to be alright.”

“I don’t wanna die…please...please I wanna stop…dad.”

You freeze watching yourself cry out to him..you weren’t sure what you feared more. Knowing that you would never have the chance of having a normal family, never see your mother’s smiles or feel the embrace of your father, or have that little girl get part of her dream back. To have someone love her, protect her, make her smile, make her cry, to have that figure back in her life. You couldn’t stop it you said it and it scared you. He had fit the characteristics from the moment you met him.

“Dad..” You call out to Din your weak limp as you try to grow closer to him but it seemed like the hallway stretches farther your limp turned into a weak run. “Dad…Dad! Dad!” Something trips you and you hit the ground gasping for air the pain in your stomach only grows stronger as you push yourself to your knees but you stop when you see what lies in front of you. You’re frozen…paralyzed looking at the body that lays before you, her face dull as she stares straight up her eyes lifeless.

“No…no no No!” You cry out scrambling over your body your hands colliding with your shoulders as you shake yourself trying to wake them up. “Wake up…wake up wake up!” You cry out as your lifeless eyes stare back at you, the wound in your stomach too great. Your hands press to stop the bleeding the blood pouring past you like a river feeling the pain in your own grow stronger making you cry out in pain,

“Please you have to wake up...I wanna go home..you have to live.” You cry tears fall from your face as your cry into your chest feeling defeated. Your life felt like a grain of sand so minute as it blended with the rest of the dunes. Would you remain here forever forced in this state to watch the world around you? Was Din going to find your body or were you to rot in this cell until they dispose of you themselves?

“You gotta wake up..please you have to.” You whisper into your chest as silence is your only response a hand rest on your shoulder and you jump looking up and seeing a man staring down at you. He’s dressed in robes with auburn hair and a thick beard there’s sadness in his eyes as he looks at you.

“It is not your time young one…” He speaks his voice calm but with strength behind him as he bends down before putting his hand over the wound where yours lies. Another hand joins in and you stare at a beautiful woman with an elaborate headpiece and kind eyes, two more join, and your father smiles at you his hand cups your face though you only feel coldness off it while your mother just smiles, people, surround you their hands touching your shoulders or your legs any part of your body they can touch and you feel strength grow in your limbs.

Someone touches your chest right where your heart lies and you feel a wave of energy flow through you it was a shadow of a man but you catch the details of Mandalorian armor though old and unlike anything you’ve ever seen. You stare into the helmet feeling his gaze back.

“These are your final steps.”

You wake up with a sharp gasp your cuffed hands instantly going to your stomach seeing the hole in your clothes feeling your back as well feeling the hole in your shirt your skin was clear only covered in blood but there wasn’t a single scratch on your body. You bring your hands up to your temple feeling the stickiness of the blood but no pain when you press down where the cut was. A faint whisper brushes your skin as you turn to look off in a direction and through the walls and everything you can sense him.

“Moff Gideon..”

It’s a silent rage one no one suspects just building as the doors to the cell open easily and you enter the hallway. Turning the corner and spotting a lone trooper walking down the hall you follow after your footsteps silent as you pull the vibroblade from their belt stabbing them rapidly on their neck as they let out a blood-filled gargle before collapsing on the ground. You kneel down prying the blaster rifle from its grasp seeing it had one round in it before needing a new charge. That was alright you were going to make sure you didn’t miss and if not you were going to rip him apart with your own hands.

The plan was set as they traveled through hyperspace Din was off to the side silently watching everyone else prepare his mind was only focused on two things, Save the child and if given the chance kill Moff Gideon himself.

“Prepare to exit jump space.” Fett calls out through the comms on Slave I as Bo-Katan pilots Perhsing’s shuttle, “Copy that. Get the hell out of there as soon as they clear us to dock. And your shots have to look convincing.”

“Power up those shields, princess. I’ll put on a good show.” Fett comments and they could hear the smirk in his voice, “Watch out for those deck cannons.” Bo-Katan warns while powering up the shields.

“Don’t worry about me. Just be careful in there.” Fett comments as Reeves jumps in, “Exiting hyperspace in three, two, one…” The ship jolts out of hyperspace as the plan begins.

“This is Lambda shuttle, Two-Seven-Four-Three. Requesting emergency docking. Repeat, requesting emergency docking. We are under attack.” Bo-Katan fakes distress as she dodges the blaster fire sent by Fett as they fly toward Gideon’s cruiser.

“Copy, Lambda shuttle. Request received.” A comms officer responds, “Stay clear of the launch tube. Deploying fighter squadron.” Two TIEs launch from the cruiser but Bo-Katan continues straight toward the launch tube, “Request denied! Please clear the launch tube until fighters deploy!” The comms officer speaks up.

“Negative! Negative! We are under attack!” Bo-Katan cuts in as they draw closer to the launch bay ignoring the shouts from the comm officer, “Clear launch tube immediately.”

“Hang on,” Bo-Katan says as they fly straight through the launch tube crashing into the bay the ship jerking around the large scratching as the shuttle drags against the ground. Troopers stand outside the ship as the ramp lowers down.

“What are you doing? Get that thing out of here!” A trooper shouts out but a bolt hits him in the chest and he drops dead. Blaster fire is quickly exchanged as the troopers in the bay are quickly taken down and Gideon watches this all from the bridge listening to their screams

“Activate the dark troopers.”

“Moff Gideon,” The comms officer calls to him as he turns away from the large control table and the look on her face as she tries to hold back the horror, “The girl…she’s not in the brig anymore.”

The women move ahead clearing the bay with ease and Din silently exits the ship looking over the damage as he makes his way toward the dark trooper bay. The halls empty most of the stormtrooper after the women as they head for the bridge leaving the path clear for him. Reaching the dark troopers’ cargo hull right as the doors begin to open and Din hears the heavy metal marching as they move towards the door,

“No. No!” Din yells dashing forward and putting Pershing’s code cylinder into the slot to close to the door but one droid holds the door open and manages to get through. It fires at Din with precise shots hitting the beskar making him stumble back. Din fires back with his blaster but it has no effect the bolt bounces off its armor just like beskar it swings its long arm and Din slides under it sending his flamethrower and melting the face but it still doesn’t react as it grabs Din by the throat slamming him against the wall the beskar denting into the thick metal wall. His whole body is rattled as he is repeatedly slammed deeper into the wall. Sending the whistling birds they explode around the droid only staggering it and dropping him. Past the droid, he can see the others punching the glass windows trying to break through. A punch straight to his chest sends him sliding across the floor and he stands pulling off his spear gifted by Tano fighting against its sheer strength and size before he stabs it straight into the neck. It malfunctions before falling down defeated. Din rushes over turning the code cylinder right as they pry the doors open, depressurizing the cargo bay the troopers are sucked out into space. Leaning against the wall sucking in a heavy breath from the battle his body aches being thrown around. Moving towards the droid grabbing the beskar spear before heading for the brig. His mission to save the kid was his only priority.

