The Mandalorian X Reader - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

Kinktober Day 2

Hunter/Prey

dark!Din Djarin x f!Reader

Gif credits @perotovar

Summary: Din has one problem with you, you often like to run away from him. Luckily he loves playing this game with you. Warnings: +18, MDNI, hunter/pray vibes, kinda dark!Din, violence, shooting, dubcon, unprotected PIV, dirty talk, rough sex, creampie Wordcount: 1,5k An: I don’t think I like this one bc I was really tired while writing this but my sis is proud of me anyway <3 @yori-mik

Masterlist and Kinktober Masterlist

You ran away again while he was gone.

He could tell it was starting to annoy him, looking for you in the dark after a whole day of fighting could easily break his nerves of steel. Luckily for you, he liked playing cat and mouse with you.

He liked it because he always won.

He could track you down even when you had a few hours' advantage. And the funniest thing was that you were hopeless at it and he didn't even have to try too hard to find you. Even in the middle of the night, like now.

"Don't you get bored?" he said, looking around the rocks. You had plenty of places to hide, and you were even able to attack him.

But to his surprise, you never did.

You always just ran and hide, even though you could fight. He had seen you in action and he dared to say that you would be able to ambush him without a problem.

So why haven't you done it by now?

"We should go back, it's not safe here after dark."

He took slow and careful steps, not making the slightest sound.

The warm traces in the sand were getting clearer and that meant they were fresh. You were not far away and at that thought a quiet snort left his lips.

"Don't hide from me. You know I will find you."

With a smirk on his face he looked through the sight of his weapon but he wasn't looking for you; he was looking for something that could threaten you.

Despite everything, Din cared about your safety more than his own. You were his pet. And he cared about what belonged to him.

He passed another mountain and stopped dead when your tracks suddenly disappeared. He looked around searching for any foreign traces that would indicate a possible fight or kidnapping, but the sand around looked undisturbed.

"Where are you?" he whispered to himself and started changing the settings of the viewfinder in the hope that he would be able to see something.

Rage slowly began to build in his chest when he realized that someone could have really kidnapped you, and what followed - he had to track down that someone and kill them.

He groaned under his breath and lowered his weapon, but when he wanted to turn around and go back to the ship, he heard something. He stopped and listened silently for where the sound was coming from. Unfortunately for you, your hand slipped on the stone again and pieces of it fell down. Right onto his helmet.

Din laughed and shook his head in amusement. "You almost make it."

In one movement, he loaded the weapon and aimed upwards. He immediately noticed a spot of heat that looked like you.

"Got ya," he whispered in satisfaction before pulling the trigger, shooting your side. Waves of electricity shot through your body, making you tense up and let go of the rocks with a scream.

Panic took over your body as you fell, ready to painfully meet the ground. He wasn't going to let that happen so he threw the gun to the side and with a gasp caught you in his arms. He groaned quietly as he adjusted you in his grip and looked at your pained expression.

"Fuck, that hurt." You winced, rubbing the spot where he shot you before giving him an angry look. "That wasn't necessary."

"Sorry ‘bout that."

You rolled your eyes and yanked, wanting to get out of his grip. He didn't let you fall out of his arms, he just slowly and carefully put you down on the ground. You dusted off your clothes, mumbling under your breath in dissatisfaction.

Din watched you closely with interest and could admit that the sight of you almost made him feel affectionate. Almost. If it wasn't for the fact that he was just waiting for your next step, which he expected to be another attempt to escape.

In a second, you turned around and ran towards the desert. A quiet snort left his lips when he gave you a few seconds of advantage before he started after you.

You ran as fast as you could, afraid to turn around to check how far away he was. You didn't have to wait long to find out though, because after a moment you felt his arms wrap around your waist, and then you both fell to the ground.

You groaned in pain, feeling his weight on you and every piece of his armor that digging into your skin. “Get off me,” you gasped, trying to catch your breath.

“Oh no no.”

Keeping you pinned to the ground, he sat on your hips and with a powerful movement, flipped you onto your back.

You didn’t even have time to register the position you were in when you felt his fingers unbuttoning your pants.

“You’re acting like a brat, so that’s how I’m going to treat you.”

He yanked on the material, sliding it off your hips. You gasped in shock, watching with your mouth agape as he ripped the material of your panties, as he unbuttoned his pants, and as he pulled out his cock.

“Din,” you said warningly, watching with wide eyes as he guided his tip between your legs.

“Shut.” He ran it between your slit and gasped at the wetness that was hiding there. “You’re into that, huh?”

“Into what?”

“Into that haunting thing.” He wet every inch of your pussy until your clit began to throb every time he rubbed against her. “You like being my prey?” he asked, positioning himself at your entrance. “Is that why you run away so often?”

You couldn’t even get a word out as you felt him slowly push into you. Air caught in your lungs at the feeling of being filled.

Din gasped loudly as he was fully inside you and felt the warmth that surrounded him. “Oh, fuck yes,” he moaned in delight before letting his hips take over. He started slowly, feeling you clench around him. “This is what you wanted, huh?”

He tightened his grip on your waist, holding you in place as he began to pick up the pace. The only thing he heard in response was your loud gasps.

He squeezed his thighs against yours, causing more friction.

“You’re a brat just for me to come after you, isn’t that right?” You shook your head and almost choked as he thrust harder into you. "Wrong answer."

You gripped his wrists tightly, trying to pull away from him when he didn't slow down, continuing to thrust hard into you and pulling back slowly. He let you fully feel his thickness and length as he had already learned how you liked it.

You didn't look like the type to enjoy being taken on the dirty ground like some whore. And yet, here you were, in the middle of nowhere, fucking breathlessly.

"You like that, don't you?" He dug his fingers deeper into your flesh, holding you tight to him as your pussy began to throb with each of his thrusts.

"Yes," you moaned blissfully, arching your back as you began to think only of the pleasure building in your core.

“Yeah, you do, my sweet little pet.”

His panting mixed with the wild sounds coming from you. He didn’t allow himself to make a thoughtless move for a moment as he watched the grimace of bliss on your face.

He loved making you feel like this, and he was sure that because of it, you never really decided to run away from him.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop.” Your pleading moans were music to his ears.

“I won’t.”

You shivered at his lust-filled tone.

His cock was slowly driving you to a point where you couldn’t think about anything and all it took was the sound of him to groaning with each thrust and your orgasm took over your senses.

“There you are,” he gasped in satisfaction as your walls began to throb around his cock as if you wanted to strangle him.

Your moans turned him on so much that he came deep in your pussy in mere seconds and you almost cried as he began to tear up as his cum painted your insides.

Breathing heavily, you both came down from your peaks.

The stars reflected off the beskar as Din stared at you without moving. You knew he wouldn't be the first to speak, he never did after something like this.

"Shall we go back to the ship now?" you asked, still calming your breath.

He snorted at your words and shook his head in amusement. "You didn’t happen to want to run away?"

You could have sworn there was a smirk on his face.

"Not really." You shrugged and gave him a crooked smile.

"I thought so."

Tags: @mattmurdocksdumpy @milly-louise @rosi3ba3z @candlelover @gothcsz @tateypots @chloe302225 @natalieispunk @amyispxnk @mandoloriancookie @libre-sol @alex-does-art-things @xxchumanixx @ch3rryyyyyyyyyy @bbyanarchist @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Forty-One)

Summary: The scouting team, made up of Mandalorians from both tribes, lands on Mandalore and begins to explore its surface, but they soon end up encountering an old enemy and uncovering a villainous plot.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Yeah, the ending on this chapter’s gonna be pretty rough so buckle in! Thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Forty-One The Trap (Previous Chapter)

All through the morning, (Y/N) kept herself busy by helping the Mandalorian mercenaries tune the engines of their starfighters and load supplies onto the light cruiser, and although they were grueling tasks for a sleep-deprived woman to complete, they worked to distract her from the feeling of foreboding that stubbornly persisted from the night before. The moment that she boarded the Gauntlet alongside Din and Grogu, however, there was nothing to divert her attention away from the inexplicable anxiety weighing on her mind; she didn’t have the N-1 to pilot or even her sewing supplies to keep herself busy, and there were only so many times that she could disassemble and clean her already spotless blaster. You’re just thinking about all the bad experiences we went through the last time we were on Mandalore, she reminded herself as the heel of her boot continued to tap against the floor and her fingers fiddled with a loose thread dangling off the hem of her coat’s sleeve, wishing that she could give in and forget about the ominous sensation filling the pit of her stomach.

