hi, this is a beginning chapter of my very first fanfic i wrote and honestly it’s been on draft for months, i wasn’t sure to post it, but i had technical problems with an account where i store all my drafts so ig im just gonna post it now. hope you enjoy reading this! (if there’s any writing corrections kindly tell me, i’d like some feedback)
The sun in Intacia was always merciless; sharp, stinging, as if to remind its people they were born to endure. Life here began before dawn and burned through the day with unrelenting fervor. The streets never emptied of voices; the rhythm of conversation pulsed like a second heartbeat. Rest was a foreign indulgence. There was always something to celebrate even the sheer act of waking up. This was not a land built on inheritance but one carved out through defiance, shaped by those who had fought for every grain of soil they called home. Unlike their Imperial neighbors, who wrapped themselves in ancestral titles and worship their bloodlines as divine, the Intacians placed their loyalty in one another. Brotherhood, not lineage, defined them. And should harm come to their own, they would not hesitate to spill blood in return. From this scorched earth and steel-bound kinship rose the most feared warrior the southern front had ever known during the Empire’s invasion: Castin Hammer.
His name echoed through every corner of Intacia, spoken with reverence, fear, or awe, depending on who uttered it. Castin Hammer hadn’t inherited his place through blood or the dreams of ambitious parents. There was no prophecy behind his rise. He had been a nobody in his home village, unnoticed, uncelebrated. It was the army that gave him shape, and war that carved his name into legend. Victory by victory, he carved out a reputation: brutal to his enemies, exacting in strategy, relentless in command. In the war’s darkest, most brutal years, as chaos consumed the border front, Castin rose again and again through the ranks, stepping into command after every fallen captain, never faltering. Until at last the defense of Intacia’s final front was placed in his hands. Under his command, the tide turned. What had once been a centuries-long invasion became a pushback. And in that final chapter, it was he who stood at the edge of ruin and carved the path toward the reclamation of their homeland.
Now pulled back to the capital in the aftermath of the union and peace treaty, he stood not just as a soldier but as the face of Intacia’s enduring might, the embodiment of everything the nation revered: raw spirit, battlefield genius, and the unyielding will to survive. There was something about him. some spell of war-forged magnetism, that turned the fear he once commanded into a disquieting charm. Men respected him without question. Women lingered in his shadow. Elite families paraded their daughters in hopes of becoming his consort. Children pretend to wield weapons in alleyway games, dreaming they might one day rise like he did. His name fills both tents and taverns with stories; some exaggerated, many earned. The kind of stories that make Intacian women lean in closer and Imperial nobles flinched in their chairs, not just for the blood he had spilled, but because he refused to fit their mold. He is everything they once sought to erase from history: the barbaric, unpolished, wild blood of the South. Yet now, they cannot silence him. No amount of etiquette or courtly sneers could erase what he was. Castin is myth made flesh, the most feared commander of the war, the most brutal in battle, and still, every whispered tale of his ruthlessness is chased by another of his impossible allure. And he wears that contradiction like armor. Lives it, breathes it. As if, in the quiet after war, his legend must shout louder than cannons. And in every corner of the capital, his name is louder still spoken with admiration, resentment, lust, fear. He knows it. Thrives in it. Proud to be the man who could bring armies to heel and still have their wives bend for him.
His reputation never dimmed in the rest of war, only blazed brighters. And in its wake, he chose to celebrate not in palaces, but in the taverns he'd never had time to enter before—some only just reopened in the ruins of a rebuilding capital. Living and proving the fairytales that are told about him. Castin Hammer, villager turned soldier, a backbone of unity and peace to the coastal shore and Intacia.
Summary: One arrow, one assassin, and the world you knew disappears. You awaken to a life without memory of Castin, the man who has held your heart.
You wake to the warmth of his chest under your cheek, the steady beat of his heart like a drum.
Your fingers trace lazy patterns across his chest while his fingers move along your back, mapping the familiar terrain of your skin. For a moment, the world beyond the bedroom ceases to exist.
There is only the rhythm of breath, the quiet press of bodies, the intimacy of skin and memory.
You lift your eyes to him, curious, playful, yet serious all at once.
“I believe that our blood holds memories,” you murmur, voice soft.
“What makes you think so, Babe?”
His fingers pause, tracing the delicate line of your spine, his tone teasing, but filled with genuine interest.
“I think our blood carries everything within us. Our past, our present, and eventually, our future. It flows through our every moment. Because of this, I believe we bleed during our important moments. At birth, during life, and even in death. As we lose our blood, we lose our memories. And what is a human without their memories? Nothing. So, we die.”
He smiles, a slow, indulgent curve of his lips, brushing off your speech as a whimsical thought.
“That’s… very interesting,” he says.
You catch the faintest amusement in his eyes, but he lets it pass without further comment, returning your fingers to his chest with that easy, affectionate patience only he can muster.
You don’t know, at that moment, how right you are.
The day of the attack comes soon after.
You had been walking through the corridor, thoughts consumed with the morning’s reports, the subtle tension of the council, and Castin’s absence from the field. Then, a hiss, the whisper of a bowstring, the sudden and undeniable sting of metal against flesh.
You jerk forward instinctively, thrown across the stone floor. One arrow, aimed at him, finds you instead. Hot pain blossoms in your chest.
You scream, the sound echoing down the corridor.
He is there in an instant, senses honed sharper than any blade, and fury ignites within him. The world narrows to you, crumpled on the ground, bleeding, vulnerable.
The assassin meets his eyes, a fatal mistake.
Castin moves with brutal precision, his hands and blades an extension of his wrath, and the man who dared harm you dies before he even draws breath.
You don’t know how long you drift between consciousness and darkness. You only know the pain, the cold, the warmth of your own blood.
The healers swarm, hands working desperately to staunch it, yet even their skill cannot undo the damage. With each passing moment, your memories slip through the cracks.
Life, love, laughter, everything tied to him, drains away with the blood spilling from you.
When you wake, the world is unfamiliar.
Your eyes open to a ceiling, a ceiling that doesn’t feel like home.
Panic rises, sharp and immediate, as the room spins.
Voices murmur around you, but their words do not reach the part of your mind that knows. You do not recognise the warmth of the hand brushing yours. You do not know the man kneeling at your bedside with worry etched into every line of his face.
“Babe… can you hear me?” Castin’s voice cracks, desperate.
You look at him, eyes wide and cold, brimming with a fear you do not understand.
There is no recognition, no warmth, only confusion and fear.
The love that once flowed freely between you is gone, stolen by blood and circumstance.
Castin feels his chest constrict, the sight of your unfamiliar fear feels like a blade twisting endlessly in him.
Every ounce of him turns toward one mission, to make you remember, to make you love him once more.
The days that follow are a delicate, agonising dance.
He speaks of light topics, your injury, the fact that you are married, small details to ground you without overwhelming you.
He avoids the “before” entirely, knowing that the weight of your lost memories is already heavy enough.
Every touch is measured, deliberate, and designed to remind you of comfort and trust.
And you respond kindly, without knowing why his presence soothes, why your pulse leaps at the sight of him, why your chest tightens whenever he nears.
There is attraction, yes, though you cannot name it, there is trust, yes, though you do not know its origin.
Slowly, carefully, he begins to reconstruct the foundation of your love.
Evenings are spent in proximity, sharing meals, walking the estate, brushing fingers along the garden walls. You laugh at his teasing without understanding the history behind it, but the sound warms him in a way he had thought impossible after your injury.
Each shared smile, each shared touch, draws you closer without forcing the past upon you.
