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court-jobi · 7 months

Text

Screaming Color

Gif credit by @ahsokastars Divider credit by @saradika

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader (no use of y/n)

Words: 3,062

Rating: Teen+

Warnings: tw: hospitals, minor descriptions of injury, descriptions of anxiety, resolved angst, worried Mando is worried, but extemely gentle. crying, feels w/a happy ending, gn reader

A/N: Back from an accidental haitus! Fortunately, I have a few fics to crank out at a hopefully quick pace, so enjoy a bit of Mando comfort! Had a piercing headache while writing most of this, so tis fitting~

Summary:

It's clear by the sounds and smells; you're in a med ward, likely still on Londor somewhere. It's drafty and deathly quiet, so you doubt even the heat is running in these rooms. As your memories seep back in from the moments leading up to the accident, there's much you don't recall at first. Last you remembered was suggesting to switch roles: bounty hunter and getaway driver swapped between your Mandalorian's expertise and yours for this job. It'd be worth it, surely, since you were in a rare position to come through with a good contact and 'you could handle it, just this once'.

Until you've wound up here: you with a round of rushed stitches and your Mandalorian resting next to you in full armor-- and he’s holding onto your hand in sleep.

The lights of the room finally come to life after you wake from your black-and-white dreams... once you will your eyes to open up to your Beskar Getaway Driver.

For my Star Wars | Mandalorian Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

There's few weirder feelings in the galaxy than coming out of a forced subsonic sleep.

Rather than remaining blissfully suspended in a bacta chamber, worlds that couldn't afford those tanks used this: pacs of portable, bubbly liquid that quick-started healing through an IV bag, the old fashioned way. It's effective, for the most part. Only it’s thick and cold, like you could feel it enter and sift through you with every ebb of your pulse...

When you opened your eyes -only a moment, mind you- you only barely caught the blurred color— purple. But this exhaustion, it was bone deep. Your eyes fell shut as quickly as they'd opened. The very lashes of your eyes felt like they were sticking together uncomfortably by some Force: tempting you with 'five more minutes' while your will screams to 'wake up already'.

It's clear by the sounds and smells; you're in a med ward somewhere. It's drafty and deathly quiet, so you doubt even the heat is on in these rooms. A grace that there is a blanket atop you, this you can tell only by the feel of it weighing down your arms.

By each of your senses, you gather this is not a standard hospital. Mando swore off those quick-service med stations, because they-- no, surely--

All at once, your gut sank. A heavy thickness rose in your throat, the nausea flared within you. It's right at your mouth now, as you remembered:

You and your stupid ass ideas.

You remembered through the fog of these drugs, the ones that matched the stuffy feeling in your ears; the bits of the last few hours that echoed in your chest in synchronized, double beats.

Thought you had a great idea, did you? Your mission pitch? Switching roles: leave your Mandalorian to sort out the getaway ride and meet you at the extraction rendezvous.

This has been an exercise of trust already, suggesting this job. He deferred to you as the lead on this one, for the connections inside the complex were yours to begin with– which prompted the idea of trading responsibilities, too. In every way, this was as good a time as ever for you to try your hand at bounty hunting and make off with the pay grade since it was your intel. You held the cards– a winning hand with this plan.

You hazily recalled that it went well, at least up until the very, very end where you needed the fast exit and didn’t have the luxury of his muscle as backup. No, he was practically spinning his wheels at the pickup point, waiting for you to hurry it up, for once.

You remembered holding onto your Mandalorian partner-in-crime for dear life and having to intervene as a backseat driver. You remember thanking the Maker and every celestial god out there that there was too much electromagnetic activity surging above you in this energy depot for anyone to be foolish enough to follow and shoot at you.

But this, the last part of the plan, you remember all too well.

The nagging itch of your nerve’s warnings and hypotheticals you'd covered over the rec table in the hull of the ship? It came to the forefront with a guilty vengeance. You remembered Mando’s initial doubts and how you turned the tables by making this about trust and reciprocity, and nearly challenging him. You can vividly see him bristling back, and your smug-as-hell words that ‘riding a cinder-fuel bike was like muscle memory that you could never forget’, and that he’d be just fine. You remember the elation of getting your way, and earning the chance to call the shots.

You remembered…

One lane change from the projected route, Mando took a reasonable detour without asking first. You might have warned him against it had you not been watching the rear mirrorcams. But where that turn took you both was just one ill-timed jump, slamming the brakes -ah, yes- just a moment too soon before you could warn him about the auto-stall function of the speeder bike that would send you both flying off the tarmac entirely…

Mando’s quick thinking is typically invaluable in the zero gravity of space. But here, making those hard rights will make you crash: and that’s why you’re usually the driver on the ground. Always.

Accidents. Too-close calls. The kind that's gonna get you killed– or near to it.

You will never be doing that again.

‘Stick to your lanes’, he said, likely unaware of the apt wordplay; ‘--Now’s not the time to start switching things up just because you’re bored.’

Only now you could only manage one thought–

Not 'how bad is it' or 'where the kriff am I' or 'please tell me I have all my limbs attached'. Not 'can’t they play some music in this place' or 'am I dead right now'.

Where is he. Where is he, where is he, where is he.

You need him. Your Mandalorian. Good god– if you crashed, he would have too. He would have hit the ground right after you, and his feet were set in the metal guards prior to spinning out, meaning he would have been sealed to the deathtrap, if he didn’t release in time.

Fear brought your eyes to squint open, and you found the ashy purple fluid pac in its fullness hanging in suspension above your cot. You didn’t process the shiny quality of the bag earlier, but rather, how it looked in its reflection: the sight of it on Mando’s helmet as it laid on the bed, by your side. That vibrant color shone against the curve of his chromed helm in a vague copy of the original.

Your Mandalorian rests next to you in full beskar, and he’s holding onto your hand in sleep.

While the visor is turned to face the monitor high over your shoulder, you know he can’t be awake. His breaths are deep and long– you can watch it over the bump of those broad shoulders. Should you take a look across the expanse of him, all across where that brilliant armor shines, you take in all the colors of the room.

Emergency lights casting their gold glow, the odd dotting of red from the distorted curve of a heat lamp, the purple of your medicines, the electric teal of LEDs bringing inspection light to the space, and of course the harsh, medicinal glow of white– the bare minimum to see your steps along the floors. Why bother looking at your surroundings and moving your hurting neck, when looking at him can tell you everything you need to know?

It’s your not-so-secret way to take in the flurry of hyperspace, too. All these months, you’ve watched the streaks paint his helm and chest plates. The wonders of your galaxy -big and small- all reflect in him.

If he’s here, you wonder with renewed worry, then he must not be hurt. But– what happened to him then? And where’s the kid?!

Your thoughts clearly rang loudly through whatever aether those stories of the Jedi referenced, because the surprised chirrup of the little green Child you’d made space in your heart for cried out in the dead silence– and subsequently popped Mando’s head up in an instant. His visor shot over his shoulder, in which you saw the Child stand up in his pod and wave at you with a big smile on his face. Without turning much, you made to wave your free hand up so he could see your response.

The mere attempt to smile shot a searing sting back to your face on one side, and brought a moan from your still-thick throat. Unseen by your wince, Mando centered back to you in that moment of shutting your eyes against the flare of pain.

He calls for you in a whisper, but it’s shaky. Wet.

The Child bounces in the pram making happy, enthused noises as he expresses his relief that you’re awake. His performance aims to try and get his Carer to come pick him up and to get a closer look. Mando says something to abate him for the meantime and instead straightens himself, rolls closer to you from the stool he’s seated on.

“Hey-” Mando welcomes you back to the land of the living, “Hey, you.”

You don’t answer. The pain starts pounding and is not letting up.

“Easy now, relax-” Mando’s instruction reaches you, “Don’t tense– we don’t want those to open.”

Those?

With a new sink in your chest, your very core muscles fluttered from creeping anxiety. They tensed and shook already, so there was no prayer in willing yourself to make a move to sit up yet. Taking a deep enough breath would cause them to sieze, certainly. The numbness, next, became apparent to all your limbs. ‘Til now, these drugs kept you asleep and impervious to the pain in your–where is it, your face? Neck? Your helmet had stayed on, but now it was off. Your worry mounted, since the data chip you’d recovered was supposedly safe in its hiding spot you’d kept along the back charging compartment. With it off, you panicked that it was gone now and all this had been for nothing.

Maybe something broke inside and tore past the padding, and that’s why it cut up your face. Dammit, you liked that helmet. Mando made all those custom adjustments for you…

A terse exhale out, and you can feel how tight your lips are.

You squeezed your eyes tight for a beat, then your brows. You wrenched your mouth to the side until you felt tightness. Sting. There it is, on your cheek: curving up along your hairline, to your temple where you know you've felt Mando kiss you in the dead and dark of night.

There are stitches laid there now where his affections once made their home. After the pull of pain, there was a faint tickle, meaning the artificial seams were quickly done and left finished in a rush.

Trying to speak on your confusion, a little, pitiful noise left you.

“Wayy– m’helmt…”

Mando pieces together your words, seamlessly on track with your concerns.

“I have it,” he readily assures you, “The faceshield shattered when you fell, and bashed in one side– only the outer plating of the chip cracked. The rest is fine.”

It’s a quick summary, but gives you that small peace of mind. Buckets can be replaced. Though your cheek– that’ll take a bit longer to repair, nature’s way.

“It’s okay, kid,” Mando answers the nervous gargle of the Child, “Just try to–; no, wait there.”

His hand left yours and while the meds still left you feeling drugish, you felt the loss of that heat source and your nerves faltered. Just that subconscious warmth soothed you like nothing else in this room would, save maybe for the feel of the little munchkin curling up on your chest like he does in the cockpit.

You wish you knew his name. Something beyond ‘sweet boy’ and ‘lil bub’.

You wish you knew his, too. Whatever language it’s in, however short or long it falls off the tongue. Just anything. Something more tender than ‘ace’ or ‘boss’ or ‘honey’.

The way he moved, quick and at the ready, the Mandalorian must not be injured at all. Perhaps there was something to being encased in armor at all times…

“--n’okay. w‘ll do bubblewrap.”

“--what?” Mando turned down to you with absent confusion.

With a funny, tired smirk, you reiterated, “N’think I need a suit of bubblewrap. Yknow– like y’do for vases and shit? Make a living off tha’idea, if no one’s done it yet..”

Despite the circumstances, a huff of air left him- something close to a chuckle.

“How about we work on getting what’s under the bubblewrap better for now? We’ll workshop your side hustles later.”

You savored his laugh and agreed, “Fair ‘nuff.”

The Child’s coos were louder now. Mando must have brought the pod over with that little remote he kept in one of his million secret pockets. Just that tune made you feel infinitely better in this strange setting; like you were simply dozing off in the cockpit with their exchanges -back and forth- as your ambient noise. Of course you wished this attention were under better circumstances, but judging by the constant beeps overhead, you’ll clearly live.

Though not without its scare, it seems. Mando ran his fingers up and down your forearm,

“Outta run a test on you for brain function, too.”

He had to be mad. No matter how softly he spoke, his disappointment was palpable.

“M’sorry,” you offered sadly, just staring off at the beskar design on his chest.

But Mando surprised you once again. After a solemn quiet, even though he had every ground to say a firm ‘I told you so’, he offered a balm to your hurt pride.

“I’ve had my share of bad ideas.”

While not a full acceptance of forgiveness, it wasn’t cruel. You’d take it. After all, your stunt ended up with you in a medward– likely at his expense, which couldn’t have been cheap to come by in these parts. A swallow and a slight shiver reminded you just how uncomfortable that stim made you.

“At least yours was thought out..” Mando continued more gravely,”– mine is what got you almost killed.”

You perked up at that. What, the jump? “No you didn’t…”

“I should have waited. You know the roads, I should have asked you about the turnoff.”

“There was an overhang. Vis woulda been low for anyone, ev’n me-”

“You’re my partner,” Mando landed firmly, “The responsibility is mine when I’m in the seat. If something happens to you, I am at fault.”

These were testier comebacks than you typically heard from him. Emotions were clearly coming out in droves, and that, too, took you by surprise. Not the fact that he was acting caring -you knew he was, by nature- but that he would blame himself to this extent? That seemed unfair. You could go back and forth on which step of this plan’s failures could have been anticipated. In the end, none of that would help you in the present.

You tried to ease that guilt, as succinctly as your drug haze would let you.

“Goes both ways,” you countered gently, fatigue dragging your words down, “We both know that. Accidents happen; s’pecially in this line a’work.”

You flipped your palm over; he laid his inside. You just wanted him.

“Please don’t beat yourself up for this. Heck, I’m beat up enough for both of us.”

You tried at a joke, but it did little to fall on receptive ears.

Even though you gave an empathetic look as best as you could manage, it seemed to only make him more alert. He sat up and squared up, evenly set to keep your attention. Careful of his reach -shaken by nerves- your Mando ever so gently cupped the uninjured side of your face.

“You and this kid are holding what little heart I have left.” the Mandalorian begged of you softly, “I really can’t lose you now.”

The monitor’s beep increased– though by the look on your face melting into fondness, your protector wasn’t worried about the noise.

Sentimental metalhead, you preened at such talk. Knowing he let loose this deeper side of him free while he was with you warmed you through.

A sensor still lays tethered on your finger for monitoring, but you brought it up anyway to hold his wrist still… to welcome his touch. All you could really manage was a small, borderline kiss to his thumb that was close enough to the corner of your mouth to try reaching with minimal movement.

As you recentered to his visor, the staticky noise from his vocoder returned, and with it, the jostle of his shoulders.

Your eyes stung,too. “Are you–? You ok?”

The Mandalorian forced back a brave sniff. Steeled his voice and his nervous throat.

“This was a close one,” he warned. “I don’t like close.”

Despite clear feelings staining his throat, you didn’t have the luxury of knowing if his face matched the shakiness of his speaker… but you had a good idea. When your eyes fail, music speaks. Your music was the language of his voice– when it’s clipped and raw with emotion, happy and drawled out with laughter, slow and easy when at the edge of exhaustion. Its melody is one you’ll take over sight, even now.

“This was a close one,” you glanced to the rack of more screens and illuminated bone scans beside you: proof of your current state. For the sake of his composure (and yours), you decided to remain optimistic. “Not to be repeated.”

And to deflect the edge of crying in your voice, you deflected-

“We’ll fail differently next time.”

A little shake of that gorgeous chrome showed Mando’s good nature, “Yeah.”

Another stroke of that kind, inner heart brought him down to give your forehead a kiss- as much as he could with a barrier between. He simply mimicked the motion as one would with a gentle touch and even though the beskar’s edge stung with could, it might as well have been a hot brand that seared straight to your heartstrings.

Detangling the hand that had subconsciously entwined with his, you offered up a sole finger to him.

“Pinky promise I’ll stick to my lane? You stick to yours?”

A cut to you hand then back up to you in a huff,

“Why do the weirdest things leave your sweet mouth…” Mando snarked with a shaky laugh.

“Its’a custom on other planets!”

“Yeah right.” your assurance falls on deaf ears once again. “We’re calling the doc in here.”

He evidently meant that, as he pressed a little com button that lit up the panel on the door, requesting assistance. The Child, seemingly chuffed to sense the somber air of your waking has lifted upon hearing his carer happy again, has begun to make more noise. His little arms are all but stretching in your direction, and fussing at Mando for backup to his wants.