“No.”

(Y/N) shook herself out of her reverie and a smile played on her lips when she saw IG-12 standing in front of her seat. “Hey, little guy. Whatcha mean, ‘No?’” Grogu cooed and operated the droid’s hand to take hold of hers and gently guide it away from the loose thread, making (Y/N) chuckle and look back up at the child with pride. “That’s right: pulling the thread will only cause more damage to the garment’s stitching. You’d make quite the seamstress’ apprentice, Grogu.”

He giggled when she tickled the patch of skin beneath his chin and pressed a clawed hand against one of the console’s button. “Yes.”

Keep reading

close quarters (mandalorian x reader)

words: 11.5k

rating: explicit

summary: an invitation for the mandalorian to lay down with you turns into a very long night.

warnings: SMUT, 11.5k words and most are smut, the armour stays ON during sex, mando’s the big spoon, thigh fucking, multiple orgasms, mild-somno kink?, a lil dom!mando, tit slapping, uhhhh big meat mando

a/n: based on several prompts for big meat mando and a sleeping reader. and inspired by the original big meat mando headcanon. retconned a few things, such as mando never having taken off the armour to smash her cheeks. enjoy!

gif source (@logan-solo)

The Razor Crest wasn’t built with comfort in mind.

In fact, it wasn’t built for comfort at all.

You don’t think the old gunship was ever meant to make a home for anyone, and it had surprised you that the Mandalorian had ever even taken the liberty to wedge a cot in what you assumed may have been a storage closet.

Truthfully, it wouldn’t have shocked you if he had just told you that he slept standing upright with his rifle propping him up — if he ever slept at all.

Still, it softened you to know that he still scrounged up what few small comforts he could manage — the thread bare blanket made of the same material as his cloak (in fact, you were half sure that it was an old cloak, one that had grown too shorn from use), and the lumpy roll that was meant to be a pillow.

Keep reading

How You and Din Meet (obiwandaughter!reader)

A/N - Alright this is my first attempt at a headcanon because I’ve had a hard week and I’m exhausted. Hope all you lovelies enjoy!

Masterlist

How You and Din Met:

You had grown up knowing that being the product of a Mandalorian and a Jedi in an Imperial run galaxy meant your life was always at risk.

To keep yourself safe, you kept your lineage private. Anyone who saw you use the Force never lived to tell the tale. 

After your father’s death at the hands of Darth Vader, and your mother’s death shortly after from a broken heart, you joined the Guild.

Living your life as a bounty hunter kept you busy, but of course you got lonely. You longed for a partner, it was the Jedi in your veins. 

That’s when you met him, the Mandalorian, also known as Din Djarin.

But of course, you didn’t know his name until later on.

Greef Karga gave the Mandalorian a mission that needed two people, not even a Mandalorian could take down the asset. 

Lucky you, Karga had just given you your pay from your last bounty and were just leaving as he calls you over to the table. 

Right from the start, both of you were against working together

Don’t get it wrong, the mystery around the Mandalorian drew you to him, but you had learned to not trust people, especially with your gifts

However, when the credits were discussed, you reluctantly joined the warrior.

After a long ass trip of nothing but silence, it was when you swore in Mando’a accidentally cutting yourself on a piece of metal on the ladder, that the mighty Mando spoke up.

“I haven’t heard that language in forever,”

“What, Mando’a?”

“Yes, where did you learn it?” 

“My mother, she taught me,”

“Why didn’t you take the Creed then?”

“How about we just get this mission done and never have to speak of this again, hmm?”

You had landed on a desolate planet, as to be expected. What you didn’t expect was the whole freaking week you would have to spend with Mando trying to track down the bounty. 

Throughout your time together, you had gotten close. 

He felt like he could trust you since you spoke his language, you knew his code. It was an odd feeling, one he hadn’t felt in years. 

You felt like you could trust him, he understood the secrecy of being part of the Mandalorians. 

Your new found trust would be tested once you found your bounty however. 

Greef had failed to mention that the damn bounty knew how to use the Force, which was why two people needed to be on this mission. 

Or a Jedi.

The bounty was powerful and despite your best efforts, you knew it was either you and the Mandalorian’s death, or you use your powers. 

Your choice was made when the target used the Force to hurl one of his blades straight for Mando, in a place his armor wasn’t protecting.

It was like an instinct, what you did. Holding out your hand, letting the Force run through you, pausing the blade in mid air. 

You didn’t need to see the Mandalorian’s face to know that his eyes were wide in that moment. 

On reflex, you sent the blade hurtling back towards the bounty at an unimaginable rate, killing him instantly. 

“How the-”

“This is usually when I kill you for seeing that...”

He stays silent, his hand reaching to his blaster.

“I won’t, I trust you to keep my secret,”

His hand drops from the blaster, his body visibly deflating. 

“Din,” 

“Hmm?”

“My name is Din Djarin,”

Your eyes widen a bit, the trust he must have had in you to keep his secret was astronomical, much like you had in him keeping yours. 

“I’m (Y/N) Kenobi,”

With a curt nod, you both work on dragging the body back to the Razor Crest to bring back to the hire.

As you loaded the corpse into his carbon freezer, you felt a hand on your shoulder. 

“You know, Kenobi, I could use a partner on this ship. Make more money on bounties and split it,”

You milled over the thought for a while. The idea of no longer being alone, having a partner work with you, it was enticing.

“Are you sure it’s not because you’re trying to make sure I won’t come and kill you?”

A soft chuckle is translated through his conductor. 

“I’d like to see you try,”

“Well, I’d be glad to join you, Din,” 

A firm hand shake sealed the deal between you two. 

You had gotten your wish to never work alone. 

Little did you know, you and Din would eventually make it way past a work relationship. 

Tag List: (leave a comment on the masterlist to be added to this series)

toribentleyva  mikariell95 edgy-wedgy-poo  tillytheslytherin  irishfaulk97 supergingerlocks  aeryn--sun  nedxwynert  forbidden-darkness

Don’t Belong Here (kenobidaughter!reader)

Masterlist

Summary: After being saved by a group of Mandalorians similar to Din, you begin to realize that your a puzzle piece that doesn’t seem to fit...

Warnings: Incredible amount of angst, lil’ bit of fluff, tension left unresolved

The soft babbling from the floating bassinet that follows you is like water against the fire that burns at your nerves. Looking down at the Child, you send a soft smile towards his wide eyes. How much does he understand of what is happening around him, you wonder. If he is fifty years old, he must realize the tension between you and his adoptive father. Of the situation at hand. 

You told Din that this whole deal didn’t seem right. Meeting a seedy character at the docks felt like a trap. But in typical Mandalorian fashion, he bulls ahead, not caring for your opinion.

“You’re a Jedi, you’re always suspicious,” he had said. 

Those words had unexpectedly wounded you deep, forcing you into silence. Instead of the pain, you focus on the subtle tug of your saber trying to break it’s bonds to your leg. The forceful tug of the holster digging into skin as you jump onto the ship, keeping your cloak close to your body. 

The seamen kept eyeing you, one even trying to pull your cloak away from your body which earned them a harsh glare. Apparently that was their breaking point. 

In a matter of seconds, you had been shoved into the pool of water you were standing beside. A glint of beskar is the last thing you see before water swallows you whole. 

Your lungs expand to their maximum as you hold what air you have left deep within them. Pulling out your lightsaber, you quickly ignited it, coming face to face to a beast with no face. With what strength you had left over, you swing, slashing it’s face almost in two. But the force you used in the swing caused what little breath you had left to escape into the depths. On instinct, you breathe in, water crashing into your lungs.

Suddenly two hands grab onto your shoulders and lift you out of the water. As you are tossed to the ground, your lightsaber flies from your hand. But the hit of landing on the ground helps you to cough out the burning liquid, your entire body vibrating from adrenaline. 

All you can focus on is the heaving of your chest, the fresh release of oxygen replacing water, and a rough hand on your back trying to bring you back to reality. 

Swiftly, you are pulled into the arms of the Mandalorian as he slowly rubs your back in secret to calm your heaves. Looking up, you see three other Mandalorians stand before you, one helmet standing out from all of them. You remembered it in photos your father had showed you during his time in the Clone Wars.

With the smooth caress of the Force flowing through your fingertips, you call the saber into your hands, extinguishing it.

“Interesting, your lightsaber didn’t short out,” the familiar helmet speaks. 