Then comes the garden.
The roses you planted bloom under the sun.
Their fragrance fills the air, thick and intoxicating, and for a moment, the world shrinks to this single space, this single heartbeat.
You turn to him, impulsive, driven by a feeling you do not know yet, and press your lips to his. The kiss is electric, a spark setting off a chain reaction through every fibre of both your beings.
Castin nearly cries, the brutal, unyielding commander undone by the raw force of your love.
When he pulls back slightly, breathless, he meets your eyes, and his voice is low, trembling with awe and desire.
“You know, you once told me about your belief regarding blood. How it holds memories, how it carries our past.”
He bites his lip, drawing the tiniest trace of blood, and then kisses you again, deeper, hungrier.
The world tilts, air stolen, heart racing, until the torrent of your memories crashes back in. The arrow, the fear, the terror, the love, the life you shared with him, all returned with the taste of iron and the heat of passion.
Your mind floods with recollection. You remember everything, yet you are changed. You are not the same as you were before the attack but the love remains, deeper, fiercer.
Among the red roses, your bodies entwined, hearts beating in rhythm, you become one again.
Fingers trace familiar paths, lips brush and collide, and your soul recognises the other as its own.
Fate, it seems, is stronger than any weapon, stronger than any wound, stronger than any arrow that might attempt to separate you.
Castin’s laughter, rough and joyful, echoes through the garden as he holds you close. You cling to him, shaking with the intensity of what has been lost and found. Your love has survived blood, fear, and memory itself.
And in that perfect, suffused moment, with roses blooming around you and the warmth of each other as your sanctuary, you know one thing for sure, nothing can undo the bond that was always yours.
Your lips part from his, yet the heat between you does not disappear.
His hands move along the length of your back, memorising curves, angles, and the soft rise and fall of your body as if committing every detail to memory.
You press closer, chest to chest, heartbeats colliding in a rhythm that feels like it could shake the very earth beneath your feet.
“Babe…” he breathes against your lips, voice rough with need and awe. “I’ve waited… for this. For you. For us.”
You shiver at the sound, instinctively pressing into him, nails grazing the back of his neck, feeling the tension there release under your touch. Every rough edge, every strength-honed muscle, quivers underneath your fingertips as if responding to a memory that your mind cannot yet name, but your body remembers.
He lifts you gently, arms strong and unyielding, until your legs wrap around his waist, anchoring yourself to him.
The kiss deepens, teeth grazing, tongues brushing in a way that sparks heat straight through your core. His grip tightens at your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, the press of his hardness against you a promise you cannot resist.
Your hands wander over his chest, down his sides, tracing the fine lines of muscle, the small scars that speak of battles fought and won. You know them instinctively, and though you do not remember the exact moments, your body remembers their meaning.
Every touch is electric, sending pulses through your nerves, reminding you, insisting you remember.
“Do you feel it? This… us?”
“Yes. Every part of me. I-”
He silences you with a rough, desperate kiss, teeth catching the corner of your lip, tongue pressing urgently into your mouth. Your body arches instinctively into his, craving the heat of him, the strength, the control tempered with devotion.
He lowers you carefully onto the soft grass next to the roses, petals brushing against your skin, the fragrance intoxicating.
Every inch of you is exposed to him, yet you feel no fear, only desire, only the pull of connection that refuses to be broken.
He hovers above you, lips tracing your jawline, his hands moving with reverence and hunger, learning the new paths your body now takes without the memory of past familiarity, yet still yearning for him instinctively.
“Goddess…” he murmurs against your skin, lips brushing your collarbone. “You’re mine. All of you.”
Your breath hitches as he kisses lower, teeth grazing your sensitive skin, tongue tracing the line of your neck.
You arch into him, hands running through his hair, tugging gently, urging him closer, deeper. He groans at your touch, hips grinding against yours, the friction an exquisite torment.
Every kiss, every touch, every whisper of his lips across your skin reminds you, reminds your body and your soul, of the life you’ve shared.
Your fingers clutch at him, nails pressing into his back as waves of pleasure roll through you.
“Tell me what you need,” he rasps, voice low, hoarse with want. “I’ll give it to you. All of it.”
You arch into him, breath coming in gasps.
“You… I need you. Here. Now. I need… you, Castin.”
And he is relentless.
Hands, lips, and body worship you.
Every touch, every kiss, every heated press is an echo of love, both remembered and rediscovered.
The garden becomes a sanctuary, a stage, a witness to your bond, the rekindling of desire, the reawakening of passion.
You feel him, deep and warm, and shiver as pleasure curls tightly in your stomach, rising with every stroke, every shiver, every whispered name. Your bodies move as one, instinctive, urgent, perfectly synchronised.
You cry out, his name, your release, the memories flooding back with every shiver.
He holds you close as the world narrows to your shared heat and the scent of roses.
Lips pressed together, bodies entwined, hearts racing in a rhythm older than memory, older than blood itself. You gasp, shudder, and find him again, until finally you collapse against him, breathless, overwhelmed, utterly consumed by the force of your reunited love.
“I… I love you,” he whispers against your temple, voice breaking, tears hot against your skin. “I never… ever want to be without you again.”
You bury your face against him, heart still pounding, and realize: you love him too. Not as you remembered, not exactly as before, but deeper, fiercer, a bond forged in pain, loss, and more.
The sun sets behind the rosebushes, painting the garden in gold, as you both lie there, bodies tangled.
And in that moment, you know with certainty, nothing, neither blood, arrow, nor memory can ever separate you again.
-
Note: The above picture is from Pinterest! I do not claim it as mine.
hii do you have headconons on what makes castin fall in love with the baroness during their engagement months (like rhett asked on their wedding night and he admitted it)
i think of maybe they had another public appearance together and castin saw that the baroness actually care of the intacians people, maybe she interacted with the kids that made castin melts
In love, just not close enough
Author's note: It's been a while since I wrote anything about Castin. I figured it'll be fun to write a one-shot based on this ask! And it is! :D So thank you, I-1-v-3-d, and I hope you'll enjoy this oneshot.
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Pairings: CastinHammer/Baroness (Listener)
Summary: After he hurt the Baroness that night, Castin Hammer is a man who yearns at a distance.
Word count: 1,427 words
Tags: A bit of angst. This happens after Castin's prologue chapter
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Falling in love is like having a high-speed train hit your face first.
Just swap the train with a portrait of the Imperial Baroness, and you get one Castin Hammer.
Rhett (lovingly) smacks a rolled-up newspaper on his head when Castin refuses to surrender it. "Yes, yes - we get it, brother. The entire base gets it. You've met your future wife. Conveniently missing out the 'potential' part while you were screaming out of the window, mind you. You do know that she has the right to reject you during her debut, right? While the Queen and I are hoping for the best for this arranged marriage, it must be consensual on both parties."
"Oh ye of little faith, thy name is Rhett! C'mon, do you honestly think that the Baroness is gonna reject this?" Castin makes sure to slowly wave his arm over a rack of naked abs with a very handsome face attached above. He doesn't appreciate Rhett rolling his eyes at such magnificence. "I'll have her falling all over me just like those village girls - OW!"
"Is she going to be your wife or one of your conquests, Castin? Because if it's the latter, then I'll have a more reputable Intacian as a candidate for the groom." After brandishing the newspaper as a weapon once more, Rhett replied with a heavy frown.
The atmosphere between the two friends sinks with the weight of the situation. The playful banter shifts into something else.