You pointed with the waiting hand, “He gets it~”

“Yeah, he does,” your Mandalorian acquiesces, and links pinkies while looking back at the little green buddy in his pram. “Takes after you.”

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #star wars fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #starwarsficnetwork

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srorgana1 · 27 days

Text

Angel Eyes

Rock Star Kylo Ren x Reader/Knights of Ren

TW: Rough Sex, Spanking, Dirty Talk, "cheating", Roleplay

A spicy one shot from the Into the Reverb Universe in which Kylo and Y/N change it up on a special day.

I hope you all enjoy ❤️

A huge thanks to my beautiful friend and Beta @mrs-zimmerman ❤️ i love you girlfriend

Kylo grunts as he moves the sander across the wood, careful not to overwork the edges and sides he had just finished. He squints, looking for imperfections in the wood as the afternoon sunshine pours in through the floor to ceiling windows. He stands and stretches his back, giving his aching muscles a reprieve from being hunched over for so long.

He lets out a groan as he raises his arms above his head, further relieving the pressure. They flex and loosen up below his thin company t-shirt. He personally relishes in the burn of a hard day's work, knowing that he will then be rewarded with more pronounced muscles that are quite pleasing to the eye.

Maybe she will like them, he thinks as he fixes his safety glasses. They have been in each other's orbit since the start of the project, a full kitchen reno. He and his company are the top in LA and he is well compensated for his talent and skill as a craftsman. He didn't expect anything different when he came to the in-home consultation, but he was so very wrong when they were disturbed by the most beautiful woman he has ever seen strolling in in nothing but a very sensual sports bra and yoga pants set.

He remembers having to keep his jealousy in check when this perfect female specimen strolled over and kissed that arrogant asshole who he had been talking to for the last hour. But then she looked at him and he knew instantly she wanted him. He could see it in her eyes, how they darkened as they skipped along his muscles and tattoos.

It's been almost two months since then and they are still playing this game. He still catches her at times looking at him, lust clouding her gaze. He chuckles lowly as he turns the sander off. He knows she likes what she sees, that's for sure.

She wants him, he knows it but he has to play this right. He has to let that sweet piece of ass come to him. He can be patient. It’ll be ten times sweeter when she does, desperate for what he can give her. When she does, oh when she does he will defile her so bad and fuck her so hard and deep she will feel him a month from now. Honestly he wouldn’t even care or stop if her husband showed up. He would smile like a madman and go harder just to show him who the real man is around here.

Fuck he's hard now and hot. How did it get so fucking hot in here? He can feel the sweat dripping off him, some of it fogging up his safety glasses. He stands and wipes his face with his shirt. It's soaked through. Damn, must have been working much harder than he thought, totally distracted by his dirty fantasy.

He makes an impulsive decision and removes it, sighing in relief as the air hits his bare skin. He removes his safety glasses and puts them up on his head for safe keeping as he goes to find a towel in the guest bathroom he has been allowed to use. He steps back out when he catches the sound of the front door closing and the sound of small steps heading towards him.

He holds back a groan as her perfume begins to float in the air, an alluring mix of floral, patchouli and vanilla. He doesn’t know the brand nor does he care, but he does know he wants to find all those secret spots that would taste like that. He shivers at the thought as he sees her enter the large main living space.

She is distracted by her phone and bags, unaware of his company. He stares and waits for her to acknowledge him. “Oh I didn’t know you were here” her surprised voice says behind him. He can literally feel her eyes on him, appraising his bare upper body. He fights off another shiver, setting a bored and unamused expression on his face before he turns to face her.

She looks like temptation incarnate. Her curvy but trim figure is perfectly accentuated by her black sheath dress with cropped leather jacket. He wants to take a bite out of those juicy curves and make her squirm and squeal. Her hair is perfectly styled as always in a sleek ponytail, calling him to grab it tight and tug at it as he sucks bruises into her skin.

But it's her eyes, her angelic eyes are his undoing. They ensnare him in their doe like expressive nature, calling him to fall into them and never resurface. Suddenly all he wants is to see how they would look when they are all scrunched up and teary from overwhelming pleasure he and only he can give her.

Even so, he cannot show weakness. If he does, she will know she has him by the balls. He needs to show her he is in charge. He stares her down as her eyes unabashedly take him in, all heavy muscle and tattooed lines. “My truck was outside '' he says in an unamused voice, crossing his arms across his chest.

She takes a step forward, kicking off her beaded sandals and continues her unabashed appraisal of him. “Is that so? Well glad I'm getting my money's worth” she croons out, placing her bags onto the kitchen island. Her eyes never leave him as she further approaches him, shifting out of her jacket and exposing more skin.

He can see that lust swirling in her eyes once more as a mischievous smirk crosses her face. “That's quite a situation you got there Mr. Ren” she says slyly, rounding the island towards him. He knows she can see his erection trapped in his jeans and it pulses and throbs at her attention.

She slinks closer, only an arms length away. “Looks like you could use some help” she says, her eyes heavy as her perfectly manicured hand lightly grazes his thigh, so dangerously close. He tries and fails to hold back a groan, his hips shifting towards her touch.

“Careful sweetheart” he growls, his fingers itching to grab her and feel her at long last. She chuckles, her fingers now tracing his length up and down along his thigh “No I don't think I will. You see, I have needs that often are not met by my husband. Certain preferences you can say. But you Mr Ren, look like you could be a very capable and viable option.”

He meets her eyes, a vicious smile splitting his face. “Well sweetheart, if that's what you are needing, I am willing to provide that service. I am nothing but all encompassing” he says lowly, loving how her thighs squeeze together tightly at his response.

She nods, lightly gripping him through his jeans. He groans again, his hips canting lightly towards her touch. He feels like a caged tiger, just waiting for the time to strike. Just waiting for her to give the go ahead, so he can grab a handful of that pert little ass and let her feel what she does to him.

His patience with her wanes when she starts speaking again. “Hmm I love the power play. I fucking love it when a man takes whats his but also when he is putty in my hand” she says huskally, continuing to pet him with increasingly needy strokes.

He is obscenely hard and can feel his boxers becoming more and more soaked. He never in a million years would have guessed they have such similar wants and needs. He loves it when a woman brings him to his fucking knees just as much as fucking them like the whores they are. God above, he cannot wait to fucking ruin her.

She smiles and takes his hand, leading him over to the large L shaped couch. He swallows thickly as he watches her lower herself to her knees, her short black fingernails tracing his thighs muscles. She looks up at him, keeping eye contact as she slowly takes his zipper down.

He holds back a shudder as he assists her by shimmying his hips to allow his jeans to shift down as she pulls his cock out of his boxers. “Fuck I knew you would be big” she groans, her small hand exploring and giving some experimental pumps. Fucking hell.

“Fucking suck my cock, you little slut” he growls, his inked up hand gripping her hair and pulling her closer. She legit moans at his words as she starts peppering his groin and the length of his cock with teasing kisses. She works her way down to his glans, licking it lightly with her tongue.

He moans outright, overwhelmed by the feeling of her hot little mouth on him. He struggles to keep his eyes open when she turns her attention to the tip, teasing him as her hands explore his balls, thighs and ass. She hums against him, tightening her lips around him as she squeezes a handful of his ass.

“Fuck” he groans, tugging at her hair. She lets out a whine around him, her tongue now doing tight little circular movements focusing every couple turns to dip into his slit. Her hand migrates down again, lightly stroking that special spot behind his balls. He jolts, his pleasure doubling as he rocks his hips harder “so fucking good. Fuck.”

He feels her chuckle around his cock, taking a bit more of him in. He must say her technique is masterful, her mouth and hand working in tandem. She traces the underside vein with her tongue as she bobs up and down, her perfectly pink lips stretched around him. He knows he is probably too big for her to take it all. There have only been a few who have but damn it, he wants to test her limits and if nothing else hear her fucking gag.

He lets out a growl and pulls her all the way down, hitting the back of her throat. She chokes almost instantly and struggles to keep it together. He legit almost comes as he watches her blink back tears as she opens her jaw more, allowing more space for him to do whatever the fuck he wants to do to her. His hips twitch with excitement as he begins to rock into her wet willing mouth.

“Fucking take it” he growls, unable to hold his tongue any longer. “You’re such a whore, letting me fuck your face like this. That feel good sweetheart? Does my cock feel and taste better than that worthless microdick that husband of yours is packing? What would he think if he caught you like this, on your knees with my fat cock stuffed down your throat?”

She moans loudly around him, making the head of his cock to rub against the roof of her mouth. He shuts his eyes in bliss, reveling in the feeling of her. He could blissfully come like this but he needs to focus on his original goal: to have all of her in every way.

He pulls out quickly, admiring the string of spit still connecting his cock to her lips. Her eyes are wide and big as she licks her swollen lips, panting lightly. He pulls her up, turning her around quickly and bending her over the armrest. He takes no time, flipping the skirt of her dress over her hips and ripping her panties down to her ankles.

He growls at the sight of her wet pink folds and her perfect ass as he glides his hands over her curves. His hands finally able to feel that soft skin that has been haunting his dreams since taking this job. She responds beautifully, wiggling in his hold and exposing herself more to him while whining his name.

“What's that? You want this?” he teases, rubbing his cock against her wet folds. He hears her moan out a yes as he smacks her ass hard, catching her by surprise. She jolts and he legit sees her pussy clench. “Fuck” she keens, canting her hips back for more.

“Fuck is right” he growls again, smacking her ass again “gonna smack that cute little ass red and then fuck you so hard you won’t know which way is up.” He lands another, watching the physical representation of his lust bloom upon her skin. She seems to love it as well by the sounds she is making and how she grinds against him.

“He is too much of a pussy to treat you like this isn't he? He would never smack your ass raw and make you beg for his cock. Oh but I will sweetheart, I fucking will” he says, landing another hit. “Fuck yes. Please, Do it, please” she keens, her hips rocking back even more.

“Good girl” he groans, taking the opportunity to feel her now dripping cunt literally weeping for him. He gets lost in the moment, allowing her a small sliver of control. She shifts her ass up at his next rock of his hips, making the head of his cock graze very closely to her entrance. He hisses at the feeling, his lust boiling over. He feels legit feral.

He grabs her hips and thrusts in roughly. She yelps at his intrusion as he lets out a long moan. She is perfectly tight around him and he takes a quick second to relish the feeling before he starts a vicious pace. She sobs in pleasure, her hands scrumbling along the couch for something to hold onto. “Is this what you wanted?” he snarls, looming more over her. “Yes K-Kylo yes” she babbles, her breath shuddering in time with his thrusts.

Something in him snaps in him hearing her say his name. His hips quicken as he grips at her neck pulling her up closer to his chest. He can feel her clench down on him as her breath hitches between her panting moans. “God you are so fucking tight. Like a fucking vice. You like being manhandled like this, sweetheart? You like these big hands acting as a fucking necklace?” he teases, squeezing her airway just so.

She keens, her body winding up around him. She is the perfect height for this, making the angle sublime. Her cunt squeezes him deliciously making him feel slightly light headed. He leans in, rubbing his large nose along her bare shoulder and up her neck, finally allowing himself to taste her skin.

“You feel so good sweetheart. I can only imagine how good your ass will feel as well. God damn, I cannot wait to fuck your ass like this sweetheart” he snarls into her skin. She clenches around him at his filthy words and he knows she would enjoy it as much as he would.

“I knew you were a kinky slut. Ughh, cannot wait to ruin you forever. No one will be able to satisfy you like I can and you and I both know you will come crawling every time you need fucked. Now give me what I want” he says, biting into the meat of her shoulder.

She responds instantly, letting out a scream as her orgasm overtakes her. She gushes onto him, her cunt fluttering and squeezing his length. “Oh fuck yes” he groans her skin, his pace lightening up slightly to enjoy her release. The sounds were obscene, music to his ears.

But he needs more. He needs to see her face when she orgasms again and when he fills her up. He lets go of her neck, assisting her back down onto the couch. He watches her pant, her ribs and back muscles moving rapidly in and out. She looks back at him, her dark eye makeup slightly smeared and face flushed. She looks wrecked already and he’s not even close to being done with her yet.

He pulls out, causing her to gasp. He admires her cream coating himself and her puffy cunt. “Kylo please” she whines, wiggling her ass at him as she kicks off her panties. He smiles at her desperateness. Good fucking girl, give it all to me.

He swings her around and picks her into his arms and impales her on his cock. She shouts out, still sensitive from her recent release. “Don’t worry I got you” he gasps, his eyes never leaving hers as he takes a couple steps to his long forgotten work table and laying her atop his construction plans.

In this position, he can now truly appreciate her like he has dreamt about. Of them together in carnal bliss and he all flushed and wild. But this, this is so much better than he could ever come up with in his mind. Her body is alight with pleasure and it’s stunning.

Fuck he wants to see this every fucking day. He’s got to fuck her and he’s already addicted. His eyes follow her perfect form, his eyes stuck on that secret prize peeking out between her breasts. That delicate tattoo he wants to trace with his tongue and make her call out his name.

He wonders what other little surprises she has on her. Maybe another time he will explore her and map all those special spaces out and give them the attention they deserve. But this is not that time. His eyes move down to her exposed cunt, her labia stretching obscenely around him. He groans at the sight, pulling out once more to see her arousal leak out of her.

“Legs up sweetness” he says, tapping her thigh. She obeys, resting her legs on his strong shoulders. The change in position and the angle making them both groan again in pleasure. “Fuck, you are something else” he says between heaving breaths, his hips moving faster with more forceful thrusts, far deeper then before. “Fuck, fuck Kylo. Please. Fuck” she gasps, squeezing her eyes closed to keep her tears from falling.

“Look at me!” he bellows, unable to hold back now. He’s too far gone. Her beautiful eyes meet his in shock. He almost breaks character at the look she gives him, but he is too far gone. It's a primal dark thing inside him and nothing will stop him from taking what is his.

Her eyes begin to overflow with tears as he continues his assault. This is exactly what he wanted - to see her debatched under him, her eyes heavy-lidded and tears of pleasure running down her flawless skin. “I’ve dreamt about this sweetheart so many times. Of you crying while impaled on my cock, f-fuck” he gasps, his warning signs of his impending orgasm licking at the base of his spine.

She gasps and keens his name again, her fingertips reaching and grazing his contracting abdominal muscles. Her touch is electric, spurring his orgasm forward. He can literally feel her pleasure through it and it makes him want to give her the best orgasm of her life. He moans her name, gripping her calves and fucks her harder.

She is tightening and fluttering around him, a tell tale sign of her release. He focuses on her quickening breaths as her jaw drops open between her moans. It’s so fucking perfect. “I feel you baby, you ready sweetheart?” he groans, preparing to allow himself to go over the edge with her.

She nods once before throwing her head back as her body lets go. He cannot believe how tight she clamps down on his cock and how much she drenches him. It immediately triggers his own orgasm. He lets out a filthy roar as he pounds into her, pumping his hot cum into her. It feels never ending. His whole body tingles in pleasure as he continues to fill up her perfect cunt, moaning her name like a needy prayer.

He rides the high and slows his hips down to a gentle rock, finally allowing them both time to recover. He opens his eyes, taking in the aftermath of what they just did. She grins at him as she catches her breath, her skin flushed and shimmering with sweat. He drops a kiss onto her calf and leaning his head against the other.