“My father showed me how to make it so, Bo - Katan,” you say sharply.

The armored warrior stiffens before pulling off her helmet, revealing the person who used to be the main character to your bedtime stories. Shakily you stand, putting the saber in it’s rightful place. 

“You must be a Obi - Wan’s daughter. Makes sense you would be raised as a Jedi.” 

“I’m no Jedi...” 

“Then why do you wield their saber?”  

“How about you keep your nose out of business that isn’t yours?” 

“Enough,” Din steps in between both of you. “Whatever family quarr-”

“We aren’t family,” you both say in unison. 

“Her father killed my sister,” Bo - Katan reminds. 

“And you’re the reason why Mom left her Mandalorian claim behind,” you growl. 

Din silently looks between the two of you, unsure of what to say at this point. He eventually turns to Bo - Katan, questioning why she had willingly taken her helmet off and the Creed. 

You force yourself to take a few steps away, picking up the Child and smirking down at him.

“Had enough excitement for one day?”

He yawns and nods softly. It forces a chuckle out of your chest as you wrap him up in what was left of your cloak that lay on the ground below you. Suddenly, you feel an arm wrap around your waist and blast off the boat, leaving what had happened behind. 

“What did they say to you back there, Din?” you whisper softly, still holding the Child close. 

You follow close to him as you walk through the docks at a late hour. His shoulders tense even more then usual, the soft cracking of leather bending to his tightened fists. 

“They said I’m a part of a cult, a Child of the Watch.”

You nod softly. 

“So what? What if you have different thoughts then them? You are a Mandalorian, you will obey your Creed. Just like I’m a Gray Jedi and I listen to my own code that is different then that of the Jedi Council.”

“It’s not like that...” he sighs. “You couldn’t understand.” 

Another deep wound etches its way into your heart, following the same pattern as the one before. With a sharp glare at the tin head, you hand him the Child. 

“What are you-”

“I’m leaving, that’s what I’m doing, Din.” 

“Not so fast...” another voice enters. 

“Dank farrik...” you mumble, slowly reaching down to grab your lightsaber. 

Someone steps up right beside you, red tentacles decorating his chin as he glares at you and Mando. 

“You killed me brother,”

“Let us pass,” Din warns. 

Your fingers wrap around your lightsaber tightly, your thumb inching it’s way towards the activation button. Deep down, you knew this would end up with some dead bodies. And you didn’t seem to care. 

“I don’t think you understand...you killed my brother. Now, I’ll kill your pet.”

When the Kid whimpers from behind you, you snap. Activating your lightsaber, you slice the tentacled freak in front of you in half without hesitation. With each incoming shot from his lackies, you block them with the twirl of your saber. 

The sound of thrusters ends from behind you and a rain of gunfire soon follows. Once it all dies down, the only tentacled freak left standing is the ringleader. 

“He didn’t kill your brother, I did,” Bo - Katan says from behind you before shooting him down. 

With a sharp sigh, you return your saber to it’s holster, turning to look at the gaggle of Mandalorians before you. 

“You fight like he did,” Bo - Katan says, the first nice thing she has said to you yet. 

You nod in response, gently taking the Child Din had extended towards you. 

“At least let us buy you a drink?” 

You let them lead you towards a bar, Child in hand, as they talk about God knows what. All you can focus on is how stuck out you seem. The group of warriors ahead of you seemed, for all intents and purposes, normal. You were the person with a lightsaber strapped to their thigh. The one with only clothes guarding their body, not armor. Once you had entered the crowded building, it all became so simple. 

You don’t belong here.

From your seat beside Din, you handed the Kid off to him and collected empty glasses. Walking to the bar, you get them refilled and send them back towards the group after tipping one of the waitresses. After that, you walk towards the front doors, not forgetting to look back at your Beskar clad lover before leaving completely. 

You wander around the streets alone, making sure to keep quiet so nobody targets you. The docks were easy to find after your last adventure, and paying for transport even easier. Many of them were looking for anything to spare for their families. 

As you count out what little credits you had on hand, the soft clank of armor echoes behind you. With a sigh, you hand over the credits to the transport captain, saying a soft thank you in his dialect, before turning around. And there he was, Din without his Kid, his hand on one hip as he stood perfectly still. 

“Don’t make this harder then it needs to be, Mando,” you say.

“You know that’s not my name,” 

“And if I say it, I won’t be able to go,”

“Then don’t,” 

“What was it that you said back there? Oh, that’s right, that I don’t understand. Well here you go Mando, now you don’t understand,” 

“Then make me,” 

“This is not a one way street! You don’t get to do that...”

A horn atop the ship you are taking blows, alerting its passengers to it’s five minute take off warning. With a harsh sigh, you turn around to grab your small bag that you had strapped across you.

The strap proves as a disadvantage, making it easier for Mando to grab onto you and pull you closer to him. Your walls come tumbling down and you know if you don’t pull away now you won’t be able too at all. 

“I don’t belong here...” you mumble, trying to pull away from his grasp. “You have your clan here, I don’t belong.”

“You’re wrong,” Mando says so quiet his transcoder couldn’t translate. Instead you’re met with the muffled version. 

“Din...” you say softly. 

“You belong with me,” 

His words force your gaze upwards, surprise fully etched on your face. Before you can respond, he does:

“Go protect the Kid, I have to complete this mission and then we’re getting out of here,” 

His hands leave your biceps as he tells you the Kid’s location. Then he disappears into crowd, leaving you confused but hopeful. 

Tag ListL (leave a comment on the Masterlist to be added) 

toribentleyva  mikariell95 edgy-wedgy-poo  tillytheslytherin  irishfaulk97 supergingerlocks  aeryn--sun  nedxwynert  forbidden-darkness

when he’s sick headcanons

note — can you tell i was in a francisco morales mood when i wrote this? also, i’m incredibly soft. i just wanna hold them :’( also also send me your  own headcanons!! i wanna hear ‘em!! big love <3 - nat

MANDO

- he doesn’t know how he survived all those bouts of sickness alone when you step in to help him for the first time

- his body aches, and not the usual after-bounty-capture either

- his head is foggy, he can feel the sweat in his helmet, and his breathing is hard

- he can’t tell if it’s coming through the modulator, but when you bring soup up to the cockpit for him, he knows you know

- he takes it gratefully, knowing that if there was nobody else here he would have just gone to bed to sleep it off, dinner vetoed for the night

- your cold fingers wrap around the back of his neck, moving his cape as you do so, and he melts into you

- he doesn’t know that he lets out the smallest whimper when you do this, and it makes you want to tear off his helmet, pull him into your arms, and hold him until he’s better

- but you can’t, so you settle for a hand on his neck, and the tilt of a helmet when he drinks the soup in front of you, as requested

- he definitely has a fever, and maker knows what else

- so you tell him to get some rest, that you’d watch the ship and get him if anything went wrong

- you supervise him down the ladder, just in case, which he finds funny and sweet

- you wish you could squish into his bunk with him, but you don’t want to invade on his personal space, especially while he’s hot and sick

- you you settle into the cockpit, the ship on cruise control, and you check on him every once in a while, keeping grogu occupied and quiet while he gets some well deserved rest

EZRA

- you knew he would get it

- right after you recovered from your illness, he started displaying symptoms of the same one you had just gotten over

- shortness of breath, fever, aches, lethargy

- he had taken such good care of you, so it was only fair that you’d do the same in return

- resources were sparse and quarters were cramped on the green, but you did what you could to make him as comfortable as possible

- his feverish back was pressed up against your chest in a cot designed for one after he’d stripped down to his underwear to avoid overheating

- he really enjoyed you being the big spoon sometimes, and now was one of those times

- when he got too hot from your shared body heat though, you would sit on the floor next to the cot and stroke right behind his ear to get him to fall asleep

- you made sure he ate as much as he could keep down, and you gave him all the fluids you could spare for his speedy recovery

- it broke your heart to see your usually verbose boy so quiet and in pain

- he muttered fever nonsense to no one and whimpered in his sleep

- you moved your cot directly next to his in order to keep a close eye on him

- but you knew that with time he would heal, and that as soon as he started talking to you again he was getting better

FRANKIE

- he sweats through the sheets next to you in the early hours of the night

- you’re the one who wakes up first, and you honestly thought one of you had wet the bed because of how much liquid there was

- but you realize that it’s frankie, back drenched and sweating out whatever flu he had acquired from whoever he had gotten it from

- you wake him from what seemed to be a not great dream anyway, and when he realizes what happened, he apologizes, groggy from sleep and illness

- “no, no! i’m not mad, frankie, you just can’t sleep in this sweetheart. you’ll get more sick. how are you feeling?”

