Latest Posts by awholelottayeehaw - Page 4

hey not sure if i have any Jewish followers from NJ but FYI. this is really concerning

THE BOOK OF BOBA FETT 1.05 • “Return of the Mandalorian” aka Din Djarin and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

KINKTOBER DAY 5: Fucking Machine -Part 1

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

Set between seasons one and two.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader (from The Mandalorian)

Summary: He did his best to ignore the sounds of moans and groans of sentient species fucking or getting fucked by machines, but they only made him harder. Din subtly tried to rub at his cock while following the droid, but the thing heard him groan and stopped, looming down at him with unreadable eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t wish to pay for my time?”

“Not interested, just show me the room.” If the droid had been a person, he would have felt bad about how gruff his voice was, but the droid only nodded and proceeded to open a small room that was vacant despite many false pussies on display begging to be fucked.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: unprotected sex, rough sex, fluff and smut, romantic angst/tension, yearning, unrequited love (or so he thinks), PIV sex, robot brothel, Din tries to get over his feelings for you by recalling a fling he had years ago but it doesn't help, explicit sexual description of Din's one night stand with an OC made up for the story (in case anyone doesn't like reading stuff like that in reader inserts), semi-public sex

Word Count: 5,416

Throughout his lifetime, Din had faced a number of problems. Some came with the territory of being a Mandalorian, some from being a bounty hunter, and others from the consequences of his own actions. His beskar and Creed often attracted problems, his large heart often caused problems, and his stubbornness in his older years often kept him from solving his problems. And you? You were his biggest problem.

He had reluctantly agreed to share a ship with you after the Crest was destroyed and he and Grogu were reunited. The N1 Starfighter was fun, but over time he came to admit that it wasn’t practical. So he stored the small ship on board your much spacier one and opted to use it more for leisure than for work.

At first, Din wasn't sure how switching off jobs was going to work. But it came far more naturally to the both of you than he had expected. When Din was free to bounty hunt, you tagged along and waited his time out on the ship or in the nearby towns. When he wasn't working, he preoccupied himself with fixing up your ship or finding small work nearby while you were out. It brought in the credits a lot faster, and Din could admit that it was nice sharing a space with someone who respected not just his Creed but his silences and space as well.

Din wasn’t sure when he started to find you attractive, but his infatuation was becoming a bigger problem day by day. Din found subtle ways to touch you when moving past you on the ship or at a market regardless of how much space he actually had, and he tried hard not to linger or stare but it was hard. When you were nearby, he was pulled into your gravitational pull and he couldn't look or keep away for long.

It was a problem.

He convinced himself that his attraction was temporary. Space was lonely and with just you and the kid as his companions, it was bound to happen. And just like the stars before you, his feelings too will fade into a distant memory.

He’s such a fucking fool.

Din was far too into his own head to even consider whether or not you were also interested in him. He’s never been good at picking up cues like that, and although he’s no stranger to sex, romance was always a weak spot for him and often led him to make choices that worked against any blossoming feelings he had for a potential partner. So he resorted to what he did best with problems such as these: he withdrew into himself.

Din cut back on the touches, the lingering, and found excuses to be elsewhere on the ship. But the distance he created only made his feelings more intense, and with the ship being yours, he was constantly surrounded by the reminder of your existence.

He knew he had to either leave or scratch the itch he had for you or risk ruining this friendship and partnership. All he had to do was wait for the next planet to find a brothel while you were on one of your jobs and he could satisfy that need, maybe make it a habit every few months or so if needed. To Din, it was a solid plan and the hope of it had him in a better mood.

Luckily for Din, he didn’t have to wait long. One of your jobs led you both to the planet M4-78, one he hadn’t heard of, and one that surprised him he hadn’t. The planet, although some-what populated, was mostly run by droids. 

His knee-jerk reaction when exiting the ship was to take out his blaster, and even with your coos of reassurance, it was hard not acting like a startled loth cat with every droid citizen he encountered. Din knew he had to get laid and get the fuck off that planet. And luckily for him, there was a brothel on that god-forsaken planet and he immediately took off for it once you left and Grogu was down for his nap.

Unluckily for Din, because of the underlining fact that the planet was run by droids, that meant the brothel was run by them as well. 

Din didn’t know what he was expecting when he walked through the metallic doors, but being greeted by a tall droid with a snatched waist, curved hips, and a pussy on full display was not it. Nor the fact that not only was the brothel ran by droids, but the prostitutes available were only droids as well.

If Din ever had a midlife crises, it had to have been in that moment. Here he was, a man known for loathing droids, made to decide on whether it was more dignified to walk out sexually frustrated and risking lashing out at you and others because of the humiliation and lack of release, or giving in to his desires (and dare he say curiosity) and coming out of this better than he had felt in awhile.

That’s how he found himself rejecting the pussy droid’s services but allowing her to lead him to a backroom that was more affordable (and less shameful) for Din so that he could get in and out as fast as he could.

He did his best to ignore the sounds of moans and groans of sentient species fucking or getting fucked by machines, but they only made him harder. Din subtly tried to rub at his cock while following the droid, but the thing heard him groan and stopped, looming down at him with unreadable eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t wish to pay for my services?”

“Not interested, just show me the room.” If the droid had been a person, he would have felt bad about how gruff his voice was. But the droid only nodded and proceeded to open a small room that was vacant despite many false pussies on display begging to be fucked.

Din didn’t budge until the door shut behind him and he moved into the room tentatively, feeling extremely out of place but unable to ignore the need for release. The room was a siren call to his desires and Din decided he could hate himself later for his decision.

A variety of species were carved into the wall to look like the women were bent over and had pushed the back of their thighs, ass, and lower back into a hole for strangers to fuck anonymously. Even Din had to admit he was impressed with the variety.

Wookie, Twi’lek, Zabrak, Chiss, Togruta, human… if the species was sentient, their female sex organs were on display, waiting to be used any way the client wished. And Din’s feet betrayed him by taking him all the way to the human fleshlight, hovering over it and staring it down like a prize worthy of worship.

Of course, the skin was wrong. It wasn’t your shade and it didn’t have the same texture. But eyeing the little fob on the wall next to the sex object, Din knew he just had to swipe his vambrace over it to pay for the time he wanted and make any changes he wished to better suit his needs. Which meant he could make the human rump in front of him look exactly the way he imagined you’d look, and the idea of it made his cock twitch violently and ooze more pre-cum than he knew he was capable of producing. 

Before Din could swap his vambrace, he backtracked hard to the bright orange Twi’lek rump instead which even had lekku sticking out of the wall where the head would be if the pussy was attached to a real person. 

Din gazed down at his temporary ‘companion,’ if he could even call it that. Just as he was impressed with the species available, Din was impressed with how realistic the mount was. The lighting helped fake the idea that the object belonged to a real person, but with his helmet, he was able to pick up on how slightly off the color and texture was of the skin. 

But for a moment, he could pretend. And for a moment, he could try to resist the temptation of you even if he desperately wanted to go back to the human fleshlight and indulge in all of his desires. But the fear of that making his feeling worse rooted him in place behind the Twi’lek pussy.

Din swiped his vambrace and when the screen popped up for preferences, he was quick to turn the Twi’lek from the bright orange it originally was to a vivid teal, ignoring the purple options with a shuddering thought of his romps with Xi’an back in the day, and adjusting his companion further until her lekku had pronounced purples stripes and her thighs were littered with freckles. 

Din took a step back to admire the mounted pussy in front of him, a near-perfect copy of a fling he had had years ago who became one of his favorite go-to memories when space got lonely and he only had his hand to keep him company. 

It had been a bit after his run with Ran and not too long before Grogu came into his life. A pit stop on a tiny planet used as a halfway point for many travelers into the galaxy and out. A planet where people passed through but never stayed for long.

While waiting for his ship to be fueled and fixed, Din had stepped into the town's only cantina with every intention of ordering a drink and making it clear he didn’t want to drink it or be talked to. And it mostly worked. That is until SHE walked in. 

The teal Twi’lek was all legs and curves, a body fit more for a holo actress or exotic dancer than whatever the fuck brought her to that backwater planet. Her teal skin and green eyes glowed whenever they were caught in the rotating lights in the dim cantina, her teeth white and sharp, and her smile wicked in a way that had made Din yearn for the ability to kiss without breaking his Creed. Her breasts, although small, were round in her swoop neck tank and her short skirt paired with the length of her legs left little to the imagination. 

Like many men in the cantina, Din was a moth willingly caught in this woman's flame. And all it took was for her to catch his stare from his shadowed place in a booth, a quirked lip, and a subtle head nod for Din to abandon his seat and follow her into the back alley where she promptly dropped to her knees and snatched his member out of his pants before the door behind them could fully shut.

Din remembered the way the Twi’lek had gazed up at him with those big green eyes, lips tight around his cock, and the way she squeezed her breasts up to cradle his balls as she sucked him off. She had been beautiful in the cantina and was just as beautiful on her knees with her features highlighted by a singular streetlamp pouring in light from just down the way.

Din had stroked her lekku and face reverently. And when she swallowed his cum like a champ, Din had her bent over a crate, ass up, skirt shoved over the roundness of her ass, and legs pressed tightly together to pronounce her fat pussy further just like the mount in front of him looked now. 

Din slipped his fingers down the slit of the fleshlight, admiring how wet it got from his touch, but also unable to not compare it to the real thing he had known so intimately at one point. But that was then and this is now and he had to get back to the ship before you did.

The Mandalorian unclipped his belt and opened his flight suit, allowing his stiff cock to pop out and hit his stomach with a dull ‘thud.’ Din hissed at the feeling the air felt against his member, whimpering at how sensitive and red it was against his belly as it oozed even more pre-cum. He took himself in one hand, the other gliding up the thigh and right ass cheek of the mount in front of him. The pussy was dripping now, and Din forced himself back into the memory of the alleyway and how the Twi'lek's pussy shone in the dim lighting much similarly.

Just like how he had before, Din at first notched his cock at the entrance, but then dragged the head down to rub her clit with it then back up and let it slide through the ass crack as if he were aiming for that hole. He recalled the way the woman froze and moved to correct which hole she wanted him to fuck when he grabbed her arm and lowered his member to slide home into her wet channel, holding her wrist on her lower back and locking it in place.

Din groaned at the feeling of the fleshlight around his cock, surprised at just how real it felt, and grunted at how tight it was gripping him. He couldn't even compare it to any partner he's had, it was the equivalent of what you'd expect a pussy to feel on a porn actress. Something that is so undeniably good that reality may not hold a candle to with the expectations created, but somehow this did. And that both excited him and soured his mood all at once.

Focus.

With the mount lacking arms, Din had to settle his hands on the fake Twi'lek's hips and focused once more on grounding himself within the memory. And it didn't take long for him to snap his hips at the same hard and fast pace he had fucked the Twi'lek with. Din closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his balls slap against the fleshlight's lips, and allowed himself to indulge in the wet heat. In the background of his mind, he remembered the breathy moans his fling let out along with the occasional high-pitched whimper that made his cock twitch and pound even harder until she made the same sounds more frequently until he could tell she was close to coming. 

Holding her hand in place, Din took the other from her hip and slowly dragged his hand up and down her bare skin, the loving gesture a complete duality to the rough fucking he was giving her. In the alley, his fingers found her implant. Din knew he won't find the same implant in the fake pussy, but his fingers still followed the same path they had with the real thing. 

Lost in his thoughts again, Din watched as the teal skin suddenly changed to your color and tone. Din still imagined himself in that alley, but the figure he was fucking and gazing down at was yours. The twi'lek's sounds changed octaves to better suit the ones Din was used to hearing on your ship. Her moans and whimpers faded into the ones he had heard when you had accidentally dropped a tool on your foot or how out of breath you got when you had to jog to keep up with his long strides. 

Din's grip on his fantasy weakened, and when he remembered gazing down at the way the Twi'lek's ass jiggled with every hard thrust, suddenly it was your ass doing the jiggling instead. It was your body clinging to the metal beneath you. Your body that was bent over the crate in an alleyway and taking his cock like you were born for it. Your face and hair that was doused in sweat, not the shiny lekku from recollation that turned to gaze up at him with your cheek pressed to the cold metallic surface of the crate. It was your mischievous smile, not the fling's wicked grin, and wink that reminded him of the implant he had just felt in his memory and had Din cumming harder than he had in his life into the prosthetic pussy, and the sudden jetson of his hot seamen triggered the mount's own just as it had triggered the Twi'lek's orgasm as well, feeling the fake pussy's trapping muscle camp down at him to milk his cock until it relaxed enough to let his cock go.

Catching his breath, Din was shocked at just how hard he still was despite the impact of his orgasm. The evidence of his memory and fantasy overlapping dripped around his penis and down his balls before falling to the floor below where a drain was strategically placed. Din glanced at the monitor and saw he still had 20 minutes remaining of his session and he shook his head hard, his years of discipline kicking in with very little effort. 

Din had taken the woman two more times in the alley, dragging her from the crate to be pushed into the wall where he fucked her from behind, and then propped up on the crate where Din held her legs wide with his elbows as he plowed into her, her breath fogging up his visor, and her trapping muscle locking them together for a minute before letting him go once her body recovered from her own climax.

Din kept his eyes squeezed shut, slamming himself into the fleshlight, doing all that he could to focus on the smallest details within the memory. But that didn't stop the Twi'lek from continuing to turn into you and making the same sounds as you, no matter how hard he kept ripping himself from the fantasy and back into his one-time reality, recounting the way the Twi'lek gripped his cock and her tits bounced and lekku swayed with each rough thrust.

Even after cumming hard into her the third time, Din remembered just how hard he still was, and how she giggled when he ground his hips into hers rather than shaming him for how badly he desired her. Din couldn't remember the specifics of how he got from the cantina and to the hotel where the woman was staying, but he did recall the teasing glances and touches she gave him on the way to the building. The way she would stop abruptly and grind her ass into his crotch as if ensuring he was still hard.

And Din especially remembered the moment when the elevator door shut, how he wrapped his arms around her from behind, shoved her skirt up, ripped her panties clean off of her, and punched his cock into her the moment he had his member free. Din remembered the way he thanked whatever god was out there that they made the Twi'lek as tall as she was for him to do this with so easily.Din had kept his eyes glued to the screen as the elevator shot up to the floor she was staying on, slamming into her over and over again, barely leaving her cunt for long. One hand clutched her right breast, the other covering her mouth, his head pressed against hers to hear the muffled noises she made with every hard thrust he gave her.

Just as her floor approached, Din grunted and shot his fourth load into her and stepped away, allowing the skirt to fall back into place just as the doors opened to reveal a human female and Chiss male waiting for the elevator. Din placed his hand on his fling's lower back and guided her out on shaky legs, not bothering to acknowledge the couple regardless if they picked up on what had happened or not.

Din ground his hips into the fake pussy, remembering the way his hand had dropped from her lower back to squeeze her ass and patted it, encouraging her to lead them to her room. Watching her hips naturally sway had Din mesmerized, and he had become instantly hard again when he saw his seed finally dripping down the inside of her thighs. It had taken everything in Din not to take her right then and there against her hotel door. 

Din was barely able to keep his hands off of her when the door finally opened and shut behind them, his helmet adjusting to the darkness of the hotel room. He recalled it being small, but modest, with a shockingly good view from the wall wide window. In his moment of distraction, the woman had stripped herself of her clothing and shoved Din onto the bed where he happily fell on his behind, ready to just admire the view in front of him for a moment.

The planet, because of its lack of permanent residents, had far less pollution and therefore a much clearer sky. The window reminded him of his view from The Crest, and he allowed himself to fall into the scene that he's had forever etched into his mind of just how stunning the Twi'lek was in that light. But when Din opened his eyes, instead of seeing the woman from his one-night stand, you stood in her place. And he wasn't sure if he was impressed or horrified that his mind could imagine you so vividly, with your nude body shrouded in the shadow of the night but highlighted by stardust. But whether or not Din closed his eyes in the present-day or in his reminiscing, there you stood in all of the beautiful glory he wished to see you in.

A beep chimed from the monitor next to the mount, alerting Din that he had ten minutes remaining of his session. But the warning fell on neglectful ear.

In his mind, Din knew it was the Twi'lek who sauntered over to him naked as the day she was born only to take out his member and mount him without breaking the eye contact she tried to make with his visor in the way. But all he saw was you, and how you would walk with that unique stride of yours, eyebrow cocked the slightest bit amused, and unable to hide that charming grin of yours as you straddled him and slid down on his cock. He knew you'd try to hide the way the stretch from that angle would make you feel, but he'd see it. With you, he saw everything. How could he not?