Castin's eyes lingered on the Baroness' portrait once more. Carefully committing every little detail to his memories. The delicate arch of her eyebrows is beautifully expressed on canvas. Plump lips begging to be worshipped by a faithful lover. Mesmerising eyes that are akin to a siren's lure. Skin that looks soft against caresses. A myriad of colours washed to bring her to life.
Another comment of wisdom from Castin Hammer: The Imperial Baroness is a work of art.
While it's nice to finally put a face to the rumours that have been buzzing around his ears, Castin is aware of the battle for the Baroness' heart. He's excited for it.
"I won't screwed this up," Castin said when he finally found it in him to return the Baroness' portrait to Rhett. His eyes locked onto him. "I promise."
...aaaandd then the night of the Baroness' debut happened. An evening that no one will forget any time soon.
The look of disappointment on Rhett's face is immeasurable. The Baroness' ire is just as crushing.
Castin isn't so much of a scumbag to pretend that he didn't notice how hurt the Baroness was.
"You sure brought that Noble down a peg or two, huh, brother?"
"Honestly? The Imperials had it coming. Strutting off their ships and onto our lands - our homes - as if they own in. Typical."
"Chin up, Castin! Sure, she looks fun in bed, but there're always other girls, right? Ones that can't take a joke, anyway. We'll hit that new tavern tonight, get you in between some titties and by morning, you'll forget about her."
"Can you imagine settling down with a broad like the Baroness? Bro, if it were me, that face isn't pretty enough to make me forget what the Empire did to us."
Castin kinda lost it after that.
When he came to, Rex and Dolion were struggling to pin him to the ground while Rex yanked the sword from his bloodied grip.
"Get a hold of yourself, Castin!" Rhett - no, the King - barks. The injured soldiers were quickly attended to by their Dolion, and those who could still walk received Rex's punishment. "I swear to the Goddess, Castin, that if you don't get a grip, then I'd have no choice but to have you leave the Capital before you could scare off the Baroness and the Imperial diplomats to the port!"
"I-I need to see her. I need to make this right." Castin pleads, ashamed of his bloodied knuckles. Ashamed of himself. "Rhett, Please. I just need one more chance."
Rhett looks torn. "Castin..."
"Please! I'll do anything!"
"Calm down, calm down. Look. The Queen and I have been doing some damage control. The Imperial entourage will only react based on the Baroness' move. If she packs up? Brother, it's over. We can't lose any more of her good graces."
The implication is clear. If Castin screwed up again? They all can say goodbye to any thoughts of peace between their countries.
Rhett sighs and pats Castin's shoulder at his crestfallen expression.
Which is why he's here now, staring at the Baroness.
For whatever reason that Castin desperately wanted to know (these days, he can't help but want to know everything about this woman, down to what she had for breakfast in hopes of finding something, anything, that can get her to look at him), the Baroness is at the town square today.
Is she sightseeing? If so, then Castin is hungry for an opportunity to jump in and be her guide; showing all the best spots and cafes. Is she shopping? If so, then he'll gladly be her porter. He just needs something to work with.
But then she stops near the fountain.
It didn't take long for the children who were playing nearby to swarm towards their newest curiosity. They couldn't be older than eight, as one of them tugged at her skirt.
"Excuse me, miss! Are you a princess?"
The Baroness laughs and oh... how Castin's knees grow weak! It wasn't the condescending and clipped kind she saved for her kinsmen and Intacian politicians. No. This is something lighter. Genuine. Soft.
He wants to hear it every day for the rest of his life.
"Do I look like a princess?"
Castin stays hidden in the shadow of an alleyway, unseen and uninvited (he deserved it after what he had done), as the children eagerly nod their little heads. The Baroness slowly knelt to the children's height, uncaring of her now dirtied skirt. Excited chitters immediately erupt. A little girl shyly commented that the red stone around the Baroness' neck shines so prettily. In return, she clasps it around the girl. Another handed her a drawing, which she praised sincerely as if it belonged in a gallery. The last child wrapped his small fingers around hers. She gently squeezes them back.
When the parents realise just who is with their children, some frantically apologise while others treat the Imperial woman as if she's gum underneath their shoes. Still, she regards them with the same armour donned during her debut - distant yet polite. She begins inquiring about their names, complimenting how kind their children are and showing great interest in their professions. She asked about the lumber that the carpenter worked with. The merchant of his wares. The travelling bard of his musical composition.
Even from a distance, Castin could tell that their wariness was slowly melting. More so when the Baroness begins to ask about Intacia and her culture.
Castin's chest tightened. Not from jealousy but from wonder. That someone so fierce with him could be so effortlessly warm with those who asked nothing of her.
Was that it, he thought.
Did Castin ask for too much?
Demanded instead of earned?
Wanted her to be his one and only wife before she could know him as a man?
But what if this is his last chance?
What if he had already ruined everything beyond repair?
He could do anything for her. Tear down kingdoms with his bare hands if the Baroness wanted; but none of it would mean anything unless she truly sees him. Not the cocky, Intacian warrior. Not the King's brother in all but blood. But him. Castin Hammer.
The boy who would beg his Mama for new storybooks. The man who secretly weeps after every sad song. The man yearning for her from a distance.
Castin has to try.
Power? Promises? No. Honesty. Something as soft and earnest as the way she looked at those children.
But does he have it in him to be... vulnerable? Or does the Baroness only accept a groom who can stand on her level?
A petal from the daisy crown that one of the children gave the Baroness fluttered in the wind.
Whatever it is, Castin lets himself fall a little more in love with the Baroness right here.
I have no idea if my request went through but if it did ignore this! But I was asking you can make a headcannon with Isolde and Rhett?‼️💕
(Of course, dear Anon! Lemme play 'Animal by Maroon 5' real quick!)
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See, Rhett has a very particular... trait.
He likes to chase after things. Like, really, really enjoys it. Almost to an obsessive level if left unchecked. On foot, on horses, on ships. It's the rush, the adrenaline coming together, making him come alive, making his blood burn with the thrill of the hunt and anticipation.
As a boy, he liked to chase frogs and friends. Children dreaded whenever Rhett was the seeker in hide-and-seeks and the it in tag. Castin can never hide from him for long and remains the same when he's an adult.
As a man, he chased after witches. He had the highest track record when it came to hunting Ascendants, and the other witch hunter knew to immediately obey without question whenever he led.
But as a king?
See, as a king with powers and an equal amount of restrictions, you really can't do much chasing, huh? What does a king know about the luxury of time when there's always something that needs his attention? Courtiers hounding his every step?
His foot would tap underneath the table during council sessions. His gloved hands gripped the reins so tightly whenever he rode a horse. All of these are noticed by Isolde.
"Pent up, Rhett?" Isolde murmurs into his ear while he's bathing. The Queen had gotten out earlier, but seeing the pensive look on her husband's expression, she was compelled to comfort him. Rhett exhales deeply when a pair of arms envelopes him from behind. "Four rounds in and you're still looking like that. Should I be insulted?" She teases.
Rhett kisses the back of Isolde's hand. "Have you known your husband to be a suicidal man, my love? You were as amazing as always, Isolde. Never doubt that."
"Mmhmm. Then I'll hazard a guess that something else must be bothering you. Will you tell me?"
Here, the king hesitates. As if ashamed to admit whatever comes next. "I suppose... I'm a bit... stressed out. Weary more likely. The palace feels like a gilded cage these days. The council sessions are too frequent. The Baroness' lessons - while sparse now - are as daunting as ever." A pause. "Please don't tell her I said that."