“Is that what you were envisioning baby girl?” he says, his body spent. He leans against the table, his cock softening inside but doesn’t pull out yet. It’s something you both enjoy after sex, that afterglow and the closeness of being truly one. “That and so much more Ky” you say with a small laugh “thank you.” “My pleasure baby” he says, pushing the hair from your eyes.

“I didn’t hurt you too bad did I? I got a little carried away” he says, focusing on the softness of your hair. “Ky, if it was too much I would’ve used our safe word. I fucking loved every minute and I could tell you did too” she responds, grabbing his hand to kiss his tattood knuckles.

He cracks a full smile finally, overwhelmed with your love. He lets go of your legs, allowing you to move them into a much more comfortable position around his hips. “That I did, it was pretty fucking hot.” You beam at him as he reaches for your hand while the other lightly traces the lines between your breasts. “I cannot tell you how sexy you look in this” he says as he leans down and kisses your breasts.

“Thank you my love but I think your actions definitely showed me more than any words could say” you respond, running your hands through his wild dark hair. You feel his tongue trace your tattoo before leaving soft kisses up your chest, finally stopping right above your heart. “Best day ever” he whispers into your skin.

He smirks as you tug at his hair, a silent plea. He leaves one more kiss over your heart and moves to your lips. “Happy anniversary baby girl, I couldn’t have asked for anything more” he breathes before finally kissing you properly.

He groans into the kiss, loving the feeling of your soft lips against his own. It’s sweet and tender, so different from the rough fucking they just burned through. He pulls back slightly, nuzzling his nose with yours. “How about we get cleaned up and then we can move on to today's other plans?'' he asks. As if on cue, your stomach rumbles loudly at the mention of filet mignon and stuffed portabellos, making you both laugh at the ridiculousness of the timing.

“C'mon babe” he says, shifting his hands under your ass and lifting you into his arms “can’t let the wife starve”. “Damn right sir” you snark, wrapping your arms around his neck. He chuckles and shakes his head. How did he get so lucky to find you and make you his? He still doesn’t know but he thanks his lucky stars everyday. He carries you off to the bedroom, looking forward to an amazing dinner and a life full of amazing love.

If you enjoyed here is where you can find the original story and other one-shots from the Into The Reverb Universe:

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beskarandblasters · 6 months

Text

Tell me how it’s lookin’, babe

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Author’s note: Thank you to @planet-marz1 for sending the discord this image because that’s what inspired all this 😵‍💫 Gifs are by @bestintheparsec and banners + dividers are by @saradika 🖤

Summary: You see Din in just his flight suit and don’t know how to act.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent, helmet stays on, porn with little plot, pet names (cyar’ika for you, baby for Din), tattooed!Din, shy!Din, uncircumcised!Din, body worship, oral sex (M receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, half ass editing 😔, no use of y/n

It’s been another long, exhausting day. All you can think about is peeling your clothes off your sweaty body and crawling into Din’s bunk… And dumping the sand out of your boots. Maker, you really don’t care for Tatooine.

The walk across the desert is laborious, but soon enough the Razor Crest appears in the distance, like a mirage before your eyes. You pick up the pace, anxious to feel some air conditioning already. Before you know it Din’s lowering the exit ramp and you’re back inside the cool metal interior of the Crest. You slip off your boots and leave them by the door before heading to the bunk. You don’t hesitate to shed layers of clothes as you walk, tossing them into a pile on the floor at the foot of the cot. It’s nothing new for Din, he’s seen you naked countless times now. But you look over at him, leaning in the door frame by the bunk, and covered in layer after layer…

“You’re not… hot?” you ask him.

“…What do you mean?”

“Like sweaty, Din.”

“Oh… Yes.”

“You don’t ever wanna take all that off? Not the helmet of course. But even just the armor?”

“I guess I could.”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” you reassure him, taking a step closer to him and placing your hand on the hollow part of his helmet. He rests his hand on top of yours and says, “I am.”

You nod, looking deep into the T-shaped visor and take a step back so he can start to remove his armor, his weapons, and his cape. It’s methodical and meticulous the way he does it, each piece carefully removed and placed into a small pile on the floor.

And now he’s standing before you, wearing only his boots and his flight suit. He looks hot in his armor, there’s no question about that. But now that he’s just in his flight suit you can see his form so much better; his biceps, his chest, his thighs, everything. You’re fully staring at him, mouth agape and eyes full of lust and admiration. He’s all yours.

“Cyar’ika?” he says, breaking your trance.

“Hm?”

“What are you looking at?”

“You.”

You hear his breath hitch under the helmet. You take a step closer again and run your hands along the fabric of the flight suit. His visor follows the movement of your hand, running along his chest and down his arms. You look down and there’s a bulge growing in his flight suit.

“How do I look?” he says softly.

“So kriffing good, Din.”

“Really?”

“Of course you do,” you respond, moving your hand down to his groin. He lets out a strained “cyar’ika” as you palm his cock over his flight suit.

“Feel like shedding another layer?” you ask with a grin.

“You want to see me like that?”

“Baby, I’ve been dreaming about it.”

“You mean that?”

“Mhm,” you say, feeling the wetness grow between your legs.

“I guess I could take it off.”

“Only if you want to,” you reassure him, meeting his gaze again.

“I’m sure,” he says with a small nod.

He takes off his gloves, tossing them by the pile of beskar the corner before slipping off his boots. You follow the movement of his hands, realizing this is the first of his skin you’re seeing other than his cock. His hands are calloused, peppered with small scars from years of training, fighting, and bounty hunting.

And now it’s time for the flight suit to come off. He takes a deep breath and unzips it, stepping out of it and again tossing it by the pile of armor in the corner. His cock springs free as he releases it from the fabric, hard and sticking straight out. His whole figure is broad, his limbs toned and muscular. There’s more scars like the ones on his hands. Some are smaller and paler in color. Some are deeper, their edges more irregular. He’s got some beauty marks as well, each of them scattered about in his chest and arms, down to his legs. On his left bicep he has a tattoo, a simple black ring encircling his upper arm. It suits him well. He’s just beautiful, every feature of his telling a part of his history. And you’d like to know more.

You’ve had thoughts in the past that seeing Din completely naked with just his helmet on might be a weird sight, but now that it’s here in front of you it just feels right; a sliver of intimacy you and only you will ever know, even if you can’t see his face.

“Din… you’re beautiful,” you say, hands immediately gravitating to his sides.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Oh but I do,” you say, one hand roaming up his torso and to his chest, while the other moves down to his cock.

He says nothing, his visor fixed on your hand stroking his cock.

“Let me show you,” you say softly.

You sink to your knees and kiss along his groin. He lets out a soft groan every time you inch closer to his cock. You bring a hand to his balls and cup them lightly before finally swirling your tongue around the head of his cock, sliding it underneath the foreskin to draw a sharper moan from him. He curses under his breath and runs a hand through your hair, desperate for more.

And finally, you give it to him, taking his length in your mouth. The grip on your hair tightens as you bob your head up and down, all while you’re still cupping his balls. You look up at him, making eye contact with his visor as you suck him off. All of a sudden his balls tighten up in your hand and his cock twitches in your mouth. He’s going to cum soon but you’re not ready for that just yet. You pull your mouth away much to his chagrin as he lets out a soft whimper when you do.

“On the cot, baby,” you say, wiping the drool dripping from your chin.

He lies down on the cot and you move to straddle him, his cock glistening with his pre cum and your spit resting by your cunt. He brings a hand to your entrance, stroking it up and down with his fingers and spreading around your wetness. His fingers circle around your clit, working you up and making you more anxious to sit on it already. And eventually, you just can’t take it anymore.

You move his hand away, pinning it up by his helmet while you inch forward and sink down onto his cock. You’ve ridden him before but now you get to rest his hands on his bare chest for once. And you do, the warmth of his skin radiating against your palms as you rock your hips back and forth. His hands move to your waist, giving the skin a soft squeeze while you drive his cock deeper inside you.

“Kriff, cyar’ika,” he curses, coming out as a moan.

“Mmm, you feel so good. Kriff, you look so good, Din,” you respond, tears stinging your vision as you look into his visor. It’s hard to stay fixed on his visor for long, though. Your eyes want to roam his body. They keep gravitating towards the tattoo on his bicep.

“And when did you get this?” you ask, fingers grazing the tattooed skin.

“A long time ago. You like it?”

“Mhm. Maybe you should get more.”

“Oh, yeah? You’d like that?”

“I’d love that.”

Kriff, now you’re thinking of Din with more tattoos and your mind starts going hazey at the thought. You grind your hips against him, feeling the wetness seep out of you and down his shaft, soaking his groin. The small bunk is filled with the obscene noises of skin colliding with skin and the wet sound of his cock moving in and out of you.

Soon enough, you’re at the edge of orgasm thanks to Din’s cock hitting all the deepest angles inside you, the sight of his bare body beneath yours and the thought of him with tattoos.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.

“Mm, let me feel it, cyar’ika.”

A tingling sensation originates at your core and spreads outwards. The movement of your hips grow erratic as you ride out your high, the pool of wetness beneath you growing bigger as you cum. Your own orgasm triggers Din’s and soon you’re both coming together. His cum spills inside you and his grip on your waist tightens as he moans your name.

But now you’re resting against his chest, his cock still inside you and starting to go soft. Your bodies are slick with sweat as you catch your breath. You whisper beside his helmet, “You should get naked more often.”

“I bet you’d like that.”

“Oh come on, you know I would.”

He chuckles, “I know, cyar’ika. I know.”

He rubs your back and soon enough you’re both falling asleep, letting the exhaustion from the day and the evening’s activities finally get to you. You could spend the rest of your days like this.

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campingwiththecharmings · 5 months

Text

Slow it Down

AN: Happy Wanksgiving, y'all (and Happy Thanksgiving to those that celebrate)! This is my contribution. I meant to write something else but the muse wants what it wants and she wanted Poe so, hope y'all enjoy. 😘

(Un-beta’d - i wrote this in like 2 hours and barely proofread it so lol, apologies for any mistakes)

You’ve never seen him like this before, so rushed, so…frantic. Normally, he takes his time, draws everything out, especially when he’s been away, but it’s different this time. He’s different.

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,312 Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader Warnings: established relationship, desperate!angsty!Poe, p in v, oral sex, a little roughness, choking (barely), creampie, a little cockwarming (please let me know if i missed anything). AO3

——————

You fall into the room, a tangle of limbs, tongues, and teeth, moans muffled by Poe’s tongue in your mouth. Poe pushes you against the durasteel door when it slides closed, pressing his body along the length of you, hands pulling at your uniform. You gasp when he tweaks your nipple through the rough fabric of your shirt, breaking the kiss. He doesn’t stop though, mouthing down your neck, nipping at your jaw, hot tongue dipping into the notch at the base of your throat. You’re completely at his mercy, simply clinging to him, fingers tangling in his soft, dark curls.

He pulls back slightly, fingers fumbling with the buttons on your shirt. He quickly pushes the offending material from your shoulders, mouth latching onto your breast as his hands drop to the waistband of your pants. He has you laid out on the bed before you even realize he’s moving, fingers pulling down your underwear just as quickly.

“Poe,” you pant, trying to get his attention as he tosses your panties over his shoulder, his eyes roving over your prone form.

Instead of answering, he licks his lips and dives into your center, drawing a surprised gasp from you as he laps messily at your folds. You hum when he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, a shiver of pleasure racing through your body.

Poe sinks lower, spearing his tongue into your fluttering hole, his nose pressing deliciously against your clit. You moan as he pushes in as deep as he can manage, his tongue sliding along your sensitive walls before slipping back out to tease your entrance. His hands grip you like a vice, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he drinks from you like you’re an oasis in the middle of the desert.

You know something is wrong, but he just feels so good, and he clearly needs this, so you don’t question it, instead letting him have his way with you. It doesn’t take him long to send you over the edge, a scream lodging in your throat as he groans into you, greedily lapping at the release that spills from your pussy.

He pulls away quickly, wasting no time as you come down, your chest heaving, heart beating wildly beneath your breast.

He settles over you again, the slide of his bare skin against yours heavenly. Your brain is still fuzzy with pleasure as he positions himself at your entrance, but you're coherent enough to notice that he isn’t talking, isn’t making eye contact. Usually you can’t get him to shut up, whether it’s about how good you feel or how much he missed you, begging you to look at him as he fucks into you.

“Poe,” you say, reaching for him, hands skimming his strong shoulders, the muscles flexing beneath your touch.

He still won’t look at you, his brow pinched in what you thought was concentration but now realize is something else. He grunt as he begins to push into you, your mouth falling open in a gasp as the length of him drags over one of your sweet spots. He pauses when he’s fully seated, his jaw clenched and you realize…he’s shaking.

What had he seen out there to make him act this way?

Concern breaks through the haze of lust as you slip your hands up his shoulders and neck, his movements stilling when you take his face in your hands. He pants, wild eyes glued to your neck as you patiently wait for him to gather his thoughts. When he does, you see his desire, yes, but also something unexpected: fear. Pain lances through your chest, eyes welling with tears as you stroke his cheeks with your thumbs.

It takes him a moment to give in, his eyelids fluttering as he practically melts into your touch. You pull him close, wrapping him in your arms and he happily buries his face in your shoulder, eyes still closed as he inhales your comforting scent. His forearms are braced on either side of your head as you hold him, fingers carding soothingly through his hair.

“Slow down, baby,” you tell him softly, nuzzling your nose against his ear. “You’re safe here, you’re home.”

His hands fist into the sheets at your words, arms pushing in closer to you, as if he’s trying to hug you back. You hold him as long as he needs you to, whispering comforting words, his cock still nestled inside you. When he’s ready, he pulls back to meet your eyes, the look in them guilty, pleading.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, swallowing thickly as your thumb brushes his cheek once more. “This mission, it…it was rough.”

“I figured as much,” you say softly, nodding in understanding. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head, sighing as his eyes rove your face. “Not yet.”

You smile, nodding again and pulling him into a gentle kiss. “Later then.”

His lips quirk slightly and he nods, leaning in to kiss you again. He still seems slightly desperate, but no longer frantic, kissing you deeply and slowly, his lips and tongue sliding languidly over yours.

When he starts to move again, it’s unhurried, his hips grinding into yours, his hand reaching down to pull one of your legs around his waist, pushing him even deeper inside until the tip of him bumps your cervix. Your cunt squeezes him and he breaks the kiss with a groan, his eyes glassy as he watches you writhe beneath him.

“So beautiful,” he slurs, sliding his hand up to cup your cheek.

You moan in response, skin heating a little, both from pleasure and from his words. He moves his thumb over your bottom lip, wordlessly asking you to part them. You do, sucking the digit inside, your tongue lapping at his fingertip. Poe’s movements stutter slightly, his throat bobbing as he watches you, damp curls falling across his forehead.

His pace increases a little and you know he’s close, his body shuddering over you. You reach for him as he pulls his thumb from your mouth, hand coming to rest against the base of your throat as he pushes into you again and again.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he pants, breath hitching as you clench around him. “You know that, right?”

You’re so close, so full—of him, of your love for him. You feel like you’re going to burst from it all.

“I know,” you breathe, smiling softly at him. “I love you too, flyboy.”

He leans in to press his forehead to yours, his labored breaths fanning against your lips as he thrusts, the pleasure rising higher and higher.