In the memory of his once reality, Din knew the Twi'lek rode him like she was trying to tame a wild Blurgg. The way she had thrown her head back, eyes screwed shut, breasts pressed against his breastplate, and lakkus jiggled with her enthusiasm never failed to get him hard at the image of it all. But in his fantasy, you stared down at him as you rode him. Not hard, not like you're trying to tame a Blurgg, but passionately consistent that grounded him. That commanded his attention, his devotion, his focus.

The night he had had with the Twi'lek had been intense, sexy, and animalistic. When she rode out her high after riding him, he had spun them around with his cock still rooted in her and drilled her until she came undone again. He took her bent over the bed, pushed up to the window with her breasts against the glass as he took her from behind, and up against the wall. Despite those facts, Din still couldn't stop the image of you from taking her place. And the harder he fought it, the weaker his resolve became. And when Din realized it was futile to fight what his heart, cock, and head wanted; he gave in and welcomed you as his fling's replacement.

He'll deal with the shame and guilt later, consequences be damned.

Where the night with the Twi'lek woman had been intense, sexy, and animalistic; a night with you in that hotel room would have been passionate, sensual, and intimate. Yes, he would have let you ride him if you wanted to, but he would have worshiped you. He would glide his ungloved hands over every inch of your body as if you were a heaven-sent goddess, not one that inspired lustful desires and one-night stands, but one that beckoned him home to a body that was fertile with all that he could ever need. A goddess that needed to be reminded that it was HER altar he knelt at and prayed to and willingly sacrificed to.

A beep chimed, letting him know he had five minutes remaining but he was too far lost to care. 

Yes, he would have flipped you over as well onto the bed, but instead of the quick way he had drilled his hips into the Twi'lek, he would've snapped his hips in a slow but deep rhythm that would both have you begging for more but also struggling with the intensity of every stroke. He would have hitched your legs over his hips with one hand, the other bent over you with his head close to your face so that he could gaze into your eyes.

Din's hips stuttered into the prosthetic pussy when he realized that, in his fantasy, he was not only naked but also helmetless. And the idea of it didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. He had never taken his helmet off in front of anyone since he swore The Creed, but if he ever considered the possibility with anyone (other than Grogu), it would be you. Din knew that should scare him, but instead it just caused a deep ache. One that he tried to ignore through the feeling of the prosthetic pussy pulsing around his cock. 

He allowed his fantasy to act out the way he would kiss you deeply, and drag his tongue over every inch of your body as he ground his hips into yours. He allowed himself to imagine the way he'd suck hickies onto your neck and leave bite marks in places for you to find days later. Marks that he'd then darken once more on The Crest when you had hours to kill in hyperspace and Grogu was napping. He imagined your skin being salty from sweat and tangy in a way that flesh just is, but the taste would be uniquely yours. And Din knew once he had a taste, he wouldn't be able to stop devouring you any chance he got.

Din imagined the way he'd wrap himself around you until the both of you weren't sure where you began and he ended. When he fucked you from behind, it was with his whole naked body laying on top of yours, his knees spreading your thighs for him to fuck you in the same, hard rhythm while holding his face against your cheeks and whispering sweet nothings into your ear while you drooled and took what he gave you. 

Because, unlike the Twi'lek, you didn't have legs for days. No, your legs were shapely from the work you did, arms toned where it counted. Your waist may not have been tight or breasts small and perky, but you were soft in ways that Din wasn't able to indulge in. Soft in a way that had him imagining coming home to a hearty meal and a woman who loved him unconditionally for who he was, even when his own body will eventually soften with age. The Twi'lek was chiseled in ways the gods would envy, but you were sculpted by the hands of the muses who the gods would praise.

Yes, he would have pushed you against the glass for the world to see, but instead of your breasts, they would see your bare back so he could fuck up into you and gaze into your eyes with the galaxy highlighting your figure in a beautiful blue silhouette. Two celestial bodies in one. And when he was done with you, your body was slick with how many times he made you cum, skin riddled with evidence of his kisses, his own seed dripping out of you... he would remain inside your body as he curled around you in a protective embrace, arms tightly around you, and allow his breathing to match yours.

Din's mind finally wandered from his fantasy and back to the memory where, after he fucked the Twi'leck on every surface of that hotel room, he had allowed himself to lay on the bed with her draped over him and his cock wedged inside of her. He remembered how he waited until she was sound asleep for him to roll her over gently and carefully slip out of her, watching her closely so as to not wake her and sighed when she flinched but didn't wake up from the lack of weight within her pussy. 

Din, like the shadow he is, had adjusted himself and slipped off into the night. He had gone back to his ship, paid his fees, and took off never to return to that planet again. There had been times he had hoped to run into the woman again, but he never did and it was for the best. But times like these made him wonder if maybe he should try to find her if you couldn't feel the same for him, but that had been years ago and she most likely had settled down by now.

Din spilled into the prosthetic pussy with one last sigh and, after a moment, allowed himself to slip from its warmth just as the timer beeped. Din watched his seed spill out of the pussy and drip down to the floor, his fingers ached to push it back in, but the cleaning cycle of the fleshlight had started to douce the inside, and soon his seed was replaced with cleaning fluids for the next customer.  

The Mandalorian sighed and resisted the urge to lift his helmet enough to rub at his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Instead, he tucked himself back into his pants and looked himself over to ensure he wasn't bringing back any evidence of his transaction home to you. His heart fluttered in excitement at the thought of being in space with just you and the kid again, but he had to admit the whole transaction left him feeling empty and lonely. If not even his memory could help him get through this, Din wasn't sure what could.

Leaving the prosthetic pussies behind, Din walked through the door and made his way down the first hallway of many to find his way out when a noise had him stop in his tracks.

The brothel earlier had been filled with faint moans, groans, and wet slaps coming from the private rooms he had passed when he first arrived. But a single moan caught his attention and Din went as still as he normally did on his hunts and listened. And he didn't have to wait long before he heard the same breathy moan again and realized the sound he recognized as your own. Were you there as well? Din's heart raced, torn on leaving you to what you came to do and pretending he had never been there to witness such a beautiful sound, or tracking down your sounds and listening in on just who you were imagining was fucking you the way he had done himself. 

The latter won over, Din's feet moved on their own before he could make up his own mind on what to do and they led him down two halls until he was right outside the door where your breathy sounds and soft moans were the most prominent. He amplified the sound on his helmet, heart hammering in his chest when he realized that the sounds really were yours. He couldn't tell just what kind of treatment you had paid for by sound alone, but his cock was hard and demanding to know what was fucking the girl of his dreams when he was right here with a perfectly good cock of his own. But he couldn't intrude, not when he didn't know what you were there for or who you wanted to be with.

But just as Din swallowed his pride and turned to leave, there was a hitch in your breath that had him freeze in his tracks, and another that made him turn around with every intent of finding a way in. You had moaned his name.

"Din."  

PART 2: Coming soon

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I have no idea why this fic took me as long as it did, but it kicked my ass regardless of this being the first story I was inspired to write for Kinktober 2022. I was genuinely shocked to not find any fics on robot brothels or sex machines with how horny this fandom is, and I had to change that. I think it's so cool we have worlds where we can fuck sentient alien species and we have robots who can sass us in beeps but we haven't written about robot pussies and dicks?? God has abandoned me and I'm okay with it if it means getting more potential fics like this so ENJOY.

I also didn't edit the end, so I'll be fixing the mistakes in the next day or two. In case anyone was like "damn bitch you write like this?" Nah it's 5 A.M and I have lost all control over my life so you're welcome.

More details I found looking at his page: He works as a cnc designer professionally for biomedical and aerospace industries and he designed and manufactured this himself. None of the eyes he’s made (he’s made MANY!) are 3D printed, they’re machined, medical grade titanium so they don’t get hot from the LED and are safe to use as a prosthetic. He wants to make them for other people at some point, but says he has a lot of research and development to do before that can happen.

Annie are you ok

list of favorite things as a fanfic author:

When someone is really freaking mad at me for inducing an emotional response from them

when readers give me a background of how/when they read my writing

when readers give me a background of why they shouldn’t have been reading my writing (usually while at work)

when readers quote my work back to me in comments

the frickin’ real heroes here, the ones who comment on every chapter of an ongoing multi-chapter fic

liberals really act like the average voter has more power than the president of the united states who could do a ton of things if he actually wanted to

For whatever reason, my posts since October 8th haven't been showing up in any of the tags I post them in, if anyone has any advice I'd appreciate it! I let Tumblr staff know already but I've been bummed that my work hasn't gotten its usual foot traffic but I'm glad I figured out why.

So thank you to anyone who liked, engaged, and reblogged my stuff since!!

Day 4: Tied Up

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

Set between seasons one and two.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary:

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: unprotected sex, rough sex, fluff and smut, romantic angst/tension, bondage, PIV sex, rope bondage, mutual pining

Word Count: 1,673

You had been tied up in the past before by other lovers, usually hands and/or feet bound by rope or binders. You had imagined going further, but you never met anyone who had ventured past the basic binding in bed to really explore that area. Or trust, for that matter. That is, until you met Mando.

You barely knew the man, and wouldn’t even say you had found him attractive when you first met. He was a giant wall of silver with very little indication he had much going on other than being a good bounty hunter and father figure to his green ward. It wasn't until you had witnessed the way the warrior had tied up his bounty and manhandled the creature into carbonite that the neutral feelings you had for him changed so dramatically that you nearly gave yourself whiplash. You hadn’t even noticed the way your thighs clenched at the sight, but Mando noticed. He always did. 

When your physical relationship started with the Mandalorian, it started the same way it had with others: in binders and rope. But unlike past lovers, you came to the realization that Mando had a few tricks up his sleeve that others hadn’t that added so much more spice to the act you know so well. 

If your legs were bound together, he’d throw your legs over one shoulder and bend you in half. If your wrists were tied in the front, you’d be manhandled to hold onto something above you as the warrior held up your body as if you weighed nothing and fucked up into you, hitting spots you didn’t know existed. If you had your hands bound behind you, they’d be used as leverage for the Mandalorian to fuck into you harder and faster from behind, the way your ass and breasts jiggled from the force would make your body ache for days after. It was glorious.

The ropes were always loose enough to wiggle out of if you needed to, but tight enough to get the job done. And that was enough. For a while. 

It wasn't that you were unsatisfied, Mando (or Din, as you’ve learned to call him) was a tentative lover who got off on your own pleasure. You couldn’t think of a time when you weren’t left satisfied. Or fathom there ever being one. Din knew your body better than you did, using old methods that were always certain to get you off, but continuing to find new ways to ensure that sex never got old.

But the longer your… whatever-ship with Din went on, the more your mind wandered to ways you could take the simple binding further. And you weren't sure which shocked you more: that you wanted Din to tie you up so tightly you couldn't move, leaving you vulnerable to take whatever Din gave you; or that you trusted him enough to have that kind of power. 

You hadn't noticed the soft sighs and prolonged glances you gave whenever Din brought out to use on you, but he noticed. He always did. 

You were so caught up in your own head that you hadn't even noticed how distracted Din had gotten both during sex and on jobs. It wasn't until Cara had asked where Din was did you finally notice his longer absences, and it was hard to not overthink it. Especially when you found out one day he had returned without seeing you and left with new pucks. 

After a month or two of little communication and only one quick sexual visit did you finally concede that Din was done with you. The rejection stung and humiliation sat in your chest, mocking you with the reminder that if you had asked Din to tie you up like you had wanted, the humiliation would be replaced with deep shame and you're glad you hadn't put yourself through that ordeal.

It's why you were shocked to find the Mandalorian darkening your doorstep well past midnight a few days later, his broad frame taking up the width of your door, his figure silhouetted by the darkness of your dwelling and the bright stars that painted the sky behind him. Without a word, he stepped in. And without a word you let him enter. 

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but the new rope that Din took from the bag Grogu normally warms was not on your list of top ten guesses.

It was long and thin, the red material appeared smooth in your living room's dim lighting. It wasn't anything you had ever seen before, and you couldn't help squeezing your thighs waiting for an explanation. For the distance, for the absences, for the lack of communication, and for showing up without calling you first.

And with a soft, "do you trust me?" crackling from the man's helmet, you couldn't stop yourself from answering back with a breathy "yes." The pain, the rejection, and the sting that had been haunting you the last two months were replaced with the trust you had for him and you figured you'd deal with the shame and humiliation of that choice later. If it ever came. 

You had never heard of shibari and weren't sure where Din learned it (not that you wanted to know and something told you you didn't), but it was everything you had wanted from past partners and were too afraid to ask Din. Yet, somehow, he had noticed. He always did. And you were a fool for thinking he wouldn't. 

That's how you found yourself on the floor of your bedroom, tied up in a way that left your naked body bent and exposed in a way that Din could use you any way you wanted. You were bent in half and spread in a way that exposed you to the world. The robe bound your wrists to your legs with intricate braids and knots, the kind made by nimble fingers and sure hands. The same hands that were stroking down your back and sides and grasping the flesh of your ass. You had never been more scared and horny in your life, your tentative excitement had you dripping wet without Din needing to even touch you. 

With you firmly on your back, your breasts swollen from the way the rope was tied around them, Din was able to slide home into your tight canal with little prep. Your groans entwined like a beautiful aria, but instead of railing you like he normally did, Din ground his hips against yours and set a slow but deep rhythm that punched the air from your lungs with each thrust. Your fingers and toes curled and your position forced you to look into the blank visor staring back, your cock-dumb reaction reflected back to you. 

Being unable to move, bent the way you were, with nothing else to do but take what Din gave you and stare up at him was the most vulnerable you've ever felt. It was as much intimidating as it was arousing, unable to look away even if you wanted to. You weren't sure what Din was thinking, or what inspired him to lean down and rest his forehead against yours, but it made sex with him this time around feel that much more intimate than just two friends with benefits trying something new in the bedroom. It was a feeling you welcomed wholeheartedly and you did your best to push your forehead back against his, eyes shutting.

The next thing you knew you were being flipped onto your stomach, your breasts squished against your chest almost painfully, Din's hand gripping your hair. You silently thanked the maker that Din had enough foresight to lay a blanket down on the ground underneath you just as he slammed home and fucked you like you were used to. The metal plates of his thigh armor dug into your bare skin with each hard thrust, his balls slapping against your clit in a brutal rhythm.

In this position, you struggled to breathe with how hard he was pounding down into you. Din curled up around you in a protective huddle, so close your fingers could graze his armor with every twitch of your fingers reacting to being fucked into oblivion, and the heat of his body radiated past his armor to cause goose bumps to litter your skin. An ungloved hand (when did he take the gloves off?) reached underneath you and rubbed your clit in time of his thrusts, aiding the slap of his balls against the sensitive spot already. You knew logically he had his helmet on, but his head was so close to your ear that it almost sounded like you could hear the unfiltered breathing and soft moans that were too quiet for the modulator to pick up.

Your orgasm hit you like a speeder bike, the pressure so intense you felt it push Din from deep inside you, and the gush of wetness along with the unique tightness caused Din to groan in surprise and grow rigid, his own release blindsiding him. You felt the hot gush of his cum mix with your own, the pressure causing both to leak out around his girth and down his balls and dripping to the floor below. He stayed like that, grinding into you, both of you catching your breaths and doused in sweat. 

Din rested his forehead against the back of your head, and you smiled when you felt his hand unclench itself from your hip and slide up to awkwardly hold one of your bound hands in his. You knew whatever happened tonight was new territory, one you'll have to discuss with Din eventually. But for now, the warrior was still rock-hard inside of you and you were ready to take whatever he was willing to give.

And maybe you will ask him who taught him how to do this so you can send them a thank you basket for leading up to the best night of your life. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

If the last bit felt rushed or wrapped up lazily, you're absolutely right about both. I got behind in this due to work drama and wanted to finish this before posting the next few stories but struggled with remembering how I originally wanted to end it. So please do enjoy, I promise the next two fics are going to be worth the wait I've had these filthy thoughts for at least a month now so suffer with me in horny jail on here.

xo

Billie

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Day 4: Tied Up

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

Set between seasons one and two.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary:

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: unprotected sex, rough sex, fluff and smut, romantic angst/tension, bondage, PIV sex, rope bondage, mutual pining

Word Count: 1,673

You had been tied up in the past before by other lovers, usually hands and/or feet bound by rope or binders. You had imagined going further, but you never met anyone who had ventured past the basic binding in bed to really explore that area. Or trust, for that matter. That is, until you met Mando.