In the turbolift, Cara continues to fiddle with her large gun that is jammed, “Dank farrik! Son of a mudscuffer!” She hisses and Bo-Katan looks over at her, “Are you sure you don’t need any help?’

The shock trooper slams the gun against the wall and it powers up right as the doors open “I think that did it. Excuse me.”

“Hostiles! Stop!” A trooper yells out as they enter the bridge but Cara mows them down with her weapon they quickly enter the bridge taking down the officers inside that try to fight.

“Weapons system disarmed,” Reeves says disabling the systems on the large console as Bo-Katan looks around only one thought on her mind.

“Where’s Gideon?”

The halls are silent as Din travels turning the corner and spotting two troopers guarding a cell. Coming up behind one he juts the beskar spear stabbing the one further away from him before bringing the spear up to the trooper's neck and pulling back. Their legs shake as they grasp the beskar spear trying to stop it from choking him. Din pulls harder pulling the trooper into the air and with a sharp jerk, a crack fills the air as he snaps his neck. Putting away the spear taking out his blaster he moves to the door panel and opens it. Relief fills him spotting the child who coos happily seeing Din. He rushes forward grabbing him and releasing the cuffs from the child’s small wrists.

“You’re alright kid..” He whispers to Grogu still keeping his guard up. He felt guilt in him a grieving father having to give the news one of their own was gone. But when he looked at him it was almost like he knew something he didn’t...that things were going to be alright. “Bo-Katan..come in Bo-Katan.”

“I read you, did you rescue the child?” Her voice comes through his comm, “I have we heading towards the bridge, you have Moff Gideon in your custody?” He asks and it’s silence that only fills a pit of fear in Din.

“Moff Gideon wasn’t on the bridge…we thought he was with the child..” Bo-Katan’s voice comes through and Din is confused and nervous about what this meant.

“What.” He had assumed they were with him but it did make sense he would be with the child if he was neither here nor there…where was he?

“Din.” “What?” He calls out hearing the urgency in Bo-Katan’s voice, “Head to the main hall we’ll meet you there. We found Gideon.” Din’s already rushing to the map location sent to him.

His presence moved through the walls before stopping in one location as you follow it entering a grand hall on the light cruiser. It only held one door and you spot him standing completely alone his back towards you. Raising the blaster aiming at him to pull the trigger and deliver the final kill. “A bit of a coward’s kill don’t you think princess? At least give me a warrior’s death just like you Mandalorians.”

“You don’t deserve a warrior’s death you monster.” You growl moving towards him until you were an arms-length away, “Amusing. I’ll be sure to give you one then.” The blade of the Darksaber swings out and you lean back dodging the attack. Firing your only shot at him but he blocks the blaster fire swinging again making you move back again. He attacks in wide sweeping motions and your still cuffed wrists restrain you from the force leaving you to yourself. Pulling the knife from your belt ducking under his arms cutting at his side as he growls out in pain swinging the blade with rage in him.

“You just don’t know how to stay dead!” He shouts and you smirk the knife coated in his blood in your grasp, “Try killing me better.” He roars arching the blade down and you are forced to move backward as he swings the blade out you lean to the side but he raises his foot kicking you straight in the stomach and you fall to your back. Gasping for air as he stabs it towards the ground but you roll out of the way.

“You’re weak! A thief from Tatooine! You’re insignificant, your scum, from a dying race. The Jedi are gone! The Mandalorians are gone! And the remaining hidden in the gutter will be brought out and slaughtered.” He shouts swinging the blade down on your again and you thrust your wrists forward as it cuts through the cuffs and the spark before falling off your wrists. You stare up at him as a look of horror crosses his face as he sees the cuffs restricting your abilities fall off.

You swipe your hand out the Darksaber sliding against the floor and your other hand in a fist. Gideon grabs his neck and pulled straight into your grasp as your fist slams straight into his face and he sees stars. Your other fist is swinging right after digging into his face and a loud crunch fills the air as his nose shatters blood pouring like a fountain and getting all over your hand as you grab the back of his head and slam it into your knee. Each punch for everything he's done, for your grandparents, for your planet, the death of your parents, for all the Mandalorians, for Kuill, for IG-11, for you. He deserved every hit and you weren’t stopping until his blood painted your skin. You scream bringing your fist down on his face, you ignore the pain that fills your hands you would break yourself until you knew he was dead. Gideon’s on his back unable to defend himself as this girl pounds her fists into his face breaking both his and her bones. Blood splatters against your face and his features are covered in blood as he tries to fight off you. You hold your hand out the beskar weapon pulling into your hand as you activate the blade over him as you stare at his defeated face and him staring at the wrath in yours.

You’re ripped off him and you fight hard kicking your legs out throwing your head back to hit them your arms trying to break from their grip. You swing the weapon in your hand but you’re quickly disarmed. “Get off me! Kriffing let me go” “Kid stop! Stop it!” A voice yells out to you as you’re pulled away your vision is blinded seeing someone come to Gideon’s side. You lose sight of him as your turn around your wrists grabbed to stop you from fighting and you stare back at metal.

“Kid it’s me! Stop it…stop!” You weren’t sure you would ever see him again, as he holds you still though you try fighting. “He has to die! I’ll kriffing kill him. Gideon has to!” You shout trying to break free from his grasp but he’s like beskar unbreakable your anger moves from Gideon to him as your hands pound on his chest and you try pushing him away. The pain in your knuckles that were definitely shattered fuels you further. “I have to kill him…I have to…let me go!” Your fighting grows weaker as he pulls you into his chest holding you tight to him as your shouting turns to cries your fist against his chest weak as you break down in his arms.