The hand on your neck clenches slightly and you whine, pussy fluttering around his length as you fall over the edge, pleasure surging through your veins. Poe groans, the sound of it broken, as he follows you a moment later, spilling his warmth deep inside. You’re still pulsing around him as he comes down and he can’t seem to stop the press of his hips, his softening cock pushing his spend even further into you.

He’s still inside when you come down, his gaze intent on your face as he cradles your head in his hands. When you lock eyes, he smiles, thumbs rubbing soothing circles at the base of your skull. You smile back, content to be in his embrace again, to have him be with you, be present. There’s still something there in his eyes, that fear, and you hope he’ll talk to you about it once he’s ready. Until then, you’ll settle for keeping him grounded and in the moment.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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captainsophiestark · 6 months

Text

Gray Jedi

Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: Star Wars

Day 23 Prompt: "No, you won't understand, ever."

Summary: Y/N left the Jedi Order over differences with their teachings and a love for Anakin Skywalker. Now, however, something is wrong with Anakin, and they might be the only one who can stop tradgedy from happening.

Word Count: 2,094

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I'd spent the majority of my life as a Jedi, so I'd heard plenty of Masters utter the phrase "I feel a disturbance in the Force" or some variation of it over the years. I'd even felt a few myself, once or twice. But nothing had ever felt like the looming cloud of dread that hung over me now.

I hadn't been a Jedi for more than a year now, which made the feeling all the stranger. I'd left over a few differences with the Council and their rules, opting to become a Gray Jedi by technicality and a non-Force-user by practice. So the feeling of dark premonition battering me awake from my peaceful sleep was even stranger.

Even having let my connection with the Force fade a bit, I knew enough to not ignore this sign. Especially because the face of my former best friend, Anakin Skywalker, featured in every single flash this vision was giving me.

Anakin had been one of the reasons I'd decided to leave in the first place. Somehow, when I wasn't paying attention, I'd fallen in love with my best friend. And that kind of love was forbidden among the Jedi.

I'd put up with it for a while, for most of the Clone Wars. But finally, when it started to feel like Anakin might have returned my affections, it got to be too much for me. I couldn't have something with him and still be a Jedi. So I'd left.

Anakin had stayed, and I didn't blame him for it one bit. The Jedi were the only family he'd known since his mother, and the only family he had left since her death. I, probably stupidly, had never talked to him about my feelings. What reason would he have had to leave?

I'd been living a new, peaceful life as far away from the war and the Sith and the Jedi as I could get, and it had been going fairly well, all things considered. But now, something was clearly wrong.

I hadn't survived as long as I did in the war by completely ignoring my instincts. So, I grabbed my lightsaber and took off for the Temple, since that would be the best place to talk about my vision and to start finding Anakin.

When I got to the Temple, however, I found it almost deserted. Something was clearly, deeply wrong.

As I stood in the entryway of the place I'd once called home, I felt a harsh shove in the Force, like someone had physically put their hands on me and pushed. I stumbled, taking a few steps in the direction to keep from falling, then decided to keep going. I rested one hand on the hilt of my lightsaber, ready to draw at a moment's notice as I raced through the halls.

To my surprise, the shoving brought me right to one of the most relaxing, comfortable spaces in the Temple. Even more surprising, I found this one full of what must've been every youngling in the Order.

They looked at me questioningly, and I looked back the same way. That violent shoving in the Force had stopped, so what exactly did it want from me? Why had it dragged me here years after I'd left all this behind?

A moment later, I got my answer. The gaze of the younglings shifted from me to a point behind me, and chills went down my spine. I heard a familiar voice say my name, but nothing about his presence in the Force felt familiar.

Slowly, I turned, leaving one had on my saber. With the younglings behind me, I came face to face with Anakin Skywalker, the only man I'd ever loved. And he looked terrible.

His shoulders were hunched, and he held his lightsaber in his hand like he was ready for combat. His hair was a mess, and through the Force, I could almost see a literal cluster of darkness surrounding him. But worst of all, his eyes were yellow. Glowing Sith yellow.

"Anakin..." I breathed, keeping my tone carefully calm like I was talking to a scared animal. "What are you doing?"

"The Jedi have to be destroyed, Y/N. They are corrupt, and working for the downfall of the Republic."

"Anakin, what-"

"They've been keeping things from me my entire life. They're plotting against the Senate. This is the only way to ensure peace."

"Anakin... I understand that you're feeling hurt and angry-"

"No, you won't understand, ever! This is the only way!"

Anakin ignited his lightsaber, pure emotion and anger lacing his tone as he seemed to grow to the point of towering over me and the younglings. I should 've been terrified. Instead, I was feeling some anger of my own.

"You think I don't understand what you're feeling?" I demanded, raising my voice to match Anakin's tone. "You think I don't understand the anger, the betrayal that comes from realizing the Jedi aren't always right? That the thing you grew up with, your family, is enforcing a code that is actively hurting you? Do I need to remind you, Anakin, that I left the Order? A year ago?"

"It's not the same."

"No, it's not. Unlike you, I managed to develop somewhat healthy coping mechanisms and didn't listen to the Chancellor hissing in my ear, the snake."

"You're like the Jedi! You hate him! He's the only one who's been honest with me, who's helped me."

I sighed heavily and rested one hand on my hip. I could still feel the storm of emotions swirling around Anakin, but now I was determined to diffuse it.

"I don't hate the Chancellor Anakin, I just think he's a slimy politician. Ergo, not to be trusted. And usually not the honest type."

Anakin spluttered like he didn't know what to say, so I continued.

"Anakin, listen, I understand feeling angry and fed up with the Jedi. It's why I left! And I really don't mean this as an insult, but since you came to the Temple so late, they were especially terrible at accommodating you and helping you find healthy ways to deal with your emotions. But the Sith are absolutely not the answer either. Their path is an endless cycle of pain, anger, and hurt. You lash out, like you're doing now, in an attempt to stop the hurt. Then you feel more hate, for yourself and for the world rejecting you, as a result of what you did to try to stop the hurt in the first place. And other Sith, whoever it is that dragged you down this path, will manipulate, exploit, and abuse you through that pain to get you to do their bidding. I... I really don't want to see that happen to you, Anakin."

He took a long, long moment to respond, his eyes staring into the distance past me rather than focusing on any one thing. I just waited, trying to project all the warmth and love I'd ever felt for this man to him through the Force. Finally, he turned back to me.

"You don't know who the Sith is?"

"No. I stopped caring, to be totally honest with you, the day I left. I wanted to leave this life and everything that came with it behind."

"So why did you come back?"

I sighed, long and heavy. This was not a conversation I particularly wanted to have, especially not with a bunch of younglings listening in behind me, but it was that or let Anakin fall. The second option wasn't really an option, so that left me with the first.

"I got bodied awake by the Force in the middle of the night after spending a year ignoring it with a premonition that something bad was going to happen, and that I needed to come back here."

"And why did you listen?"

"Well... because you were in the vision, Anakin. I didn't get details, but I did get an overwhelming bad feeling, and I knew you were involved. So... I came back for you."

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I squirmed a little under the intensity of his gaze. There were so many bigger, more important things happening right now than my feelings for Anakin coming to light, but somehow that thought dominated my mind.

"You came back... for me?"

"Yeah, Ani. I mean... ugh, I can't believe I left the Order and now I'm still having to admit this, in the Temple no less." I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, completely removing my hand from the hilt of my lightsaber. I had no desire to fight my way out of this one against Anakin. Then, I used every last ounce of willpower in my body to look the man I loved straight in the eye. "I love you, Anakin. I've loved you for a long, long time. A while ago, I thought maybe you might've felt the same way, but... that doesn't matter. The Jedi Code forbids that kind of love, that kind of loyalty and reliance on another person. But you, and the love for you filling my heart, have always made me happier and stronger than I was without it. I spent a long time trying to square that with the Jedi ideals, and I couldn't. So, for that and other reasons, I left.

"But Ani, for the record, it didn't and doesn't fit with the Sith teachings, either. The Sith have no room for love. Obsession, maybe, but not love. They thrive on hate and anger, and there's no lasting room for those emotions in a loving relationship. Or in a happy existence, for that matter."

"You... love me?"

"Very very much." I gave him the smallest smile, letting as much hope as I could muster shine through. Anakin blinked back at me, his grip on his lightsaber relaxing, and I thought I noticed that cloud of darkness shrinking quite a bit.

I took a deep breath, then held out my hand to Anakin. I'd already come this far, so why not.

"Anakin... come with me. Let's both get the hell out of here, leave the Sith and the Jedi behind. Let them fight their war with their Codes and their restrictions, their lack of love and their hate and their anger, and go make our own, happy lives together somewhere else. I can't pretend to have all the answers, but I've at least had some practice developing healthier strategies for dealing with big feelings than the Jedi ever gave me. Let's go figure out more together."

For a few long, heart-stopping moments, I thought Anakin would refuse. He'd raise his saber, let the darkness win, and end everything right here and now. Then, slowly, he retracted the blade on his lightsaber. The darkness had all but gone now, and the yellow had faded slightly from his eyes. Finally, he nodded and reached for me.

"I love you too. I have for a long time. After you left, I thought I'd never see you again."

I smiled, trying to keep the sadness out of my expression as much as possible as Anakin finally took my hand. Our eyes stayed locked on each other, and I pulled him closer to me.

"Well, it's a good thing I came back then, isn't it?"

Anakin nodded, slowly at first and then much faster as he pulled me the rest of the way to him, wrapping me tight in his arms. I hugged him right back, a warm glow surrounding me and spreading through every part of my body. Who or whatever had shoved me here with the Force seemed to let out a sigh.

"C'mon, Anakin," I said, pulling back gently, just enough to smile at him. "Let's get out of here."

He nodded, a small smile finally working its way onto his own face, and I led him away from the younglings without looking back. I hated to think what might've happened if I hadn't been here, but it didn't matter. It hadn't happened, and now Anakin and I were finally getting a shot at some kind of happy ending.

A disturbance still echoed through the Force as we left the Temple and returned to my ship, but it wasn't the one that had sent me running here. Something strange and terrifying was happening in the galaxy, but now, it was happening without Anakin. Hopefully that would make a difference, and even if it didn't, at least I'd have him by my side for the rest of whatever was to come.

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

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starwarsficnetwork · 8 months

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Din Djarin Writers

Banner by the lovely @theywhowriteandknowthings

Writers! Tag us or use the hashtag #starwarsficnetwork to be featured! But please have your age/age range in your bio. If you’d like to be removed, send us a dm!

*will be updated regularly*

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#din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #starwarsficnetwork #din djarin x reader

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ghostofskywalker · 7 months

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Away From Prying Eyes

Cassian Andor/Reader

Fictober Day 14 of 31

Words: 902

Summary: Everyone thought that you and Cassian couldn't stand each other. In reality, that couldn't be further from the truth.

Cassian Andor Masterlist

You looked down at the assignment on your datapad, eyes widening when you took in one particular name. Groaning, you got up from where you were sitting and stalked through the halls of the base, a scowl beginning to form on your face. Mon Mothma was usually around, but it seemed this time she was nowhere to be found, and no one else seemed to know where she was.

After finally giving up trying to run into her anywhere in the base, you went back to your quarters and typed out a message, hitting send the moment you were done.

Need to talk to you about upcoming mission ASAP. Reassignment necessary.

Barely seconds after you had put the datapad down, it beeped to signify that you had a new message, a response to the one you just sent.

I know why you’re asking this, and the answer is no. You know I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t the only option left.

You groaned. Usually you were always able to skirt around working assignments with one particular person in the Rebellion, but it looks like this was the first time you wouldn’t be able to shift things around.

In the eyes of the rest of the people on this base, you and Cassian Andor did not get along. You saw him as rude and abrasive, he saw you as confrontational and aggressive, and the two of you simply hated each other. Mon Mothma was probably expecting that message from one (or both) of you when she sent out the list of new reconnaissance assignments and listed the two of you on the same one.

When Cassian entered the dining area, you would get up and leave, no matter if you had finished eating or not. If you had to attend the same meetings, you sat at the farthest points of the table, and you never addressed him personally. People had always asked why you and Cassian didn’t get along, and you always just shrugged, saying that you never had, and there was no use extending an olive branch to someone who obviously didn’t care enough to be cordial.

But what no one else on this base knew was not a word of that was true, and it never had been.

It started out as a joke, when someone had said something about Cassian and you responded with a sarcastic comment. Somehow, word spread across the base about your supposed hatred, and it became part of the collective conscious that you and him didn’t get along. In truth, the two of you were actually friends.

He thought it was funny, and the two of you decided to keep up the ruse.

But soon your friend became your lover, and it certainly was not lost on you that you felt a little bit odd giving him fake glares in the halls and exclusively referring to him by his last name in meetings.

However, it provided an extra level of protection against the Rebellion’s raging gossip mill (you would think that people wouldn’t care about interpersonal drama like this in the current galactic climate, but you were very much wrong about that), so you continued to play along, feeding into the belief that you and him did not get along.

The door to your quarters opened, and you could soon hear the telltale footsteps of your boyfriend.

He leaned down to place a soft kiss to your cheek as he passed by, the scruff of his beard tickling your face slightly as you leaned into the gentle touch. “Did you see the message from Mon Mothma?” you asked, turning to face him.

“I did,” was the response, and a smile crossed his face. “I assume you’ve already tried to get that switched around.”

“Yeah, I have,” you said. “What about you?”

“I’ll probably track her down tomorrow,” he said. “Say something about how there’s no possible way I can work with you and see what she says.”

“According to her message, this seems like something we can’t get out of.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think with the Empire ramping up their atrocities and we’re going to get a lot busier over the next few months.”

Cassian nodded, and then walked back over to you, gently running his hands over your shoulder. When his fingertips traced your bare skin, you shivered slightly. “That’s why you should take a nap with me right now.”

It was a tempting offer, and one you really shouldn’t have accepted, but you did. The time you spent with Cassian in your quarters (or his, depending on the day) was never anything short of perfect, and you always looked forward to the little moments where you got to shed the pretenses and indulge in the feeling of joy and flood of love that your boyfriend brought forth from your heart.

As you laid there in the bed together (thankfully the Rebellion had a standard bed size that could more than accommodate the two of you), you couldn’t help but marvel at the way you had managed to trick the entire base.

Of course, that could all come crashing down at any minute if someone with a high security clearance walked into your room, but you didn’t really care.

No matter what happened, you would have Cassian by your side, and that was worth every morsel of trouble it could possibly bring your way.

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

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amberskyyking · 3 months

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Dying Isn't Very Regulation: Chapter 9

Five's isn't prepared to see Echo again, but he isn't about to wait another minute, either.

(Or, a self-indulgent 5 9 16?? chapter fic inspired by Snapback by @toomanyteefs with Fives and Ninety-Nine, because I have emotions about this, they deserves the world, and the narrative has officially run away with me!)

How would Fives explain why he ran that day at the Citadel? That he hadn’t checked, that he’d just followed orders and fled, while Echo had been alive somewhere in the carnage? Sure, he had realized his mistake after seeing his vod’s agonized face in that orb, he had left behind whatever afterlife awaited him to chase the possibility that Echo was still out there with no hesitation, but it was too little too late. Echo had been captured, he had suffered, and Fives wasn’t even the one to come save him. Rex found a way back to him, in the end. Echo knew by now that Fives had left him for dead at the citadel, that he had broken their first rule, the one that Domino Squad nearly failed their training because of. It was his own fault that his twin had fallen into enemy hands. How must that have felt for Echo to realize? Had he known right away, or only after Rex tore him out of that kriffing stasis chamber? Did the Techno Union peel that thought out of his head themselves, was the memory stored in their databanks somewhere? Or did Echo not know until he was finally free?