You barely knew the man, and wouldn’t even say you had found him attractive when you first met. He was a giant wall of silver with very little indication he had much going on other than being a good bounty hunter and father figure to his green ward. It wasn't until you had witnessed the way the warrior had tied up his bounty and manhandled the creature into carbonite that the neutral feelings you had for him changed so dramatically that you nearly gave yourself whiplash. You hadn’t even noticed the way your thighs clenched at the sight, but Mando noticed. He always did. 

When your physical relationship started with the Mandalorian, it started the same way it had with others: in binders and rope. But unlike past lovers, you came to the realization that Mando had a few tricks up his sleeve that others hadn’t that added so much more spice to the act you know so well. 

If your legs were bound together, he’d throw your legs over one shoulder and bend you in half. If your wrists were tied in the front, you’d be manhandled to hold onto something above you as the warrior held up your body as if you weighed nothing and fucked up into you, hitting spots you didn’t know existed. If you had your hands bound behind you, they’d be used as leverage for the Mandalorian to fuck into you harder and faster from behind, the way your ass and breasts jiggled from the force would make your body ache for days after. It was glorious.

The ropes were always loose enough to wiggle out of if you needed to, but tight enough to get the job done. And that was enough. For a while. 

It wasn't that you were unsatisfied, Mando (or Din, as you’ve learned to call him) was a tentative lover who got off on your own pleasure. You couldn’t think of a time when you weren’t left satisfied. Or fathom there ever being one. Din knew your body better than you did, using old methods that were always certain to get you off, but continuing to find new ways to ensure that sex never got old.

But the longer your… whatever-ship with Din went on, the more your mind wandered to ways you could take the simple binding further. And you weren't sure which shocked you more: that you wanted Din to tie you up so tightly you couldn't move, leaving you vulnerable to take whatever Din gave you; or that you trusted him enough to have that kind of power. 

You hadn't noticed the soft sighs and prolonged glances you gave whenever Din brought out to use on you, but he noticed. He always did. 

You were so caught up in your own head that you hadn't even noticed how distracted Din had gotten both during sex and on jobs. It wasn't until Cara had asked where Din was did you finally notice his longer absences, and it was hard to not overthink it. Especially when you found out one day he had returned without seeing you and left with new pucks. 

After a month or two of little communication and only one quick sexual visit did you finally concede that Din was done with you. The rejection stung and humiliation sat in your chest, mocking you with the reminder that if you had asked Din to tie you up like you had wanted, the humiliation would be replaced with deep shame and you're glad you hadn't put yourself through that ordeal.

It's why you were shocked to find the Mandalorian darkening your doorstep well past midnight a few days later, his broad frame taking up the width of your door, his figure silhouetted by the darkness of your dwelling and the bright stars that painted the sky behind him. Without a word, he stepped in. And without a word you let him enter. 

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but the new rope that Din took from the bag Grogu normally warms was not on your list of top ten guesses.

It was long and thin, the red material appeared smooth in your living room's dim lighting. It wasn't anything you had ever seen before, and you couldn't help squeezing your thighs waiting for an explanation. For the distance, for the absences, for the lack of communication, and for showing up without calling you first.

And with a soft, "do you trust me?" crackling from the man's helmet, you couldn't stop yourself from answering back with a breathy "yes." The pain, the rejection, and the sting that had been haunting you the last two months were replaced with the trust you had for him and you figured you'd deal with the shame and humiliation of that choice later. If it ever came. 

You had never heard of shibari and weren't sure where Din learned it (not that you wanted to know and something told you you didn't), but it was everything you had wanted from past partners and were too afraid to ask Din. Yet, somehow, he had noticed. He always did. And you were a fool for thinking he wouldn't. 

That's how you found yourself on the floor of your bedroom, tied up in a way that left your naked body bent and exposed in a way that Din could use you any way you wanted. You were bent in half and spread in a way that exposed you to the world. The robe bound your wrists to your legs with intricate braids and knots, the kind made by nimble fingers and sure hands. The same hands that were stroking down your back and sides and grasping the flesh of your ass. You had never been more scared and horny in your life, your tentative excitement had you dripping wet without Din needing to even touch you. 

With you firmly on your back, your breasts swollen from the way the rope was tied around them, Din was able to slide home into your tight canal with little prep. Your groans entwined like a beautiful aria, but instead of railing you like he normally did, Din ground his hips against yours and set a slow but deep rhythm that punched the air from your lungs with each thrust. Your fingers and toes curled and your position forced you to look into the blank visor staring back, your cock-dumb reaction reflected back to you. 

Being unable to move, bent the way you were, with nothing else to do but take what Din gave you and stare up at him was the most vulnerable you've ever felt. It was as much intimidating as it was arousing, unable to look away even if you wanted to. You weren't sure what Din was thinking, or what inspired him to lean down and rest his forehead against yours, but it made sex with him this time around feel that much more intimate than just two friends with benefits trying something new in the bedroom. It was a feeling you welcomed wholeheartedly and you did your best to push your forehead back against his, eyes shutting.

The next thing you knew you were being flipped onto your stomach, your breasts squished against your chest almost painfully, Din's hand gripping your hair. You silently thanked the maker that Din had enough foresight to lay a blanket down on the ground underneath you just as he slammed home and fucked you like you were used to. The metal plates of his thigh armor dug into your bare skin with each hard thrust, his balls slapping against your clit in a brutal rhythm.

In this position, you struggled to breathe with how hard he was pounding down into you. Din curled up around you in a protective huddle, so close your fingers could graze his armor with every twitch of your fingers reacting to being fucked into oblivion, and the heat of his body radiated past his armor to cause goose bumps to litter your skin. An ungloved hand (when did he take the gloves off?) reached underneath you and rubbed your clit in time of his thrusts, aiding the slap of his balls against the sensitive spot already. You knew logically he had his helmet on, but his head was so close to your ear that it almost sounded like you could hear the unfiltered breathing and soft moans that were too quiet for the modulator to pick up.

Your orgasm hit you like a speeder bike, the pressure so intense you felt it push Din from deep inside you, and the gush of wetness along with the unique tightness caused Din to groan in surprise and grow rigid, his own release blindsiding him. You felt the hot gush of his cum mix with your own, the pressure causing both to leak out around his girth and down his balls and dripping to the floor below. He stayed like that, grinding into you, both of you catching your breaths and doused in sweat. 

Din rested his forehead against the back of your head, and you smiled when you felt his hand unclench itself from your hip and slide up to awkwardly hold one of your bound hands in his. You knew whatever happened tonight was new territory, one you'll have to discuss with Din eventually. But for now, the warrior was still rock-hard inside of you and you were ready to take whatever he was willing to give.

And maybe you will ask him who taught him how to do this so you can send them a thank you basket for leading up to the best night of your life. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

If the last bit felt rushed or wrapped up lazily, you're absolutely right about both. I got behind in this due to work drama and wanted to finish this before posting the next few stories but struggled with remembering how I originally wanted to end it. So please do enjoy, I promise the next two fics are going to be worth the wait I've had these filthy thoughts for at least a month now so suffer with me in horny jail on here.

xo

Billie

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Thank you @avatarkanemi and everyone who got me to 50 reblogs!!

On a Hot, Hot Day (Din x Reader Insert)

Sequel to On a Cold, Cold Night.

Post The Mandalorian season 2, Pre-Book of Boba Fett

Summary: On a desert planet with the looming threat of a sandstorm rolling in, you find a ghost from your past buried in the dunes with you being his only chance at survival before the storm hits.

Rating: T

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, depiction of depression, brief but mild mention of attempted suicide, alcoholism, and a shit ton of FLUFF.

Word Count: 8,180

On a hot, hot day, the double suns above caressed your skin like an overzealous lover that caused sweat to drip from your hairline and pool uncomfortably in the dip of your lower back. In front of you: home. Behind you: a gale wails in agony as a large tsunami sand wall races after you. The wind whipped at your face, your goggles your only form of protection from stray sand plucked from the ground from the acceleration of your speeder bike, racing against time and nature.

Based on the placement of the nefarious suns, you calculated you had about ten minutes left before you reached the safety of your dwelling and the sandstorm hit, the howling behind you letting you know you had about twenty before the desert blizzard hit and would strand you for a few days once you got home. And just as you approached the ruins of an old temple, the last landmark of your journey, the brightness of something metallic shining in the harsh, desert light nearly blinded you into crashing into a broken column. You wanted to pull your goggles aside to wipe your eyes so badly, but the threat of sand making the sting worse and scraping your face stopped you from doing so.

At first, your mind chalked up the metallic shine to a scrap the Jawas had left behind or hadn’t found yet. But as you passed the ruins, the last stretch of the landmark approaching, you couldn’t help but rethink your assessment. When do the Jawas ever leave anything behind, and when are they ever not aware of alien scrap in their desert? Against your better judgment, you turned your speeder around to hunt down whatever it was that caught your eye. Whether it was curiosity or a nagging feeling on the back of your neck not caused by the suns, you couldn’t say. But something beckoned you either way and who were you to not heed its call?

Your eyes picked up the shine of silver and you had to squint through your goggles to keep your focus on whatever had caught your attention as you approached it. Wavering between broken pieces of the forgotten building jetting out of the sands and ducking when the wind threw something larger than a pebble at you from the intensity of the approaching storm, you finally found the source of what caught your attention.

You parked your speeder and hopped off, approaching what at first looked like a heap of shiny metal untouched by time, your excitement of having an easy payout dampening your logic. But as you grew closer, the scrap turned into the form of a large man, sprawled halfway buried in a dune. Your heart raced at the discovery and ran to the figure to aid them, but immediately froze when you took in the specific details you hadn't seen from afar. 

The body was a Mandalorian.

The helmet’s black strip for eyes bore right into you, daring you to come any closer. You matched its intensity behind your own goggles, body rigid, unsure if the man was waiting to see who’d make the first move. But he didn’t budge. A gust of wind shoved you towards him, making your decision for you. The push nearly had you fall face first into the sand, but you managed to land safely on your knees instead. But when you realized how close the wind had brought you to the Mandalorian in front of you, your head snapped up waiting for the man to strike.

But nothing came.

The gust that pushed you had shoved more sand onto his body, burying him further. And a reminder of the storm that had been nipping at your heels for the past hour. You glanced towards the sea of sand, now much closer than what was comfortable, and you turn back to the Mandalorian. 

“Fuck.”

You stomp the ground in irritation at your good heart and started to scoop the sand away until more of the Mandalorian’s body surfaced. When enough was out of the way, he slumped against you and it took everything in you not to fall over from his weight. Another glance back at the storm told you you had fifteen minutes to get home, and the heavy body in your arms made you wonder if the rescue was even worth it. Was the man under the armor even alive? If he was, would he survive at all if you just left him there?

Knowing the answer and not liking either outcome, it took everything in you to drag the legendary warrior out from the rest of the sand. From his satchel, empty bottles of the local whiskey rolled out, one stopping at the toe of your boot. You scrunched your brow but knew you didn’t have time to analyze this new discovery. With strained muscles that screamed with every step you took, you manage to drag the Mandalorian back to your speeder and with great effort, flung him onto his stomach on the bike and hopped on behind him, taking off with one hand on his back in a weak attempt to keep him from slipping.

Over the roar of the speeder and the approaching storm, you couldn’t be too sure but you thought you heard a weak moan from the man. The thought made your heart flutter with hope and relief that he was alive, but you decided to celebrate later in the shelter of your home.

By the time you made it to the mouth of the cave where the back wall had a single wooden door built into a natural hole in the stone, the storm was minutes away from swallowing you and your metal companion alive. It had become near impossible to both steer and try to keep the Mandalorian from falling, and you thanked whatever deity was out there that they gifted you the luck to get you both home alive and safe.

With haste, you secured your speeder once in the cave’s mouth and fastened an anchor and protective cloth over it. Throwing your backpack over your shoulders, you tugged the Mandalorian off the bike and ungracefully dragged him the ten feet it took to get to your front door, nervously fumbling with the keys to unlock it, and slamming the door shut the moment you both were securely inside. You barely had enough time to lock the door and slam the barricade blocks down to keep the door from blasting open when the storm finally hit. The winds and sand screamed and wailed and scratched at the thickness of the door and the stone walls of your home, but had no effect on the strength of the wooden door and its built-in barricade. You were able to let go of the breath you didn’t know you were even holding, shoulders slumping in the relief you hadn’t felt in maybe two years.

The place you called home was a humble abode carved into the cave itself from perhaps centuries prior with the help of both man and nature. You had found it by accident about a year ago when you were out scavenging for things to sell to get by on the desert planet. It had been mostly hidden by the dunes and the harsh contrast of sun on stone, the shadows cast over the rock formations made the entrance look like a dip in the rock and nearly undetectable to the naked eye.

Although the structure had long been abandoned, you were surprised to find a bed frame and basic pieces of furniture made of solid wood left behind. It wasn't a lot, just enough for you to use until you could make the place more livable and homey. And despite the primitiveness of the house, you found whoever had made it their own had gone out of their way to use every crevice in a modern way. Dips in the walls were used as shelving and a fireplace and stove were built into the stone's crevices like they had belonged there all along.

You had been especially shocked to find that the home had a working natural sanistream, the tub a deep dip carved in the ground within the grotto. Whoever had carved it created a piping system that utilized the planet’s natural pockets of water deep in the ground without damaging the natural formation perfect for the tub. Between a working bath, toilet, and sinks; you felt like you had hit the jackpot of indiscreet housing that was both practical and comfortable all at once.

Glancing down, you finally took in your new companion for the next few days. Your eyes roamed over his body freely now that you no longer had the threat of the storm whipping at your backs.

You couldn’t tell how badly the man was hurt or where he was hurt exactly from the black thickness of his flight suit and the armor he wore. With a shaky hand, you slipped off a glove and bent down, slowly reaching for the man's neck to give him time to stop you if he truely was alive and perhaps even awake. When he didn't snatch at you or groan in defiance, you dug your two fingers under his cowl until you felt the texture of human skin. 

It was cold and clammy, but the faint pulse promised you a sliver of the man’s chance at survival now that you’ve found him. You swore, grateful that he was alive, but panicking now that you knew you had three days to either revive this man like the dying houseplant he was or live with a corpse for the next few days.

Refusing to think twice, you immediately began disrobing him of the heaviest of his armor and gear. The cowl came off easily, but you fumbled for far too long with this breastplate and vambraces. Your fingers went numb with the effort, and no relief came when you tossed the armor aside once it was free. Your hands rested on the indented cheekbones of his helmet and you hesitated. Was there a rule about this? You genuinely couldn’t remember, and it wasn’t like you had time to search for an answer on your datapad anyway.

With trembling hands, you unclasped the helmet and slid it off slowly, inch by inch until a firm jaw with disheveled salt and pepper facial hair was revealed, followed by extremely chapped lips, a sharp nose, and a mop of dark brown curls. You placed the helmet on the ground with more reverence, eyes roaming over the man’s face, fingertips brushing his features.

The Mandalorian’s face and neck were flushed, other parts ashen. His breathing had quickened since taking off his armor, his chest heaving with exertion and discomfort. Your hand jerked back when his eyelids fluttered open and you couldn't stop the hiss from escaping your teeth at the glossed-over look his eyes gave you. Through you, not at you. This was worse than you thought. He mumbled something you couldn’t make out, a shaky hand raising as if to touch you, but his arm fell limp and his eyes rolled in the back of his head. You immediately cupped his cheeks and gently shook his head, willing him to reopen his eyes, but he was out. 

“Kriff.”

You quickly stripped yourself of your own gear, kicking your boots into a box with slippers and some flats, and hanging your outer layers and the Mandolorian’s satchel on a rack beside the door. You turned to face the man in question, wincing. 

“I’ll be right back, just... just going to put this away. Okay?”

You awkwardly held up your backpack of supplies as if he could see it, then skittered off to the kitchen. You unceremoniously dropped each item in its place, including a hole in the natural rock formation that had been turned into a natural refrigerator, and booked it back to the warrior. You sighed, rolling your neck, already feeling how bad your knees and back will ache when you drag the Mandalorian deeper into your home and to your precious sanistream. You’re already looking forward to drawing a hot bath for yourself when the temperature that night drops and the Mandalorian rests. But for now, his life was in your hands.

With a strength and determination you hadn’t felt since your time on the run, you wrapped your arms under the warrior's armpits and dragged the Mandalorian towards your sanistream. You willed yourself on through bated breath and sweat threatening to blind you as it dripped from your hairline. Through eroded hallways smoothed over with time and water from times long gone by and lit with bioluminescent moss-grown as lamps, your back and knees screamed for a break but you knew if you stopped you’d struggle to find it in you to continue again.