- he curls up deeper under the covers and you get out of bed to kneel next to him

- your hands card through his matted, sweat soaked hair, and you wipe the drops from his jaw

- “do you want a cool shower, baby? you’re soaked.” you suggest, but frankie is so out of it

- he was fine last night, you remember

- sure he didn’t eat dinner, and went to bed early, but you thought maybe he had a late lunch and a long day

- now, helping him out of bed to the shower, you understand that it was early onset symptoms of whatever he was battling

- he pressed heavily to your side and you’re nervous as you strip him down and get him into the tub

- he sways, and you’re not sure what you’ll do if he passes out, or hits his head, so you sit him down, take off the shower head, make sure the water coming out is room temperature, and you run she showerhead over his overheating body

- you’re careful not to get any water in his face and ears, and you don’t wash his hair, just his body with a gentle soap

- you figure this is one of the only times frankie will let you take care of him like this, so you milk it for all it’s worth

- you blow dry his hair on a low setting, just in case he has a headache, you change the sheets of your bed, you lay him down on his side and you bring him close to your chest

- which is how he falls asleep for the next few nights until his illness eventually subsides

WHISKEY

- he curls up in your lap on the couch as soon as he gets home from work, which is how you know something’s wrong

- but you ask him anyway

- “i don’t feel so great, sugar,”

- which scares you, because did he get drugged? is this just a regular illness? is this like a biowarfare mission gone wrong?

- you leave him to get the thermometer, and when you come back, he’s got sad eyes looking up at you that just break your heart

- turns out, it’s not biowarfare. just a fever of 100.4

- you slip your hands up the back of his shirt and it’s so warm, along with his forehead

- he moans weakly at your touch, worn and tired from his extensive mission that day

- he’s definitely been overexerting himself

- as you settle back onto the couch, he settles into your lap again

- you let him rest for a while, but not after long, you realize he’s fallen asleep, and you’re stuck there for god knows how long

- you turn the volume down on the tv just in case, and you stroke behind his ears and you play with his fingers

- it’s best to just let him sleep it off, and you're not opposed to letting him do it on your lap

- you imagine there are statesman resources you can use to help him, but if he’s feeling better after he’s slept it off, then maybe you won’t need to misuse them

JAVIER PEÑA

- you scared the shit out of him, knocking on his door like that

- in your blinding rage, filled with thoughts like “how dare he take the day off to bang hookers, to recover from his hangover, to generally be a hindrance to the fucking DEA,” you had not pondered the possibility that THE javier peña, was sick

- he’s pulling on a t-shirt just as he opens the door, wearing pajama pants, and it startles you to see him so disarmed and casual

- his eyes and nose are red, his hair is disheveled, and he looks... exhausted

- “wow, you look like shit."

- “i feel like shit,” he says, walking away from the door, sniffling

- you take this as an invitation in, and close the door behind you

- he collapses back onto his couch, where you assume he’s been all day, and wraps himself up in a thick afghan blanket

- his hands shake the slightest bit as he opens his lighter to ignite his cigarette

- you take a seat next to him and help him with his lighter, and he nods his thanks to you

- “you’re gonna be late,” he mutters, taking the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out smoke into his apartment, coughing it out halfway

- “i’ll call out,” you offer, eyes wandering up his blanket clad body

- he closes his eyes and lets his head rest on the back of the couch

- “go in. i’m just gonna sleep it off anyway,”

- you lean in close to him and press your hand against his forehead and he freezes, staring at you

- you run your hand down his neck and feel his warmth, and he melts into your touch just a little bit

- you offer to only call out for a few hours to get him settled and make sure he doesn’t die or something, and he lets you, simply because he knows his illness will only get worse

- when your time is up and you have to go back to work, javi’s eaten, gotten some fluids in him, and taken some pain meds

- you let him know that he can call you if he needs anything, and before you even walk out the door is sleeping contently on the couch

MARCUS MORENO

- you find out he’s sick when he calls you, and asks for a favor

- “hey, can you do me the biggest favor ever?”

- he’s super congested. at first you think it might not be him because of how grainy his voice is

- “i hate to do this to you on such short notice, but would you be able to pick up missy? i’m not feeling too hot right now.”

- when you make it back to their home, it's very clear why he thought he wouldn't be able to make it

- he's curled up in bed, tissues piled on his nightstand, trying to get some sleep, but clearly failing

- he notices the two of you come in, and you quietly usher missy away to her own room to entertain herself while her dad tries to get some rest

- he thanks you for picking up missy, and you tell him you'd be there for him whenever he needed you to be

- you make a special phone call as you care for marcus, keeping his curtains closed and running your cool hands up and down his back and shoulders until he felt like he could fall asleep

- you let him know that you'll be right back, that you were going to pick up a few things for him and that if he needed anything at all, just call

- knowing your chicken noodle soup skills were rusty, your special phone call had been to marcus' mother's house, where she had tupperware containers full of soup waiting for you to pick up for him

- when you get back to his house with pain meds, gatorade, and the soup, marcus is passed out in bed

- you don't want to wake him up, but you have a hunch that he hasn't eaten all day, so you whisper his name softly and lightly shake him awake

- he's so grateful and only eats a portion of what he normally does, but anything is better than nothing

- and you don't want him feeling even more sick as a result

- you end up eating the incredibly nostalgic and rich soup with missy at the table and talk to her about your day while marcus gets some sleep

MARCUS PIKE

- it's only when you get home from work that you realize something's wrong with marcus

- he's asleep on the couch

- which would have been fine, if you had worked overtime, or had gotten out late, but it was only four thirty

- plus, you two had planned on going to see a movie you he was excited about tonight in theatres and maybe grab dinner after

- the tv plays lowly in the background, and he hasn’t changed out of his work clothes yet

- he startles when you close and lock the door, and rubs his temples, eyes squeezed shut in pain

- "marcus, are you okay?"

- "yeah, i'm fine." he tells you, and when you mention the date, he looks shocked that he forgot about it

- "oh my god, you're right. i can’t believe i forgot, i’m so sorry babe, i'll get ready right now."

- you tell him it's no biggie, but he insists

- after you've taken off your work clothes and showered quickly for your date, you realize the two of you are most definitely staying in

- he's promptly fallen back asleep on the couch, and he looks adorable

- you put on your pajamas and he does too, and you settle into the couch behind marcus, flipping through channels with him

- he says he doesn't care what you watch, as long as it's not too bright or loud

- so you choose some old black and white movie with the subtitles on

- normally you're the one between his legs, as he rubs your shoulders and plays with your hair

- but this time, he's curled up into you, his back pressed up against your chest, his head tucked into your shoulder using it as a pillow

- you figure you didn't really want to see the new movie anyway, and decide takeout and casablanca was a better way to spend your time with your sick boyfriend

MAX PHILLIPS

- a big baby

- but he IS a vampire and DOES NOT get sick, which slips your mind completely when you come home after some overtime and find him paler than usual on the couch, his head in his hands

- you try to get him to tell you what’s wrong, and he refuses, but he caves when you sit down next to him and start stroking his head, and playing with the hair at the base of his neck

- he tells you that after the whole vampire fiasco with the company, he was set for a while, and has been feeling great, but he hasn’t had human blood in so long that it’s made him weak

- he gives you a sad puppy dog look, and you know he’s being an asshole about it, but you hate to see the dark circles under his eyes or the color his skin turns when he’s like this

- so you oblige, but you give him STRICT instructions to follow, otherwise you won’t do it again

- don’t take more than a pint, don’t leave unnecessary bruises, if you use your safe word he has to stop immediately, and he has to make it as quick and painless as he possibly can

- he nods enthusiastically, and pulls you into his lap

- he nuzzles into your neck, and grabs your chin, anchoring himself to you

- he blows softly on your skin, and presses hard kisses to the area to get your blood flowing and disarm you

- which isn’t fair because he knows your neck is so sensitive

- it’s a sharp prick when he ejects his fangs into your body and you stop moving completely, your hand fisting at his shirt, just listening to your breathing and his soft moans echoed against your skin

- out of habit your rub soothing circles into his back, more to sooth yourself then anything

- minutes pass, and you start to feel light headed and are about to tell him to stop when he pulls away, grinning ear to ear at you