Fives gulped hard, starting to feel sick. Echo would have heard about Fives’s own death, too, once he came back. Would he have mourned him, after everything he went through? Kark, would he even want to see him again? Fives wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.

Fives’s breath was coming in rapid spurts for more reasons than just the brisk pace Rex set, but suddenly, Rex held up a hand and halted. At the other end of the near empty hall, a group of troopers sat huddled together, all eyes locked on Rex’s location from the moment they rounded the corner. If it weren’t for their armor, Fives wouldn’t have been sure that they were clones at all. They didn’t look like most of his brothers, or at least, a couple didn’t. Some were much smaller than the other vode he’d seen around here, too. One, though, stood out among the others. A younger version of a familiar face, pale, with painful looking cybernetics and ports sticking out from his head…

“Echo,” Rex said cautiously, “This is going to sound impossible, but-”

“Fives?” Echo gawked, eyes glistening.

Full Chapter (And Story!): This Is A Set, Do Not Separate

#clone wars fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #clone troopers deserve better #starwarsficnetwork #the bad batch #arc trooper fives #fuck pong krell #star wars oc #arc trooper echo #captain rex

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handspunyarns · 1 month

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Days Twenty-Two to Twenty-Six, Part III.

pairing: din djarin x plus-size fem!O/C

word count: 13K

chapter summary: Din and Marathel repair the Razor Crest, Marathel takes her first sonic shower with interesting results, Din tries to change Marathel’s mind, the Razor Crest gets unexpected visitors.

warnings:  angst, heartbreak, female masturbation, voyeurism, mention of blood, menstruation, chldbirth, mental illness and infertility, English and Mando’a cursing

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***   

You Were Marked: Masterlist

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter

Marathel was in a deep sleep, curled up with Grogu on Din’s bedroll, when there was suddenly a loud ka-thunk, and everything quickly shifted sideways as she rolled into a hard surface. She opened her eyes to near-darkness, except for glowing tiny lights of red and green. Disoriented, she felt around her, and her hand fell upon little Grogu, who grabbed her hand tightly. “What the …” she muttered, and then she heard running footsteps and a loud pounding on the door.

“Wake up, Marathel! We got problems!”

“Wh … What?”

“We just fell out of hyperspace! Come out here!”

Marathel shook herself awake and reached up to press the door button. The door slid up, and she pulled herself out to see Din crouching by a panel halfway down the corridor. “What’s happened?”

“Get down here, I need your help.” Din had been awake for a while, and he had replaced his armor and was in the process of putting his weapons on when one of the power banks had failed. Marathel came down to where he was. “Grab that corner, there.” Marathel took hold of the panel where Din was pointing as he finished unlatching it. She wasn’t prepared for its weight, and her corner hit the metal floor with a clonk, but she wrapped her fingers around the panel edge and helped him slide it down the wall.

That task done, Marathel stood behind him as Din knelt to tap tiny screens above each component in the rack. “Haar’chak, the whole thing’s down.”

“Are we in danger?”

“We will be, if I can’t get this up and running again!” Din stood and began taking off his blasters.

“What should I do?”

“Just … stand right there for right now, and don’t touch anything!” he snapped as he pulled off his pauldrons and cuirass. “Hate this damned thing,” muttered Din as he sat on the floor and began squeezing himself into the small access crawl space to get behind the power bank. Marathel stood silent, unmoving. Din continued to curse and mutter as he folded himself into a working position. “Ah … fuck me, the whole damn thing is wired wrong!”

“Fuh!” shouted Grogu.

“Grogu, I told you to cut that out.”

Marathel was confused. “Didn’t Peli just repair this ship? Why would she wire it wrong?”

Din sighed. “Well, she didn’t wire it wrong, she wired it correctly, and that’s the problem.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Din chuckled. “I guess not. A while ago I had to jerry-rig this wiring and the ship flies better with the adaptation. The wires are hooked up to the wrong cart components, and it finally tripped itself. I have to pull all these wires first, then you’re going to pull the carts as I rewire it, okay?”

“Okay,” said Marathel, not sounding okay about it at all.

“Just sit down there in front of the panel, I’ll let you know when I need you.”

Marathel sat, listening to Din grunt and quietly curse to himself as he did whatever he was doing. “Did you get any rest?” she asked.

“Don’t talk to me right now,” said Din. “I’m trying to not electrocute myself.” Marathel sat silently. Grogu toddled over to join her, and she held him on her lap as they waited for instructions. “And yes, I got some rest. Are you all right?”

Marathel shifted slightly, then swallowed. “Yes.”

Behind the power panel, Din coughed to cover up his discomfort, then said, “Okay, we’re going to work from your left to your right. Grab the handles of the first cart and pull it out halfway.”

Marathel grasped the handles and gave the thing a tug, but it didn’t move. “What’s halfway on this thing?” She pulled again, much harder, and the whole thing pulled out of the wall and landed on the floor.

Din sighed. “Half of what you just did.”

“Did I just kill us all?”

“Not yet. Just put it back in, halfway, and wait for me to get the right wire connected.” Marathel did as he instructed and waited. After a short while, Din said, “Okay, slide the cart back in fully.” Marathel carefully pushed the cart back in, giving it a hard shove to seat it correctly. “Did lights come on?”

“Yes.”

“What does the screen say?”

“Screen?”

“There’s a small screen in the middle of the cart. What does it say on the screen?” Marathel was silent. “Marathel, just read what’s on the screen!”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t see the screen?”

“I can’t read, Din, I told you that!”

There was a long silence. Din groaned quietly. “She can’t read.” Din chuckled, and Marathel heard his helmet clank against something. “Yes, you told me, I forgot. Okay, change of plans.” Din shifted around and began pulling himself out from behind the power bank. “You need to do the rewiring, then.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Each wire goes between two metal plates that you use this screwdriver to tighten.” He handed her a small tool with a flat end. “Go on, get back there.”

“What makes you think I’ll fit? You had a hard time squeezing in there!”

“You’ll fit just fine. Now get going before we lose backup power.”

Marathel glared at Din, but she put the screwdriver in her pocket and fed her feet into the small access opening, as she’d seen Din do, and began pushing herself through. “I have no idea what you need me to do back there.”

“You’ll figure it out by the time you’re done. You only have … um …” Din counted on his fingers as he said, “‘Bad Boys Rape Our Good Girls But Violet Gives Willingly, Got Some’ … twelve. Twelve wires.”

“Bad Boys do what?”

“‘Bad Boys Rape Our Good Girls But Violet Gives Willingly, Got Some.’ It’s how I remember the wiring colors. Black, blue, red, orange, green, green, blue, violet, grey, white, gold, silver.”

“You said green and blue twice.”

“They’re different wires. You’ll see.” Marathel grunted in disgust, and Din swore he heard her mutter osi’kovid under her breath as she struggled to get back behind the panel. “What did you just say?” asked Din.

“I called you an osi’kovid!”

Din chuckled to himself. “Do you even know what that means?”

“I know it’s nothing good.” Marathel looked at the tangle of wires before her, then at the bank of metal plates. She looked carefully at the connection of the black wire that Din had completed. “So blue is next? Which blue?”

“It’s solid blue, not the striped one. You have to put the end of the wire where the coating is stripped off, put that end between the two plates, and tighten the screws to lock it down.”

“I’ll do my best.” Marathel found the solid blue wire and pulled it loose from the tangle. The bare end touched another wire’s bare end, and Marathel felt a zzzt sensation that was painful. “Aigh!”

“Don’t let the ends touch,” said Din.

“Now you fucking tell me!” snapped Marathel.

“Fuh-EE!” shouted Grogu, and Din shushed him.

Oh, good, the ‘child repeating swear words’ days are upon you, Bounty Hunter, have fun with that, wryly thought Marathel. She carefully placed the wire end between the plates and placed the flat end of the … screwdriver, that’s what he called it … into the slot of the screw head and turned it, but the tiny screw fell to the floor with a ting. “Oh no …”

“You must have turned the screwdriver the wrong way. It’s lefty loosey, righty tighty.”

“What?”

“Turn the screwdriver left to loosen the screw, and right to tighten it.”

“I can’t find the little screw. It fell out.” Tears filled her eyes, and Marathel sobbed. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Bounty Hunter …”

“Marathel …”

“I’m going to kill us all …”

“Mesh’la, honey …” — honey? Where did that come from? — “It’s going to be fine. You can do this. The screw is on the floor right in front of you, I guarantee it. Just take a breath and look for it again.” He heard Marathel sniffle, then take a shaky breath. He pulled the cart halfway out and waited. After a few moments, he heard her whisper righty tighty. “Tighten the top screw a little, then the bottom screw a little. Go back and forth to tighten then evenly. Make the connection good and tight.” He waited a few moments. “Got it?”

“I think so.”

“All right, then,” said Din as he slid the cart back into its socket. Moment of truth, he thought, and the readout screen flashed its green message: Override Ready. “You did it, mesh’la, good job.”

“Next one is red, yes?”

“Yes,” replied Din as he slid out the next cart.

“Red for rape,” said Marathel as she carefully found the red wire and inserted it into place. “‘Bad Boys Rape Our Good Girls,’” she scoffed. “I think you need a different way to remember this.”

“Come up with one, and I will.”

“Oh, I will.” Din heard Marathel grunt softly as she concentrated on her task. “There. Done.”

Surprised, Din said, “That was fast.” He slid the cart home and override ready flashed. “Green next. Light green.”

“Light green …” repeated Marathel as she untangled the wires, and she shocked herself again. “Aigh!”

“You need to be more careful,” said Din.

“You’re the one that left me this tangled mess, you … cigpell pudyn!” snapped Marathel, attaching the light green wire.

“And what does that mean?”

“It means meatball dick!”

Din burst out laughing. “Meatball … meatball?” He was laughing so hard he snorted. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

Marathel grumbled as she tightened the tiny screws. “Light green is done!”

Still laughing, Din reset the cart and got an error message. “No good, try resetting the wire.”

“The wire is fine,” said Marathel, gently tugging the wire.

“Not from where I’m sitting. Try it again.” Din listened to Marathel mutter under her breath as she loosened the wire. “You may need more wire lead. Peel back some of the green covering and reset it.” Marathel did as Din instructed, but he still got the error message. “I don’t know what, Marathel, but you’re doing something wrong.”

Of course, it’s my fault. “Are you sure it’s not supposed to be the dark green wire first?”

“Positive.”

Marathel sighed. “Can we try the dark green wire, at least?”

Din sighed as well. “Fine. Go ahead.” He pulled out the cart again. “And you, of all people, know that my pudyn looks nothing like a meatball.”

“It might after I throw a big enough rock at it,” said Marathel archly. “Okay, try it now.” Din replaced the cart. “Well?” Din was silent. “Was I right?”

“Yes,” he muttered.

“Okay, then. Now it’s the light green wire, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And who is a cigpell pudyn?” asked Marathel with as much snark as she could muster. “Well?”

“… I am.”

Marathel chortled. “Good boy.” She continued down the row, replacing the wires in order as Din replaced the carts. When they got to Violet and the purple wire, Marathel asked, “So, who’s this Violet who Gives Willingly?”

“No one. It just works in the phrase.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Can’t help that,” said Din. There was no way in Frith he was going to tell her that while her name wasn’t Violet, a particular prostitute he had been fond of at one time had a magnificent head of purple hair that set off her deep, dark green skin. Damn, she was fine, thought Din, wondering where she was these days.

Marathel rolled her eyes, but she carried on with her task. Din had been right, Marathel got very proficient with the screwdriver by the time she was tightening up the gold and silver wires, and she felt quite proud of herself. Well, Marathel, old girl, not half bad.

Din, on the other side of the power bank, felt pride on her behalf as well — Marathel wasn’t lacking in intelligence; she could follow instructions and tackle new tasks, was willing to get her hands dirty — and he was sure that the nimbleness in her hands and fingers would make her a great assistant mechanic. What a team we’d make, thought Din, and his heart warmed with the possibility. “All right, Marathel, good job. Now I’m going to fire this thing up.”

“You are? Am I safe back here?”

“More or less. Just don’t touch anything.” Before Marathel could protest, Din flipped the switches, the power bank turned on, and the engines came to life with a dull roar. “Dank ferrik, yes!” crowed Din. “Okay, you can come out now! Don’t forget the screwdriver!” Marathel rolled her eyes as she put the screwdriver that she came in with — as well as two more she found under the tangle of wires — into her pocket, and she began to wriggle out from the tiny crawl space. Din reached in to help pull her out, and he gave a strong tug on her just as she pushed hard on a girder with her feet, and Marathel tumbled into his lap as he fell backwards.

She looked up at him in surprise as she lay on his legs, her face at level with his belt buckle. Din continued to hold her hands as he gazed at her, mostly reclining on his elbow, thinking how damn cute she looked with engine smut on her face and hands, her hair and clothes disheveled. Marathel’s face colored that becoming shade of pink that he liked so much as she pulled her hands free and rolled off his legs to sit on the floor. Din sat up too, and gently put his hand on her back. “You did good, Marathel. I’m proud of you. I would have hated to do that job by myself.”

Marathel handed Din all three screwdrivers. “How would you have done that?”

“Ugh. I would have had to crawl out each time, after connecting each wire. Terrible.” Din grunted as he stood up and reached down to help Marathel stand. “You got a little dirt on your face,” he said, touching her cheek with a gloved finger.

Marathel shied away, saying, “I’m sure I did. It’s filthy back there.”

“Engines generally are.”

Marathel hummed vaguely as she moved to the basin at the far end of the ship. Din watched as she found the soap and a towel and poured out a tiny bit of water from her canteen into her hands. “Marathel, what are you doing?” asked Din, confused.

Marathel dropped the towel on the floor as she stepped back from the basin, dropping her head, sliding her hands into her sleeves. “Washing my hands,” she whispered.

“You’ve been using your drinking water to wash your hands?”

“I thought that was all the water I was allowed,” said Marathel, pointing briefly at the canteen.

“That’s for drinking. You may drink as much water as you wish. You haven’t been drinking your water?” Din came over and lifted the canteen; it was still nearly full. “Is this the same water I originally gave you? It’s easy to get dehydrated on long hyperspace hauls. You should be drinking more, Marathel,” Din said sharply.

“I didn’t know …”

“Drinking water is there for the taking, just like the food, Marathel! You don’t have to hoard or conserve drinking water! There’s a basin in the fresher to wash in that’s hooked up to the water recycler …” Din watched Marathel continue to cringe into herself. “… which I never showed you.” Din sighed. “I didn’t show you the fresher, or where the cleaning papers for the vac tube are, or where I keep the spare blankets, for kriff’s sake.” He noticed her shoulders shaking, and he realized she was crying. “Oh, mesh’la, please don’t cry …” Din went to her and wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m sorry I’m so stupid,” whimpered Marathel, keeping her arms tightly against herself, refusing to hug him back, despite how much she ached to do so.