“I have to...I have to stop him...Din..” You cry into his chest as his hand strokes your back the other holds your head to him, “Shhh…gev…gar cuyir morut'yc…ni cuy' olar…ni ganar gar cyar'ika...I got you..it’s alright..” He whispers as he holds you close to him. He never wanted to let you go and he wanted to take all your sadness and pain from what you experienced and cast it away. He wanted you and the child to be safe and happy living the rest of your lives in peace.

Din pulls you to your feet holding you to his side as you look at Gideon lying in a crumbling mess of blood on the floor. The group had entered the room ready to take on Moff Gideon but hadn’t expected to see you above him about to give the killing blow. Din had to grasp onto the wall his whole body felt weak just hearing seeing her he felt thrown in two different directions one removing all the air in his lungs and the other filling him back with life. Cara checks Gideon’s pulse as he sputters awake but weak, “He’s alive.” Though it’s not in relief but for other reasons. Your body felt on fire the blood coating your hands and face as you hold your hand out calling the weapon back to your hand. It was heavy a weight to your grasp whispers coming off it but your gaze was drilled to Moff Gideon as he is shackled.

The group was surprised to see Gideon and yourself but one is surprised for another reason looking at the weapon in your possession, “What did you do?” Bo-Katan asks looking at you.

“She left him alive, that’s what happened. And now the New Republic’s gonna have to double the payment.” Cara says looking at the New Republic prize but Gideon has a weak smirk on his face, ���That’s not what she’s talking about. Why don’t you kill her now and take it but you wouldn’t do that to dear family? It’s yours now.” He coughs some blood out then looks over at Bo-Katan

“What is?” Din asks confused about what’s going on, “The Darksaber. It belongs to you.” Gideon comments looking at you with a bloodstained grin as you look at the weapon in your grasp. You look at the hilt before moving towards Bo-Katan holding out to her.

“Now…it belongs to her,” You say. A pained look on her face as she doesn’t accept the blade, “She can’t take it. It must be won in battle. In order for her to wield the Darksaber again, she would need to defeat you in combat.” Gideon explains the joy on his face watching the frustration and pain on the female Mandalorian’s face.

“I yield,” You say pushing the blade further out to her, “It’s yours.”

Gideon laughs shaking his head and moving closer from the ground but is pushed back by Cara, “Oh, no. It doesn’t work that way. The Darksaber doesn’t have power. The story does. Without that blade, she’s a pretender to the throne.” Din looks at the expression on Bo-Katan's face as she knows he’s right,

“He’s right,” Bo-Katan says her history of the Darksaber having not rightfully earned the blade a crack at her integrity. “Come on, just take it,” You say, this wasn’t you. You weren’t a ruler, you weren’t meant to lead people, especially ones you didn’t even know you shared blood with. The weapon branded you for the responsibility it carried and the pain it has inflicted on others and yourself. You felt your skin burn just holding it you felt sick just looking at it.

“Well, perhaps she’ll get another crack at it,” Gideon smirks right as an alarm goes off blaring in the bridge as Fennec looks at the schematics on her vambrace, “The ray shields have been breached. We’re being boarded.”

“How many life forms?” Bo-Katan asks as they prepare for the fight and Fennec looks at them with a concerned look on her face, “None.”

“Seal those blast doors!” Cara says as Fennec quickly closes the blast doors and they move further back preparing for the dark troopers to come to their doorstep. “You’re about to face off with the dark troopers. You had your hands full with one. Let’s see how you do against a platoon.” Gideon sneers at Din who holds the child now furthest away from the blast doors prepared for the fight.

A bang on the blast door makes you jump and you see the blast doors slowly dent as the pounding on the door grows louder, “They’re here.” Reeves says. Din pulls you to stand bringing you to stand behind him, you could see Gideon was moved to the side. You look away down to your hands seeing the blood that coats your arms and the weapon held in your hands. Looking forward as the dent in the blast doors grows larger when another alarm sounds and Reeves moves to see what it is, “An X-wing.”

“One X-wing? Great. We’re saved.” Cara says sarcastically preparing her blaster and Bo-Katan speaks into her comms, “Incoming craft, identify yourself.” You look out the window as well as Grogu looking at the starship grow closer, you could sense something great coming from them as they boarded the light cruiser. You’ve never felt this strongness in the force before as it washes over you. At the same time, the droids stop attacking the pounding on the blast doors ceasing,

“Why did they stop?” A woman in black and orange armor says you look through the hologram on one of their vambraces a hooded figure disembarks the X-Wing making their way through the halls before they encounter dark troopers in a storage hall and you see a blade emit as they cut through the droids. You watch this person deflect blaster fire, cutting down dark troopers and even crushing one.

“A Jedi?” Bo-Katan whispers as you hear fighting come from right outside the blast doors with loud blaster fire but it sounded like this jedi on the other side was winning. As they grew closer you see the jedi finish off the last of the dark troopers the presence of this jedi was strong.

“Open the doors,” Din says and the others look at him like he’s crazy, “I said, open the doors.” The other armored woman shakes her head, “Are you crazy?” She disagrees and Din moves to open the doors himself. They open and you see the destruction and the defeated droids as the hooded figure enters the energy is almost overwhelming as the jedi removes his hood and your jaw drops staring at the man.

“Luke Skywalker…” You whisper in awe staring at the jedi from your home planet. Small farmboy from Tatooine to Master Jedi, the one that took down the Death Star and defeated Darth Vader.

Din steps forward looking at Luke, “Are you a Jedi?” He asks and the man nods his hands folded in front of him,

“I am,” He says before holding out his hand, “Come, little ones.” He looks over at the Grogu in the seat and over at you who stands behind Din. You feel frozen being addressed and you look over at the child who doesn’t move as well. Din seems more focused on the child as he looks back at Skywalker,

“He doesn’t want to go with you.”