Isolde had the audacity to snort as if her best friend wasn't a terrifying beast wrapped up in diamonds and satin. "Your secret's safe for me. But really now, I don't think the duties of a monarch are making you antsy, or you would've lost it 6 months into being a king.."
Rhett can't argue with his wife's deductions there.
"You know what I think? I think my husband is restless because all talk and no hunt is making Rhett a very bored boy. You missed the chase, don't you?"
And there it is. The crux of the matter. The once familiar buzzing that thrums underneath his skin ignites once more.
Isolde hums. She begins massaging his shoulders. Broad, firm and just the right size to hold on to for dear life - her favourites. "As much as I enjoy your strict restraint for its inevitable, hmm, burst - oh, don't look at me like that, Rhett. It's true! - I noticed you're itching to chase something new."
"Isolde, there's hardly any time for me to pick up a new hobby. You and I have been stuck doing the same damn routine ever since we put those crowns on our heads."
"Oh, Rhett, did you forget? It's a sin to starve yourself against what you deserve. It's one of the tenets of the Conqueror after all."
Rhett's pupil dilates. He knows that his wife is going somewhere with this, and he's drawn to her every word like a bespelled sailor swimming towards a siren.
The Queen Ascendant presses her bare chest against his back. Her hands slowly slide down his torso. With a nonchalant mien, Isolde rests her head on Rhett's left shoulder and drops a name.
A kickstart to a new high.
A new chase.
"Ronin Meadows. Captain of the Chartbreakers Expedition. His team charts the forgotten paths of the Old World and recovers all sorts of treasures. And Celly was so kind to mention that his ship is due to port at Intacia in a week or so. Think of all the artefacts he found from the Wastelands. The stories from his adventures."
Rhett is very much aware of how frantic his heart is pounding at the thrill of hunting the unknown. He's heard of the many expeditions from organisations dedicated to uncovering the past and the forgotten, but now? Oh, now he's thinking about them in a new light.
What would it be like to join them, he idly wonders. But speaking of wonders...
"Does the Baroness have one of her people in his team?" It wouldn't surprise Rhett that the Baroness' pragmatism would cross over the paranoia territory, but what interest would she have in the Wastelands?
Her musing was interrupted by Isolde's laugh. Warm and delightful. "Rhett. C'mon. Don't tell me you also forgot about that adorable little Councilwoman from Steelgate? The one that attended our ball with her gladiator turned bodyguard and paramour if my bet with Celly is settled."
An image of a timid-looking woman with a man twice her size hovering close flashes in Rhett's mind, along with a name.
"Penelope Meadows," The king's eyes widen in realisation. "She came here to forge connections. Her speech and ire against slavery in Steelgate were admirable. It pains me that we could only do so much from a distance."
Isolde sighs. Solemn at the barbaric practice that Steelgate refuses to let go. "She and Celica are more than just correspondents, I believe. Businesses under the table and whatnot. The world is very aware that she's standing between Intacia and the Empire. If Celly so much as toes out of the line, her credibility is gonna sink and it's gonna sink fast and hard like that ancient ship with the iceberg."
Politics. A bane of Rhett's existence.
"Both father and daughter are quite the ambitious pair." Rhett comments, already mapping out how he should approach Ronin Meadows in his mind. "Do you think offering a more sustainable aid to Lady Penelope would make me more amenable to her father?"
"With some finesse here and there? He should at least come to you with an open mind. As a king, he can't refuse you anyway, but with you openly throwing your support behind his daughter? Oh, he's gonna be so curious about your true purpose for doing it!"
Hmm, it's beginning to sound more and more enticing.
An Intacian King hunting treasures in his spare time. Bring lost jewels for his queen, never-before-seen swords for his best friend, and unknown tomes for the Baroness.
when you told sylus that you wanted to be on top tonight, he wasn’t expecting you to ride him completely speechless, with only his muttering curses and his deep, breathy groans able to escape his parted lips. he didn’t know you had this in you, and he’s barely able to contain himself as your pussy sucks him in tightly and swallows his length whole.
“fuck- slow down.”, sylus grunts through heavy breaths, gripping on the plush of your hips as you continue bouncing on his cock with your head thrown back and your hands placed firmly on his shoulders, needy whines falling from your lips as he bottoms out inside of you and his sensitive tip kisses your cervix with a deep hiss.
he could hardly handle it with the way his cock throbbed agonisingly against your greedy walls and the plush of your ass colliding with his pelvis over and over. the slapping sound echo throughout the room alongside the choked moans that sylus just can’t hold back and he’s struggling to understand where this has come from.but he can barely form a thought when he’s grunting in pleasure as you continue to fuck yourself dumb on his cock, with sylus thinking you’re about to fuck him completely dumb as well.
you can’t help but moan out his name in response when you see the affect you’re having on him, ignoring his attempted plea as you sink further down on his sensitive cock. sylus feels like you’re actually trying to kill him.
he wasn’t going to last long if you kept this up, and soon finds himself harshly gripping on your hips as his needy grunts and furrowed brows follow an intense orgasm that fills you up completely, warmth filling your core, “ah- fuck..”
and despite this, you’re not slowing down. with your head thrown back and his cum leaking from your swollen pussy, you finally feel your own high with the flick of your hips.
sylus feels his brain short circuit, his cock throbbing at the sensitivity and the way your pussy continuously clenches around it while you come completely undone with needy whines escaping your lips. he just couldn’t take it, groaning out deeply when he roughly grabs your hips and lifts you off his overstimulated cock, “ah no- get off, get off.”
he looks at you bewildered, his large chest heavy with his cheeks flushed and his hair messy and unkempt. he can’t form any words when he looks at you, glowing and breathless, and all he can do is laugh in shock, pulling you closer before muttering against your ear, “damn, you’re gonna kill me one of these days, sweetheart.”
❥Summary: You’re stuck on the Razor Crest with Mando and a group of mercenaries, but things get tense when you both get caught up in a dangerous mission to break someone out of a prison ship. Things heat up between you two, and before long, you’re caught up in a whirlwind of emotions. You and Mando have to sort out your complicated relationship and unspoken feelings for each other. Set around the events of “The Prisoner” episode (season 1 chapter 6). I highly recommend you watch it–if you haven’t already–for some background info but ofc it's not absolutely necessary.
❥CW: 18+ smut, sexual tension, violence, p in v, floor sex, fingering, mostly canon compliant, porn with plot, porn with feelings, maybe a tiny bit of angst, fighting, reader babysits grogu <3, 19k words
❥a/n: DISCLAIMER BEFORE YOU READ- I am well aware that many fics like this have been done before, and would like to acknowledge all of these amazing fics! And while these are all ideas I've outlined for a really long time, if anyone feels it is to similar to another fic, you can DM me and I will hear u out and change whatever needs to be changed lol. The outline for this fic has been in my drafts for years, and I finally decided to do something with it. She's a long one, so I apologize if there are any mistakes I missed, or if any of my ideas weren't written out clearly 🥲 I hope you enjoy <3
The hum of the Razor Crest filled the silence of the cramped quarters. Your hands, calloused from years of working on engines, were busy at the makeshift repair station you’d set up in the corner of the ship. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was home. Or as close to home as you'd get now, after months of drifting from planet to planet, always on the run.
The metal beneath your fingers was warm as you twisted a wrench into place, but your mind wandered to the quiet figure that was never far from your thoughts.
The Mandalorian–or Mando, as you called him. There was always something magnetic about him, the way he moved with purpose, the stoic expression never giving away what was beneath. It kept you guessing. But after all this time, it wasn’t the silent looks or the odd, soft gestures that had your heart in knots. It was the way he made you feel seen in a galaxy that often overlooked people like you.