The man in your arms groaned weakly only a few times during your trip to the fresher, but otherwise remained still. You nearly cried from relief once you make it to the fresher, the curtain hung up for privacy a beacon of success. The ribbon at the end of a long race. With a burst of energy, you pulled the Mandalorian the rest of the way in and slumped to the ground with him in your arms, your back against the wall, panting. Your clothes clung to you with your sweat despite how cool the cave kept the abode naturally.

The bathroom glowed a warm yellow from the bioluminescent moss, bright enough to see what was important, but soft and dull enough to be kind on strained eyes and tired minds. The never got over how romantic the moss made your home feel in the darkest of spaces, reminding you of something straight out of a fairytale your adopted mother had read to you as a child. 

With the first moment of peace you’ve had since finding the warrior and the storm, you’re able to really feel him against you. Broad shoulders and a strong body that unintentionally flexed wherever you touched him. And with him so close and the elements no longer a threatening distraction, you’re able to truly smell him and you realize he reeks of alcohol. You couldn’t stop your nose from scrunching at the newfound stench and gag from the sweetness that only came from the whiskey bottles you had found him with in the dune. Had he been drinking and wandered off into the desert one night after having one too many? Being out there sober without protection was already a death wish, but drunk?

As gently as you could, you dragged the warrior with weak arms and legs to the sanistream’s tub and thanked whatever god was out there that the original owners thought to utilize the natural formation in the rock rather than build a tub. You weren’t sure how you would’ve gotten the Mandalorian in otherwise and your back ached at the idea. 

Laying the man down next to the tub, you carefully pushed his hair out of his face and wiped away the sweat from around his eyes with the delicate touch of your fingers, heart clenching for him. You really hoped he pulled through.

You barely had the energy to unlace let alone take off his shoes. You ended up ripping them off the moment they were loose enough, and tossed them somewhere behind you to be collected when the man was more stable. You sighed through trembling fingers to unbutton and unzip the flight suit, struggling to peel the thick fabric from the man’s torso, and cursing when you saw yet another shirt hiding beneath. You managed to lift his shoulders enough to slide the flight suit off, then nearly ripped the shirt trying to tug it off with the grace of a newborn bantha. 

You tossed the shirt aside and worked the flight suit under him, struggling to hold his hips up as you slid the offending garment down and had to yank them over thick thighs and calves. Not that it mattered in a medical sense, but you were thankful he had at least worn long johns underneath the suit. Yet you still peeled that article down as well and were even more relieved to see the man wore brief shorts underneath. You forgot just how cold space could get.

With one last burst of energy, you managed to drag him into the tub with you and let him rest against you as you took a moment to catch your breath, his weight falling on you knocking the air out of you. You reached over and turned a knob, welcoming the ice-cold water as it filled the tub. The sudden coldness jolted you and your flinch caused the Mandalorian to groan. You rubbed his arm in an apology, waiting for the tub to fill enough.

Once the water height engulfed the man enough to help bring his temperature down but not enough to drown him if he were to slide or slouch, you carefully slid out from under him and placed his head softly against the tub’s edge.

His breathing had calmed and when you placed your hands on his face, you were relieved to feel the skin was less clammy and had lost a little of its flush from the cool relief. You let your fingers drag down to his neck and your shoulders relaxed, feeling the pulse beneath your fingers beat a little stronger.

Convinced he wouldn’t drown, you hesitantly parted from the warrior, giving him one long last glance, then allowed your tired legs to carry you back to your home’s entrance. Outside, the wind continues to scream and sand scratches to get in, but they fall on deaf ears as you collect the Mandalorian’s armor and helmet and carry it to your room, briefly checking in on the man as you pass the fresher.

The only rooms not needing the bioluminescent moss were the rooms on the upper incline of the cave where they each had large holes turned windows facing the desert. Large sheets of the same transparisteel used on ships had been wedged into place and protected the rooms from the harsh and unforgiving desert environment. By the time you had found the place, the thickness of the space glass had aged with dust, still not enough to block the view but enough to make it look smokey and orange. 

The space you designated yours had been an abandoned bedroom, the furniture still there but collecting dust. From what you could tell, it might’ve been a couple’s room. No photos had been left behind to give you a clue as to who once lived there, so you couldn’t confirm, but the hunch was formed by the size of the bed along with the amount of space the wardrobes and vanity had. Far too much space for just one person, but you weren’t complaining. Especially after living in the tightest, most uncomfortable places while on the run all those years ago. It almost felt like a gift from the gods, and you accepted it with gratitude. 

You had to replace the sheets and clean the mattress and rugs, but after that and a good dusting, everything was as good as new. Minus the windows, which you cleaned the inside of but couldn’t for the life of you bring yourself to clean the outside. Maybe one day you’ll get a droid for that. One day.

The geometric rugs kept the room warm at night and the stone walls kept it cool during the day. When you needed the light, and the desert was kind, the stars and moon were often enough. But when a storm raged, just as it was now and you couldn’t see a thing out of the window, you settled on using old lamps that used bantha fat and oil, resources easy to obtain and took awhile to burn through. 

You were greeted to your room bathed in a dark orange hue, the furniture drenched in long shadows. Your bare feet patted over the soft rugs and over to the vanity where you placed the armor on its table, the last being the helmet that was tucked under your arm.

You held the helmet in your hands, gazing down at the black strip. It stirred a memory for you, of a snowy planet and an abandoned cabin. Of a time when you had been on the run from an abusive slave owner who had taken your adopted family away from you. Had taken you far from the life you were comfortably living.

After breaking your arm and being ill-prepared for a blizzard, you honestly thought your end had come. All the running, killing stealing... it had felt all for naught but you welcomed the embrace of death as it reached for you. You barely remember the day before the storm hit or the days waiting it out, just the moment you had come to, bandaged up and with a comlink waiting for you on your dresser containing the half-assed obituary declaring you dead.

The only memory, if you could call it that, from those blurry days was of a Mandalorian. Tall, broad, and hovered over you like the personification of Death. You remember trying to reach out to him and touch him, but that was it. For the longest time, despite your wounds being bandaged, the cabin boarded up, a fire waiting for you, and even some cooked food in the fridge… you had wondered if you had hallucinated him. If maybe a kind stranger had shown up and you mistook them for a Mandalorian or if you had in your delirium done it all and just didn’t remember it.

But gazing down at the helmet, you knew that the Mandalorian had been real. The lullabies sung to you were too far away for you to make out the lyrics, but the melody was close enough now to tickle your ear from time to time. You often dreamed up stories of places you had never been to, with creatures you had never seen. And some part of you, deep down, knew that they hadn't been made up by your brain. The Mandalorian haunted you in all the best ways possible, the personification of Death turned into one of a guardian angel. 

The Mandalorian had been Death incarnate if you hadn’t been injured. If you hadn’t been sick. He probably would have dragged you back to your owner with no mercy and you wouldn't be alive in this beautiful home in the desert with luxuries you didn’t know existed for people like you. Your near-death experience gave you a chance at life.

It’s why seeing the Mandalorian out in the dunes had startled you. The memory, although comforting, reminded you that you had been the man’s prey if you hadn’t luckily unlucky with your health. And seeing another Mandalorian so close to your desert home made you wonder if he was also a bounty hunter. And if he was, did it mean you had a bounty on your head again? Were people aware you actually were alive and well? And what about the alcohol?

But most importantly… was this the same Mandalorian from all those years ago? His armor had been red if you remembered right, and the armor in front of you was pure silver. 

You shook your head and placed the helmet on the vanity’s countertop, too fatigued to compare the warrior of your past and the warrior of your present. You hesitantly let the helmet go, but not before you let yourself get caught up in its blank stare. It took everything in you to pull away from its grip and willed yourself out of the room.

The warrior hadn’t drowned when you returned, and his body was less flushed and clammy. When you took his pulse, gratitude washed over you that the man was on his way to recovery. The worst appeared to be over, but it would still take a few days before he’d become coherent again.

You drained the tub and pulled out a towel to wipe him down. You struggled to get the man dry, sliding back into the tub with him. You attempted to pull him out but the strain in your back and knees reminded you of the daunting task at hand to get him into your room and you swore. You really were going to need that hot bath later.

The towels had been too small to use to drag him back, so you opted to get your spare sheet and yanked the warrior onto it after managing to drag him out of the tub. With most of his body on the cloth, you managed to drag him the rest of the way to your room and dropped the sheet to the ground once it was next to your bed with a huff. 

You couldn’t tell how much time had passed thanks to the storm, but based on how much dimmer the room was, you guessed it was approaching evening. Your legs felt as if they’d give out on you when you stood, but you ignored the weakness in favor of turning the lamps on before it got too dark and you had to fumble your way in the darkness.

Glancing over at the warrior’s slumped figure, you sighed and prayed to the gods for one last second wind.

You wrapped your arms under his and with the last bit of your strength, you manage to get him onto your bed in an ungraceful sprawl just as your body finally gave out from the strain. 

You let yourself lay on the ground, staring up at the stone ceiling. You allowed your body to feel the deep aches, cradling the discomfort and reminding yourself it wasn’t permanent. You listened to the Mandalorian above you breathe deeply, the very life inhaling and exhaling through his nose was like a melody, lulling you to a doze. 

From your place on the ground, you watched as the room went from a deep orange to nearly black, the death of the day witnessed with gratitude from your unmoving spot. The oil lamps were your only source of light, and where the sun through the storm bathed the room in oranges, the lamps washed the room in yellow pastels. 

Shaking the sleep from your head and rolling the fatigue out of your shoulders, you groaned as you sat up and leaned against the mattress for emotional and physical support. When you were ready, you dragged yourself to the kitchen and made yourself the simplest food you could make with whatever was left over of your energy, mindful of making enough for two.

When you came back, you placed the bowls of soup on the nightstand next to a canteen of water. You looked over your guest now that he didn't have armor or his suit in the way. The man was, at least to the naked eye, doing much better. But his flushed skin had turned sickly and his lips now bled from being cracked and dry. It was hard not to feel worried. 

You helped him sit up and cradled him in the crook of your arm. You took the canteen from the nightstand and did your best to unscrew it, then held it up to the warrior’s mouth. You helped him tilt his head back until a little water trickled through his lips. His Adam’s apple barely bobbed, barely accepting the gift at the alter of his sickbed, just enough for him to let out a content sigh and become even limper in your arms and you carefully laid him back down and tucked just the top sheet around his shivering body. 

You decided to feed yourself and relax your back, allowing the Mandalorian to sleep a little longer before attempting to feed him. When you were done, you cleaned your bowls and left them in the sink, and returned to his side with a damp washcloth. 

You cleaned the sweat from his forehead, brushed his hair out of his face, and dabbed at the places you knew would bring the most relief. When the washcloth was no longer cold, you went back to dip it in water and returned, placing it on his forehead and leaving it to rest there. 

You washed his clothes and hung them up to dry, not before emptying pockets of the most random items outside of weaponry accessories, including a round silver ball that you cradled in the palm of your hand. Despite its simplicity, you sense the object had enough meaning for the Mandalorian to want to carry it on his person and you placed it on the nightstand for him to wake up to when he was ready to return to the land of the living. But you failed to find any evidence that the man was a bounty hunter. At least not a bounty hunter looking for you. 

Slipping into your bed beside him, you rubbed his arms and ran your fingers through his hair and hummed to him, a tune from your own childhood and a tune you vaguely remember from the days spent incapacitated on the snowy planet. You told him stories of your travels, and what you had done since the incident you’ve dubbed “The Miracle.”

You weren’t sure if the man was the Mandalorian that had saved your life, but you decided to talk to him as if he was. It was strangely comforting, like talking to an old friend after a lifetime apart. You talked to him with the same familiarity you had with your family, the familiarity that you missed with your whole being. It was bittersweet, but you welcomed the feeling with open arms.

You laid next to him the rest of the night, dabbing at his forehead with the washcloth when he groaned in his sleep and holding him to your breast when he threatened to thrash around whether it was from a nightmare or discomfort. Caring for the big man in your arms felt so familiar and comforting despite not knowing if he was there by coincidence or if he had planned on turning you in. He was clearly a seasoned professional based on the weaponry you pried off of him, and that fact confused you more as to how he had allowed himself to nearly perish in the desert, far from civilization. How had he gotten there? And why?

You never did get that bath you wanted, but you didn’t complain. The discomfort was a reminder that you still had a lot to live for, and the man in your bed was a reminder of your own miracle. 

When morning came, just before the sun rose, you pried yourself from the Mandalorian and found some old curtains hidden away. You installed them just as the sun started to peek through the angry winds and sands billowing by the window. It kept the room relatively dark without completely blocking out the light and you were happy to discover it made the room that much cooler when the heat of the day radiated through the transparisteel and cloth. 

When you changed out the washcloths you had placed on his chest, neck, and forehead; you wandered down to the kitchen to make breakfast, rubbing your eyes and feeling the fatigue from the last twenty-four hours. The lack of sleep breathed down your neck, but it was far from claiming you despite the threat.

You rummaged through each built-in pantry and the fridge with eyes half open, taking out what you needed to make a type of cinnamon oatmeal you hadn’t had since your childhood. Pouring it into two bowls, you made your way back to your room as the warrior began to stir.

Heart rate speeding up, you placed the bowls on the nightstand and were at his side in a second, holding his hand. He struggled to wiggle out of the sheets, but was otherwise completely out. You rubbed his arm and made soothing noises, assuring him that he was okay. Your touch seemed to soothe him, and he sighed, stilling in place.

You propped him up against you in the crook of your arm and helped him eat, cooing words of encouragement with each successful scoop until the bowl was empty. You set the bowl down and changed out his washcloths, then finally allowed yourself to eat your own breakfast. You watched over the warrior with empathy. 

When you placed the bowls in the kitchen sink, instead of returning to the warrior’s side, your feet led you back to your front door. Outside, the angry howls of the wind had softened and the scratchy sand was less threatening against your door and the walls. The storm was thankfully almost over, give or take another day or two. But your eyes fell to what you had really come there for: the Mandalorian’s satchel, hanging from the rack on your wall just where you had left it. Guilt gnawed at you, but you had to know why the warrior was out in the desert like a sacrificial lamb and what that meant for you when he awakens.

With trembling hands, you take the satchel and sit on the floor, your legs naturally crisscrossing beneath you. You open the satchel and slide your hand in, the room too dark for you to fully see what was in the bag. You took out a few pouches of credits, enough to make your eyebrows nearly rise off your face. You gently kept them in a pile so as to not lose them, ensuring they were tightly shut.

Just like his clothes, you pulled out the most random items, the most prominent objects in the bag being more of the empty bottles of whiskey you had found with him in the dune.

One, two, three… you weren’t even sure how many there had been when you found him in the desert. And with reluctant unease, you concluded that the man wasn’t there for you, nor had he wandered into the desert after a night of drinking. He had purposefully found that place in the sand with every intent on letting the alcohol and harsh weather take him from this life. You couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks even if you wanted to.

Wiping the stray tears away, you continued to pull out items that thankfully didn’t feel like bottles anymore, but profound sadness was replaced with confusion when the items in question were discovered to be baby essentials. A clean handmade onesie, a few clean cloth diapers, an empty baby bottle, and two small hand-stitched stuffed animals. One looked like a half-assed bantha, the other resembled a frog you recalled seeing on Sorgan. 

You nearly dropped the items and the bag as if they had burned you. You scrambled to shove everything back in and hang the satchel back up, your heart racing and heavy in your chest. You let your tears stream down your face, welcoming the painful potential truths you had just learned regarding the man in your bed. Whether the child those items were for was dead or just no longer with him, you weren’t sure, but your heart went out to him either way. You understood the pain of losing parents, but a child?

To keep your thoughts from spiraling, you spent the next day in a strict routine. Replace the Mandalorian’s washcloths, dampen the top sheet to give him comfort, feed him easy-to-swallow foods, and rest by his side when there wasn’t anything else to do but wait.

On the third night, you listened to the final stages of the storm outside as you rested in your bed with the warrior. You turned and faced him, unable to sleep. You had snuffed out the lamps an hour ago and could only make out his features from what little light the moon was able to give you through the fading storm.

You placed your hand over his heart, softly smiling at how much stronger the beat of his life felt beneath your palm. His breathing had evened out earlier, his face only slightly flushed and skin no longer clammy. You suspect he’ll wake up within the next twenty-four hours, and you were still deciding on if you wanted to stick around for that or not.