- he’s back on your neck in seconds though, licking and sucking the leaking blood from the small holes he’s left in your skin

- now that, that feels much better than the bloodsucking that was going on originally

- you jump when he presses soft kisses to the sensitive area along your throat and dives a hand between your legs

- looks like someone’s feeling better already

MAX LORD

- tries to power through it as much as he can with pain killers and cough syrups, but after he almost passes out at dinner after a week of symptoms, you beg him to take at least a day off to recover

- that morning, his hair is a mess, he missed a button on his shirt, and his tie was uneven

- he was about to put on two different colored socks when he begrudgingly obliges

- you unbutton his shirt and help him take off his tie

- it’s easy to bring him back to bed after that, and you let him hold you from behind like a teddy bear, no matter how uncomfortable his arm is shoved under your neck

- usually he likes to be held, but he can feel his own back burning up, so he decides to hold you instead

- he whimpers in his sleep, plagued by fever dreams and his traumatic past

- so when he wakes you up in the middle of the night, something he so very rarely does, you’re concerned

- “i’m sorry, for waking you, i just... i just need... you... i want—“

- it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he needs a hug

- you hold him and rub his back until he falls back asleep again, in your arms

- when he wakes up with a killer headache, you fight to keep him in bed again, rubbing his temples and pressing kisses to his forehead

- he falls back asleep in less than five minutes

- needless to say, one more day off couldn’t hurt

OBERYN MARTELL

- it’s not often than he gets sick, surprisingly, considering how close he gets to so many different people

- when you arrive at his chambers that morning, the guards seem keen on not letting you in

- you argue with them, but they insist oberyn didn’t want anyone in there

- you call them out, obviously upset and visibly frustrated when his doors creak open and you see him, in a robe, hair messy and pressed down to his forehead

- he quietly tells the guard to let you in, and you’re a little confused

- he sits down on his bed and looks up at you with guilty eyes

- “apologies, my love, but I don't want you to see me like this”

- you scoff and roll your eyes at him, moving in front of him

- you take his head in your hands, and he stares up at you

- “apology accepted, but i’m offended, my prince.”

- he scrunches his eyebrows and presses his chin to your stomach

- you run your hands through his hair and he brings his hands to your waist

- “you think mere illness could keep me away? keep me away from you?”

- his confusion melts into a small smile, and he lets his head rest against your belly as you pull him into you

- “can i get you anything, oberyn? wine, medicine?”

- “no, my love. just you is enough for me.”

PERO TOVAR

- wants to be left alone for the most part

- grumpy in general, and it doesn't get better when he's sick

- he'll let you wipe a cool cloth over his forehead and neck, and doesn't complain

- he says he doesn’t want you there because he doesn’t want you to catch what he has

- you know, survival rates are low for things like this at this point in history

- but really, like oberyn, he doesn’t want you to see him weak

- he’s afraid it’ll ruin your image of him in your mind

- william asks you to get some rest, as they can’t afford to risk more days at the campsite with sick travelers

- so you oblige, keeping your distance from pero, but you stay vigilant

- you stand guard for him for most of the night, listening to him breathe, watching his chest rise and fall, until you eventually fall asleep too

- but you’re up early, with the rest of the men, except pero, who sleeps well into daylight

- the rest of them take off, desperate to find something for dinner, but you stay back with him, stroking his forehead, a gentleness that’s rarely ever been afforded to him, listening to him ramble half in english, half in spanish, but he has your full attention

- it would be a rough few days until he recovered, but his muttered thanks and appreciation for you was more than enough for you to do it all over again if he ever needed you to

𝐑𝐢𝐭𝐞

pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

word count: 1k

warnings: Smuttt. Needy Din- maskless Din is a sub, fight with the wall. Body worship (face… worship?). P in V sex- emphasis more on the P on V sex). Not proof read.

summary: Traditions form after Din removes the mask.

It’s freezing cold to the touch, the sharp edges of his helmet practically slicing your fingers open as you tentatively lift the beskar from his face. You feel his aquiline nose catch on the foam padding on the inside. You utter a sorry.

Din’s palms splay over your hips where you straddle him in the minute cot, leather biting lightly against your bare skin where he digs his fingers in. His eyelashes flutter as the edge of his helmet is pulled up, and he’s exposed to the harsh, untempered lights inside the Razor Crest. Din turns his face to the side, unable to look you in the eye. Even now, after all this time, he’s still momentarily apprehensive about displaying his face to you.

“Hold still for me,” you whisper, so quiet that you’re sure that your own heartbeat muffles your order, drowning your words out with its pulse. It’s thrumming wildly against your sternum, still thrilled by the sight of Din’s eyes on you.

Mercenary, Bounty Hunter, Mandalorian- Mandalore. All of Din’s titles melt away like beskar in an armourer’s kiln when you’re alone. The alloy drips and runs and cools, melding the warrior a far simpler and benign title- yours.

Din’s breath stalls in his lungs as you begin your ritual, his eyes cast to the durasteel hangar ceiling as he feels you press your lips to his with a gentle urgency. One kiss, then another, and another. You barely give him a moment to register your affections, his own lips lagging behind in their response.

“Mhmm~” You hum, but it bleeds into a whine as you settle your bare cunt over the length of Din’s cock. His groan dies behind gritted teeth as you sweep your hips over the length of him, soaking the velvety skin with your slick.

His chestplate is freezing against your breasts as you lean over him, having given him no time to undress when you threw him back against the cot and took what you wanted. Your nipples are hard against the cold Beskar-steel, dragging back and forth slightly as your hips rock against the curve of his dick. It makes you ache for him even more.

Focusing a slow, steady rhythm with your hips, you allow your lips to wander. They trace his jawline, sharp as the spear he carries with him. Din tilts his head back for you, gasping out your name as you bite the skin stretched across the bone. You nip playfully, focusing your attention on the patchy parts of his jaw, where the hair is sparse.

“C-Cyar'ika,” Din groans, his voice pitchy over the wet sounds of his cock sweeping through your folds. The head bumps your clit, and you whine against the curve of his jaw, your chin pressed to his pulse point.

Din Djarin is the prettiest man you’d ever met. His expressions, however, were even more enticing. Hidden behind a mask for his entire adult life, Din never learnt to neutralise his face. It made him emotive, especially in bed.

As you kiss the tip of his nose, you watch as his eyebrows pinch together, then arch up slightly as you let the weeping tip of his cock nudge at your entrance. You settle on it lightly, let the head sink inside before pulling up again quickly, barely allowing him a moment to relish the tight heat. He lets out a groan of frustration, desperation, as you drag your lips over the arch of his aquiline nose.

God, you love his nose. You praise it, its beauty, worship the way it makes you feel when you grind down on it. Humming softly, you can’t help but grin into the kisses you offer as his jaw falls slack, moaning out your name.

“Stars,” he groans out louder, with a sudden urgency that startles you, “Please, I need- I need to feel you.”

Din’s voice without the modulator is impassioned, cracking slightly on a whine as he begs you for mercy. For relief. A vulnerable tone he barely affords you unless you take control. The leather of his gloves digs into the meat of your ass, palms shifting your hips forward to pull your weeping pussy across his length.

Refusing to give into his demands, you continue your affections. You press soft kisses above his eyebrows, then each of his closed eyelids. His eyes- they took your breath away, stealing your attention when he first removed his helmet for you. You’d heard the tales of ‘brown eyes’, but they did little to emphasise their beauty. Deep, rich, laced with Din’s heavily guarded emotions that he’d veiled with beskar.

“You’re impatient,” you finally point out in a breathy whisper, lungs working a little harder as you feel something delicious settle at the base of your spine. Din looks like he could cry, desperation kicking in as he jerks his hips up against yours.

“I am deprived,” he murmurs back, an edge to his tone. The Child had clung to him for days following his last bounty job- he hadn’t had time alone with you for at least a week despite doing everything he could- stolen kisses in the cockpit, even attempting to shut Grogu in his bassinet. Somehow, he always managed to stumble into the room at the most inopportune time, much to his father’s utter dismay.

Sitting up, one of your palms settles on Din’s breastplate, you push strands of his unkempt curls from his damp forehead. Din, as renowned and feared a bounty hunter he is, also keens for you, vulnerable and achy for your affections. He chases your hand, leaning his face into your touch as you care for him.

Rewarding his openness, you reach between your thighs to take his cock in your palm. Din lets out a slight hiss, sucking between his teeth as you work his cock slowly. The drag of your palm against his sensitive flesh has him bucking his hips again, pressing the crown of his head back into the pillow.