You let out a sigh as you wiped your grease-covered hands on a rag, glancing over to where the child’s little pod was resting quietly beside you. It was always quiet on the ship when Mando wasn’t around. The kid didn’t say much–or anything really, other than the occasional coo– but there was something comforting in the way he sat near you, playing with his favourite metal ball, tiny and serene. Something safe.
Your wrench slipped for a moment, and the clang of metal on metal sent a flicker of your memory through your mind. You could almost hear the bustling sounds of your old shop, the hum of speeders waiting for repairs, the dull chatter of the occasional customer coming in and out. That life felt distant now–a memory dulled by the constant movement of the Razor Crest. You missed it sometimes, the routine, the steady rhythm of life on that backwater planet. But that life had been torn apart the moment Mando landed in your yard with a broken ship and a bounty hunter’s target on his tail.
But the fire wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning—the moment everything shifted. You could still picture it clearly, the first time he stepped into your shop, long before the kid, long before everything fell apart.
-
It had been an ordinary day, hot and slow like most on that backwater planet. The sun had cast long shadows across the junkyard when the distinctive roar of a ship’s engines broke the monotony. You’d looked up to see a clunky, battle-worn ship descending—a hunk of metal that seemed more scrap heap than starship. You weren’t expecting much when the ramp lowered, but then he walked out, his beskar gleaming in the sunlight. He’d looked out of place there, a specter of something bigger, more dangerous than the quiet life you’d carved out for yourself.
“Repulsorlift’s shot,” he’d said simply, his voice tinny through the modulator. No pleasantries, no introductions. Just business.
You weren’t sure why, but you hadn’t been intimidated. Something about the way he held himself—rigid, guarded—felt almost… tired. Like he carried the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders and didn’t trust anyone to help bear it. You’d nodded, grabbed your tools, and set to work. You’d told yourself it was just another job, but something about him stuck with you. Maybe it was the way he’d watched your every move, silent but observant, or the faint hesitation in his voice when he’d finally said, “Thanks.” Or maybe it was the way he held himself, tall, alert, and slightly cocky, like he knew the intimidating effect he had on people.
That wasn’t the last time he showed up at your shop. Every few months, he’d come back, his ship battered and bruised from whatever trouble he’d gotten into. Sometimes it was a blown-out hyperdrive; other times, hull damage from a firefight. You didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t offer answers. But over time, the silences between you had started to feel less empty. He’d comment on the efficiency of your work, or you’d tease him about the state of his ship, and while he never laughed, you could’ve sworn you saw the slightest tilt of his helmet that hinted at amusement.
You’d grown to look forward to those visits. The sound of his engines overhead was enough to send a little thrill through you, though you’d never admit it. And every time he left, his ship a distant glint on the horizon, you felt the same pang of sadness. You’d watch until he was gone, telling yourself it was just the quiet returning that unsettled you. But deep down, you knew better.
And then came that day.
The day he landed not for repairs, but for refuge. The day he brought the kid into your life—and with him, all the chaos that followed.
You heard his ship land–well, more like a crash–outside your shop. You immediately dropped whatever mundane task you had been working on–the sight of the Crest sending your heart pounding for multiple reasons.
One, you’d get to see Mando a lot sooner than you thought you would, the thought of the tall, beskar clad man sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You tried to push the feeling away, thinking strictly of business.
Two, because the ship was in terrible shape–possibly the worst shape you’d ever seen.
You rushed to the door of your shop to immediately tend to the Crest–and to see the man you had secretly been harbouring a stupid crush on–but when you whipped the door open, nearly ripping it off its hinges, Mando was already there, standing tall and shiny before you.
You jumped, slightly spooked by the unexpected sight before regaining your composure. “Mando? What are yo–”
“I need your help,” he cut you off. He took a step closer to you, sending your heart pounding and cheeks heating under the gaze of his black visor. You could feel yourself getting flustered by his proximity. “Can I…come in?” he asked, confused by your silence and dumbfounded expression
Right. Yes, of course. He wasn’t stepping closer to you for the reasons you had wanted. You should probably step to the side and let him in. Averting your gaze, you stepped to the side of the doorway, allowing Mando to step inside the small shop before shutting the door behind him.
You looked out the window of your shop, seeing the sorry state of the ship. You cringed, the thought of all that work you spent on repairs being undone by whatever mess Mando had gotten himself into now.
“Stars, Mando. What the fuck did you do to that ship?” you questioned as your eyes scanned him for any injuries. It was silly of you to care so much about his well being–especially considering how well he could hold himself in a fight–but it didn’t stop you from worrying.
That’s when you noticed it. The satchel at his side holding something–or rather someone. Your eyes widened at the big brown eyes looking up at you, a soft coo leaving its little mouth. Mando tilted his helmet towards his satchel, lightly stroking the creature's big green ears before his visor fixed on you again.
“Mando, what the fuck,” you gasped, mouth hanging open in shock.
Mando shifted slightly, his broad shoulders stiffening as though bracing for your reaction. “It’s... complicated,” he said, his voice flat but with the faintest hint of hesitation.
You blinked, your gaze bouncing between him and the small green creature nestled in the satchel. It blinked back at you, wide-eyed and unassuming, as if this whole situation wasn’t entirely bizarre. “Complicated? Mando, this isn’t a blown hyperdrive or a cracked hull—it’s a kid.”
“I’m aware,” he replied dryly, adjusting the satchel as if to shield the child from your scrutiny.
Your mind reeled as you tried to piece together what you were seeing. You stepped closer, peering up into his inscrutable helmet. “So… what? You’re babysitting now?”
A soft coo from the child drew your attention, and you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. It was absurd, really—the hardened bounty hunter with a baby in tow. But when you looked back at him, something about the way he stood there, tense and guarded, made the smile fade.
“This isn’t permanent,” he said finally, his voice low. “I just need to keep him safe. For now.”
The weight in his tone struck a chord, and you realized this wasn’t just some odd detour for him. Whatever had brought Mando to your door wasn’t a simple favor or a quick repair. It was bigger than that—dangerous.
“Safe from what?” you asked, your voice softening.
He hesitated, and you saw his gloved hand flex at his side before he finally spoke. “The ones who want him back.”
Your stomach sank as the implications hit you. If someone was after the kid, it meant trouble—and a lot of it. “Kriff,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “You’re telling me you’ve got people hunting you now?”
“Yes,” Mando said, his voice steady but heavy with tension. His gloved hand rested lightly on the edge of the workbench, his helmet dipping slightly toward you. “And they’re not going to stop.”
Crossing your arms, you looked up at Mando with a frustrated look in your eyes, clearly not satisfied with the vague answers he was giving you. He sighed, knowing you wouldn't give this up, and briefly told you of how he and the kid crossed paths.
You glanced down at the child, who blinked up at you with big, curious eyes, a soft coo escaping his tiny mouth. It was impossible to stay mad with that face looking at you, even if the mess they’d brought to your doorstep was monumental.
“Alright,” you said with a resigned sigh, tossing the rag onto the bench. “What do you need from me?”
Mando straightened slightly, his presence somehow more commanding even in the cramped space of the shop. “I need you to watch him,” he said, nodding toward the child. “And fix the ship.” His helmet turned back toward you, and though you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt the weight of his gaze. “I’ll take care of the ones after us.”
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “Take care of them how?”
“I’ll find them before they find him,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious answer in the galaxy.
You blinked at him, your irritation softening into reluctant admiration. Of course, that was his plan. Run headfirst into danger to protect the kid, with no thought for himself. It was infuriatingly… noble.