So you made the most of the night, holding him to you, humming, and telling him any other stories you had forgotten to mention. You pretended he had been that Mandalorian that saved you all that time ago, regardless if he was, thanking him and whispering about how good of a man he is. You sensed maybe he thought otherwise, and you couldn't leave without him knowing. Even if it only came to him at night in the form of a faded melody.

You had no idea if he could hear you, but in a hushed tone, you begged him to continue living. Whether his baby was out there waiting for him in another galaxy or in another life. You told him you relate to his pain in your own way, that you had empathy even if you couldn't fully understand it, and reminded him of how proud he should be of himself for the good things he had done rather than focus on the sins he may or may not have committed. 

You packed your things as the storm gave one last swan song before fading into the sands of time. In the early morning hours of a new day being born, you admired the man you had shared the last few days with. In the blue light, he looked like a painting. His face was now at ease, pain-free, eyelashes resting softly on his cheeks rather than scrunched with discomfort.

Standing next to the bed with only what you could carry on you just as you had since and just as you will continue to do, you realized in the light of a new day that this was how you wanted to remember the Mandalorian, you realized. Not as Death personified, or as a dying warrior in an unforgiving desert. But as a man who had lost his way and found a second chance in the form of a girl who he hesitantly saved all those years ago.

You'd be gone by the time the sun peeked over the horizon. Whether it was the fear of the bounty hunter having a change of heart, or telling others where you were, that you were alive… you couldn’t risk it. But you left behind enough for the Mandalorian to know that, even if it was just the briefest of moments, he had been loved and cared for and seen even if he didn’t think he deserved it. And someday, you hope he could forgive you for saving him just as he had saved you all those years ago. 

But before you could go, there was just one last goodbye you had to leave behind. 

Din had expected to either wake up in the dark void that awaited all Mandalorian who had lost their way, a pit at the end of one’s treacherous life where they're left to rot away from the memories of those who live on; or to wake up in the dreamy realm among the stars where his memory is honored by Grogu and maybe even Cara and Karga and anyone else who might’ve deemed him worthy of glory for all eternity.

He hadn’t expected to wake up with a nasty migraine, nearly naked in a bed that was not his cot in a room that was not his own in a house that he definitely didn’t live in. 

Panic began to set in, but Din’s muscles were far too fatigued to move faster than Endorrian tree sap. The most he could do was weakly sit up until he was able to prop himself against the wall behind him with a heavy groan.

Din blinked away the heaviness of sleep from his eyes, wincing at what little light that the dark curtains allowed in. The strip of light was enough to highlight basic furniture in the room, including the bed he was in and the entryway of the door. His flight suit, long johns, and undershirt had been folded for him and sat at the foot of the bed, waiting for him to wake up. 

He strained his ears but Din failed to hear evidence of anyone else in the stone home with him. He truly was alone, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that just yet.

Din allowed himself to relax, hands dumbly resting on his lap over the sheets. He struggled to recall the last of his memories. Din vaguely remembered the Jedi's rejection to see his son and his heart throbbed remembering the exile from his covert before that, the sting of nowhere else to go…

Din truly thought he had nothing else to live for. With Grogu training to be a Jedi with no promise Din would ever see him again, his covert’s rejection, being the ruler of a dead planet, and not knowing if the waters the armorer had mentioned even existed for his redemption… Din had left his N-1 with Peli along with whatever else he couldn’t carry, gifting what remained of him to the unknowing mechanic. He hadn’t been sure what his plan was, just that he wanted the pain to stop. To have the noise in his head stop. To have the ache in his heart just stop. He wanted whatever relief he could be given. 

He remembered thanking the Maker that whiskey and other alcohols found their way back into cantinas after the Hutts’ downfall. Din remembered getting as many bottles as he could with whatever credits he had on his body and made the final trek into the desert, convinced he’d never return. He remembered finding the best spot to watch the suns rise, lifting his helmet back enough, and losing track of the swigs he took of the alcohol before blacking out. 

Din at least had enough sense to be horrified with his choices in that moment of pain and rejection now that he was sober and awake.

With a grunt and more effort than he cared to admit, Din managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed and rub his face into his hands, deciding to freak out over the fact he’s been helmet-less later on. One crisis at a time. 

The light caught something shiny and Din turned his attention to the nightstand and froze. Grogu’s silver ball sat there, patiently waiting for him to notice it. It sat on top of a photograph of a familiar cabin on a snowy planet he vaguely remembered years ago, but the fatigue and migraine of surviving yet another near-death experience prevented him from connecting those dots.

Din sighed and inched over to his flight suit, grabbing the now clean material, and he chuckled at how it was probably the cleanest it has been since he first bought it. He pulled each article on sluggishly, and if he hadn’t been so tired he would’ve been embarrassed by the slowness of his movements. 

Once dressed, he stumbled over to the vanity on weak legs and clung to the counter when he got to it for dear life. He glanced up at the mirror and flinched at his reflection, taking in how hollow his eyes were and just how pale he had allowed himself to become from his own negligence. But he had more color in his eyes and face than he previously remembered, something he guessed was thanks to whoever nursed him back to health.

This time, he purposefully re-clasped his armor to his body with the same reverence he had when cleaning his weapons. A holy ceremony he cherished through and through. Once dressed with the shine of his religion, he paused, admiring the polish job his host had given it. 

Din stared down at his helmet with the same animosity it had towards him. Judging him, reminding him that he no longer was a Mandalorian. But he couldn’t find it in him to give up the armor nor the helmet, regardless of the shame he felt.

When he lifted the helmet, he was surprised to find something fluttered out from underneath it. When Din bent down, he gasped, touching the offending item with unsure hands. He stood up, staring at the photograph with horror and awe. It was of him, laying in the very bed he had woken up in. The morning light outlined the sharpness of his features while softening the age from his forehead and eyes and the scars that littered his body.

It was the first time Din ever thought of himself as anything other than ordinary. Was this how his caretaker viewed him? He couldn’t help but blush, grateful that someone could see him in a light he never thought was possible. That that kind of softness and gentleness was available to people like him, regardless of the things he had done.

Din flipped the photograph over to see handwriting scrawled on the back. It read:

“In case we never meet again, you are a good man, Mandalorian. Never forget that. I know I haven’t.”

Din grew dizzy and had to cling to the vanity again as the familiarity of the cabin photo and now dawned on him. The snowy planet, the cabin, a quarry… had his caretaker really been the girl from all those years ago? 

As Din collected his things, he found more photos scattered here and there throughout the humble abode. Din wasn’t sure if his caretaker had intended to leave them behind for him to find, or if she had just forgotten in her haste to leave, but Din found comfort in them. 

They were photos of places Din didn’t recognize from the girl’s journal, ones that she must have taken well after Din had saved her life. Was this her way of thanking him? Of telling him she’s lived life fully since he let her go? 

Back then, he hadn’t had the heart to bring her in warm or cold when she was recovered enough. He had rememberd the digital photo he had taken of her when he first found her and was unsure of her likelihood of survival. When he had his change of heart, Din had sent the photo to the man who put a bounty on her head and claimed she was dead. The man bought it, no questions asked, but only gave Din half the credits promised. Din couldn’t find himself to mind it. 

When he saw the half-assed obituary the man wrote, he sent it to the com he left behind for her to use when she was recovered enough. He wasn’t sure until that moment that she had gotten it, and he’s relieved to know she had. Din hoped he found it as humorous as he had.

Not sure if she planned on coming back or not, Din ended up pocketing every photo he found regardless. He grabbed his things and a canteen of water the girl must’ve left behind for him and left the home behind, preparing himself for the long trek back to Peli and the optimism he now had for the future. 

The photos ended up getting him through the desert, back to Peli where he got an earful from the eccentric woman for disappearing on her, and to the next planet. They became his safety blanket at hotels and after lonely trips to brothels, and he had kept them close to his heart under his armor when he was called to help Boba back on Tatooine and had expected to die in combat.

Grogu coming back into his care was not part of the plan, nor was surviving the whole ordeal, let alone succeeding. But the photos that became a massive source of comfort for Din became a source of comfort and hope for Grogu as well. Din would show him the photos before bed and tell him the stories he faintly remembered a soft voice telling him as he drifted in between consciousness.

This time, Din never forgot about her. He could vaguely recall how she looked, but it was her voice and the gentleness that lingered whenever he needed a reminder that there was kindness in the galaxy if you were patient enough to find it. And a reminder that the miracle he had given you that cold, cold night all those years ago ended up being the very miracle he needed to find one hot, hot day. It led him back to himself, his own creed, his son, and another chance at life after far too many second chances. 

The gentleness Din chose all those years ago led him to his own miracle. Thanks to her, he was finally free

Divider by @firefly-graphics

God I'm so attracted to this woman, she's one of the only people on my list who could make me genuinely blush and faint from how gorgeous she is holy fuck what a woman.

Things You’d Only Know if You Were Hannah Waddingham | TZR

@sandinthemachine absolutely!! I just put a tag-list sheet together on google, I'm going to post about it but I will absolutely put you on the list for this! Thank you for your interest!!

On a Hot, Hot Day (Din x Reader Insert)

Sequel to On a Cold, Cold Night.

Post The Mandalorian season 2, Pre-Book of Boba Fett

Summary: On a desert planet with the looming threat of a sandstorm rolling in, you find a ghost from your past buried in the dunes with you being his only chance at survival before the storm hits.

Rating: T

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, depiction of depression, brief but mild mention of attempted suicide, alcoholism, and a shit ton of FLUFF.

Word Count: 8,180

On a hot, hot day, the double suns above caressed your skin like an overzealous lover that caused sweat to drip from your hairline and pool uncomfortably in the dip of your lower back. In front of you: home. Behind you: a gale wails in agony as a large tsunami sand wall races after you. The wind whipped at your face, your goggles your only form of protection from stray sand plucked from the ground from the acceleration of your speeder bike, racing against time and nature.

Based on the placement of the nefarious suns, you calculated you had about ten minutes left before you reached the safety of your dwelling and the sandstorm hit, the howling behind you letting you know you had about twenty before the desert blizzard hit and would strand you for a few days once you got home. And just as you approached the ruins of an old temple, the last landmark of your journey, the brightness of something metallic shining in the harsh, desert light nearly blinded you into crashing into a broken column. You wanted to pull your goggles aside to wipe your eyes so badly, but the threat of sand making the sting worse and scraping your face stopped you from doing so.

At first, your mind chalked up the metallic shine to a scrap the Jawas had left behind or hadn’t found yet. But as you passed the ruins, the last stretch of the landmark approaching, you couldn’t help but rethink your assessment. When do the Jawas ever leave anything behind, and when are they ever not aware of alien scrap in their desert? Against your better judgment, you turned your speeder around to hunt down whatever it was that caught your eye. Whether it was curiosity or a nagging feeling on the back of your neck not caused by the suns, you couldn’t say. But something beckoned you either way and who were you to not heed its call?

Your eyes picked up the shine of silver and you had to squint through your goggles to keep your focus on whatever had caught your attention as you approached it. Wavering between broken pieces of the forgotten building jetting out of the sands and ducking when the wind threw something larger than a pebble at you from the intensity of the approaching storm, you finally found the source of what caught your attention.

You parked your speeder and hopped off, approaching what at first looked like a heap of shiny metal untouched by time, your excitement of having an easy payout dampening your logic. But as you grew closer, the scrap turned into the form of a large man, sprawled halfway buried in a dune. Your heart raced at the discovery and ran to the figure to aid them, but immediately froze when you took in the specific details you hadn't seen from afar. 

The body was a Mandalorian.

The helmet’s black strip for eyes bore right into you, daring you to come any closer. You matched its intensity behind your own goggles, body rigid, unsure if the man was waiting to see who’d make the first move. But he didn’t budge. A gust of wind shoved you towards him, making your decision for you. The push nearly had you fall face first into the sand, but you managed to land safely on your knees instead. But when you realized how close the wind had brought you to the Mandalorian in front of you, your head snapped up waiting for the man to strike.

But nothing came.

The gust that pushed you had shoved more sand onto his body, burying him further. And a reminder of the storm that had been nipping at your heels for the past hour. You glanced towards the sea of sand, now much closer than what was comfortable, and you turn back to the Mandalorian. 

“Fuck.”

You stomp the ground in irritation at your good heart and started to scoop the sand away until more of the Mandalorian’s body surfaced. When enough was out of the way, he slumped against you and it took everything in you not to fall over from his weight. Another glance back at the storm told you you had fifteen minutes to get home, and the heavy body in your arms made you wonder if the rescue was even worth it. Was the man under the armor even alive? If he was, would he survive at all if you just left him there?

Knowing the answer and not liking either outcome, it took everything in you to drag the legendary warrior out from the rest of the sand. From his satchel, empty bottles of the local whiskey rolled out, one stopping at the toe of your boot. You scrunched your brow but knew you didn’t have time to analyze this new discovery. With strained muscles that screamed with every step you took, you manage to drag the Mandalorian back to your speeder and with great effort, flung him onto his stomach on the bike and hopped on behind him, taking off with one hand on his back in a weak attempt to keep him from slipping.

Over the roar of the speeder and the approaching storm, you couldn’t be too sure but you thought you heard a weak moan from the man. The thought made your heart flutter with hope and relief that he was alive, but you decided to celebrate later in the shelter of your home.

By the time you made it to the mouth of the cave where the back wall had a single wooden door built into a natural hole in the stone, the storm was minutes away from swallowing you and your metal companion alive. It had become near impossible to both steer and try to keep the Mandalorian from falling, and you thanked whatever deity was out there that they gifted you the luck to get you both home alive and safe.

With haste, you secured your speeder once in the cave’s mouth and fastened an anchor and protective cloth over it. Throwing your backpack over your shoulders, you tugged the Mandalorian off the bike and ungracefully dragged him the ten feet it took to get to your front door, nervously fumbling with the keys to unlock it, and slamming the door shut the moment you both were securely inside. You barely had enough time to lock the door and slam the barricade blocks down to keep the door from blasting open when the storm finally hit. The winds and sand screamed and wailed and scratched at the thickness of the door and the stone walls of your home, but had no effect on the strength of the wooden door and its built-in barricade. You were able to let go of the breath you didn’t know you were even holding, shoulders slumping in the relief you hadn’t felt in maybe two years.

The place you called home was a humble abode carved into the cave itself from perhaps centuries prior with the help of both man and nature. You had found it by accident about a year ago when you were out scavenging for things to sell to get by on the desert planet. It had been mostly hidden by the dunes and the harsh contrast of sun on stone, the shadows cast over the rock formations made the entrance look like a dip in the rock and nearly undetectable to the naked eye.

Although the structure had long been abandoned, you were surprised to find a bed frame and basic pieces of furniture made of solid wood left behind. It wasn't a lot, just enough for you to use until you could make the place more livable and homey. And despite the primitiveness of the house, you found whoever had made it their own had gone out of their way to use every crevice in a modern way. Dips in the walls were used as shelving and a fireplace and stove were built into the stone's crevices like they had belonged there all along.

You had been especially shocked to find that the home had a working natural sanistream, the tub a deep dip carved in the ground within the grotto. Whoever had carved it created a piping system that utilized the planet’s natural pockets of water deep in the ground without damaging the natural formation perfect for the tub. Between a working bath, toilet, and sinks; you felt like you had hit the jackpot of indiscreet housing that was both practical and comfortable all at once.

Glancing down, you finally took in your new companion for the next few days. Your eyes roamed over his body freely now that you no longer had the threat of the storm whipping at your backs.

You couldn’t tell how badly the man was hurt or where he was hurt exactly from the black thickness of his flight suit and the armor he wore. With a shaky hand, you slipped off a glove and bent down, slowly reaching for the man's neck to give him time to stop you if he truely was alive and perhaps even awake. When he didn't snatch at you or groan in defiance, you dug your two fingers under his cowl until you felt the texture of human skin. 

It was cold and clammy, but the faint pulse promised you a sliver of the man’s chance at survival now that you’ve found him. You swore, grateful that he was alive, but panicking now that you knew you had three days to either revive this man like the dying houseplant he was or live with a corpse for the next few days.

Refusing to think twice, you immediately began disrobing him of the heaviest of his armor and gear. The cowl came off easily, but you fumbled for far too long with this breastplate and vambraces. Your fingers went numb with the effort, and no relief came when you tossed the armor aside once it was free. Your hands rested on the indented cheekbones of his helmet and you hesitated. Was there a rule about this? You genuinely couldn’t remember, and it wasn’t like you had time to search for an answer on your datapad anyway.