“He wants your permission,” Luke says, “He is strong with the Force, but talent without training is nothing. I will give my life to protect the Child and the girl… but they will not be safe until they master their abilities.” He explains and you look at Din seeing him look at the child and you. He moves towards Grogu picking him up and holding him in his arms and you finally move coming to stand by him as he looks down at the both of you,

“Hey, go on. That’s who you belong with. He’s one of your kind…” Din says looking at the two of you, “I’ll see you again. I promise.” He says and your eyes burn with tears watching the sad moment between him and Grogu but also knowing you were losing him as well. The small hand of the child reaches up touching the metal of his helmet before looking up at him with sad eyes. Your chest tightens seeing Din’s hand reach up and he removes the beskar that shields him from the world. The most important part of his creed was broken for you both. You weren’t sure what you expected but he had a strong jaw that was covered in a patchy beard to a rugged face, his eyes were brown, and his short hair brown as well sort of untamed being covered by the helmet. His eyes were filled with sadness and his lack of control over his expressions due to the helmet was apparent. Grogu reaches his hand up touching his skin for the first time as Din closes his eyes trying not to break. You looked away feeling like you were intruding on this moment between the two. Opening his eyes he looks over at you a bit surprised seeing you looking away and then down to the child, “All right, pal. It’s time to go. Don’t be afraid.” Placing the child to the floor he looks up at Skywalker but cooing comes from his leg seeing the child holding on to his pant leg. The sound of the droid appearing as an astromech droid appears in blue and white colors as it beeps almost speaking to Grogu as he moves towards the droid. It beeps shaking with happiness making the small child smile as you watch with a bittersweet smile. Luke looks down at the child as he raises his hands to be picked up and the jedi complies holding him in his arms. He looks down at the child before the Jedi's gaze meets yours, “Come, little one” He says holding his hand out and you feel frozen in carbonite. You felt embarrassed and scared as you stood covered in blood that was not your own like this was proper material of a jedi.

“Y/n...” Din calls out to you and you feel torn between two worlds, one world where you become a jedi learning of the force but meaning you leave Din, and the other you learn more of your past but never get the proper training from a jedi. You shake your head panic flooding your veins, “Kid..” Din’s hands grasp your face making you look at him and you still were not used to seeing his actual face. There was sadness but he was also trying to look strong for you.

“I just got you back..” You whisper as he swipes away a tear that falls down your face and he gives a sad smile, “You won’t be safe with me..you have to go.” He says and you shake your head trying to refuse.

“You’ll be alright cyar'ika.” He says as he helps you turn to face the jedi stepping forward feeling the warmth from the Mandalorian leave you as you stand in front of the Jedi quite intimidated by his presence. You holster the hilt to your belt feeling its presence and your hands nervously swipe at your pants trying to get any excess blood off them as you look at Skywalker and then at Grogu in his arms. Tears burn your eyes as your fingers gently rub his ears a coo coming off him, “I’ll miss you so much.” You whisper to the small child that looks at you with wide eyes before you step back away from the jedi shocking him and Din who watches.

“I can’t…I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks as you reject his offer and the Jedi looks over you sensing something in the force and seeing the weapon resting at your hip, “Without proper training, you will cause harm to those around you and to yourself.” Luke warns you trying to get you to reconsider, he knew what he felt in the force when the two of you were at the seeing stone. He felt the trained guidance that the child in his arms went through as he handled the force, but yours was frantic and unstable with a lack of training you lacked balanced and could be easily swayed to either the light or the darkness that he feared. Your emotions guided you through the force and you tread on a very thin line where one step could quickly pull you to the dark side.

“Your connection to the force is driven by your emotions without proper guidance you walk a thin line that can have you fall down the path of the dark side,” He cautions you trying to get you to understand the decision you were going to make. Even Din was worried that this Jedi knew that your choice of not going could end with you turning evil he didn’t want that for you.

“Kid-” “I’m sorry…I’m not going,” You cut Din off looking at the Jedi, “I’ll take my chances.” Your decision is final as you step beside Din your hand slipping into his. While he felt fearful of your rejection to join the Jedi Din couldn’t ignore the happiness he felt knowing you weren’t leaving. Luke looks over at you one last time before nodding at you and Din.

“May the Force be with you.” He says before turning you watch the child as he looks at you two standing holding hands being each other's pillar. Skywalker, his droid, and Grogu enter the turbolift and you look at the child for once last time giving a weak smile as tears slide down your cheeks and you could feel the sadness coming off Din being forced to say goodbye to one of his children. You both lost a part of your clan but the two of you would support one another until that fateful day the child would return to you and you all would be together again.

A/N: Season 2 of Clan of Three is done! It's been so exciting continuing this story and I'm so thankful for the support! You all are amazing and I can't wait to release the book of boba fett and season three!

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian #clan of three series #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din x reader #din djarin x teen!reader #din djarin x jedi!reader #mando x reader

[acatalystrising]

Yes, it’s November, but the oneshots stop for no one! I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my head for a bit so I finally got a chance to write it!

This oneshot is a veterinarian!(f)reader x TBOBF Boba, no warnings, just lotssss of fluff (and a cute rancor) enjoy!

Here’s a link to part two and three!

Alsooo this one may or may not have been inspired by this…

Oneshot: Moth to a Flame

He was back again.

You heard the now familiar tisk tisk of beskar spurs striking the wooden planks of your walkway, announcing his arrival long before he opened your door. You crossed your waiting room and slipped behind your desk, already rummaging for his package.

You’d never forget the first time Boba Fett stepped into your clinic.

Broad, stern, wearing green beskar that spoke of years of violence and a bounty hunting career soaked in blood. He looked the part too: built like a tank, black clothing that could far too easily hide bloodstains, boots and gloves made of functional leather, helmet with a T-visor that slowly turned, scanning everything and missing nothing.

And yet Boba Fett, the bounty hunter turned Daimyo of Tatooine, hadn’t threatened your life that day. He’d come for medicine…for his rancor. His voice had been rough, like mountain stone, yet carrying a warmth that reminded you of the way spotchka settled in the back of your throat after a long day.

You’d been afraid, intimidated - but advised him calmly, as professionals should, you’d wagered, your concern for the animal overriding your fear for your life. And it had worked - he’d thanked you, paid you handsomely, and left without another word.

And yet, for some reason, he kept coming back. It was usually for more medicine, but recently it had been for something as small as a treat, or advice…and despite your reservations, you’d nearly grown accustomed to his presence. He never threatened you, and always ensured you were paid more than the goods were worth - but still. He was a killer, you knew, and killers couldn’t be trusted.

Perhaps it was for the best, you thought, even as his shadow fell over your doorstep, made larger than life by the binary suns - for the best that you had a working relationship with the new Daimyo. If relations were good, you’d be able to stay in business - then the animals you cared for would be safe. Even if you were entertaining something much more dangerous than a rancor to keep it that way.