“Right,” you said, exhaling sharply. “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to go off and hunt these people down, while I babysit and patch up the flying death trap you call a ship?”
His helmet tilted slightly. “That’s the idea.”
You shook your head, muttering under your breath, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “And here I thought this was going to be a quiet day.”
“Quiet’s overrated,” he said, the barest hint of dry humor threading through his tone.
You snorted despite yourself, grabbing a set of tools from the workbench. “You’re lucky I’m a soft touch, Mando. You owe me. Big time.”
He didn’t respond to that, but the tilt of his helmet lingered on you for just a beat longer than necessary, as if he wanted to say something but decided against it. Instead, he stepped back, his hand resting briefly on the child’s pod.
“I won’t be gone long,” he said, his voice quieter now.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you shot back lightly, though the pang of worry in your chest betrayed your teasing tone.
Mando nodded once before turning to leave, his armor clinking softly as he moved. The child let out a curious coo, his big eyes following Mando until the door shut behind him.
You sighed, looking down at the little green bundle of chaos. “Looks like it’s just you and me, kid,” you muttered, reaching out to pat his tiny head. Then, with a glance out the window at the battered Razor Crest, you grabbed your tools and got to work.
You’d thought the babysitting would be an easy job. You thought the kid would sit in the corner, playing with whatever scrap metal he found while you worked on the Crest. Boy, were you wrong.
It started innocently enough. The kid had perched himself near the workbench, happily clutching his favorite metal ball from the Razor Crest’s lever. You’d thought, Great, he’s occupied. But the moment you turned your back to start on the ship’s mangled stabilizers, the little gremlin had somehow waddled over to a pile of tools, his tiny hands reaching for a wrench twice his size.
“No, no, no,” you muttered, rushing over and scooping him up before he could topple into the mess. He cooed at you, his big brown eyes wide and innocent, as if he hadn’t just been caught trying to cause chaos.
You set him back near his pod, this time surrounding him with a makeshift barricade of crates and spare parts. “Stay,” you instructed firmly, pointing a finger at him. He blinked up at you, looking entirely unimpressed, and you couldn’t help but laugh.
Satisfied he was contained, you turned your attention back to the Razor Crest, only to hear the unmistakable clang of something hitting the floor. Spinning around, you saw the kid holding a hydrospanner he’d somehow managed to grab from your toolbox, despite the barricade.
“Are you serious?” you groaned, snatching the tool from his little hands. He let out a disgruntled squeak, as if offended by your intervention.
This back-and-forth went on for what felt like hours. No matter where you put him or what distractions you offered—scrap parts, shiny bolts, even your own spare tools—he always found a way to escape and make a beeline for whatever could cause the most trouble.
Eventually, you admitted defeat. “Alright, fine,” you huffed, eyeing him as he sat on the floor, gnawing on a piece of wiring. “You win, kid.”
Desperate for a solution, you rummaged through your scrap pile until you found a long piece of fabric. It was a little dusty and frayed at the edges, but it would do. With a few quick knots and some adjustments, you fashioned it into a makeshift sling.
“Okay, little troublemaker,” you muttered, scooping him up and settling him into the sling. He looked up at you, blinking curiously as you secured him against your chest. “This way, I can keep an eye on you and actually get some work done.”
To your surprise, he seemed to like it. He snuggled against you with a contented coo, one tiny hand clutching your shirt as the other held his precious metal ball.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you murmured, shaking your head as you grabbed your tools and got back to work.
With the kid securely in the sling, things were… marginally easier. Sure, he still reached for anything shiny within arm’s length, and you had to be extra careful with your tools, but at least he wasn’t wandering off or attempting to dismantle your entire workshop.
As you worked on patching up the ship’s stabilizers, you found yourself talking to him without even thinking about it. “This stabilizer’s a mess,” you muttered, adjusting the sling slightly. “Mando really did a number on it this time. Honestly, I don’t know how this ship is still flying.”
The kid responded with a soft coo, his big eyes watching you intently as if he understood every word.
“Yeah, I know,” you said, glancing down at him with a small smile. “You’re probably used to this kind of chaos, huh? Well, don’t get too comfortable. I’m not planning on making this a habit.”
He let out a tiny, happy sound, and you couldn’t help but laugh.
“Alright, fine,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Maybe it’s not so bad having you around. But don’t tell Mando I said that, okay?”
The kid blinked up at you, his expression as innocent as ever, and you swore you saw a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.
The clatter of metal sounding from your shop made you halt your tinkering. Sure, Mando had been gone a while, and probably should’ve been back by now, but he was composed and careful. He never would’ve knocked something over in your shop. Goosebumps appeared on the surface of your skin, the threat of some unknown person creeping around your shop alerting all your senses.
You reached for the blade strapped to your thigh, silently cursing yourself for leaving your blaster locked in a drawer on your workbench. Were the people who were after the kid here to take him? You placed the kid in his pod before turning towards the building.
Silently, you made your way to the entrance of your shop, your hands shaking slightly as you pressed yourself against the wall, listening for any signs of trouble.
The sound of another clatter echoed through the shop, sharper this time, like tools hitting the floor. Your heart pounded in your chest as you gripped the hilt of your blade tighter. The shadows in the dim light of the shop played tricks on your eyes, stretching and shifting as you tried to steady your breathing.
A muffled voice—low and gruff—reached your ears, confirming your worst fear. Someone was in your shop.
The kid let out a faint coo from his pod, and you whipped your head around to shush him, your finger pressed to your lips. “Stay quiet,” you whispered, barely audible. His wide eyes blinked at you, and you prayed he understood.
Drawing a deep breath, you crept forward, the cold metal of your blade reassuring in your hand. You could make out faint footsteps now, moving further into the shop. Whoever it was, they didn’t seem to be in any hurry. That wasn’t a good sign.
You rounded the corner slowly, keeping your steps light, your back pressed against the wall. When the intruder finally came into view, your stomach sank. It wasn’t just one person—it was two. Both were heavily armed, with blasters holstered at their sides and rifles slung across their backs. Their armor was mismatched and worn, but their movements were confident, predatory.
“Check the back,” one of them barked, his voice grating and impatient. The other nodded and began heading toward the rear of the shop—toward the Razor Crest.
Kriff.
Your mind raced. If they got anywhere near the kid, it would be over. You needed to act, but taking on two armed bounty hunters with nothing but a blade was suicide.
Suddenly, an idea struck you. It wasn’t much, but it was all you had.You waited for the first hunter to disappear further into the shop, his boots echoing faintly as he moved toward the back. The second hunter, a stocky figure with a jagged scar running down the side of his face, lingered near your workbench, scanning the room. His back was to you.
This was your chance.
Quietly, you shifted the kid’s pod further into the shadows and gripped your blade tightly. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you crept toward the hunter, careful not to make a sound.
When you were within striking distance, you sprang forward, plunging the blade into his neck. He grunted in pain, twisting toward you as he fumbled for his blaster, but you yanked the weapon from his holster before he could grab it. With a sharp shove, you sent him crashing into the bench, his head slamming against the edge before he slumped to the floor, motionless.
You barely had time to catch your breath before the other hunter’s voice rang out.
“Hey! Stop right there!”
You whirled around to see him at the far end of the shop, his blaster already raised. Without thinking, you dove behind a stack of crates as the first shot sizzled past your ear.
Blaster fire erupted, and you returned fire, your hands shaking as you squeezed the trigger. The noise was deafening in the enclosed space, sparks flying as shots struck metal and ricocheted wildly.