With trembling hands, you unclasped the helmet and slid it off slowly, inch by inch until a firm jaw with disheveled salt and pepper facial hair was revealed, followed by extremely chapped lips, a sharp nose, and a mop of dark brown curls. You placed the helmet on the ground with more reverence, eyes roaming over the man’s face, fingertips brushing his features.

The Mandalorian’s face and neck were flushed, other parts ashen. His breathing had quickened since taking off his armor, his chest heaving with exertion and discomfort. Your hand jerked back when his eyelids fluttered open and you couldn't stop the hiss from escaping your teeth at the glossed-over look his eyes gave you. Through you, not at you. This was worse than you thought. He mumbled something you couldn’t make out, a shaky hand raising as if to touch you, but his arm fell limp and his eyes rolled in the back of his head. You immediately cupped his cheeks and gently shook his head, willing him to reopen his eyes, but he was out. 

“Kriff.”

You quickly stripped yourself of your own gear, kicking your boots into a box with slippers and some flats, and hanging your outer layers and the Mandolorian’s satchel on a rack beside the door. You turned to face the man in question, wincing. 

“I’ll be right back, just... just going to put this away. Okay?”

You awkwardly held up your backpack of supplies as if he could see it, then skittered off to the kitchen. You unceremoniously dropped each item in its place, including a hole in the natural rock formation that had been turned into a natural refrigerator, and booked it back to the warrior. You sighed, rolling your neck, already feeling how bad your knees and back will ache when you drag the Mandalorian deeper into your home and to your precious sanistream. You’re already looking forward to drawing a hot bath for yourself when the temperature that night drops and the Mandalorian rests. But for now, his life was in your hands.

With a strength and determination you hadn’t felt since your time on the run, you wrapped your arms under the warrior's armpits and dragged the Mandalorian towards your sanistream. You willed yourself on through bated breath and sweat threatening to blind you as it dripped from your hairline. Through eroded hallways smoothed over with time and water from times long gone by and lit with bioluminescent moss-grown as lamps, your back and knees screamed for a break but you knew if you stopped you’d struggle to find it in you to continue again.

The man in your arms groaned weakly only a few times during your trip to the fresher, but otherwise remained still. You nearly cried from relief once you make it to the fresher, the curtain hung up for privacy a beacon of success. The ribbon at the end of a long race. With a burst of energy, you pulled the Mandalorian the rest of the way in and slumped to the ground with him in your arms, your back against the wall, panting. Your clothes clung to you with your sweat despite how cool the cave kept the abode naturally.

The bathroom glowed a warm yellow from the bioluminescent moss, bright enough to see what was important, but soft and dull enough to be kind on strained eyes and tired minds. The never got over how romantic the moss made your home feel in the darkest of spaces, reminding you of something straight out of a fairytale your adopted mother had read to you as a child. 

With the first moment of peace you’ve had since finding the warrior and the storm, you’re able to really feel him against you. Broad shoulders and a strong body that unintentionally flexed wherever you touched him. And with him so close and the elements no longer a threatening distraction, you’re able to truly smell him and you realize he reeks of alcohol. You couldn’t stop your nose from scrunching at the newfound stench and gag from the sweetness that only came from the whiskey bottles you had found him with in the dune. Had he been drinking and wandered off into the desert one night after having one too many? Being out there sober without protection was already a death wish, but drunk?

As gently as you could, you dragged the warrior with weak arms and legs to the sanistream’s tub and thanked whatever god was out there that the original owners thought to utilize the natural formation in the rock rather than build a tub. You weren’t sure how you would’ve gotten the Mandalorian in otherwise and your back ached at the idea. 

Laying the man down next to the tub, you carefully pushed his hair out of his face and wiped away the sweat from around his eyes with the delicate touch of your fingers, heart clenching for him. You really hoped he pulled through.

You barely had the energy to unlace let alone take off his shoes. You ended up ripping them off the moment they were loose enough, and tossed them somewhere behind you to be collected when the man was more stable. You sighed through trembling fingers to unbutton and unzip the flight suit, struggling to peel the thick fabric from the man’s torso, and cursing when you saw yet another shirt hiding beneath. You managed to lift his shoulders enough to slide the flight suit off, then nearly ripped the shirt trying to tug it off with the grace of a newborn bantha. 

You tossed the shirt aside and worked the flight suit under him, struggling to hold his hips up as you slid the offending garment down and had to yank them over thick thighs and calves. Not that it mattered in a medical sense, but you were thankful he had at least worn long johns underneath the suit. Yet you still peeled that article down as well and were even more relieved to see the man wore brief shorts underneath. You forgot just how cold space could get.

With one last burst of energy, you managed to drag him into the tub with you and let him rest against you as you took a moment to catch your breath, his weight falling on you knocking the air out of you. You reached over and turned a knob, welcoming the ice-cold water as it filled the tub. The sudden coldness jolted you and your flinch caused the Mandalorian to groan. You rubbed his arm in an apology, waiting for the tub to fill enough.

Once the water height engulfed the man enough to help bring his temperature down but not enough to drown him if he were to slide or slouch, you carefully slid out from under him and placed his head softly against the tub’s edge.

His breathing had calmed and when you placed your hands on his face, you were relieved to feel the skin was less clammy and had lost a little of its flush from the cool relief. You let your fingers drag down to his neck and your shoulders relaxed, feeling the pulse beneath your fingers beat a little stronger.

Convinced he wouldn’t drown, you hesitantly parted from the warrior, giving him one long last glance, then allowed your tired legs to carry you back to your home’s entrance. Outside, the wind continues to scream and sand scratches to get in, but they fall on deaf ears as you collect the Mandalorian’s armor and helmet and carry it to your room, briefly checking in on the man as you pass the fresher.

The only rooms not needing the bioluminescent moss were the rooms on the upper incline of the cave where they each had large holes turned windows facing the desert. Large sheets of the same transparisteel used on ships had been wedged into place and protected the rooms from the harsh and unforgiving desert environment. By the time you had found the place, the thickness of the space glass had aged with dust, still not enough to block the view but enough to make it look smokey and orange. 

The space you designated yours had been an abandoned bedroom, the furniture still there but collecting dust. From what you could tell, it might’ve been a couple’s room. No photos had been left behind to give you a clue as to who once lived there, so you couldn’t confirm, but the hunch was formed by the size of the bed along with the amount of space the wardrobes and vanity had. Far too much space for just one person, but you weren’t complaining. Especially after living in the tightest, most uncomfortable places while on the run all those years ago. It almost felt like a gift from the gods, and you accepted it with gratitude. 

You had to replace the sheets and clean the mattress and rugs, but after that and a good dusting, everything was as good as new. Minus the windows, which you cleaned the inside of but couldn’t for the life of you bring yourself to clean the outside. Maybe one day you’ll get a droid for that. One day.

The geometric rugs kept the room warm at night and the stone walls kept it cool during the day. When you needed the light, and the desert was kind, the stars and moon were often enough. But when a storm raged, just as it was now and you couldn’t see a thing out of the window, you settled on using old lamps that used bantha fat and oil, resources easy to obtain and took awhile to burn through. 

You were greeted to your room bathed in a dark orange hue, the furniture drenched in long shadows. Your bare feet patted over the soft rugs and over to the vanity where you placed the armor on its table, the last being the helmet that was tucked under your arm.

You held the helmet in your hands, gazing down at the black strip. It stirred a memory for you, of a snowy planet and an abandoned cabin. Of a time when you had been on the run from an abusive slave owner who had taken your adopted family away from you. Had taken you far from the life you were comfortably living.

After breaking your arm and being ill-prepared for a blizzard, you honestly thought your end had come. All the running, killing stealing... it had felt all for naught but you welcomed the embrace of death as it reached for you. You barely remember the day before the storm hit or the days waiting it out, just the moment you had come to, bandaged up and with a comlink waiting for you on your dresser containing the half-assed obituary declaring you dead.

The only memory, if you could call it that, from those blurry days was of a Mandalorian. Tall, broad, and hovered over you like the personification of Death. You remember trying to reach out to him and touch him, but that was it. For the longest time, despite your wounds being bandaged, the cabin boarded up, a fire waiting for you, and even some cooked food in the fridge… you had wondered if you had hallucinated him. If maybe a kind stranger had shown up and you mistook them for a Mandalorian or if you had in your delirium done it all and just didn’t remember it.

But gazing down at the helmet, you knew that the Mandalorian had been real. The lullabies sung to you were too far away for you to make out the lyrics, but the melody was close enough now to tickle your ear from time to time. You often dreamed up stories of places you had never been to, with creatures you had never seen. And some part of you, deep down, knew that they hadn't been made up by your brain. The Mandalorian haunted you in all the best ways possible, the personification of Death turned into one of a guardian angel. 

The Mandalorian had been Death incarnate if you hadn’t been injured. If you hadn’t been sick. He probably would have dragged you back to your owner with no mercy and you wouldn't be alive in this beautiful home in the desert with luxuries you didn’t know existed for people like you. Your near-death experience gave you a chance at life.

It’s why seeing the Mandalorian out in the dunes had startled you. The memory, although comforting, reminded you that you had been the man’s prey if you hadn’t luckily unlucky with your health. And seeing another Mandalorian so close to your desert home made you wonder if he was also a bounty hunter. And if he was, did it mean you had a bounty on your head again? Were people aware you actually were alive and well? And what about the alcohol?

But most importantly… was this the same Mandalorian from all those years ago? His armor had been red if you remembered right, and the armor in front of you was pure silver. 

You shook your head and placed the helmet on the vanity’s countertop, too fatigued to compare the warrior of your past and the warrior of your present. You hesitantly let the helmet go, but not before you let yourself get caught up in its blank stare. It took everything in you to pull away from its grip and willed yourself out of the room.

The warrior hadn’t drowned when you returned, and his body was less flushed and clammy. When you took his pulse, gratitude washed over you that the man was on his way to recovery. The worst appeared to be over, but it would still take a few days before he’d become coherent again.

You drained the tub and pulled out a towel to wipe him down. You struggled to get the man dry, sliding back into the tub with him. You attempted to pull him out but the strain in your back and knees reminded you of the daunting task at hand to get him into your room and you swore. You really were going to need that hot bath later.

The towels had been too small to use to drag him back, so you opted to get your spare sheet and yanked the warrior onto it after managing to drag him out of the tub. With most of his body on the cloth, you managed to drag him the rest of the way to your room and dropped the sheet to the ground once it was next to your bed with a huff. 

You couldn’t tell how much time had passed thanks to the storm, but based on how much dimmer the room was, you guessed it was approaching evening. Your legs felt as if they’d give out on you when you stood, but you ignored the weakness in favor of turning the lamps on before it got too dark and you had to fumble your way in the darkness.

Glancing over at the warrior’s slumped figure, you sighed and prayed to the gods for one last second wind.

You wrapped your arms under his and with the last bit of your strength, you manage to get him onto your bed in an ungraceful sprawl just as your body finally gave out from the strain. 

You let yourself lay on the ground, staring up at the stone ceiling. You allowed your body to feel the deep aches, cradling the discomfort and reminding yourself it wasn’t permanent. You listened to the Mandalorian above you breathe deeply, the very life inhaling and exhaling through his nose was like a melody, lulling you to a doze. 

From your place on the ground, you watched as the room went from a deep orange to nearly black, the death of the day witnessed with gratitude from your unmoving spot. The oil lamps were your only source of light, and where the sun through the storm bathed the room in oranges, the lamps washed the room in yellow pastels. 

Shaking the sleep from your head and rolling the fatigue out of your shoulders, you groaned as you sat up and leaned against the mattress for emotional and physical support. When you were ready, you dragged yourself to the kitchen and made yourself the simplest food you could make with whatever was left over of your energy, mindful of making enough for two.

When you came back, you placed the bowls of soup on the nightstand next to a canteen of water. You looked over your guest now that he didn't have armor or his suit in the way. The man was, at least to the naked eye, doing much better. But his flushed skin had turned sickly and his lips now bled from being cracked and dry. It was hard not to feel worried. 

You helped him sit up and cradled him in the crook of your arm. You took the canteen from the nightstand and did your best to unscrew it, then held it up to the warrior’s mouth. You helped him tilt his head back until a little water trickled through his lips. His Adam’s apple barely bobbed, barely accepting the gift at the alter of his sickbed, just enough for him to let out a content sigh and become even limper in your arms and you carefully laid him back down and tucked just the top sheet around his shivering body. 

You decided to feed yourself and relax your back, allowing the Mandalorian to sleep a little longer before attempting to feed him. When you were done, you cleaned your bowls and left them in the sink, and returned to his side with a damp washcloth. 

You cleaned the sweat from his forehead, brushed his hair out of his face, and dabbed at the places you knew would bring the most relief. When the washcloth was no longer cold, you went back to dip it in water and returned, placing it on his forehead and leaving it to rest there. 

You washed his clothes and hung them up to dry, not before emptying pockets of the most random items outside of weaponry accessories, including a round silver ball that you cradled in the palm of your hand. Despite its simplicity, you sense the object had enough meaning for the Mandalorian to want to carry it on his person and you placed it on the nightstand for him to wake up to when he was ready to return to the land of the living. But you failed to find any evidence that the man was a bounty hunter. At least not a bounty hunter looking for you. 

Slipping into your bed beside him, you rubbed his arms and ran your fingers through his hair and hummed to him, a tune from your own childhood and a tune you vaguely remember from the days spent incapacitated on the snowy planet. You told him stories of your travels, and what you had done since the incident you’ve dubbed “The Miracle.”

You weren’t sure if the man was the Mandalorian that had saved your life, but you decided to talk to him as if he was. It was strangely comforting, like talking to an old friend after a lifetime apart. You talked to him with the same familiarity you had with your family, the familiarity that you missed with your whole being. It was bittersweet, but you welcomed the feeling with open arms.

You laid next to him the rest of the night, dabbing at his forehead with the washcloth when he groaned in his sleep and holding him to your breast when he threatened to thrash around whether it was from a nightmare or discomfort. Caring for the big man in your arms felt so familiar and comforting despite not knowing if he was there by coincidence or if he had planned on turning you in. He was clearly a seasoned professional based on the weaponry you pried off of him, and that fact confused you more as to how he had allowed himself to nearly perish in the desert, far from civilization. How had he gotten there? And why?

You never did get that bath you wanted, but you didn’t complain. The discomfort was a reminder that you still had a lot to live for, and the man in your bed was a reminder of your own miracle. 

When morning came, just before the sun rose, you pried yourself from the Mandalorian and found some old curtains hidden away. You installed them just as the sun started to peek through the angry winds and sands billowing by the window. It kept the room relatively dark without completely blocking out the light and you were happy to discover it made the room that much cooler when the heat of the day radiated through the transparisteel and cloth. 

When you changed out the washcloths you had placed on his chest, neck, and forehead; you wandered down to the kitchen to make breakfast, rubbing your eyes and feeling the fatigue from the last twenty-four hours. The lack of sleep breathed down your neck, but it was far from claiming you despite the threat.

You rummaged through each built-in pantry and the fridge with eyes half open, taking out what you needed to make a type of cinnamon oatmeal you hadn’t had since your childhood. Pouring it into two bowls, you made your way back to your room as the warrior began to stir.

Heart rate speeding up, you placed the bowls on the nightstand and were at his side in a second, holding his hand. He struggled to wiggle out of the sheets, but was otherwise completely out. You rubbed his arm and made soothing noises, assuring him that he was okay. Your touch seemed to soothe him, and he sighed, stilling in place.

You propped him up against you in the crook of your arm and helped him eat, cooing words of encouragement with each successful scoop until the bowl was empty. You set the bowl down and changed out his washcloths, then finally allowed yourself to eat your own breakfast. You watched over the warrior with empathy. 

When you placed the bowls in the kitchen sink, instead of returning to the warrior’s side, your feet led you back to your front door. Outside, the angry howls of the wind had softened and the scratchy sand was less threatening against your door and the walls. The storm was thankfully almost over, give or take another day or two. But your eyes fell to what you had really come there for: the Mandalorian’s satchel, hanging from the rack on your wall just where you had left it. Guilt gnawed at you, but you had to know why the warrior was out in the desert like a sacrificial lamb and what that meant for you when he awakens.

With trembling hands, you take the satchel and sit on the floor, your legs naturally crisscrossing beneath you. You open the satchel and slide your hand in, the room too dark for you to fully see what was in the bag. You took out a few pouches of credits, enough to make your eyebrows nearly rise off your face. You gently kept them in a pile so as to not lose them, ensuring they were tightly shut.

Just like his clothes, you pulled out the most random items, the most prominent objects in the bag being more of the empty bottles of whiskey you had found with him in the dune.