He stepped inside - armor slightly dusted by the sandy terrain, silent as always. You dipped your head in a greeting and lifted the brown bag of medicine onto the counter.

“Hello,” you looked at the expressionless helmet, nerves twisting in your gut, and dared to give him a small smile as you gestured at the small paper bag. “Here for the usual?”

He nodded slowly in acknowledgement, helmet dipping nearly gracefully as he approached, gloved hands resting on the edge of your desk as he took the bag. Your gaze dropped to his thick fingers, absently wondering how many people he’d killed with those hands, when his voice crackled over the vocorder.

“The medicine is appreciated, but,” his helmet titled slightly to the side, as if pondering his words. “I’m here for another matter.”

Alarm spiked your chest, and you could have sworn your heart dropped to your stomach. You tried your best to remain calm, collected - but you clenched a shaking hand underneath the counter to ground yourself.

“Is something wrong?” You frowned, unable to fully eradicate the quiver from your tone. “With the medicine, I mean?”

He was silent for a moment, long enough to make you wonder if he was plotting how to kill you. What could you have possibly done? You couldn’t die now - you had two sick banthas, three loth cats, and a nexu cub you’d managed to wrangle from a merchant all depending on you to survive.

“If I have, I promise I can make it up to you,” you knew you were babbling, fear slowly overriding logic. “I never meant to-“

He held up a hand, helmet gently shaking side to side.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, mesh’la.” His tone was still carrying that gravely rasp, yet had somehow imperceptibly softened.

And there he was again, saying that word you didn’t understand…what the kriff did it mean? Was he insulting you? But the way he said it nearly made you feel weak kneed. Damn, he was dangerous.

“The medicine’s helped, but I’m told he’s depressed.” He crossed his arms, weapons on full display, and you waited with bated breath for him to continue. “I need someone to look him over, ensure he has what he needs. Would you be willing?”

Wait, he was asking you to inspect a rancor? The biggest animal you’d worked with was a bantha, and your experience with predators was lackluster at best…

And besides, this wasn’t just any rancor…it was his. At the palace. Jabba’s former palace. In that gods damned pit where so many had met their untimely demise. That place…didn’t have good memories.

“You’ll be safe, I give my word,” Boba’s voice broke you from your thoughts, but he didn’t sound impatient…in fact, he seemed entirely understanding. “You’re the only one I’d trust around him.”

You raised a brow, but nodded. You always knew when a pet’s owner was sincere - there was a weighted concern in every voice, every expression. And even though you couldn’t see the Daimyo’s face, you knew he was being genuine. And so, even though you knew you were probably signing your life away, you felt yourself nodding.

“Okay, I’ll help. When do you want me to stop by?” You nearly wanted to roll your eyes at yourself.

Here you were potentially facing death, and yet you were conversing as if you were going on a regular afternoon picnic with the most notorious bounty hunter in the galaxy - what a funny notion.

“The sooner the better, I wager.” He shifted, fingers tapping lightly on his gauntlet, either in boredom or agitation, you couldn’t figure. “Do you have any appointments for the rest of the day?”

Oh karking hell. You were so going to die.

“Umm,” you nervously scanned your daily schedule that you already knew was unfortunately blank. “No, all clear. It’s…a quiet season.”

His helmet shifted to scan the room before looking back down at you with a nod. “You’re welcome to accompany me back, then.”

You nodded, trying your best to still your quivering hands as you made your way around the facade of safety your desk had created. Boba Fett looked down at you, silent and immovable, as you stopped before him.

I, you thought to yourself, am so dead.

-

You’d seen the confused and frightened looks cast your way as you’d walked through the streets of Mos Espa with none other than the Daimyo himself.

You hoped that someone would be charitable enough to care for the animals after your death. But the chances were always slim. At least the rumors would spread, you wagered, thoughts swirling in the tangible silence between you and your armored companion as he led you through the darkened underbelly of the palace.

I’m dead, dead, dead. Sentenced to be rancor food for Maker knows what.

You kept your gaze locked ahead, hoping you wouldn’t embarrass yourself in your final moments. But you could also be wrong. He’d only ever been true to his word, and he hadn’t once hurt you or threatened to do so. Your thoughts were still a swirling mess when he stopped at a door, glancing down at you.

“Stay with me, but don’t be alarmed. You’re safe.” Boba’s voice was nearly calming to your nerves as he opened the door, the barricade sliding out of the way, as you both stepped into the cavern beyond.

It was a massive cave, littered with stalactites and stalagmites bared like teeth, but that wasn’t what held your attention. Your gaze was locked on the giant, impossibly massive, deadly creature laying at its center. A rancor, in the flesh.

It rumbled a low growl, huge fanged maw parting, and slowly shifted to its feet. Boba, you noticed with wide eyes, approached the beast completely unafraid. You watched, blinking in shock, as he removed his helmet and tucked it under an arm, reaching up to pat the creature’s neck as if it were as tame as a bantha. He turned to face you, still scratching the rancor’s neck.

“He won’t hurt you,” he spoke calmly, deep voice nearly melodic without the vocorder, and gestured at you with a flick of his gloved fingers. “But he does want to say hello.”

Oh stars, you weren’t expecting Boba Fett to be attractive. Nor did you ever think you’d see the Daimyo smile. But he was - so genuinely enamored by this giant beast that his small grin was infectious.

And so you stepped forward, daring to approach the beast. It watched you with glittering eyes, those massive teeth still parted, but Boba walked around to its head and stood beside you.

“See? A friend.” Boba placed a hand on the small of your back, keeping his eyes trained on the rancor, which shook its head and let out a huff. “She’s gonna make sure you’re okay.”

Friend? You glanced at him, striking features focused on the rancor, and you felt a warmth settle in your chest when his gaze shifted to ensnare yours, something altogether soft in those dark brown eyes.

You noticed his hand was still at your back, touch surprisingly gentle. He spoke softly, as if to comfort both you and his gargantuan pet, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d misjudged him. Perhaps there was more to Boba Fett then met the eye.

“Can I…” you regarded the rancor with a tilted head, a small smile slowly creeping to your lips. You couldn’t help it, being in such close proximity with something so magnificent. Well, two magnificent things. “Will he let me pet him?”

“Yes, I’ll show you how,” he turned to face you, so dizzying close, and held out a gloved hand. “Do you trust me?”