The hunter was relentless, his shots forcing you to stay pinned behind the crates. You peeked out just long enough to fire back, but your aim was far from precise. The tension built as the seconds ticked by, the energy pack in your stolen blaster rapidly depleting.
Finally, the unmistakable sound of a weapon sputtering signaled the hunter’s blaster running dry. You tried to fire again, only to hear the same disheartening click from your own weapon.
Great. Just great.
Panic clawed at your chest as you scrambled to come up with a plan. You glanced toward the Razor Crest—so close, yet so far. The kid’s pod was still tucked in the shadows where you’d left it, but you couldn’t leave him here.
You moved cautiously, trying to stay hidden as you made your way toward the ship. You'd find a better weapon on the Crest and then come back for the kid. The shop was eerily quiet now, save for the sound of your own ragged breathing. You were almost there, the Razor Crest’s ramp in sight, when a rough hand grabbed you from behind and slammed you to the ground.
The impact knocked the wind out of you, and before you could react, the hunter was on top of you, his hand clamping around your throat.
“You thought you could take us out?” he snarled, his grip tightening. “Big mistake.”
You clawed at his hand, gasping for air as your vision blurred. Desperation took over, and you thrashed beneath him, your hands fumbling for anything to defend yourself with. But he was too strong, his weight pinning you down as darkness crept in at the edges of your vision.
Then, a sharp, sudden whizz cut through the air, followed by the heavy thud of the hunter’s body collapsing on top of you. His grip on your throat loosened, and you shoved him off with a gasp, coughing as you struggled to sit up.
Your blurry vision cleared just enough to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway, his blaster still raised. The Mandalorian.
He strode toward you, his movements quick and purposeful. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice steady but with an edge of concern.
You shook your head, still catching your breath. “I’m—fine,” you managed to croak, though your throat ached and your heart was still pounding.
Mando’s visor tilted down to the kid’s pod, which had rolled out of its hiding spot in the chaos. The child cooed softly, seemingly unbothered by the commotion.
Mando turned back to you. “Get him on the ship,” he ordered. “Now.”
You nodded, scrambling to your feet as he turned toward the doorway, his blaster ready for any more threats.
The kid’s pod glided up the Razor Crest’s ramp, its quiet hum the only reprieve in the cacophony of chaos around you. Your hands shook as you secured him in the ship’s hold, glancing back toward the shop’s entrance where shouts and sporadic blaster fire echoed in the distance.
You exhaled sharply. This wasn’t over. Not even close.
There was no time to waste. You darted back down the ramp and toward the exterior hull of the Razor Crest, scanning for the damage you hadn’t had time to address earlier. The scorch marks along the port engine told you everything you needed to know. That engine wouldn’t make it through hyperspace—not in its current state.
You grabbed your toolkit and scrambled onto the hull, nearly slipping as adrenaline and panic coursed through your veins. Shouts grew louder, closer. You could hear the unmistakable hiss and pop of blaster fire—Mando was holding them off, but for how long?
Your hands worked as quickly as they could, tightening bolts, rerouting power lines, and sealing cracks with a welding torch. Sparks flew as you worked, the harsh light illuminating the frantic expression on your face.
“Come on, come on,” you muttered under your breath, wiping sweat from your brow with a grease-streaked hand.
The blaster fire outside grew louder, more rapid. A cry of pain echoed over the chaos, and you flinched, your pulse pounding in your ears. You couldn’t tell who it belonged to—Mando or one of the bounty hunters—but you didn’t dare look.
A warning beep sounded from your wrist comm. The ship’s diagnostics reported a critical error in the starboard stabilizer.
Kriff.
You slid off the hull, landing hard on your feet, and ran to the other side of the ship. The stabilizer was bent out of alignment, and you cursed under your breath as you wrenched it back into place with all your strength. Your muscles screamed in protest, but you didn’t stop.
In the distance, the sound of gunfire suddenly ceased. The silence was almost worse than the chaos, your mind racing with the possibilities of what it meant.
“Mando?” you whispered under your breath, glancing toward the shop’s entrance.
Your answer came seconds later as the man himself appeared, sprinting toward you with his blaster still in hand. His beskar armor was scorched in places, and his breathing was heavy, but he didn’t slow down.
“They’re dead,” he said sharply, his voice modulated but firm. “But more will come. A lot more.”
Your hands froze mid-motion, your heart sinking as his words hit you. “What—what do you mean?”
Mando grabbed your arm, his visor fixed on you. “You’ve been seen with me. That makes you a target.”
Panic began to rise in your chest, your breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. “I can’t—Mando, this is my home!”
“I know,” he said, his voice softer this time, but no less urgent. “It’s not safe anymore. You need to pack what you can and get on the ship. Now.”
Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as your mind raced. “I—I don’t know what to take—”
“Hey.” Mando’s hand gripped your arm tighter, grounding you. His tone was steady, even reassuring. “It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna take care of this. But we need to move. Go upstairs and get your stuff.”
His words, though brief, were enough to snap you out of your spiraling thoughts. You nodded frantically, pulling away and sprinting toward the stairs that led to your small room above the shop.
Your hands shook as you threw open drawers and grabbed clothes, tools, and whatever personal belongings you could fit into a small bag. The room, once your sanctuary, now felt stifling, like the walls were closing in on you.
The kid’s soft coos echoed faintly from below, reminding you why you couldn’t stay, why you couldn’t afford to hesitate. You shoved a photo of your old life—a younger you, covered in grease and smiling in front of the shop—into the bag before zipping it shut.
With one last look at the room that had been your home, you turned and bolted down the stairs, your heart pounding as you raced toward the Razor Crest. Mando was already at the ramp, his visor fixed on the horizon, scanning for more threats.
“Let’s go,” he said, gesturing for you to board.
You didn’t hesitate.
That was months ago.
The day you left your old life behind, running on impulse, never imagining you'd still be here—on the Razor Crest, floating from one planet to the next. You were supposed to find another place to settle, start fresh somewhere far from everything. But that had never really happened. Not with Mando around. Not with the way things had fallen into place between you two.
You never had the chance to leave, and, to be honest, you didn’t really want to.
Neither did he. Though, neither of you would ever admit it out loud. The thought of you leaving had become this quiet tension in the air whenever you got too close to speaking about it. He never pushed, and you never asked. But the way his gloved hand would brush yours when handing you tools, the way his presence seemed to fill the small space of the ship—those things said more than words ever could.
In the months that followed, you’d become a sort of permanent fixture on the Razor Crest. A mechanic, a babysitter, a companion in this strange, wandering life. You worked on the ship in between watching over the kid, fixing what needed fixing, and ensuring the Razor Crest was always ready to fly.
Mando paid you a percentage of the bounties he earned, and you used that as your excuse for staying. You were “just doing your job.”
But it wasn’t just that. You and Mando had fallen into something of an unspoken routine, a domesticity you hadn't expected but quickly came to rely on. You knew when he needed food and when he needed space. He knew when to leave you alone while you tinkered and when to offer a quiet word of encouragement or the occasional teasing comment.
His humor, once dry and almost imperceptible, was starting to show itself more. He’d crack jokes now, and it felt oddly comforting. He still kept his distance, his words few, but those moments of levity made you feel like maybe you weren't just an accessory to his mission. Maybe, just maybe, you were becoming something more.
And it hurt, in a way. Because the more time passed, the more your feelings for him grew. There was something deeper there—something more than camaraderie or just shared circumstances. But you couldn’t let him know that. You wouldn’t. The last thing you wanted was for him to take one look at you, all vulnerable and tangled up in emotions, and then kick you to the curb, dropping you off on the next planet, saying it was time to go your separate ways.