“No, I’m sorry, I’m the stupid one who’s been rude and insufferable to you. Everyone I’ve ever known automatically knows where to find everything on a ship like this, and it never occurred to me that you wouldn’t, although, why would you know? The only time you’ve been on this ship for any length of time, you were injured. Unconscious.” Din sighed and rocked her back and forth as he quietly said, “I’m sorry I’m such an osi’kovid.”

Marathel sniffled, then asked, “What does that mean?”

“Shithead.” Marathel chuckled, and Din continued, “And I’ve also been a … what is it? A tymffod. What does that mean, mesh’la?”

“Asshole.”

“Yeah, I’ll take that. And a cigpell pudyn, if that helps. And a knob, too, I heard that one from you, earlier.” Din held her tight and stroked her hair, glad to know that he could again safely hold her like this without acting like a sex-starved maniac. “Marathel, ma’mwsh ha’laa, I wish … I wish you’d just … stay right here, or anywhere else, other than ...” Din’s voice trailed off.

Marathel swallowed, then pushed Din back, wiping her cheeks, and looked down to her feet. “I appear to have grown a Grogu again.”

Din looked down too, still surprised by the shoes on her feet, seeing Grogu holding tightly to Marathel’s ankle. He sighed. Apparently, the moment of closeness with Marathel was over. “Come here, kid,” said Din, bending down to pick up the boy. “Did you take good care of Mahr last sleep cycle?”

“Mama,” said Grogu.

“Mama,” repeated Din.

“We slept well until everything went sideways,” said Marathel.

“We’re back up and running now,” said Din. “Let’s get this panel back on.”

“Okay. Oh — before we do that …” Marathel dropped down her knees by the access hatch, reached in, and pulled out a square of black insulation foam. “I found this just lying in there. May I use it?”

“Of course,” said Din, assuming she’d use it to sit on while she knitted. That was why it was in the access tunnel in the first place, to sit or kneel on while he had to tinker around in there. Together they got the panel back in place, then Din said they needed to strap in to get back into hyperspace. Marathel climbed the ladder first, giving Din another view of her ample backside as she went up, making him wish that they were in a romantic relationship, on good terms, just so he could playfully smack her on that lovely ass. This thought left him with a wistful feeling as he followed her into the cockpit with Grogu. Marathel was seated and struggling with the straps, so he knelt before her, placing Grogu in her lap, carefully untwisting the restraining belts and snapping them closed, letting his hands slide off her thighs as she stared at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t do that,” she whispered, not frightened of him, but of the thrill his touch sent through her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back, even though he wasn’t. He stood and went to his seat to recalculate the jump to hyperspace, wondering in the back of his mind if she needed to lock herself in his quarters again, as he felt like he was already at half-staff. He looked back at her. “Ready?”

“Ready,” said Marathel with an uncertain smile.

Din turned back to the console and pulled the throttle, sending them shooting forward in space. Marathel felt her stomach change places with her liver and wondered if she’d ever get used to this hyperspace thing. Once they were settled in their path, Din undid his safety straps and stood, saying, “Much better. Thank you for helping out. Okay, let’s go back down.” He released the catches on her restraints, letting his hands linger briefly on her hips before descending the ladder.

Marathel followed with Grogu. “I hate this ladder already.”

“Believe me, I avoid leaving the cockpit as much as possible,” said Din, and Marathel chuckled to herself as she thought, I guess he does piss for distance. Din pressed a pad on the wall next to the power bank panel, and a door slid open, revealing another tiny room. Din stepped inside. “The fresher. Here is where you can switch from sonic to the water option.”

“Sonic?” Marathel also stepped inside the fresher and had to stand close to Din for both of them to fit.

“Sonic means the fresher uses sound waves to remove dirt and oils from your skin. The water is recycled, but it doesn’t get very hot, and it’s not hot for long.”

Marathel looked dubious. “Which would you prefer I use?”

“It’s up to you. I generally use the sonic setting, and then wash my face with warm water in the basin. It can get gross in the helmet from time to time,” said Din with a shrug.

“Well, I guess I’ll follow your example.”

Din nodded and opened the storage bin. “Here is facial soap,” he said, handing her a tube. “Did you want to wash your hair, though? The sonic does okay for my hair, but I keep my hair short … as you saw,” he added quietly.

Marathel pulled a handful of her hair over her shoulder and looked at it. “I’ll see what the sonic does for me.”

Din found her a clean washcloth and a small towel. “Okay, so it’s set on sonic, and you just have to press this button here to start. Then you stand over the drain, there, and the cycle will run for a few minutes. It’s on a timer, so if you’re not clean to your satisfaction, you can just press the start button again. The button below that opens and closes the door.” Din stepped back to the doorway. “There’s no lock, but I’ll take Grogu with me back to the cockpit and close that door. You’ll have complete privacy down here. Did you need anything else?”

Marathel shook her head. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Din took Grogu back, catching some of her hair as he did. He untangled her hair from his glove and smoothed it over her shoulder before he stepped out of the fresher.

“Oh, by the way …” said Marathel, and Din turned back to her. “‘Beautiful Blossoms Rise Over Green Grass, Blooming Vines Grow With Good Sunshine.’”

Din tilted his helmet. “Do what?”

“‘Beautiful Blossoms Rise Over Green Grass, Blooming Vines Grow With Good Sunshine,’” repeated Marathel. “To remember your wiring by.”

Din smiled widely under his helmet. “I like that much better. Just knock if you need anything.” Marathel nodded, and Din and Grogu returned to the cockpit.

Marathel heard the cockpit door close, and she poked her head out of the fresher to look. Not seeing either Bounty Hunter or a little boy, she found her bag and brought it to just outside the fresher. She pulled off her top and pants and folded them into a neat pile, then went to quickly use the vac tube, tossing her used pad into the tube before toggling the contraption. Thank Frith, it seems I’m finally bleeding less. Returning to the fresher, Marathel carefully removed the dilator from her and placed it in the basin so she could wash it after her shower. Or would it be called a sonic? she wondered. Marathel pressed the button to close the fresher door, then she pressed the button to start.

Right away, she heard a low vibration and felt it in her bare feet. Marathel stepped over to the drain as Din had directed. She felt the vibrations growing more powerful, and she could see the dirt leaving her hands, almost as a swath of sand would blow off a flat rock. She marveled at this, and she felt the vibrations as a massage that trembled through her entire body. The vibrations became stronger and faster, and they seemed to center low in her belly. After a short time, the vibrations grew even more powerful, and the sensation became warm and pleasurable as Marathel gasped, realizing she was becoming aroused.

Oh, no, she thought to herself. No, I don’t want this! But her body betrayed her as the vibration of the sonic shower continued to titillate instead of soothe. Marathel reached down and pressed her hand against her pubis, seeking a release from her stimulation. When that didn’t work, she flattened her front against the cool metal wall of the fresher, which only worked for a few moments as her feverish heat warmed the wall. Her breasts began to ache, so she pressed them harder into the unyielding metal as she reached between her thighs, gently sliding her fingertips over her clitoris. She gasped again, this time with a throaty groan, and she clapped her free hand over her mouth. Oh, Frith, what can he hear in that cockpit?

Din had, in fact, heard her groan; the auditory capabilities of his helmet were quite powerful. The fresher was also situated almost directly below the cockpit, and sound carried through the floor. Over the years, he’d become accustomed to the fresher being the official wank closet and the noises that would emanate from within the times he’d be traveling with someone. On several memorable occasions, he’d traded visits to the sonic shower for a bit of companionship from female bounties (and a couple of male ones, too, he wasn’t too particular if someone wanted to make it worth his while). But he’d heard — through that unreliable horny mercenary grapevine — that sonic showers could provide some females with sexual stimulation. And this was the first time a woman was in there where he’d heard her possibly masturbating.

Din looked back at Grogu, who was quietly occupying himself with the gear knob and a ball of Marathel’s yarn, using the Force to make them fly in complicated patterns. Din looked back out the view screen, pulled his flight notebook onto his lap, and turned up the receiver in his helmet. Concentrating his hearing on the room below, he listened to what he believed was Marathel touching herself, wondering if it was only the sonic waves bringing her off, or if she were as frustrated as he was, being so close together, denying the feelings she had for him.

And oh, Marathel was frustrated, and confused as well; why was she having these desires, when they should be the last thing on her mind?! But she kept pressing her breasts against the wall as her hand stroked herself, softly, gently, not even attempting penetration, for she was still so fragile and wounded there; she did not think she would be able to bear that, not only physically, but mentally as well. As her fingers continued their playful touches on her bud, she began to rock her hips, gasping in tiny, quiet moans. She kept rocking, the motion setting off delicious twitches inside her as she flexed her muscles in her hips, belly, and buttocks, and her fingers strummed her swollen clitoris. Oh, you taught me, Din, you taught me well, how wonderful this feels! I wish it were you touching me like this; if you were, I would pleasure you in any way you wished, I would make you bread for eternity, I would trap myself in the smallest flying metal box for you. Her twitching hips moved more frantically as she began to crest into her orgasm. She slid her free hand up her body and began gently tweaking her nipple, making her gasp again. She squeezed her thighs and tried to flex her pelvic floor — a hitherto unknown part of herself, brought to her attention by Eliadu — as hard as she could. Her other hand alternated tapping and stroking her clit until she finally tipped over the edge and climaxed; her mouth worked noiselessly, and her eyes closed, her knees bent, and her fingers pressed hard against her clitoris, feeling her pulse within, counting the beats of her rushing heart.

The sonic vibrations of the fresher slowed, and then stopped. Marathel finished riding out her orgasm with a last breathy gasp, and she sank to the floor, relishing its coolness against her flushed, warm skin. Breathing hard, Marathel rolled to her back, stretching out her limbs.

In the cockpit, Din felt like the most lecherous type of voyeur, eavesdropping on Marathel below. He’d just taken another look back at Grogu, and the kid was crashed on the seat of the aft chair, snoring softly. Under the guise of adding entries into his ship’s written log — he preferred writing them out in longhand —he listened to Marathel touching herself; Marathel, who was so recently brutalized at the hands of others, giving herself pleasure with her own hands. Her gasps were quiet and small, leading him to think that she was using the gentlest of touches, the softest of strokes of her fingertips against her delicate skin. The notebook on his lap concealed his erection, and he wished he could stroke himself to the sounds Marathel was making, but Grogu’s presence made that infeasible. Oh, Marathel, I wish I were in there with you, touching you myself, I would be so gentle, and touch you only where you allowed, with only the lightest, the most tender of caresses, I wish we could be alone, where I could give you such soft touches until you came for me, and you could scream my name as loud as you want to, mesh’la! He wanted her to be a screamer for him, a blanket-stealing, bread-baking, soft, plush, magnificent screamer of a lover, he was certain that she was coming in the room below him, coming hard like she had every time with him, and he was close to coming himself when he heard her moaning, but in pain.

In the fresher, Marathel’s breathing slowed and she began to feel chilled in the small room. She had carefully sat up when she felt a cramp rip through her lower belly, and she moaned as quietly as she could. Oh, no, not now, not my cycle, why am I not done with that, as old as I have learned that I am? She fell back to her side, waiting for the next wave of cramps that would inevitably come, pain that would fold her in half, unable to move.

But that sort of pain didn’t come. There was pain within her, but not in the muscles of her abdomen. The pain seemed lower, deeper inside. Marathel looked down at herself, expecting blood, and there was blood, but not the amount she was accustomed to with her cycles. She felt her muscles quake again, and she moaned, and then she felt the need to push, that there was something within her vagina that she needed to expel.

What in Frith was happening to her?

Fennec had told her she wasn’t pregnant, Eliadu had told her that she couldn’t get pregnant, yet, here she was, trembling and moaning on the floor, feeling as if she was about to give birth to something, for the sensations she was feeling within was unlike but somehow strangely similar to all of her previous cycles, when she would pass clot after clot …

There was a knocking on the fresher door. “Marathel?” Din was worried, almost panicked, all of his licentious thoughts gone. “Are you all right?”

Marathel gasped, and her head whipped around towards the door. “I’m fine, I’m … fine …” Her abdominal muscles contracted again, making her voice waver on the last word.

“You’re in pain, I heard you moaning …”

“You were listening?!”

“No! No … Just now, I heard you …”

“How could you LISTEN like that?!” The need to push became overwhelming, and she groaned as she felt blood running down her thighs.

“Marathel! I’m coming in!”

“NO! Don’t you DARE come in!”

“Let me HELP you!” cried Din.

“I don’t NEED your help!” Marathel shouted back. “I … don’t need … ANYONE …” She rolled to a deep squat on her feet and hands, grit her teeth, and bore down on whatever it was her body was trying to release. She reached down between her legs, and could just feel something gelatinous inside her, so she took another deep breath and pushed again. This time she felt a mass exit her vagina, and she went to her knees, trying to catch her breath. And here I thought I’d never give birth, but I think I just did, thought Marathel.

Din knocked on the door again. “Marathel? Mesh’la? Please, talk to me! What is happening?”

“I’m okay … I’m all right,” weakly said Marathel. She reached behind her, finding the mass she’d just expelled with her fingertips. What in Frith? She moved herself to a position where she could see whatever it was, a dark red-brown clot, about the size of a gorugelly, that contained clumps of what appeared to be crusted flesh. Marathel realized what had occurred: she had passed a clot of scabs made by the cauterizing of the worst of the wounds made by the Dilimgau. Ceiroprac had told me I might shed those, though Marathel. I didn’t think I’d be so damn dramatic about it though! How typical of me, thought Marathel. She laughed weakly at first, and then louder as she realized how absurd her life was.

Outside the fresher door, Din was bewildered by the sudden sound of laughter on the other side. “Marathel? If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m coming in there.”

“Oh … calm down, Din, for the love of Frith! I’ll be fine. The sonic waves shook loose some … internal scabbing, and I wasn’t expecting that.”

Internal … oh, he thought, remembering that Marathel had refused reconstruction where she had been so badly damaged by the Dilimgau, but had wounds cauterized instead. “I’m sorry, ner kar’ta. Are you still in pain? Are you bleeding badly?”

“I … some. But I’ll be all right.”

“What can I do for you?” Din pleaded.

Marathel squinted up at the switch he had told her toggled the fresher between sonic and water. “Would it be all right if I turned on the water?”

“That … the water won’t be very warm.”

“I don’t mind cold water. But there’s blood, and … clots. Can that go down the drain in here?”

Din sighed. “Not a large amount of blood, and I’d rather any solids didn’t.” It was a decent recycling system, but not that good.

“Then please bring me rags and a bucket, or something, so I can clean this up.”

“Damn it, Marathel, let me do that for you!” He found a large towel. Going back to the fresher door, he turned his head away and closed his eyes. “I’m going to open the door now. My eyes are averted.” Before Marathel could protest, he opened the fresher door and stepped backwards into the doorway, holding out the towel behind him. “Here; wrap yourself in this.” He felt the towel being snatched from his hand. “Let me know when I can turn around.”

Marathel wrapped the towel around her, covering as much as she could. Leaning into the far corner, she quietly said, “Okay.”

Din turned around, his eyes seeking out Marathel. Her back was to him as she faced the corner of the fresher, the towel only covering her from mid-thigh to mid back, unable to wrap around her fully, and she had pulled her hair over her shoulder to cover her front. I should have brought her blanket, thought Din; he had again forgotten that she was a little more full-figured, and needed more coverage than a standard cheap towel would provide, because all he could ever see was that her form was perfect.