Part of you still wanted to say no, knowing all too well that he could still kill you. But you saw nothing but kindness in that stern, scarred face, the corner of his plush lip curved in a small, beckoning smile. You nodded and dared to slip your hand in his.

You noted, even as he raised your hand with his toward the rancor’s nose, that his touch was warm and gentle - not at all what you’d expected from one of his reputation. And when you felt your fingertips brush against the rancor’s tough hide, it rumbled, pressing its head into your hand with a soft sound you almost interpreted as a purr.

“Oh my gods, this is amazing! He’s so sweet, look at those pretty eyes,” you couldn’t help but gush, your love of animals kicking into overdrive, and you gave the scales a gentle scratch. “Let’s make sure you’re okay, all right?”

You glanced at Boba, and found he was watching you with such a tender warmth you nearly felt your knees go weak.

“Knew this was a good idea,” he smiled fully now, rumbling voice rolling through you and settling in your chest. “You like him?”

Kriff, kriff, kriff. He was attractive, dangerously so - his skin a rich tan that flickered bronze in the torchlight. You didn’t want to stare, but you couldn’t help it, feeling drawn to him in a way you couldn’t fully grasp. You found yourself wishing the Daimyo was asking about himself.

“I do, he’s amazing. I never thought I’d ever be able to see one in person, definitely not this close,” you looked back at the rancor, hoping to hide your blush. “Will he let me examine him?”

“Yes, he will,” Boba chuckled, the sound rumbling through your chest to your toes this time, and you distinctly felt a warmth settle in your core. Ohhh kriff, you were in trouble, but not in the kind that you’d been expecting.

He finally let go of you, and you found yourself missing his touch, forcing yourself to focus on the matter at hand.

“Hey sweetie,” you brushed your hand over the rancor’s face, checking his eyes and ear cavities. “All clear, no discoloration. That’s good. Let’s see those teeth.”

You fearlessly dropped to a crouch beside its face, and it rumbled again as you brushed a hand underneath its jaw. You kept a respectful distance from those massive fangs, but noted that this rancor was already earning a clean bill of health. You felt Boba’s gaze on you as you worked, and your cheeks flared. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking about - and why he’d chosen you of all people to entrust with this opportunity.

“Well, he’s in perfect health,” you stood and scratched the rancor’s neck, earning another pleased rumble. “Oh, you like that huh? What a good boy.”

You finally pulled away, knowing you’d done what he’d brought you here for, and found that he was still watching you. Surprisingly, you didn’t feel uncomfortable under his gaze, and you turned to fully face him with a small, shy smile.

“Thanks, for this,” you reluctantly lifted your hand from the rancor and it butted its head into you, making you chuckle despite your nerves. “He’s healthy, just needs interaction. If you ever…you know, need someone to work with him, just let me know.”

“You’d want to come back?” His brows flew upward in surprise, and if he was entirely shocked by this development. “I don’t want to scare you.”

You nearly grinned, a giddiness settling in your bones despite the fact that you knew you should be afraid. At least wary, of the man in front of you. But he’d been talking about himself, not the rancor, hadn’t he?

“You don’t scare me, neither of you do,” you crossed your arms and dared to regard him with a small smirk. “That is, if you wouldn’t get tired of me.”

“I could never get tired of you, little one,” he closed the distance between you, hands held loosely at his sides, and you absently wished he’d touch you again. “I’m glad that you like him.”

“His owner’s not half bad either,” you felt the words slip from your lips before you could stop yourself, and you dropped your gaze to your boots to hide your furious blush.

But Boba Fett merely chuckled, and you felt the soft leather of his gloves bush against your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his.

“You don’t have to hide that pretty face,” he lifted a brow, lips curved in a welcoming smile as his thumb gently caressed your jawline. “You’re welcome here anytime, mesh’la.”

Oh stars, if you didn’t get a hold of yourself, you were going to melt. You took a breath, realizing too late that you were leaning into his touch.

“What…does that mean?” You met his gaze, molten eyes so warm and inviting, you felt you wanted to dive in despite the potential danger.

He held your gaze, face mere inches away, and you resisted the urge to recklessly learn forward to capture those damn lips in yours.

“It means beautiful.” His gaze flicked between your eyes and lips, and you held your breath, the tension palpable as he leaned slowly forward…

The rancor suddenly released a playful rumble, head-butting you both. You tumbled gracelessly into his arms, and Boba held you gently against his armored chest, a deep, warm laugh rumbling from his throat and sending tingles down your spine.

“Someone doesn’t like being left out,” he patted the rancor’s neck, arm still wrapped around you. “I want to ride him, you know.”

You did your very, very best to not let your thoughts take an improper turn at that comment, given that there was something else you’d be fine with riding - and you smothered a smirk as he met your gaze with a raised brow.

“Perhaps, if your schedule isn’t too busy, would you like to have dinner here tomorrow?” He spoke so smoothly, so gently, you nearly didn’t notice that he was gently caressing your back. “That is, if you’re interested…”

You nodded vigorously, earning another chuckle, and hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I’d like that very much,” you met his gaze with a smile of your own. “If you’re interested.”

“Ad’ika,” he leaned forward, warm breath washing over your skin, and gave your cheek a soft peck. “I’d be honored.”

#boba fett x female reader #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x fem!reader #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett fluff #boba fett #star wars #boba fett fan fiction #boba fett fic #tbobf #the book of boba fett #acatalystrising writes #oneshot prompts #my writing

[babydin]

The Curvature of Beskar

- Din Djarin x f!reader (Fem!Mandalorian implied) - 18+, minors DNI! - Combat, Mommy kink, sub/dom content, That Boy Is A Bottom™️, praise kink, restraints, self pleasure (female), unprotected space sex (v!penetration), denied orgasm, don't moan too loud you'll wake the baby, aftercare for the good boy!! mentions of scars, trauma triggers implied but not written in tremendous detail. - 3032 words I’M SORRY!  - Comments/likes appreciated. Requests are open! A/N: Do I need to apologize for this? lmaooo inspired mostly by Mando's big bottom energy I won't hear a thing otherwise.

“Do you yield?” you echo. “Yes.” His answer comes all too quickly, not because he wants you to stop, but because he’s so eager to please. So eager to please you. And you are more than happy to oblige, “Yes what?” You can practically hear those lashes batting in the silence, his head ducks a little and with his free hand he tucks it under his helmet and your heart flutters a little. It didn’t matter how many times Din revealed his face to you, every time was like the first time.