“Din,” you whisper his name, watching him squeeze his eyes shut and centre his focus on the swirling arousal that builds quickly.

“Please.”

Pressing a gentle kiss to Din’s lips, swollen from your previous affections, you sink down onto his aching cock.

“Fuuuuck, Cyar'ik-aah-“

END

@hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @hold-our-destiny @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina @pedrosprincess

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The Mandalorian - Reference Guide for Writers

Despite not writing fanfic since a severe bout of depression a few years ago, I still soak up research in my favorite fandoms just in case my muse returns. 

In honor of all of my fellow Mandalorian fans I figured I’d share the notes I took during the season two opener “Chapter 9: The Marshal” (2x01)

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT  (and apologizes for my handwriting!!)

Note - Peli’s pit droid “names” are my own creation, it’s just how I refer to them in my head :P 

TTPD Contents

Fortnight

Din Djarin x Reader After being employed by Greef to transport you back to your home planet, Mando comes back from one of his bounty hunts beaten and bloody, and you’re forced to get closer than you expected to the man made from metal. fem!reader, 18+ MDNI 5,539 words

He had been gone for a long time. Too long.

It had been a few weeks now that you had been travelling with the Mandalorian. Greef had arranged for you to travel with him - something that the bounty hunter did not seem happy about, only muttering a gruff, reluctant affirmative when he heard the price, and that there was a bounty on your home planet to make the trip worth it, along with a few on the way.

He barely talked. When it was time for meals, he would place the plate in front of you. When you asked a question, he didn’t respond with more than one word. He was stoic and silent and alone, and he probably preferred it that way. But regardless of all of that, you felt a warmth towards him. An intrigue. There was something about the way he carried himself, authoritative but respectful, never aggressive or outright rude even though you knew he didn’t want you there. He was job focussed and not fussed about home comforts considering the small, metal alcove with one blanket that was his bed. You had opted to sleep in the cockpit most of the time; the co-pilot’s chair was much more comfortable than anywhere else on the ship. 

It had so far been a grim journey to say the least, and without a whole lot of interesting conversation, so, naturally, you had started to make up a few things about him. What he was like under all that armour. You began to imagine what he looked like. Taking his voice into account, he must be attractive. No one who sounded that good had a face that didn’t match. He was tall, you knew that, and strong. You had seen him wrestle bounties on board with little effort, and you couldn’t help but watch as he did. But under all of that, you thought he was caring. He always made sure you were fed, comfortable and safe. He made you feel safe, which was weird considering he was a relative stranger.

You were sure your imagination was running away with you, boredom and necessity projecting a person that didn’t exist onto the shell of a man who happened to always be in front of you, but you couldn’t help it. The person you had created was addictive, even if the illusion was shattered every time he ignored you, or even actively avoided you. And then it changed.

He finally spoke more than one syllable on the sixth day. You were getting close to his third bounty’s last known location: a small planet you had never heard of. You left hyperspace, watching as he slowly piloted you down to the surface. The planet was beautiful, with luscious forests and long rivers, sun sitting low in the horizon even though it was the middle of the day, a wash of orange painting the tips of each tree’s branches. You had never seen anything like it before, and you had to stop yourself physically gasping. Your awe didn’t last for long, though.

“Follow me.” The Mandalorian muttered, heading down the ladder as soon as the ship had landed, and you scrambled to keep up with him like a lost loth cat. By the time you were at the bottom of the ladder, he was shoving something into your hands and you looked down to see… a blaster?

“Do you know how to use this?”

“Yes.. I….” You couldn’t quite compose yourself, flustered.

“Good. If anything other than me comes through that door, shoot it.” You stood in shock for a few seconds as he gathered his things.

“What do you mean? What’s going to come through the door?”

“I mean I don’t know this planet well, and if you die I won’t get paid.”

“Stars, thanks for the sentiment.”

“I won’t be long.” And with that he was gone, and you closed the door behind him.

That was two weeks ago. You hadn’t seen him since. You had sat in the corner staring at the door most of the time, paranoid, only moving to eat and use the bathroom, barely sleeping. Did he know he was going to be gone this long before he left? Did he know what he said would freak you out this much? Maybe it was all a big joke…

You must’ve nodded off again, because you woke to the sound of banging on the door of the ship.

“It’s me, open up.” You heard his familiar voice shout outside, and you lunged to press the right button, blaster still clutched tightly in your hand. As the door was let down, you couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when he stepped inside. He was dragging an unconscious bounty, grimacing ever so slightly as he lifted and froze them in carbonate before turning to look at you, head cocked to one side.

“What happened to you?” What in the stars did he mean? You must’ve looked a little disheveled, but…

“You freaked me out! Do I really look that bad?” You moved to smooth your hair, tucking stray strand behind your ears as he paused, his helmet moving noticeably down, then back up to meet your eyes. If he wasn’t wearing a helmet, the eye contact would’ve made you blush.

“No, you look…” he paused again, but this time it was different. He swayed a little, barely noticeable, but you glanced down to see blood dripping down the shiny beskar that covered his thigh.

“Are you ok?” You asked, quickly moving towards him, and just in time, because he was suddenly reaching out towards you, something you were sure he wouldn’t do unless he was really in trouble, his whole body weight falling onto you. “Hey?” You asked again, starting to get seriously worried.

“Sorry, just…” he groaned, and leaned on you a little more.

“Just sit down..”. You muttered, guiding his body to the floor.

“Just… a leg wound.” He practically whispered it, pointing to a metal box mounted to the wall. “Bacta… shot.” You got up, grabbing the box as fast as possible before returning to his side. You rummaged through the medical supplies while he tried to take off the piece of armour just below the now obvious knife wound. It was jagged and dirty, and unbelievably deep, way beyond just a surface wound. It almost looked like someone had stabbed him first, then tried to slash him, pulling the blade through his flesh. It looked painful. You didn’t know how he was even walking. You would definitely have to clean it out for him, but Bacta was more important right now. You found the shot, grabbing it with one hand and helping him with the other. You managed to undo the thigh guard single-handedly, discarding the piece of metal with a loud clang.

“You’ve done this before.” He chuckled through his moderator, clearly delirious from pain because you had never heard him laugh.

“Surprisingly, this is the first time I’ve undressed a Mandalorian.” Without warning, you plunged the syringe into his thigh, figuring it was best while he was distracted, pressing the bacta into his bloodstream as he groaned, his hand clenching into a tight ball as he laid on his side on the floor.

“Stars, girl, what are you doing to me?” He grunted out, exhaling harshly through his teeth as you pulled out the needle. It stopped your breath in your throat.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Without thinking, you touched his thigh, just the small strip of tan skin where the knife had broken his clothes, lightly circling your fingers around where you had injected him. He just hummed, a shuddering breath falling from his modulator as his helmet leant back onto the hard metal floor. “Do you want me to help you up? Or get more comfortable at least.” He shook his head, or more accurately, his helmet.

“Need to… stay here for a second.” You just nodded, planning to stay with him until he would let you clean him up, but he had other ideas. “Here…” he handed you a fob, pressing it into your hand and lingering for a moment, his glove the only thing between you. “Coordinates.” You had been watching him in the cockpit just long enough to know what to do.

“I’ve got it.” You stood up, legs shaky from adrenaline and exhaustion, climbing the ladder and punching to coordinates into the control board. You took a second to fix your appearance in the metallic fixings. You looked a mess, dark bags under your eyes evidence that you hadn’t slept, hair completely disheveled and clothes wrinkled. Not a lot you could do about most of that now. You just tried to tidy your hair, heading back downstairs quietly.

He was still lying on the floor, on his back now, hands over his face. He groaned quietly - in pain or relief you weren’t sure - his hips moving up and his body twisting slightly to stretch his bad leg out, letting out a soft sigh as he did. Something that felt a lot like arousal shot through you, and you cursed your own body at its involuntary response. You had barely shared a conversation in the three weeks you had known him, and for two of them he hadn’t even been on the ship, and yet, something was still there. It was just because you were lonely. It wasn’t something you could deny. You had gone to Nevarro to work, the occasional fling maybe once every few months when you had a night off but nothing more, and that’s all you’d had time for. And your home planet - Arvala-7 - was full of moisture farmers and Blurrgs and not much more than that.