There were drips of blood running down her inner calves. Din looked over to the drain, seeing a small puddle of blood along with the remains of a large viscous clot, as well as bloody prints of both her hands and bare feet on the floor. Din removed his gloves and rolled up his sleeves. He grabbed the washcloth and went to the basin to soak it, seeing the bloody dilator in the basin. He looked over at Marathel just as she looked over her shoulder, and she flushed pink again, turning her face back to the corner. Din’s eyes went down her back, still covered with welts, and he watched another drop of blood roll down her leg, dismayed at how much she still had to suffer just to heal. “Will you at least let me take you to a medical facility?”

“How would you explain my injuries?”

Din soaked the washcloth and knelt by the large clot, doing his best to not look at it too much as he scooped it into the other small cloth. “The same story as before … you’re a runaway sex slave.”

“What if they don’t believe you?”

“They don’t ask many questions on a bounty.”

“Then why didn’t you take me there instead of Tatooine?”

Din began mopping up the worst of the blood, deciding to tell the partial truth. “I wasn’t too capable of logic at the time, my head being bashed in and all.” I was too afraid to put you in the hands of strangers.

Marathel looked at him over her shoulder. “What’s that? On your wrist?”

The yarn bracelet. He’d forgotten. He carefully wrapped the stained towels together. “Nothing.”

Marathel frowned. From what she could see, it was some sort of … adornment made from green, yellow, and brown yarn, the same colors she and Grogu had used to tie on the poosticks. “I don’t remember you having that before.”

Din did not answer her; instead, he took the bloody cloths and disposed of them in the vac tube and came back to wash his hands, looking away from the dilator. He opened the storage bin and pulled out a bottle. “Here is shampoo if you’d like to use it.” Marathel watched as Din stashed another, smaller bottle in his pocket, wondering what that could be that he needed to hide it; it wasn’t like she read the damn label, after all. He turned a dial on the wall. “Now you’ll have water. The same switch will turn it on. I’ll leave another towel outside the door. Okay?”

“Thank you. I’ll be quick; I don’t want to waste your water.”

“Please, don’t … don’t worry about that. Take all the time you need. Or at least all the cold water you can stand.”

“Thank you, Din.”

Din gazed at her, still pressed into the corner, naked but for her long hair and a scanty towel.

She is so soft, so beautiful. So sad.

So broken.

“You’re welcome, Marathel.” He grabbed his gloves, left the fresher, closing the door behind him. She called me Din, he thought. I’m Din again.

Marathel remained crowded into the corner of the fresher for a while after Din left her alone, mind racing, bewildered again by the Mandalorian Bounty Hunter. Ashamed as she was that he’d heard her before, that he’d listened to her as she … but he had come running to her when he thought that she was hurt, just as he’d come running when she called for him when Grogu had put her in a tree. Just like how he’d taken her broken body away with him when he left Unmanarall. And what had she done for him? Fed him meals, baked him bread, given him some physical pleasure?

Broken his heart?

Tears threatened again, chipping away at her resolve, trying to make her forget why she was insisting on going back … and the reasons for doing so were growing less and less important.

Marathel tried to turn off her addled brain as she went over to the fresher controls and turned on the water. Stepping under the aerated spray, she expected cold water, but what she experienced instead was something even more frigid than her waterfall during the deepest part of cold season. Chilled almost instantly to the bone, Marathel shrieked, “GAIAH!!!!”

In the cockpit, Grogu had woken up, and was cuddled on Din’s lap when Marathel’s surprised scream reverberated through the ship. Oh kriff, thought Din as he hurriedly turned down the reception volume on his helmet. Then he chuckled and patted Grogu’s tummy, saying, “I think I forgot to tell Mama to let the water run for a minute before getting in.” Grogu frowned up at him, folding his ears down. “Yeah, she’s gonna throw a rock at my pudyn for sure.”

Later, Marathel was clean and dressed again. It took a while before she got warm, though, after nearly freezing herself in the fresher. The water did eventually get mildly warm, but nowhere near enough to offset how cold the water was initially. Osi’kovid, thought Marathel. And after I helped him fix this flying metal box!

Marathel dressed in her other set of blue clothes, the thick socks Cobb had given her, and then finally her blanket. She figured out the drinking water dispenser and helped herself to Din’s tiny galley storage, finding the container of tea. She made two cups of extra-hot tea, a cup of bone broth, and cut a loaf of Silnima’s sweet squash bread into thick slices. Carrying one cup of tea and the cup of broth, she went up to the cockpit access. “Din?”

She heard his feet drop heavily to the floor, and he was up and looking down at her in a flash. “Mesh’la?”

Marathel pursed her lips at the endearment, and said, “Here is broth for Grogu, and tea for you.” She placed the cups, each with a slice of sweet bread on top, at Din’s feet.

Din quickly dropped to one knee and was just able to touch her fingers briefly as she let go of the cups. “Thank you, Marathel.”

“When Grogu is finished, would you please send him with the cups back to me? I finished knitting something for him.”

“Of course.” Marathel nodded, then disappeared from view. Din stayed there, on one knee, long after she’d left, just listening to her moving around on his ship, humming the only song, digging through drawers in the galley, sipping her tea, vocalizing her Oldtalk to the melody of the only song now and again. Grogu came and snagged his sweet bread and his bone broth and sat next to Din, enjoying his snack and listening to his Mama while Din thought about doing a U-turn, taking her to his covert and presenting her to the Armorer as his choice for riddurr.

But then, Din sighed and reconsidered. Kidnapping a bride was Paz’s style, not his. And being an Apostate meant a riddurrok was out of the question until he could redeem himself. So, he sat down next to his boy and drank his tea and ate the bread, lifting his helmet only enough to do so.

Below, Marathel had settled herself on Din’s bedroll and was using the black insulation foam as a base to felt the wool roving Cobb had bought for her. Lacking a felting tool, she’d dug through all the drawers she had been able to open and found three pointy things that she tied together to make an ersatz stabber, as she called it. She drafted the wool into little bits of fluff, which she spread in layers on the foam, using the three-pronged improvised tool to stab it into the foam over and over and over. This part was very therapeutic, Marathel found. As the wool felted together, she added more wool, flipping the piece over, stabbing it again and again to make a cloth, intending to give the finished cloths to the Bounty Hunter to polish his armor.

Din had come down from the cockpit with Grogu; they’d found a few empty cups and a couple of bowls floating around the cockpit. Din had expected to see Marathel leaning against the main corridor wall, sitting on the foam square, knitting. Surprised to not see her immediately, he looked around before he noticed her sitting in his quarters. He tilted his helmet as he watched her repeatedly stab bits of wool — with great gusto — into the black foam. Her vehemence in her task frightened him a little, as she stabbed, stabbed, stabbed whatever it was she had in her hand. “What are you doing?”

“I’m felting wool into cloth.” Stab, stab, stab.

“Why?”

“For you, to polish your armor.” Stab, stab, stab.

“I can buy that sort of thing.”

“I’m sure you can. But I want to make these for you.” Her tone told him she would brook no quarter. Stab, stab, stab. Her eyes flicked up to his helmet. Stab, stab, stab.

Din wasn’t about to argue the point with her, not with that stabby tool thing she was wielding. He did like seeing her in his bed, though. “Do you have enough light in there?”

She looked up at the overhead lights. “It’s good enough for what I’m doing. The floor is too uncomfortable for me right now,” said Marathel, her cheeks turning pink again. She looked past Din’s legs and smiled. “Just who I wanted to see. Come here, my love.” Grogu toddled in and hugged Marathel’s legs. She picked up a folded knitted item and unfurled it, holding it up to his little body. “Hmmm. It might be a little big for him. But he’ll grow into it.” Marathel frowned and looked back up at Din. “Will he grow into it?”

Din shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I only recently found out he’s over fifty years old.”

“Fifty? Why, that would make him older than me, even!”

“I understand that his people are slow-growing folks that live for a very long time.”

“But that means …” Marathel’s face fell, and she caressed Grogu’s face. “He will be without you for much of his life.”

Din crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb, looking down to the floor. “I suppose so.” It had occurred to him as well. He tried not to think about it much.

“How old are you?”

Din raised his eyes back to Marathel’s lovely face. “Well, going back and forth in hyperspace kind of muddies time, as opposed to staying on one planet. But I’m somewhere around forty-two Basic years old.”

“That makes me older than you,” said Marathel quietly. “I am glad to know that you are not so much younger than me.”

Din shrugged. “Not by much, no.” And I am glad to know that you aren’t half my age … that would have skeeved me out. I’m middle-aged. I don’t need to be with someone so young as that … not like the place you came from.

“Well, enough of that kind of talk. Let’s see how this fits you, my little Godynferth!” Marathel fed Grogu’s arms into the sleeves of the little jacket, and she tied the attached belt around his waist. “It’s a tiny bit long, but it looks good to me. Show your father, little one.”

With a pleased coo, Grogu turned to Din, holding out his little arms. Din squatted down to Grogu’s level. “Well, now, kid, I think you look like a proper Jedi. I like it, Marathel, thank you. He’s never complained about being cold, but a child should have cold weather gear.”

“What do you do for cold weather gear?”

“You’re looking at it.”

Marathel frowned. “Do you not get cold?”

“I get cold.”

This troubled Marathel. The thought I would knit you sweaters and cowls, weave you capes and blankets, anything I could make to keep you warm went unbidden through her head.

Din cleared his throat, and stood, taking a step back from the doorway. “I thought I should use the sonic myself. Would you mind …?”

Marathel blinked. “Oh! Of course. Just knock when I can come out.” She looked around her, realizing that Grogu had wandered off. She called out, “Come here, Grogu, let me take that jacket off you … then you get to stay in here with Mama.” She had not directly called herself that before. Not out loud. Oh, she thought to herself. I never knew how much joy my heart could hold, just saying Mama, referring to myself. Did Din feel the same way, when Grogu became his son in his heart?

And oh, when Din caught her eye after she had put the question to her mind, and Din knew as sure as anything that Marathel had just realized who she was.

Grogu’s Mama.

You’re Grogu’s Mama, Marathel. And you’re going to leave him, because you’re holding on to some insane guilt over things that were done to you and not by you. I can think of no other reason you would willingly return there. Yet, I can’t not take you back; I must obey you because … you are my Dahl-mate? That is equally insane, my ma’mwsh ha’laa, so insane we should go somewhere uncharted and be crazy together.

Din stepped back into his quarters and stood, looking down at Marathel. She looked back at him, puzzled, asking, “What is it?”

“We need to talk to each other,” said Din.

“We have talked.”

“No, we haven’t.” Din sat down at the other end of the bedroll, but still too close in the tiny room, where they’d already experienced so much intimacy when she was injured, unconscious, and naked, and he was gloveless, helmet-less, and out if his mind with concussion. “You’ve talked. You’ve talked at me. You’ve told me the nightmare of your life, the humiliation and degradation you’ve suffered. But then you tell me that I must return you to the source of your suffering, and that’s all there is to it.” Din sighed, unsure where to start. “May I hold your hand?”

Marathel looked down at Din’s hand, covered by his glove. She couldn’t think of a good reason not to hold his hand. It was a reasonable request, and he was a man; therefore, she must obey him. But his hand was encased by fabric and leather. Along with his forearm weapons, there was not a strip of bare skin exposed. She supposed that he could make the argument that her hand was encased in metal springs, and therefore, just as non-tactile as his own hand.

But what difference did the glove make, really? His hand was still within — a strong and gentle hand, powerful, but still capable of tender touch, loving hands that held Grogu as well as fondled her.

His hands, the gloves.

Marathel raised her eyes to Din’s chest, protected by heavy armor. She knew it was heavy; she’d felt the weight of it against her own body, and he carried both the armor and occasionally her. But behind the armor was him, she knew there was flesh, flesh that was warm and yielding, carrying scars and marks and moles, flesh over muscle that had seen battles that ended in death and hands of others caressing him, pleasuring him, for he was a man and such pleasures were necessary; even her own hands had felt that flesh in an effort to please him as well as fill her own needs.

His body, the armor.

Raising her eyes even more, Marathel studied his helmet, planes and angles that disguised his face; and even though she knew he had brown hair and brown eyes and a mustache and facial hair, she longed to see those features, to solidify in her broken mind who he was, his eyes upon hers, to hopefully read in those brown eyes that he could see her, cracked, crumbled, chipped away to rubble, and so, so sad that she desperately needed a tender touch and the knowledge that even as unworthy as she was, that he trusted her enough, that he loved her enough, to supersede his words of love and trust with the sight of his own lips saying such things, and the touch of his lips on her, words, words meant nothing, she was too stupid to understand words, words almost always led to lies …

“Marathel?” Marathel blinked, shaking herself out of her thoughts. “I only asked you to hold my hand; it wasn’t some sort of trick question,” he implored.

Marathel dropped her eyes and went back to felting the wool, stabbing the fleece into the foam over and over. “What did you need to say?”

“I want you to explain to Grogu why you’re doing this.”

“Doing what? Felting wool?”

Din took a deep breath; he wanted to keep his temper. “Why you’re insisting I take you back.” Marathel stopped her stabbing motion. “Because you haven’t explained it to me at all, and I want to hear you explain it to him, so maybe I can possibly understand.”

Marathel set aside her project and primly folded her hands in her lap. “I’d be happy to speak to Grogu. Shall I do it now?”

Din was surprised, as he thought she would either belay an explanation or refuse to do it altogether. He looked over his shoulder and saw Grogu, still in his little knitted robe, sitting in the doorway, eating a hunk of bread. “Hey kid, Marathel would like to speak to you.”

Grogu got up and toddled over to Marathel, holding out his bread crust to her. Marathel smiled and took the proffered crust, bobbed her head, and murmured, “Thank you, my love,” and ate the bit of bread, while Din was both surprised and overwhelmed that Grogu shared food with her, as if sharing food was a commonplace thing for him, because it certainly wasn’t. “Come up here, little one,” she said, lifting him onto her legs so Grogu could sit on her. “You may not know this, but your father is taking me back to the planet I came from. Remember? You met me there, in my little hut, where we played poosticks, and picked flowers, and you and Patu went fishing?”

Grogu made an affirmative coo, and Marathel continued. “Well, we’re going back there, but what will happen is that I will stay there, and you and Patu will go on flying on your adventure, and I will not be with you.”

Grogu frowned, his ears drooping.

“Remember, when I said goodbye to you before? I thought you would be leaving me behind then. But I was so badly hurt, and your father did not want to leave me behind like that. I didn’t know your father took me away with you. And I am sorry that you had to see me so hurt, and that you had to help me breathe when I was so sick. I know you also helped my hands, and I thank you so much for that. You gave me back my hands, you clever boy!

“Unfortunately, I am still sick. I am very, very sick. But I’m not sick in my lungs, or in my hands. I’m sick here …” — Marathel indicated her head — “… and here …” — Marathel put her hand over her heart. “The sickness, the pain I have there is not an illness that can be healed by the tiny hands of a little green boy with large ears. It’s a sickness that I can’t ever recover from. It’s a hurt that can’t be fixed. And when there’s something that can’t be fixed, well, then, it must be left behind.

“I’m sure you’ve seen Patu leave things that can’t be fixed. Parts of this ship, a blaster, something. But this time, it’s me that must be left behind.” Grogu’s face fell, and he looked down to his little feet until Marathel put her finger under his chin and lifted his face up again. “Grogu, you need to know that I’m okay with that. That is what I want. I want to be left behind, so my sickness won’t affect you or your Patu.