It was almost too easy.   He made it too easy.

‘Combat practice’ is what he called it. You knew it was foreplay to him, and you knew what kind of mood he was in when he let you get the upper hand every single round. You would swear you could hear him moan under his helmet every time you shoved him, every time you disarmed him, every time you pinned him to the wall. You craved the touch of his lips on yours but you would never take his helmet off without his permission; that was the only thing you let him have control of. “A moment.” he begged, keeling over and resting his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. You allowed him that, turning his back so you could move to the bottle of Spotchka on the table, leaning slightly to the living quarters of the ship to check there was no movement from Grogu’s room and he was still fast asleep. Din played dirty and you weren’t surprised when he made an attempt to jump you from behind, you had already seen right through his ‘I’m so tired and need a moment’ act. His arm wrapped around your throat, both of your Beskar plates made a clunking sound as they came into contact, he was heavier than you, but he allowed you to be stronger. You grabbed his arm, and twisted it around his back and before he had time to react you swung your leg around his and knocked his ankles from under him, forcing him to his knees. He definitely moaned that time, there was no hiding that one, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts through the respiratory filter in his helmet. You pull yours off with one hand and lean down to his level, “Do you yield?” you asked in a low tone. He tips his head back and points his face towards you, you can’t see his face but you can imagine it; you’ve seen his face, he chose not to hide from you, in private moments, in moments of intimacy, when it was just the two of you and Grogu alone on your ship and the world could not intrude, Din Djarin was not a Mandalorian. He was just Din. You can imagine his big brown eyes pleading silently, his soft lips pursed ever so slightly, his square, stubbled jaw tight as his teeth bit down. You pull on his arm and he whimpers as the muscles in his shoulder twist in a way they were not meant to do. You love to hear him whimper; oh how he walks the walk, and talks a big game but he’s putty in your hands with the right moves, “Do you yield?” you echo. “Yes.” His answer comes all too quickly, not because he wants you to stop, but because he’s so eager to please. So eager to please you. And you are more than happy to oblige, “Yes what?” You can practically hear those lashes batting in the silence, his head ducks a little and with his free hand he tucks it under his helmet and your heart flutters a little. It didn’t matter how many times Din revealed his face to you, every time was like the first time. Dark curls bounced free as he pulled the helmet from his head and he squinted and blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the light, then he rolled his neck again so he could look up at you once more, face to face this time, properly, and when Din looked at you he always looked right into your eyes. “Yes mommy.” he corrected. You smile and let him go, running a hand over his cheek, “Good boy.” you praise, and you can feel him fighting the urge to not melt into your touch. “Come on, I think that’s enough for one night.” You offer your hand and he takes it as he rises to his feet. He’s quieter when he’s got his helmet off, you’ve noticed that in the years you’ve known him, his shyness always gets the best of him. You lead him to the sleeping quarters you’d shared together for some years now, and you set his helmet down on the table beside his side of the bed for easy access in case he needs it in the night. You don’t feel the same way about yours as he does so you leave it anywhere before you start to remove your armor. He sits on the bed and he watches you, you wonder if he’s watching for his own pleasure or if he’s waiting for permission or help to disrobe himself. You continue down to your underarmour, then hang your Beskar as you usually do, in storage designed specifically for your armor. You turn back to him and you remove the thick under armor, leaving you in a thin tank top that shows your nipples through it and a tight pair of leggings. You see Din’s eyes map out your body, this isn’t the first time he’s seen you like this but - much in the same way you were when he took off his helmet - every time was like the first time with him.   You slipped out of the leggings first, no underwear beneath them, then moved towards him and put your hands on his shoulders. Your hands followed the curve of the plates covering his upper arms, the metal cold and warm all at once. “Can I touch you?” he asked quietly. “Hm?” you make a sound asking him to repeat himself. Din’s Adam's apple falls then rises back up in his throat as he swallowed thickly, “Please can I touch you, mommy?” Your pussy throbs, “Not yet, baby boy.” Your fingers busy themselves across the chest plate of his armor, follow the lines of the breastplate, then the part that separates and covers his ribs. You straddle his lap and as your thighs separate it becomes obvious to you how wet you are, you don’t know what he did or how he did it but he somehow always has a way of getting you so aroused, you must have the same effect on him because now you’re in his lap you can feel something familiar bulging through his under armor that feels a little more pronounced than gathered fabric. You wonder how long he’d been hard for, whether it was when you pinned him to the wall, got him on his knees, or undressed in front of him that did it. You smile and push him back onto the bed, your hips roll into his and you can just about feel the shape of him beneath the thick fabric, your fingers still fussing over the lines of his chestplate, “Is that for me, Din?” “Yes, mommy.” Your hand slips in between your thighs, “You see what you do to me when you’re a good boy?” you push your fingers between your folds and get them slick with your arousal, they come out glistening, practically dripping, and you bring them to his lips and without having to be asked he drags them into his mouth with his tongue and sucks them clean. Your cunt grasps around the air and you moan softly as the warmth of his tongue circling your fingers makes your clit jealous, and you begin to slide up his body to let him taste the rest of you.     Your labia spreads across the chest plate you had been so attentive to not moments ago, there was a groove that hit your clit just right and the combination of the cold and the warm was enough to make you moan in such a way that Din looked at you with eyes that almost had him break character and tell you to be quiet in fear of waking the Child. You push your hips back and slowly ease them forward to see if that feeling was a one off. It wasn’t. The grooves, the angles, you don’t know what it is but they’re hitting all the right nerves in the perfect order. Your knees dig into the mattress and your fingers find home in his hair for leverage,  “Oh my god, Din.” you breathe out as the pleasure builds up inside you. You find yourself craving more and the rocking of your hips becomes less uniform the more your need to cum builds. Your hands leave his hair and hook under the chest plate as far as the uniform would allow. You look down at him for the first time and his lips are parted as he pants desperately, his brow is glistening as his body temperature rises and you know he must be so desperate to get out of his armor now, his eyes keep glancing between your face and your outer labia spread over his chest plate and making it slick with your arousal. He whispers one word, just one, and that’s all it takes; “Cum.” Your whole body trembles as the orgasm washes over you and you try and ride it out but the Beskar has made you sensitive and you force yourself to stop, your knees close around Din’s chest and dig in in a failed desperation to clamp your thighs together.