He moved his hands from his helmet, uncovering his visor, and he seemed to freeze, finally noticing you. You swallowed hard, ignoring the thoughts racing through your mind.

“How are you feeling?” You asked cautiously, and he groaned.

“I’ve been better.”

“Can I help at all?” He paused, a silence you were sure was charged hanging in the air.

“I…” Not for the first time, the Mandalorian said nothing. He moved again, shifting on the cold floor.

“What? Come on, what can I help with?” You silently hoped he would say what you were thinking, but he stayed quiet. “Ok at least let me clean it up…”

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to.” You said it forcefully, with enough finality to stop him from arguing. He just sighed, groaning as he worked himself to a seated position. You moved to kneel down next to him, noticing that the cut had stopped bleeding now. You found the right supplies in the box, grabbing some sterilising wipes, bandages and gauze, and moving to a position where you could reach him, cross legged with one leg up, allowing you to easily bend down so he didn’t have to move the wound at all. The silence you had previously found unnerving proved soothing suddenly, now you were close enough to hear the quiet, filtered breaths through his helmet, it was almost hypnotic. You felt reluctant to break it, so you whispered as you opened the small plastic case that sealed the wipe.

“This is going to hurt…” You started at the edge of the wound, just wiping away some of the blood that had dried there, before folding it up and gently pressed onto the cut, trying to clear some of the dirt there, but he hissed in pain, his hand shooting up to the back of your thigh and gripping in a way that made your heart stop beating for a moment. You forced a breath in, composing yourself so you could talk.

“I’m sorry, I know, I won’t be long.”

“You keep hurting me today, girl..” he grumbled, his hand maintaining its vicelike hold on your leg.

“Well, a few weeks of silence is enough to make me do anything to get you to talk to me...” He scoffed as you continued to work, your other hand absentmindedly tracing softly up and down the skin next to it.

“Anything, huh?” Oh. You blushed at the insinuation coupled with his gravelly tone, continuing to work with a small smile. You finished with the wipe, placing it down next to you and grabbing some gauze, pressing it gently against the cut and taping the outside to keep it in place. It wasn’t until you were certain it was secure that you realised his hand was still gripping your leg. You just looked at his gloved hand for a minute, stunned and not wanting to move for fear of scaring him off, but apparently that wasn’t a problem as he loosened his grip, tracing his fingers around and laying his palm flat on the top of your thigh, spreading his fingers almost possessively and squeezing, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Well, you hoped not.

He just stayed there, still as a statue. He was hard to read, and you felt the doubt creep up on you. You finally snapped out of the trance his movement had put you in, moving to get the roll of bandage, then quickly realising the problem. His trousers were filthy. You couldn’t exactly bandage his leg while they were on. You felt yourself getting nervous in his presence again, chewing on your lip subconsciously.

“You might have to do this yourself, I can’t… um…” You fiddled with the edge of the bandage as he sat silently, helmet cocked to one side.

“You can take them off.” His voice was low and serious, a slow drawl that sent shivers down your spine.

“I can…” You whispered, shocked, in a questioning tone, but he cut you off quickly.

“You can take them off…” He repeated. “If you want to.” Kriffing stars, he was serious. Your heart was almost beating out of you chest at the prospect. You were sitting here on the floor of his ship, inches away from a man you barely knew, whose face you had never even seen, and you wanted it more than anything. Maybe it was something about being cooped up with just him in hyperspace, or being paranoid and trapped for two weeks wanting nothing more than to see him walk through the ship doors, or maybe it was just the adrenaline. Regardless, you needed him.

“Ok.”

You started with the shin plate. Then the other. Then the thigh plate you hadn’t already removed. You were still worried that somehow you had misconstrued the situation, that you had made a mistake. That he just wanted you to patch him up and move on. You had seen yourself in the metal of the cockpit, there was no way he was after you.

Then his hand found the back of yours. At some point, while you had been carefully removing his armour, he had taken off his gloves. Your breath caught as his bare skin touched yours, the electricity of it taking you by surprise. He was warm, dry, hands calloused and fingers dipping between yours and gripping on with a soft sigh. You were practically shaking but he wasn’t, his grip strong as he guided you up his leg, all the way up to his codpiece. He let go, and you sighed, instantly missing the feel of his skin. There was no doubt left as you unbuckled the hard piece of armour, and you saw the bulge in his trousers. You almost forgot that you were supposed to be bandaging him up, so transfixed by the sight, and trying to still your shaking hands as you moved up to his waistband. He finally let go of your leg, using both his arms to briefly lift himself off the floor as you slid off his trousers, a small groan escaping his lips as they moved past the cut.

“Kriff, sorry.” It was the first time the silence had been broken in the last few minutes, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the first cut through the tension somehow making it thicker. He lifted his leg a tiny bit and sat up, foot on the floor so you could reach all the way around him. You knelt to give yourself better access, and he draped his arm over your lap, the other one lazily undoing his chest piece. You gulped, trying to focus as you wrapped the first piece of fabric around his bare leg, but your fingers were running across the warm expanse of his thighs, so solid and strong, and you couldn’t help but look in the direction of his under-shorts, the thin fabric straining as he continued to remove armour pieces while you worked, the beskar periodically clanging against the hard metal floor. You couldn’t help but wonder if he would remove his helmet too. Mandalorians weren’t exactly a subject you knew much about, and you’d heard that they didn’t take their headwear off, but you had always assume that was something to do with safety and security, but here he was, half naked in front of you, letting you touch him. Maybe there was another reason.

You finally finished, the soft shake in your hand still very much present as you tightly knotted the white fabric, triple checking it was secure.

“There. It shouldn’t take too long to heal.” You muttered, nervous, and he hummed in response. You looked up at him, seeing him in just his undershirt, a thin brown material that wrapped around his body, secured with a tie and a small button, and the helmet. You could practically feel your heart beating, hyper-vigilant of your hand still resting on his thigh.

“It’s a shame you’re not going to be sticking around longer…” he muttered, his hand trailing up your arm and towards your face, fingers drifting across your jaw, “…you’re good at fixing me up.” You just about managed to hum as your head started to spin. He muttered your name, sitting up quickly in a groan of pain and you tried to say you were fine, but nothing came out, and you saw the world twist around you as everything went black.

You woke up, groggy and confused, blinking your eyes open to see the familiar walls of the cockpit, dizzying lights of hyperspace flashing across the ceiling. You were lying on a makeshift bed that he must have put up for you - just spare pillows and blankets, but comfortable - and you could see his outline sitting in the pilot’s chair. Trying to sit upright, you realised your head was pounding, and you groaned, falling back on your elbows. He noticed, spinning around fast in his seat and striding over to your side. You noticed he was back in his armour, which was disappointing, his gloved hand running down the side of your face and tucking your hair behind your ear.

“How’s your… leg?” You muttered, voice croaky.

“Perfectly healed, thanks to you.” You frowned. Surely that’s not right. Bacta accelerated the speeding process, but not to a matter of minutes.

“What? How long have I been out?”

“About 10 hours.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Mando…” you weren’t sure where the name came from, something you heard Greef say, but you were frazzled and worried and honestly, you had earned the right to a nickname after the last two weeks.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for… are you feeling ok? Hungry? Thirsty?” There was a genuine concern in his voice, a warmth to it you hadn’t heard before.

“Yeah… um… I am a little hungry actually.” He nodded, his helmet bobbing.

“Ok, let me make you something.”

He was back 5 minutes later, bowl of soup in hands that he passed to you. You thanked him gratefully, eating quickly as he busied himself with the console. As simply as that, you were back to the silence you were used to. You were disappointed. You had come so close earlier to something else, something beyond this weird, awkward quiet.

You sat in the corner on your bed, staring at the streaking lights playing across the roof of the cockpit as you sat in hyperdrive. The quiet was almost deafening, just the whirring of space and the beeps of the consoles to keep you sane. You had to get out of the room. It was suffocating.

You moved to stand up, slowly, head still spinning, but it was no use. You fell back down anyway, your ass hitting the floor with a soft thud as you huffed. The Mandalorian’s head snapped around quickly, looking over his shoulder to see you, crumpled on the floor, frustrated look on your face.

“Let me help you.” He stood up, moving over to you but you shook your head, something that only made your head spin more.

“No, I’m ok. I just need to…” you stood again, but this time was just as bad. You swayed, the world going dark for a second as you tried to focus on staying upright. As the spots cleared, you realised you were standing, but only because he was holding you up, his hands gripping your waist. He practically dragged your limp body to the copilot chair, sitting you down unceremoniously and kneeling in front of you.