“I know this is hard to understand. I know I can’t properly explain why this is so necessary to me. But I need you to remember that this was my decision. And if for no other reason than that, I need for that decision to be honored by you, honored by your Patu. I’ve had so little honor given to me, Grogu, and whether my decision is good, or bad, or indifferent, it was my decision to make.

“But I don’t want you to worry about me. I will be all right when you and Patu leave. I will be sad, of course. I will be very sad. And you will be sad, too, I know. You may be very sad. And it’s okay for you to be sad. But you have much to do. You must grow up, and live a wonderful life, and have many exciting adventures with your father. And I want you to enjoy the amazing life you’re going to have, flying here and there, meeting all kinds of people … probably making things blow up …” Marathel laughed. “Wherever you are, I will be thinking of you. When you look up at the night sky, and you see all those stars, and planets, that will be me keeping an eye on you! I’ve been so proud to be your Mama! And perhaps, someday, you may have a new Mama to go along with your Patu, or … even maybe another Patu, who knows?” Marathel looked up at Din, thinking of Cobb. She knew. She just did. “Someone will make your father so happy, and that’s what we all want, is for Patu and Grogu to be happy. Happy, and safe.

“And … I will be happy too, to know that you are happy, and safe. No matter how sick I am, no matter how much I hurt in my heart and in my mind, I will always be happy that I met you and your father. I will always be happy to think of the three of us having fun in that little hut, having little, tiny adventures amongst ourselves. Even if you believe you had far too many baths.

“I will miss you so much. You will be in my heart forever. Rwy’n di’rugar, my love,” said Marathel, her voice crackling, and she picked up Grogu and hugged him tightly, kissing his little face.

Drawing back, Marathel smiled at Grogu with tears in her eyes. “I think that went well, don’t you? Yes, I think that went well. I hope you understand a little better why this is happening, love, yes? Yes.”

Grogu patted her cheek, cooing sadly. Then he pointed back at Din. Marathel gazed into his dark visor and sighed. “Yes, I will miss Patu as well. He has been a good friend to me. My first friend, actually. Your father will also be in my heart forever. I know he’s having a very hard time leaving me behind. Someday, he may understand why he must leave me behind, but even if he doesn’t, I hope he knows that I will never regret a single moment I spent with him. Even when I threw eggs at him. Or called him names.”

“What about not telling me about the depth of the mud I had to slog through?” asked Din.

“Oh, that … I wanted to get back at you for laughing at me.”

Din chuckled briefly, and then reached over to gently ruffle Grogu’s hair, moving his hands closer to her. “Marathel, I don’t think you’re sick. I don’t think you’re so damaged that you can’t be fixed, or that you can’t be helped. Doctors and therapists are out there. I can find you someone if you would just let me.”

Marathel felt trapped by the armored man before her, and she wondered if that was his intention. She returned her attention to Grogu. “Grogu, do you understand what I am asking of you? Will you please honor my decision?”

“You can’t ask him that. He’s just a child.”

“Grogu is wiser than I will ever be.”

“All the more reason to not take you back, Marathel! I can’t, in good conscience, leave a woman having a nervous breakdown alone in the wilderness!”

“I’m not having a breakdown!” cried Marathel.

“Then you should!” shouted Din. He dropped his head. “I’m sorry, mesh’la, I’m sorry, ad’ika, I shouldn’t have yelled. I am upset, because … because I don’t have much time left to convince you to not leave me.” He reached for Grogu. “Kid, would you please give Mama and me some privacy? We need to … grown-up talk.” Grogu bleated and jumped off Marathel’s lap and toddled out of the tiny room, patting Din’s arm as he went, which both adults noticed with mild amusement, wondering just how much Grogu was able to understand the angst the grown-ups were creating for themselves.

Din and Marathel looked at each other. He took a breath, then reached to shut the door.

“Din …”

He moved his hand along the wall, and turned off the lights, and then a third switch shut off even the tiny red and green panel lights, leaving the tiny room in full darkness. Marathel gasped, and Din said, “Mesh’la, I need you to trust me … I must do this this way.” Focusing on the low-light image in his visor, he moved closer to her, reaching for her hands in the darkness, and she pushed herself against the wall behind her. “Please, Marathel, I …” She kept pulling her hands loose, whimpering, fearful. Din pulled off his gloves, and then, his helmet, saying, “Marathel.”

Marathel fell still at the sound of his voice, unmodulated, and she forgot to breathe. Din reached for her hand again, their fingertips touching before she drew her hand back. “Marathel, ma’mwsh ha’laa, I don’t know what to do about you. I don’t understand why you won’t let me love you. I don’t understand why you insist on destroying yourself.” He sighed. “I don’t know how else to say that I don’t care who your biological parents are. I don’t know how else to tell you that those reprehensible things done to you don’t make you a whore. Those things only matter to me because of the pain they cause you.”

Din got up to his knees and moved even closer to Marathel, gently pushing down on her knees so that he could straddle her legs, resting part on his weight on her, pinning her in place again like he had against the kitchen wall of the palace, and he hated that he kept trapping her this way. He lifted her hands to his face, saying, “I can’t show you my face. This is the way. This is the only … allowable way for me to be without my helmet around you. And even then, this is still … difficult. Attachments outside the covert, attachments of any kind are not discouraged, but … neither are they encouraged.” He still held her trembling hands. “I’ve told you I love you, both in Basic and in my own language, remember? I said to you, ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, when we were together that night. ‘I will know you forever,’ that’s what that really means, mesh’la, I will have you in my heart forever just as you will have Grogu in your heart forever. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner kar’ta, cyar’e. I love you, my heart, my beloved …” Din kissed her splinted fingers. “And you said something back. What did you say back to me?”

“Fi ng’riad, d’lwch fi, chi yd’w fi,” said Marathel, her voice unsteady.

“What does that mean?”

“‘Love me, hold me, I am yours.’”

“But it doesn’t really mean that, does it, mesh’la? I can’t possibly believe that there’s a word for love in the Hold. Not with what they do there to women, to children. I’m sure you say that at a very specific time; you have ceremonial words for every moment you women must endure, there’s a verse in that only song for every occasion, so when do you say that, Marathel, what does it really mean?”

“It means … ‘I am yours to take and ruin.’”

Din’s heart broke a little more. “And when are you supposed to say that?”

“When the girl presents herself to her Elder as a Whyn just before he takes her … fully.”

“And you said this … to me?”

Marathel sobbed and pulled her hands away. “I had no other words to give you. I knew you had said something very important to me, and I had to say something!”

“But what do you feel, Marathel?”

“I don’t know!”

Din sat back on his heels, sighing, sure she was lying. He rubbed his face with his hands. “Back on Unmanarall, when you asked me to remove my helmet … if I had, would you have changed your mind about going to the Hold?”

“No.”

“If …” Din’s voice broke, and he had to clear his throat. “If I revealed my face to you now, knowing that I love you, Marathel, my ma’mwsh ha’laa … would you stay with me? Would it make a difference?”

“… No.”

At that moment, Din would rather have been sliced in two by the Darksaber. Desperate now, he pleaded, “What if … then … not with me, then … Stay at the palace, on Nevarro, somewhere, anywhere, where I know I can reach you, see you, know you’re safe …” He found her face in the darkness and pressed his forehead to hers. “Somewhere Grogu can see you, please, ner kar’ta, my heart, please, please, don’t make that boy lose his Mama!”

“Din, please …” sobbed Marathel.

“Stay, yes, or no?”

“... No.”

Din wanted to weep. He reached behind him to find his gloves and his helmet. Standing, he put his helmet back on, and opened the door to the tiny room, revealing Grogu on the other side, looking sadly back up at him. “Gangway, Grogu,” he said, listlessly, and he climbed up the ladder into the cockpit, shutting the door behind him.

Marathel sobbed into her hands, hating herself for what she was doing. She felt Grogu’s tiny hand touch her knee. “Oh, Grogu, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for hurting Patu like that.” She held Grogu as she shifted them both to a prone position on their sides, facing each other. Marathel began stroking Grogu’s ear with her thumb. “Someday, he may forgive me, but if he never does, I will accept that. I’d rather he hate me forever.”

Grogu’s sad eyes bore into hers. “Patu Mama,” he said sternly.

“Patu … Mama?” asked Marathel, confused.

Grogu put his hands together, wrapping his tiny fingers around each other. “Patu … Mama.” Marathel blinked tears from her eyes, then nodded. Repeating the hand motions, Grogu asked, “Mama … Patu?”

Marathel’s eyes went wide, then shut tight for a few moments. Opening her eyes, she whispered, “Yes, my little child. Mama Patu.” Marathel smiled through her tears. “Mama loves Patu with all her heart.”

She couldn’t speak after that for a few moments. Finally, she was able to say, “Grogu, my sweet, it’s because I love your father so that I must be left behind. I’m damaged, and I’m no good. He deserves someone so much better than me. What I am, no matter where I go, will bring him only shame and misery. I’m the wrong woman, and what I’ve done will be found out; I know now how people will talk behind my back. I heard the whispering in the palace. Patu is well-respected everywhere he goes, he must be. I can’t be the reason he loses respect in his covert, his … well, wherever a Bounty Hunter may belong. And I don’t belong anywhere, anyplace that’s good.

“People don’t understand a person like me, they will judge me for what I’ve done, what was done to me, who I am. And they will judge your father for caring about me. And I refuse to bring that judgement upon Patu.”

Grogu grunted, shook his fists and said, “Patu Mama! Mama Patu!”

“Oh, Grogu, if only it could be so, I wish it could. But this is the way.”

Grogu frowned and put his hand on Marathel’s chin, and she immediately felt a little sleepy. “Grogu is putting me to sleep again, I think. Did you want me to tell you a bedtime story, little one?” Marathel yawned. “I will tell you my version of how I met your father.

“When I first saw him, the sunlight was reflecting off his armor almost straight into my eyes, and I thought he was one of the Mothers Who Went Before coming for me, coming to take me away and up into the night sky. And then I thought, no, I don’t want to go! So, I had to throw a rock to chase Patu away.

“I had wanted the Mothers Who Went Before to come take me away. I wished for it, prayed to Frith for it. But when I thought they had appeared, I begged to stay! And when I realized it was a person, a man I had never seen before, I was afraid, but somehow, I knew that he would not hurt me, that I was safe with him. I knew a stranger to me would be the first man to treat me well.” Marathel smiled at Grogu, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “And Patu brought me you. How could I not love him?” She felt sad yet happy that she revealed the truth to Grogu. But as she fell asleep — and whether it was Grogu putting her to sleep or the emotional exhaustion hitting her was immaterial — Marathel mumbled, “But there’s no point.”

Grogu got up from where he lay next to Marathel. He gently pressed his forehead to hers, like Patu would do. Just like Patu would do to him. Then Grogu sighed, and toddled out to the corridor, where he sat down with a tiny grunt, looking back and forth from the open quarters to the closed cockpit door.

Grogu was frustrated. Grogu had a hard time understanding why Patu and Mama could not just love Mama and Patu! Grogu wished Patu would kiss Mama again. Grogu had seen other people kiss before. Grogu knew kissing made other people happy. Grogu had been happy when Patu had been happy with Ohmeh. Grogu had been sad that Patu did not kiss Ohmeh. Grogu was happy Patu kissed Mama. Grogu changed Mahr to Mama because Patu kissed Mama. Grogu was happy Patu became happy again.

Grogu was sad that Mama was sad. Grogu could see that Mama was hurt in a lot of places. Grogu wondered why someone hurt Mama. Grogu was mad that someone hurt Mama. Grogu wanted to help Mama. Grogu had helped Patu and friends of Patu.

Grogu did not understand why Mama did not want help from Grogu. Grogu did not understand why Mama was so dark inside head of Mama. Grogu was sad Mama was so dark inside head of Mama.

Grogu could not fix Mama.

Grogu could not fix inside head of Mama.

Grogu was sad.

Grogu looked down at the floor and sighed. He thought for a while, and while he sat and thought, he began picking up his favorite colors of the glitter on the floor — gold, silver, and green — and made them float and swirl before his eyes. After a while, Grogu put the glitter down, and he called out to the Force, looking for friends that might make Mama less sad. And if Mama was less sad, then maybe Patu would be less sad, too.

It was a few hours later that Marathel heard Din calling her. Climbing up out of her troubled sleep, she said, “Mmmmm … what?”

“Marathel? Wake up.”

Not wanting another round of Din’s pressure, Marathel muttered, “Why?”

“You need to see this.” Marathel frowned at Din but let him help her up. She followed him stiffly up the ladder to the cockpit, where he beckoned her to stand at the console, where Grogu was sitting, looking up and out of the view screen. Din pointed above his head. “Look.”

Marathel stood where Din indicated, and looked up to see not just one Purrgil, but many. She gasped and put her hand to her mouth.

“I don’t know how many there are,” said Din. “I got up to twelve, and more kept coming. I can’t see them all to count them. They are all around the Crest.” A single Purrgil, much smaller than the one Marathel had seen while on the transport, moved closer, almost as if she was trying to peer into the cockpit. “A few have done that, too. I’ve never heard of a Purrgil doing that before.” The Purrgil bellowed, the vibration rumbling the floor of the cockpit, and they could see the closest of the Purrgils nodding their heads. Din turned to look at Marathel’s enraptured face. “It looks like they were waiting for you,” he whispered, carefully reaching for her hand.

Marathel jumped, looked down at her hand, her pinky finger wrapped with his. She quickly shifted her eyes back up on the Purrgils above her … but she reached with her other fingers to capture the rest of his hand. Din lifted his other hand to Grogu’s back, and they stood that way for a long time. Eventually, Din wrapped his arm around Grogu, lifting the child up against him. Din stepped back and took a seat on his captain’s chair, still holding Marathel’s hand as she dropped her eyes from the Purrgils and turned to look at him. He gently tugged on her hand, and she allowed him to seat her on his lap. Din reached to recline the seat back, but it fell too quickly and Marathel nearly somersaulted off the back of the chair, and she laughed while Din cursed his rotten luck. Of all times to be a klutz, he thought. I couldn’t be suave if my life depended on it!

“This is ridiculous,” said Marathel. “I’m too heavy; I’ll squish you.”

“No, you won’t.” Even if she cut off his circulation and his legs fell off, he wouldn’t care. Din put his feet up on the console, her legs already entwined with his.

“Then I’ll break your chair.”

“Unlikely.” Even if their combined weight broke this chair, he had two more in this very cockpit. Chairs were replaceable. Din guided Marathel to lay back against him and tucked her head under the edge of his helmet.

“This many Purrgil could destroy your ship.”

“Then I will die with my clan in my arms,” said Din.

Marathel’s heart ached. She tried to blink back her tears, but failed. Then she realized she could feel his body under hers. “Did you remove your armor?”

“Yes.”

Marathel couldn’t help but smirk. “You felt safe enough to remove your armor around me?”

“It was a calculated risk.”

“And you assumed you could get me on your lap.”

Din stroked her arm. “And I love you best, Marathel, when you open your sweet mouth and say things like that.”

He was right of course, for Marathel felt the same way about him. She didn’t speak again, but remained there in his chair, on his lap, along with Grogu, watching the Purrgil fly all around them. The Purrgil continued to accompany the small ship through hyperspace, watching over the clan of three.

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