You sat on Din’s chest for a while, as you came down from your high, letting your body readjust to the crushing loss of that amazing feeling it had for just a few seconds. Once you had found your coherency again, you shuffled down Din’s body so your lips were level with his and you kissed him lightly, “Shall we get you out of that armor baby boy?” Din’s nod was all too eager, “Yes. Yes please, mommy.” You smile and climb off him, then pull him to his feet and help him out of his armor. When he got down to his under armor - you let him do that himself - you watched him as he had watched you, fascinated by his body, convinced at this point you had every battle scar and war wound memorized; you would lay in bed and map out constellations with them. He strips until he’s completely naked and you take all of him in before ordering him to go and lay back down, and he does exactly as you tell him. You find some restraints and he’s wordless. You straddle his chest again and take hold of his wrists and bring them up above his head and you begin to tie the ropes around him to bind them together and his eyes bulge slightly and half of the word “No” forms from his lips.

You look down from your task and see the panic stricken look on his face. You know what he’s been through, you know he was one of (if not the most) wanted man in the Galaxy, but you stop briefly and put one hand over his throat with no pressure at all, your thumb follows the line of his jaw, “Hey… Trust me?” He looked in your eyes in the way he always did when he was listening to you, and he nodded. “I promise you can get out,” you tell him, as you continue to wrap his wrists to the headboard of the bed, “I promise you say the word and I’ll stop.” “Thank you, mommy.” Your nose crinkled and you smiled brightly. That one hit differently. “Good boy.” Your hips shuffle back a little and your hand slips between the two of you. You find his thick erection and wrap your fingers around him, “How much of a good boy can you be?” You asked, brushing your nose over his as your fingers stroked him slowly, “Ask me before you cum. Don’t cum until I say so, do you understand?” He fights the urge to bite his lip and it shows, his head nods and he’s practically panting as you give him orders and stroke his erection, “Yes, mommy.” “You are such a good boy.” you guide his length to your dripping cunt, pressing him against your labia and dragging your hips back to glaze him in your arousal, you do it again to the tip and then angle the both of you so that the next time you draw your hips back down on him, you’re taking him inside of you. You both let out breathy moans as you do, you feel him stretch you out and your muscles clench and relax around him as if they’re welcoming him inside. You sit upright on him so you can take him to the root and now he’s the one moaning a little louder than a sleeping child can warrant. You press your fingers to his lips and shush him gently and he whimpers against your fingertips. When you’re sure he’s going to be quiet, you take your hand away and you finally pull your tank top off over your head. Tossing it aside without a thought to where it landed, your chest rises and falls as your hips rock rhythmically, that sweet pleasure building once more, the feeling of Din filling you up completely making your whole body tingle like static electricity. His fingers stretch and then close into fists, and your hand clutches at your breast in place of his because you know he wants to touch you. Din knows your body and you know Din, you had taken time to learn from each other, study, teach, and now you couldn’t imagine being intimate with anyone else but Din Djarin. You moan his name as your clit throbs and your hips buck ever more desperately, your fingers play with your nipple, the air is heavy with sex and the low hum of the ship’s power supply and your bodies as they collide like stars. You lost all sense of time riding on him the way you were, you felt empowered, loved, wanted, and when you looked down at Din and he had that tangled expression on his face like he doesn’t know where to put himself, and you know he isn’t far off. Your free hand slips between your legs to rub your clit and you bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out his name too loudly, once again your knees are digging into his sides and his fingers are gripping onto the bars of the headboard to fight his urge to wriggle free of the restraints you’ve put him in and touch you. His head pushes back into the pillow as your muscles flutter around him. “Please–” he begins. “I’m gonna c–” you warn him, you can’t get the words out. His eyes snap open and he looks at you with a pleading expression and pants, his heels digging into the mattress, “Please!” 

“No.” You bark the word at him, the tip of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you in this new position and giving you a new layer of pleasure. You try not to scream as the feeling seems to just keep going. Beneath you, Din was close to tears, he was writhing and his cock aching painfully as it leaked inside you, “Please,” he begged again, “Please, mommy. Please can I cum?”  You look down at him with exhausted eyes, sitting up again and taking all of him with a shudder, “Cum for me, baby boy.” It was almost instant, he brought his arms over his face and bit his own arm to stifle his moans. You closed your eyes briefly as you felt him twitch beneath you and spill out inside and don’t even notice the look of surprised desperation on his face. Your fingers have lost all rhythm on your clit, they rub rapidly as you bounce on Din’s cock, your cunt dripping all over him and you reach your peak, your second orgasm is so much more intense, it buckles you forward and the hand you once had on your breast presses into Din’s chest for support, despite your sensitivity you cannot stop your hips from fucking into you, filling you up completely with his orgasm. His hips spasmed as he emptied, and you knew he was spent when his whole body fell limp into the mattress. You leaned forward and nuzzled your way between his arms to catch a kiss from his lips, “Good boy.” Din let out another soft moan against your lips at the praise.  You lay in silence in that position for a few moments, recovering from the intensity of it all until you had enough energy to lift yourself off of him and untie his restraints. Din is always clingy after sex and you are more than happy to oblige. The second he’s free, he tucks himself against you, resting his head against your breast. “Hello, pretty boy.” you smiled fondly as your arms wrapped around him, you pressed a kiss into his hair and with one finger you made maps of stars across his back. “You were such a good boy.” He trembled in response and you held him tighter because of it. You wished you could see inside his mind when he was this quiet, you wished you could see the thoughts he didn’t want to share. You pressed another kiss into his hair and let that one linger. He hummed and nuzzled closer to you, curling tighter into a ball, holding you a little firmer. “Are you okay, Din?” you dared to ask the question. He didn’t speak, he just nodded. “Did you get hurt?” He shook his head silently. “Are you my good boy?” A smile slowly crept over his mouth and he looked up at you to nod. It was nice to see him smile, you could hear it behind the helmet but when he had the helmet off and he treated you to a smile it rivaled the suns of Tatooine.  You leaned in to kiss the bridge of his nose, and then his forehead affectionately. It was silly really, how much you loved this man. To him, it was silly how much he trusted you. But he did. With his life and with his heart.

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