“Listen to me, you’ve been living off adrenaline for two weeks - you’re exhausted, you’re hungry, you’re probably dehydrated. I…” he paused, shaking his head, “I’m sorry about what I said before I left. I was being genuine, but I didn’t mean for you to… I’m sorry.” It was sweet, the way he was stuttering, genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine, Mando…”

“No it’s… let me help you now. What can I do? Do you need sleep? Food?” You noticed then that his hands were still on you, thumb running lazy circles across the top of your thigh as he looked at you with what seemed to be earnest. You were getting better at interpreting his emotions based on his helmet, his body language, his tone of voice. He wasn’t as much of a stranger as you thought he was. He was an open book. Like now. He was leaning towards you, helmet tilted up to your face, hands on your thighs in a way that screamed intimacy. That he was comfortable with you. That he wanted you. You had doubted him earlier, but he was so forward, showing you exactly what he wanted. Now it was your turn to take a lead.

“I can think of one thing.” You muttered, shy smile spreading across your face. You moved your hands down to his, gripping and pulling them further up your legs, until they were on your hips and ass.

“You sure, girl? You passed out on me, can barely stand up…”

“I just slept for 10 hours. I think I’ll be ok.” He stayed silent, processing, and but you held firm as your head cleared, any residual aches being replaced with lust for the man on his knees in front of you.

“In that case…” he seemed to spring into life, pulling your hips to the edge of the chair and scooping you up with ease, and moving to the bed. You were grinning as he laid you down gently, hand brushing some hair from your face. He removed his gloves first, and you danced the same dance that you did earlier, removing each piece of his armour with a touch of recklessness. His ungloved hands found the hem of your tee, pulling it over your head as you sat up, finally getting a chance to remove his undershirt. You couldn’t help but run your hands across his expansive chest. His firm muscles, the soft chest hair that curled and swayed as your fingers explored him, the raised edges of scars that littered his torso. And then, all at once, the apprehension from earlier came rushing back, as your hands drifted to his shoulders, intending to run up into his neck and hair and to kiss him, but the helmet…

Your confusion must have been written on your face, as he cautiously grabbed your wrists, thumbs drawing circles on the back of your hands.

“I’m sorry, girl, it has to stay on…” You smiled sweetly, confidence trickling back. At least you knew now.

“I think we can work with that.” You pressed your lips to his chest, a groan escaping him as you continued to plant kisses down his torso until you reached the waistband of his undershorts. You palmed the bulge that was forming, his hips bucking towards you in his kneeling position. You could feel how big he was already, thick and heavy, and you felt a slick growing between your legs at the thought of him inside you, how good he would feel. You pulled down his waistband, letting his length spring free. He was so hard already from just a few touches, precum leaking from his tip. There was something that told you his situation was similar to yours - he was too busy for intimacy, always moving from one place to another, never enough time. Desperate and touch-starved. So you started light.

You backed up a little on the bed to give yourself the best possible access to him, dipping your head and running your tongue lightly up his shaft. That motion alone turned him to jelly, a sigh escaping his lips and a hand instinctively falling to the back of your head, fingers weaving into your hair. You circled around his tip, applying as little pressure as possible, before lifting off him. You slowly lowered your head further, tongue flat, taking his gently into your mouth, but he had other ideas. With a low growl, it was like something in him took over, and his hips were bucking up into your mouth, hand pressing down on your head and sheathing his whole length into you and down your throat. You gagged, gasping around him in shock and he cursed, gripping tighter.

“Stars, girl, I can’t believe how good you feel…” Tears welled in your eyes from the pressure in your throat, but you gripped the sheets, swallowing around him and wanting nothing more than to please him. To make sure he felt good. He finally lifted your head up, and you quickly gulped air into your lungs, but he was pressing you back down again. He knew how to give you just enough air to keep going, and you could almost sense a hint of frustration in his movement, almost resentment at you being here, or maybe for passing out at the crucial moment earlier. That he would’ve carried you upstairs, hard and desperate, laying you down gently but what you had been about to do would have been swirling in his head for hours, pent up need and want bubbling over until this point. The idea was addictive, making you moan around him as he continued to restrict your breathing with his thick cock.

“You know…” he started, every few words punctuated with a grunt or groan as he continued his relentless pace, “I’ve been thing about this… your pretty lips… how they would look wrapped around me… on your knees… Stars you’re perfect…” Every word was like an aphrodisiac, so aroused that you were sure that a single touch would send you over the edge. “Pretty girl… letting me use your mouth…” His hips started to stutter, and you moved one hand from the bedspread to his thigh, letting your nails dig into his thigh and he moaned, truly and unabashedly. That was your warning, and as you opened your throat for him once more, he was emptying into you, hands gripping your hair tighter than ever as you swallowed every last drop.

He was practically a heap on the floor when you were done with him, slumped against the hard metal wall next to him. Your breathing was ragged as you moved to sit down, swinging your legs around and stretching them in front of you. He tucked himself back into his trousers as you smiled sheepishly, listening as his own breaths returned to a normal rhythm.

“Fuck, you take good care of me…” He muttered, hand finding its way to your face to gently brush under your eyes, which were still a little watery.

“Well, I don’t really want you to strand me in hyperspace…” you joked, then frowned. You don’t want him to think you only did that because… “not because I felt like I had to… I mean, I wanted to… really I…”

“I know.” He said, amusement peeking through in his tone. You laughed in nervous relief, suddenly realising you were only half dressed. You reached for your top, intending to redress and help with something on the ship, but he grabbed your wrist just as your fingertips grazed it. “Maybe I should take care of you for a change…”

“Mando, you do, I… oh.” You realised what he meant as his hand found your waistband, tugging on it lightly. You helped him, pulling them over your ass and allowing him to pull them off completely.

“Take it off.” He muttered, gesturing towards your bra, and you blushed at his sultry tone, unclipping and discarding it as per his command. His hand fell to your sternum, pressing you back to the bed until you were lying flat.

“What are you…” you started, wanting to know what he had planned, but before you could finish, he had teased two fingers into your mouth. You hummed around them with a frown, but he didn’t move.

“Trust me.” He spoke quietly, his tone dark, exuding dominance. You just nodded. He released your mouth from his grasp, dragging his thumb across your lip with an intense stare that made you start to pull your legs together, desperate for some relief in your aching core, but he wouldn’t allow it, using his knees to press your legs apart. Your breathing was shallow as his fingertips seemed to swirl across every inch of your body, light, barely there, and you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from begging. He finally made it to your panties, quickly removing them and grabbing both thighs, spreading you apart even further for him. Your hips instinctively bucked, trying to entice him, but it took an agonisingly long time for him to move. You were practically shaking with desperation, trying not to writhe around too much, but the lack of attention was almost getting painful. Finally, he released one of your legs, his grip on the other only getting tighter, and ran one finger through your folds with a delicious pressure. You whined loudly, body reactive to his touch, and he laughed darkly.

“So wet for me, pretty girl.” Then, he plunged two fingers into you, pressing deep and stretching you out. The sound he pulled from your throat was guttural, and you clenched around him, earning a groan. “Show me how you touch yourself.” What?

“Show you…” you asked shyly, as though he wasn’t already knuckle deep in your cunt.

“Show me.” You let your fingers trace down your body, finding your clit with ease. You set up your usual rhythm - soft, slow circles, gradually increasing in pressure. As you settled into it, moaning as you touched yourself, his fingers started to match your pace, curling into you and hitting that blinding spot. You figured it couldn’t get any better, surely, reaching the edge faster than you ever had, then his other hand found your nipple and gripped hard, pulling as a pathetic whimper fell from your mouth.

“Fuck, Mando… I think I’m going to…” Your breathing grew less regular as an intense pressure rose in your core, and he just continued to work you through it.

“That’s it pretty girl, good job… just come all over my hand, that’s right…” his words of encouragement and praise were enough to send you over, body locking up as white hot pleasure coursed through your body. He continued to talk, but you missed most of it blood rushed between your ears.

He laid next to you as you caught your breath, pulling the blanket over you both and pulling you close to his chest. You sighed, settling into him and listening to his heart beat. His hand found your hair, gently running through it and pushing it from your face.

“I really would like you to stay longer, pretty girl.” You smiled at the new nickname you had picked up, humming contentedly.

“I don’t mind taking a detour…” you muttered. “I have nowhere better to be than right here.”