One, two, three… you weren’t even sure how many there had been when you found him in the desert. And with reluctant unease, you concluded that the man wasn’t there for you, nor had he wandered into the desert after a night of drinking. He had purposefully found that place in the sand with every intent on letting the alcohol and harsh weather take him from this life. You couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks even if you wanted to.

Wiping the stray tears away, you continued to pull out items that thankfully didn’t feel like bottles anymore, but profound sadness was replaced with confusion when the items in question were discovered to be baby essentials. A clean handmade onesie, a few clean cloth diapers, an empty baby bottle, and two small hand-stitched stuffed animals. One looked like a half-assed bantha, the other resembled a frog you recalled seeing on Sorgan. 

You nearly dropped the items and the bag as if they had burned you. You scrambled to shove everything back in and hang the satchel back up, your heart racing and heavy in your chest. You let your tears stream down your face, welcoming the painful potential truths you had just learned regarding the man in your bed. Whether the child those items were for was dead or just no longer with him, you weren’t sure, but your heart went out to him either way. You understood the pain of losing parents, but a child?

To keep your thoughts from spiraling, you spent the next day in a strict routine. Replace the Mandalorian’s washcloths, dampen the top sheet to give him comfort, feed him easy-to-swallow foods, and rest by his side when there wasn’t anything else to do but wait.

On the third night, you listened to the final stages of the storm outside as you rested in your bed with the warrior. You turned and faced him, unable to sleep. You had snuffed out the lamps an hour ago and could only make out his features from what little light the moon was able to give you through the fading storm.

You placed your hand over his heart, softly smiling at how much stronger the beat of his life felt beneath your palm. His breathing had evened out earlier, his face only slightly flushed and skin no longer clammy. You suspect he’ll wake up within the next twenty-four hours, and you were still deciding on if you wanted to stick around for that or not.

So you made the most of the night, holding him to you, humming, and telling him any other stories you had forgotten to mention. You pretended he had been that Mandalorian that saved you all that time ago, regardless if he was, thanking him and whispering about how good of a man he is. You sensed maybe he thought otherwise, and you couldn't leave without him knowing. Even if it only came to him at night in the form of a faded melody.

You had no idea if he could hear you, but in a hushed tone, you begged him to continue living. Whether his baby was out there waiting for him in another galaxy or in another life. You told him you relate to his pain in your own way, that you had empathy even if you couldn't fully understand it, and reminded him of how proud he should be of himself for the good things he had done rather than focus on the sins he may or may not have committed. 

You packed your things as the storm gave one last swan song before fading into the sands of time. In the early morning hours of a new day being born, you admired the man you had shared the last few days with. In the blue light, he looked like a painting. His face was now at ease, pain-free, eyelashes resting softly on his cheeks rather than scrunched with discomfort.

Standing next to the bed with only what you could carry on you just as you had since and just as you will continue to do, you realized in the light of a new day that this was how you wanted to remember the Mandalorian, you realized. Not as Death personified, or as a dying warrior in an unforgiving desert. But as a man who had lost his way and found a second chance in the form of a girl who he hesitantly saved all those years ago.

You'd be gone by the time the sun peeked over the horizon. Whether it was the fear of the bounty hunter having a change of heart, or telling others where you were, that you were alive… you couldn’t risk it. But you left behind enough for the Mandalorian to know that, even if it was just the briefest of moments, he had been loved and cared for and seen even if he didn’t think he deserved it. And someday, you hope he could forgive you for saving him just as he had saved you all those years ago. 

But before you could go, there was just one last goodbye you had to leave behind. 

Din had expected to either wake up in the dark void that awaited all Mandalorian who had lost their way, a pit at the end of one’s treacherous life where they're left to rot away from the memories of those who live on; or to wake up in the dreamy realm among the stars where his memory is honored by Grogu and maybe even Cara and Karga and anyone else who might’ve deemed him worthy of glory for all eternity.

He hadn’t expected to wake up with a nasty migraine, nearly naked in a bed that was not his cot in a room that was not his own in a house that he definitely didn’t live in. 

Panic began to set in, but Din’s muscles were far too fatigued to move faster than Endorrian tree sap. The most he could do was weakly sit up until he was able to prop himself against the wall behind him with a heavy groan.

Din blinked away the heaviness of sleep from his eyes, wincing at what little light that the dark curtains allowed in. The strip of light was enough to highlight basic furniture in the room, including the bed he was in and the entryway of the door. His flight suit, long johns, and undershirt had been folded for him and sat at the foot of the bed, waiting for him to wake up. 

He strained his ears but Din failed to hear evidence of anyone else in the stone home with him. He truly was alone, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that just yet.

Din allowed himself to relax, hands dumbly resting on his lap over the sheets. He struggled to recall the last of his memories. Din vaguely remembered the Jedi's rejection to see his son and his heart throbbed remembering the exile from his covert before that, the sting of nowhere else to go…

Din truly thought he had nothing else to live for. With Grogu training to be a Jedi with no promise Din would ever see him again, his covert’s rejection, being the ruler of a dead planet, and not knowing if the waters the armorer had mentioned even existed for his redemption… Din had left his N-1 with Peli along with whatever else he couldn’t carry, gifting what remained of him to the unknowing mechanic. He hadn’t been sure what his plan was, just that he wanted the pain to stop. To have the noise in his head stop. To have the ache in his heart just stop. He wanted whatever relief he could be given. 

He remembered thanking the Maker that whiskey and other alcohols found their way back into cantinas after the Hutts’ downfall. Din remembered getting as many bottles as he could with whatever credits he had on his body and made the final trek into the desert, convinced he’d never return. He remembered finding the best spot to watch the suns rise, lifting his helmet back enough, and losing track of the swigs he took of the alcohol before blacking out. 

Din at least had enough sense to be horrified with his choices in that moment of pain and rejection now that he was sober and awake.

With a grunt and more effort than he cared to admit, Din managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed and rub his face into his hands, deciding to freak out over the fact he’s been helmet-less later on. One crisis at a time. 

The light caught something shiny and Din turned his attention to the nightstand and froze. Grogu’s silver ball sat there, patiently waiting for him to notice it. It sat on top of a photograph of a familiar cabin on a snowy planet he vaguely remembered years ago, but the fatigue and migraine of surviving yet another near-death experience prevented him from connecting those dots.

Din sighed and inched over to his flight suit, grabbing the now clean material, and he chuckled at how it was probably the cleanest it has been since he first bought it. He pulled each article on sluggishly, and if he hadn’t been so tired he would’ve been embarrassed by the slowness of his movements. 

Once dressed, he stumbled over to the vanity on weak legs and clung to the counter when he got to it for dear life. He glanced up at the mirror and flinched at his reflection, taking in how hollow his eyes were and just how pale he had allowed himself to become from his own negligence. But he had more color in his eyes and face than he previously remembered, something he guessed was thanks to whoever nursed him back to health.

This time, he purposefully re-clasped his armor to his body with the same reverence he had when cleaning his weapons. A holy ceremony he cherished through and through. Once dressed with the shine of his religion, he paused, admiring the polish job his host had given it. 

Din stared down at his helmet with the same animosity it had towards him. Judging him, reminding him that he no longer was a Mandalorian. But he couldn’t find it in him to give up the armor nor the helmet, regardless of the shame he felt.

When he lifted the helmet, he was surprised to find something fluttered out from underneath it. When Din bent down, he gasped, touching the offending item with unsure hands. He stood up, staring at the photograph with horror and awe. It was of him, laying in the very bed he had woken up in. The morning light outlined the sharpness of his features while softening the age from his forehead and eyes and the scars that littered his body.

It was the first time Din ever thought of himself as anything other than ordinary. Was this how his caretaker viewed him? He couldn’t help but blush, grateful that someone could see him in a light he never thought was possible. That that kind of softness and gentleness was available to people like him, regardless of the things he had done.

Din flipped the photograph over to see handwriting scrawled on the back. It read:

“In case we never meet again, you are a good man, Mandalorian. Never forget that. I know I haven’t.”

Din grew dizzy and had to cling to the vanity again as the familiarity of the cabin photo and now dawned on him. The snowy planet, the cabin, a quarry… had his caretaker really been the girl from all those years ago? 

As Din collected his things, he found more photos scattered here and there throughout the humble abode. Din wasn’t sure if his caretaker had intended to leave them behind for him to find, or if she had just forgotten in her haste to leave, but Din found comfort in them. 

They were photos of places Din didn’t recognize from the girl’s journal, ones that she must have taken well after Din had saved her life. Was this her way of thanking him? Of telling him she’s lived life fully since he let her go? 

Back then, he hadn’t had the heart to bring her in warm or cold when she was recovered enough. He had rememberd the digital photo he had taken of her when he first found her and was unsure of her likelihood of survival. When he had his change of heart, Din had sent the photo to the man who put a bounty on her head and claimed she was dead. The man bought it, no questions asked, but only gave Din half the credits promised. Din couldn’t find himself to mind it. 

When he saw the half-assed obituary the man wrote, he sent it to the com he left behind for her to use when she was recovered enough. He wasn’t sure until that moment that she had gotten it, and he’s relieved to know she had. Din hoped he found it as humorous as he had.

Not sure if she planned on coming back or not, Din ended up pocketing every photo he found regardless. He grabbed his things and a canteen of water the girl must’ve left behind for him and left the home behind, preparing himself for the long trek back to Peli and the optimism he now had for the future. 

The photos ended up getting him through the desert, back to Peli where he got an earful from the eccentric woman for disappearing on her, and to the next planet. They became his safety blanket at hotels and after lonely trips to brothels, and he had kept them close to his heart under his armor when he was called to help Boba back on Tatooine and had expected to die in combat.

Grogu coming back into his care was not part of the plan, nor was surviving the whole ordeal, let alone succeeding. But the photos that became a massive source of comfort for Din became a source of comfort and hope for Grogu as well. Din would show him the photos before bed and tell him the stories he faintly remembered a soft voice telling him as he drifted in between consciousness.

This time, Din never forgot about her. He could vaguely recall how she looked, but it was her voice and the gentleness that lingered whenever he needed a reminder that there was kindness in the galaxy if you were patient enough to find it. And a reminder that the miracle he had given you that cold, cold night all those years ago ended up being the very miracle he needed to find one hot, hot day. It led him back to himself, his own creed, his son, and another chance at life after far too many second chances. 

The gentleness Din chose all those years ago led him to his own miracle. Thanks to her, he was finally free

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Day 3: Back to Back (Anal)

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

Set before season one.

Pairing: Din Djarin x M!Reader

Summary: Perhaps it was the drink, or the hypnotic haze of the club, but you could’ve scorn one moment you were standing before your acquaintance with benefits. So you weren’t sure how you ended up in the one-room bathroom in the back, but you weren’t complaining as the warrior wasted no time in bending you over the sink and yanking down your pants, his gloved finger swiping over the vibrator in your ass with a pleased hum.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: unprotected sex, rough anal, the reader is AMAB and is implied to be a cis male but I don't use gendered pronouns so it should be safe for my trans and nonbinary friends out there with penises. Peni? Dicks.

Word Count: 1,509

You wouldn’t say you and The Mandalorian were friends, if anything you were acquaintances who knew one another extremely well physically, but not much else outside of that. Not friends, not strangers, just acquaintances with benefits. At least, that's the best way you could put your relationship with the warrior.

The Mandalorian only stopped on your planet once every few months whether it was for fuel, supplies, a quarry, or all the above. You had only met because you managed one of the two spaceports available for ships to dock in town, and he had become a semi-regular customer since. Only staying a few hours at a time, maybe the extremely rare night, but never longer than that. Yet you couldn’t complain. 

He paid on time and he paid well, he was a great father as far as you could tell with his green ward, and he was kind. It was just a bonus that The Mandalorian happened to like how you worked with your hands outside of his ship and now it’s become an expected routine for the warrior to warm your bed while his ship warms your port.

The Mandalorian was a good lay, the best you’ve ever had, probably. Not that you’d ever admit that out loud. But the metal man wasn’t there, hasn’t been for a few months, and you were horny now. And you’d be damned if you waited for the best dick in the galaxy to show up to get the job done.

That’s how you found yourself in one of the more seedy cantinas, dressed in tight pants and a see-through shirt that rubbed your nipples in a way that was borderline teasing you as much as it teased the men and women ogling you through the haze and flickering lights of the club’s darkened atmosphere. 

This wasn’t the place you took a date, no. This was the place you found a warm body to either take home or fuck in a dark corner and never speak to again. You had passed a few bodies shrouded in shadows when you first entered, anonymous silhouettes in different positions that barely alluded you to their species and assigned gender. Your cock twitched in your pants with anticipation at the barely audible moans that found their way above the deafening music.

With a drink in hand, you leaned against a door frame, keeping your body language open to those who sought a companion whether for the evening or just for an hour. You’d take either or. Your cock wept red and tender, made even more sensitive with the vibrating ring around your member. 

It pulsed as if dancing to the beat of the club, your balls hugged by the saddle that wrapped under your sack and was the anchor point for the small, vibrating dildo tucked into your ass to enhance your erection further and preparing you for any eager suitor. 

You felt the room shift despite nothing being visually out of sorts. Yet your skin prickled and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up; you tried to hide your smile in the sip you took from your cup. Glancing to your side was your long-awaited warrior, his armor mesmerizing in the ever-changing lights and fog machine as he loomed over you, hands clenching and unclenching. Even in the dim lighting, you could see the way his chest moved with eager breaths.

Perhaps it was the drink, or the hypnotic haze of the club, but one moment you were standing before The Mandalorian oozing with want, and the next you found yourself in the one-room bathroom in the back being bent over the sink. The warrior was not gentle as he yanked your pants down, his gloved finger swiping over the vibrator in your ass with a pleased hum. He tapped the base and you groaned from the way the dildo's beat briefly shifted in your ass. 

Mando must have been as pent up as you, he didn’t command you to beg or even prolong the need to scratch the itch you both had with teasing and foreplay. He gently took the vibrator and slipped it halfway out, then worked it back in, continuing until he built up a slick rhythm that didn’t offer any resistance.

Satisfied, he let the dildo hang between your legs by its connection to the cock ring, still pulsing against your thigh and wet. He didn’t make you wait, and you sighed in relief when he notched his penis at your entrance and pushed his thick cock into your ass, not stopping until his hips met yours. He let out a loud, long moan that made your cock even harder.

The Mandalorian wasted no time, slamming into you in the way you had been craving. Despite being muffled by the walls, the slap of his hips against yours matched the volume of the music that leaked into the bathroom. Your eyes squeezed shut, enjoying the feeling of being railed, knowing if you opened your eyes to gaze at the scene behind you you'd lose your load sooner than you wanted to. Your knuckles paled with how tightly you clung to the sink, unbashfully letting out breathy “AH-AH-AH”s with every hard thrust that caused the warrior's heavy balls to slap into your own.

The man's hands slid from your hips and to your ass without a hitch in his pace, and you felt him spread your cheeks. You bit your lip to hide your smile, not needing to look to see the way the man is gazing down where you were joined. He loved watching the way his dick slid so easily into your ass, the way your hole bloomed for him with every thrust, mesmerized by how well you could take his thick, long cock like a champ. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I honestly went back and forth between writing this for a reader with a vagina and a penis and opted for the latter, as you can see, because I recognize the lack of work explicitly made for those with peni-dicks and I want y'all to know that I see you and you deserve some hot smut just like everyone else. I got you.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Day 2: Keep Me Close (Cockwarming)

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

Set between the First and Second Season of The Mandalorian

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: When guilt strikes, the reader takes it upon herself to remind Din that there will always be ways to enjoy one another's presence even after a long and tiring day.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: established relationship, unprotected sex, fluff and smut paired with hurt and comfort

Word Count: 1501

You knew when you had signed up to be a scout, life would become immensely difficult. It took a certain soul to chart the stars for new hyperspace routes, explore unknown planetary regions, and navigate virgin patches of new worlds that many have seen but few have ever touched whether out of fear for Wild Space or respect for what may or may not be out there. 

You knew when you had agreed to follow the Mandalorian and his green ward into the Unknown Regions on their own journey that life would become complicated. The toughness of your job translated over to his well enough to where any violence rarely caught you off guard, and your knowledge and skills paired with the warrior’s upbringing were a complimentary mess of blaster residue and star drafts.

You weren’t sure when it had started or how, but the feelings you didn't even know you had for The Mandalorian metamorphosed into something deeper somewhere between the cantina fights and never-ending nights on undocumented planets. Somewhere along the way, the stars you were hired to chart had found their way into the reflection of the warrior's armor. And somewhere along the way, caught up in staring at the blinking lights twinkling in beskar, you had looked up to find the visor in which the universe the stars belonged to stared back. 

Gentle touches, lingering stares, and hushed voices deep into the night on backwater planets and in the hull of The Crest filled your heart with a love you thought had been reserved only for your family and work. Your first time together had been a heated moment where clothes were shifted enough to get the job done, but later the warrior treated you to hours of the most tender sex under a bright moon while the child slept safely aboard the ship. 

You knew your relationship with the Mandalorian was going to be complicated, but you hadn’t predicted how immensely difficult it would be to keep up between being full-time parents to Grogu, picking up jobs to feed the three of you, and balancing two different careers despite living aboard the same ship. 

The tender moments you had at the budding of your relationship were still there, but spaced out due to bad timing and exhaustion. When you had a moment to yourselves, it was almost overwhelming trying to decide how to spend that moment. Do you get lost in each others' bodies? Nap? Spend time together alone that didn’t involve dirty cantinas or shootouts or patching up wounds? 

Regardless, exhaustion always won out and you’d sleep long and deep knowing the world was on pause. Even if it was for just for a few hours. But you missed Din. And you could feel the same ache he had with you, but tailored with guilt and remorse for breaking unspoken promises and expectations. The weight of the galaxy sat on his broad shoulders, and any verbal attempt to reassure him fell on distracted ears. 

The bounty Din was currently hunting was supposed to take two, maybe three days tops. But when nearly two weeks rolled by, stretched thin like your worry for the man, you couldn’t help but fear the worst. It was in those moments that doubt and guilt weighed down on your own shoulders, wondering if your relationship demanded too much of him when life already demanded enough as is.

You were on your feet the moment the ramp hissed and lowered itself, the relieved sigh you let out taken back when you witnessed just how exhausted your warrior was. His stride was slow as if he were wading through thick mud and not up the flat incline to his ship. His shoulders were somehow both lifted in stress and drooping with fatigue, and he had very little care for the unconscious body he dragged behind him. 

You didn’t miss the way his body wavered after throwing the quarry into the carbonite chamber, or the sway in his steps as he made his way over to Grogu’s pram and gently stroked his sleeping son’s ear before turning to you. You didn't miss how his head nearly dropped as he lowered his helmet to your forehead in a keldabe kiss, or the weakness in his grip as his hands rested on your hips. 

You could feel the fatigue, the frustration, the guilt, and the shame rolling off of him in waves; in the weakened way his hands tightened on your hips and how he’s stubbornly ignoring his body to try to show you an ounce of the affection he had for you. Your heart ached for this man.

You gently pried his hands off of your hips and led him to his bunk, guiding him to sit. Din lifts his hands as if to find your hips again but you gently swat them away, opting to take off his armor piece by piece instead. You ignored the way Din stared, and you refused to answer the unspoken question that weighed heavily in the air. You took each piece of beskar off as if it were your own, showing the metal the respect it both deserved and earned for keeping Din alive all these years.  

When the armor was off, sans helmet, you kneeled in front of Din and used your shoulders to spread his legs open. Your hand found his crotch and you gently rubbed at it through his flight suit, the other hand untying the laces of his boots and sliding them off, not once allowing your eyes to stray from his helmet. When he was hard under your hand and his boots and socks were off, you stood, ignoring the way your knees popped. 

You reached out to Din just as he had and found the hidden zippers in his suit, peeling off the layers until The Mandalorian before you revealed the man underneath the armor. A strong body of flesh marred with scars and softened with age, a body you knew every inch of intimately. Your eyes grazed over his body and landed on his now hard member, leaking and red and asking for attention. 

With a roll of your shoulders, you slipped off your own clothing with far less grace than you had reserved for Din's armor and reached out to the man once you were as naked as he was. With one knee on the bunk, a shaky hand rested on your belly. You clasped your hand over Din's, rubbing soothing circles into the skin. Despite his state of arousal, you hadn't noticed the way his body curled slightly with insecurity and that same exhaustion that had been plaguing him for far too long. 

"Meshla, I... I'm sorry, I can't, I-... I'm so tired..." Din's helmet tilted away and the way his voice cracked at the end broke your heart. You patted his hand and brushed it aside, the limb sliding down and falling to the bunk with little fight.

"It's okay, Din. I'm not asking that of you. Not tonight. I just want to remind you that you'll always have me and that I just want to be as close to you in any way I can. Okay?"

"Okay," his voice croaked after a pause.

You climbed into the bunk with him, encouraging him further in until his feet were safely in the confines of the sleeping quarters. Once satisfied that his comfort was met, you positioned yourself over his erection and slid down. Din's moan was deep and long, your own fingers splaying on his chest rumbled with the sound deep in his chest. You dragged your fingers down to his stomach right above the base of his cock, then up again in a soothing way that had Din replacing his moan with a longing sigh. A sound you missed dearly.

Ensuring he was tucked deep in your core, you shifted and sprawled yourself over the man like a blanket, burying your face into his chest. Din's arms wrapped around you a moment later and you didn't put up a fight when he rolled the two of you onto your sides, hiking your leg over his hip and burying his helmet into your neck. Once satisfied your comfort was met, Din wrapped his arms tightly around you and squeezed you close to where you weren't sure where you started and he ended. But you wouldn't trade that for the world.

Being a scout was hard, and being the partner of a Mandalorian was difficult, but it was all worth it to be close to the man who had given you a home to return to and a family you had always wanted. You knew one-day things will slow down, that your jobs won't demand as much and Grogu will be returned to his kind. But until then, you're happy to take and give what you can, and enjoy the warm moments of closeness that not even Wild Space or cantina shootouts could ever take away from you. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Ah, yisssss day 2 is complete. I think I can post one or two more in the next 24 hours but I'm slowly catching up. Days may be switched, and to be inclusive these kink prompts will be friendly to readers who are/were AFAB, AMAB, or gender-neutral.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Coming from an Indigenous/Mexican family in the deep south where most of us have kids by the time we're like 16 and don't go to college, not only did I get to meet my great-grandpa but he's still around and kicking it. He's witnessed the birth of his great, great-grandkids and it's so surreal knowing he was there for many of my cousin's weddings and their kids as well.

But being from the south, it means a lot of our history was never written down so we relied on the fact that we have these people around to give us their oral history but a lot of people just don't care. I've been the family historian since I realized that fact and lemme tell you there are a lot of skeletons in southern family closets.

Kinktober Day 1: Dirty Talk

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

Pre First Season of The Mandalorian

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Innocent teasing takes an unexpected turn.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: dirty talk, mutual pining, non-con dirty talk (both are into it), some humor, implied smut

Word Count: 847

In the time you had known the man, you were certain The Mandalorian wasn’t fond of you. Tolerated you, yes, but fond? Eh. And you were fine with that. Although, at one point, you had wondered if maybe the metal man had a thing for you.

It had been earlier on in your working relationship that you had noticed lingering stares when he thought you weren’t looking and unnecessary touches when he passed you by. Always finding ways to look and touch, but just for a moment. Never anything longer.

You were the Guild’s go-to hacker and resident tech genius, the person one would hire when they needed to get into someplace they couldn't get access to or a second set of eyes. It was on a surveillance job for Mando when you accidentally spilled your freshly made caf on yourself during a job and noticed the way Mando faltered in his step through one camera you had hacked.

At first, you thought you had imagined it and shrugged it off as a glitch. Nothing changed between you and Mando after, so you let it go. But when another incident involving smacking your knee hard into the bottom of your ship’s control board left you groaning into your mic unintentionally, your eyes flicked up to the monitor that had access to a camera in Mando’s helmet in time to see the stutter in his step from his own point of view.

You couldn’t hide the smile from spreading across your face even if you wanted to.

If you bumped or spilled anything while on a job with him, you ensured any groan or whimper would be followed by a breathy “fuck” that was probably more sensual than needed but you couldn’t help it. Watching his reactions from the safety of your ship brought you more satisfaction than they should have.

The touches grew longer and bolder, and he stopped being as careful about his lingering stare. The mindful but short-lived interactions were slowly being replaced with needier tension that oozed off of the Mandalorian in waves. It didn’t take long for others to notice as well, but when you weren’t in the safety of your ship, you played the role of cluelessly uninterested well enough. Maybe too well.

The groans, moans, whimpers, and sensual swears walked so that sultry responses to any of Mando’s work-related questions over the intercom could run. Some weren’t dirty, just the tone, others you turned into innuendos whenever you thought was subtly appropriate.

“The power behind the thrust was remarkable. When entering hyperspace, that is.”

“Is that what you came for? It’s so big, how will it fit? In your bag, I mean.”

“Have you ever wondered what happens to nuts in space? I need to stock up on my rations and I just realized I’ve never gotten a container of nuts before.”

“In regard to taste, the teabag was better the second time around. Remind me to lend you some next time we meet up, I think you’ll like the flavor.”

Listening to Mando’s hitch and change in breathing, the adjustments in his steps, and the deeper his voice became while talking to his bounties after hearing you brought you all the joy you needed. You were sure to mute yourself when you touched yourself but eventually became bold with that as well.

At the end of the day, Mando was still a man and even warriors have limits. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that enough was enough, but it did when after a particularly sensual moan and many slipped-in innuendos later that you heard the Mandalorian say “fuck it” to himself and abandoning the stakeout he had been occupying the last twenty-four hours.

You ripped your hand from your pants as you tried to understand what was going on. Was there an ambush? Did the quarry flee? Fuck, you were hired to do one job and you might’ve screwed this up for Mando. In your panic, flipping through cameras near and within the bounty’s hideout, you missed how fast the Mandalorian was running or how he wasn’t heading in the direction of his own ship.

Loud, consistent bangs ripped you from your thoughts and the yelp that left you was humiliating, wondering if the reason Mando abandoned his post was that the quarry had somehow realized the warrior wasn't working alone and that his partner was parked on the other side of the city from where he was hiding.

A gasp left your lips when, instead of seeing the bounty, your eyes took in the tall and imposing figure of the Mandalorian looking up at you through your own camera. You smoothed your hair and caught your breath before lowering the lamp, prepared to bombard the warrior with questions regarding the mission when he pushed you against the closest wall, chest heaving.

"M-mando?" you tried to keep your thoughts clear and willed yourself to ignore how hard he was as he ground himself against your hip.

“You’ve played your game for too long, it’s my turn. Now strip.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I know it's not full smut, but I wanted to play around with this with literal wordplay cause I love it when people are able to make anything sound dirty and we all know Din would go feral after a while. I have a few of these written but haven't had the time to post so expect a few back-to-backs in the next day or so. See all you horny sluts soon enough! Enjoy, it'll get spicier with the other shorts.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

On a Hot, Hot Day and a Cold, Cold Night Masterlist

On a Cold, Cold Night (T)

On a Hot, Hot Day (sequel to On a Cold, Cold Night) (T)

On a Dry, Dry Evening (coming soon)

shoutout to writers who:

have chronic fatigue or brain fog

have memory issues

experience chronic pain

have focus issues

experience frequent malaise

have anything else that may make it difficult to type, come up with ideas, and/or stay motivated & working

you can do this, you belong here, and you deserve to treat yourself with kindness and care

My boss, who is tall and thicker than a snicker and looks amazing, is dieting for her wedding next month because she wanted to do it for herself which I applaud but it's so restrictive that one day she told me she was out eating with her fiance and he had ordered a desert (something she couldn't eat part of her diet) and she started to cry until he threw it away and that really upset me. I'm a heavier person who's completely comfortable in my body and I respect other people's choices with what they do with theirs, but if it gets to the point where you're crying and your diet is impacting others' choices then that's not healthy.

I hope people know it's okay to eat what you love in moderation and finding that balance of diet and joy while on whatever journey they're on whether it's weight loss or gain or just trying to love the flesh bag they're navigating the world in.

fatphobia robs the world of all joy and I think the faster people accept that the faster we can like. Improve and progress as a society. I’m saying this extremely seriously. We have got to get past this. Fucking sick of it. People lose their lives and years to this. Whole generations were ruined by these ideas and expectations.

by Caducado

KINKTOBER 2022

Due to my current obsession being Mando, I'm dedicating the whole list to just Din. Sorry, everyone. I love Ezra but I felt weird only writing for two men instead of more, but I don't feel as strongly about other characters as I do with Din so I don't want anyone to get their expectations or hopes up.

But for now, if you're a slut for Din like me, enjoy the upcoming fics! I may switch a few days around depending on factors or switching out the kinks but for now, this is my official list.

DAY 1: Dirty Talk (Din Djarin x GN!Reader)

DAY 2: Cockwarming (Din Djarin x GN!Reader)

DAY 3: Anal (Din Djarin x M!Reader)

DAY 4: Shibari (Din Djarin x F!Reader)

DAY 5: Fucking Machine (Din Djarin x F!Reader) Part 1 | Part 2

DAY 6: Sex Pollen (Din Djarin x reader)

DAY 7: Spanking (Din Djarin x M!reader)

being a jack of all trades master of none is actually so awesome bc i can make the shittest clay sculpture and the ugliest drawing and the sloppiest painting and the worst hand stitches and the wonkiest earrings and it's like. who cares + now im surrounded by lots of different silly things i made with love and care etc

Life Update + Fics

Hello, everyone! I am not dead! I am so sorry for the lack of responses in my inbox and fics, but I haven't had the energy to do a whole lot outside of work. August was not kind to me and I'm just starting to come out of recovery, but I want everyone to know that I will be participating in Kinktober along with dropping a fic by the weekend so please stay tuned! And thank you to those who have reblogged and commented on my posts and followed me!! I'll catch up in a few days, thank you for being patient with me!!

Long story short, in August:

I had a LOT of travel drama

my Airbnb hosts turned into absolute psychopaths trying to get me to pay for a lamp I didn't break on top of damaging their

kitchen when I didn't and it took 2 weeks to resolve this going back and forth with them to where I had to get Airbnb involved and had them blocked on there and I had to block their numbers as well from texting and calling me

my diseases started to flare up again to where I had to up my medication and I'm afraid they still aren't helping as much as I needed them to

all specialists in my area are booked at least 4 months out so I have to consider either finding help hours away or moving (which I want to do but I'm still saving up before I make that commitment)

my best friend who I have known since high school decided to end our friendship in a really traumatic way all because I put my foot down regarding one of my boundaries and she took that personally. Traumatic as in not only she blocked me on all platforms including Pinterest and Venmo, but she also got her husband, parents, sister, and a mutual friend to all block me instead of talking to me and ending our friendship on a note that we were both worthy of rather than whatever the fuck this was. Reminder: we're in our 30s. So this completely blindsided me on the last day of August while I was at work on break.

I feel like I'm missing something but that's the gist. I'm being vague but if anyone wants more details, just DM me and I can tell you what happened in more depth for clarity or I might just make a post about it later depending on how I'm feeling but yeah it's been a lot. I'll respond to everyone in the next few days, thank you again for your patience. I love you all!! Be safe!! Look forward to some beautiful and horny fics coming your way!!

im literally not exaggerating when i tell you guys this video saved my life

postcard c1910

I shall pass through this world but once, any good thing therefore I can do, or any kindness I can show to any human being, let me do it now, let me not defer it or neglect it for I shall not pass this way again.

okay but nessie was given the scientific name nessiteras rhombopteryx so she’d be included in the conservation of wild creatures and wild plants act of ‘75.

it’s a felony to shoot bigfoot in washington state.

the human race has sent out messages to the stars, hoping that any extraterrestrials who hear will accept our offer of friendship.

ghost hunters extend their sympathy to the souls of murder victims and bring along items that the spirits loved in life.

I think there’s something very human about the desire to believe in the paranormal. we don’t know if any of these things truly exist, but we make the offer of friendship and protection anyway. I just think it’s really lovely in its own ridiculous way.

FIC/LIFE UPDATE

Howdy, everyone!

I'm so sorry for the lack of fics lately! If you saw my vent post a few days ago, you'd know I've been traveling for my best friend's wedding this past weekend. Between the time difference, going right back to work the next day, throwing out my back, and dealing with horrible Airbnb hosts dragging me to pay $130 more for damages my sister and I didn't do, I've been exhausted. To put it lightly.

But I wanted everyone to know that I'll update my "Upcoming Fics" list to get everyone excited about what I have been working on and when to expect more stories for the Mando and Prospect fandom! I appreciate everyone's patience while I reacquaint myself with my rodeo and deal with my Airbnb nightmare, I just need one day to sleep and I'll be fully recharged and ready to yeehaw again.

Image source