You had to keep it buried. It was safer that way. For both of you.
Still, in the quiet moments between tasks, when Mando was off somewhere dealing with a bounty or when you were fixing the ship on your own, the longing would flare up in your chest. You'd think of his quiet gestures, his rare jokes, and wonder what could be. But you'd shove it down, focusing on the ship or the kid, anything to distract you.
That didn’t stop you from fantasizing though. In the shower, your mind would always wander to him–to his teasing, his hardened exterior, to the rare moments he would take his gloves off, the flesh of his thick fingers on display for you. Only then would you slip a hand between your thighs, biting down your whimpers as your calloused fingertips circled your clit to the thought of the sliver of flesh he allowed you to see. Stars, you were like a mutt in heat.
You weren’t foolish. You knew better than to hope for something you couldn’t have. So you didn’t let yourself have hope. You decided you’d push your feelings down and continue on with this job for however long Mando would have you.
-
The hum of the Razor Crest's engines gently vibrated through the floor, but the sound of the cockpit door sliding open was enough to pull you from your spiraling thoughts of your past. You turned your attention toward the entrance, expecting to see Mando, and sure enough, he emerged, his silhouette framed by the doorway. The familiar weight of his presence filled the space.
“Strap in,” he said, his voice modulated and calm, but there was an underlying urgency in his words. "We're landing."
You blinked, momentarily confused before following him into the cockpit and taking a seat. Landing somewhere? You’d been drifting through space, the Razor Crest just a speck of metal in the endless expanse, but now he was pulling you into something new. “Why here?” you asked, crossing your arms instinctively, though it wasn’t like Mando to offer unnecessary explanations.
He didn’t turn to face you, instead reaching for a switch to adjust the ship’s descent. “I need you to stay on the ship with the kid until I come back,” he said flatly. “Don’t make yourself known.”
Your brow furrowed, and you instinctively shifted closer to him, tension building as you processed his words. “Mando, what’s going on? What’s all this about?” You were met with nothing but silence as his hand hovered over the controls, his visor giving away nothing.
“I’m not asking you to do anything,” he said, voice growing slightly firmer. “Stay inside. Stay out of sight.”
You swallowed hard, uncertainty gnawing at you, but his expression remained unchanged. You wanted to press further, but you knew better than to argue. His rules were simple: obey, or risk the consequences. He’d never put you in danger, but this—this felt different.
With a reluctant nod, you sat back, your hands instinctively reaching for the strap of your seatbelt as the ship began its descent. The thought of being left alone on the ship with just the kid, a few meters of metal between you and whatever Mando was about to face, made the hairs on your neck stand on end. Something wasn’t right, but you had no choice but to trust him.
He was already heading for the ramp before you could voice any more questions. The last thing you saw was him disappearing into the dimly lit expanse of the strange industrial ship you landed on before the hatch slammed shut behind him, leaving you with nothing but the soft gurgles of the child in the background and the distant whirring of the ship's systems.
The hum of the ship was different now—throbbing, industrial, almost foreboding. It reminded you of the kind of stations you’d passed through in your earlier years, those heavy, unwelcoming places where you’d never feel entirely safe. The interior of the ship felt cold, metallic, and clinical, the kind of place you imagined shady deals went down. You’d watched Mando as he moved about, speaking to some of the others, his posture tense, his visor fixed on everything and everyone around him.
You glanced at the kid, who was nestled in his little pod next to you, cooing softly as he fiddled with the small metal ball. His innocence, his trust in you, made everything feel that much more dangerous. Your stomach churned with a mixture of anxiety and anger.
“What the fuck has Mando gotten himself into now?” you muttered under your breath, a sense of dread settling over you. You had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t a job he could just walk away from.
The minutes dragged on, and you sat in the cockpit, trying to keep your thoughts from spiraling. You glanced at the kid again, trying to calm yourself as his big, trusting eyes met yours. You didn’t want to think about the trouble Mando had landed in, or the dangers lurking around them. But it was hard to ignore, especially as you sat there alone, waiting.
Half an hour later, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the ship, and the door to the cockpit swung open. You barely had time to react before Mando was there, grabbing you by the arm with surprising force.
“Come on,” he said, his voice clipped and urgent.
“Mando?” you started, feeling a flicker of panic. “What’s going on?”
But he didn’t answer. Instead, he practically dragged you through the narrow and cramped ship, ignoring your protests.
“What the hell are you doing?!” you hissed, trying to pull free, but he only gripped you tighter.
“Mando—seriously, what’s going on?” You struggled, trying to get some kind of explanation, but he kept walking, heading toward the back of the ship.
When you finally reached his sleeping quarters, he shoved the door open, dragging you inside.
“Stay here,” he ordered sharply. “With the kid. It’s gonna be a while, so you might as well get comfortable and sleep. Don’t come out until I tell you it’s okay.”
You stopped in your tracks, disbelief flooding your chest. “Mando, what the fuck?” you snapped, frustration bubbling over. “You better start explaining yourself right now.”
But he just brushed you off, his tone hard, like he wasn’t even going to entertain your question. “I’ll explain later. Just listen to me,” he said, his voice growing more forceful.
Before you could respond, the door was already closing in your face, and Mando was gone.
You stood there for a moment, seething, your heart pounding in your chest. “Kriffing Mandalorian…” you muttered under your breath. This was so typical of him—keep you in the dark, like you were just some bystander in his chaotic life.
Still, despite the rage burning through you, you knew better than to disobey him now. Whatever was going on, it was serious. So you sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed, trying to calm yourself. You glanced over at the kid, still blissfully unaware of the tension surrounding them.
It didn’t make sense. He promised he’d explain, but you had a feeling it was going to be a lot longer before that happened.
And that pissed you off even more.
An hour had passed, and you were still fuming. The anger, the confusion, the sense of being trapped—all of it swirled inside you, making it hard to focus. You paced around the small quarters, trying to burn off some of the frustration. You wanted to scream, to demand answers, but you knew better. Mando wasn’t going to budge until he was ready, and until then, you were stuck in his room, with nothing but your own seething thoughts for company.
Your eyes flickered to the bed. A part of you knew you wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, and if you were going to be stuck in here, you might as well make yourself comfortable. You glanced down at your mechanic clothes—dirt-streaked, sweaty, and uncomfortable—and sighed. There was no point in staying in them. But with Mando having locked you in here, your own clothes were still back on the ship, out of reach.
Frustrated, you stood up, scanning the room for anything that could be used. Your gaze landed on the drawer where he kept his few clothes. You hesitated for only a moment before walking over, your fingers trailing over the fabric of his shirts. You weren’t sure why you felt a little nervous, but you pushed the thought aside. You needed something clean, and it wasn’t like you hadn’t worn his clothes before. Your cheeks heated as you thought of the time you had to leave the fresher in just a towel to ask him for a shirt because all of your clothes were dirty.
After a moment of deliberation, you grabbed one of his shirts, large and soft-looking. You quickly stripped out of your dirty clothes and pulled his shirt over your head. The fabric was thick and worn, the hem barely covering your panty clad ass, and the smell of him hit you immediately—earthy, leather, and something distinctly Mando. You froze for a moment, the scent making your chest tighten, heat rising to your cheeks.
It was just a shirt. Just a shirt.
But it felt like more. You pulled the fabric down, letting it drape over your body, and as you did, the soft cotton brushed against your bare skin, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. It was so different from your usual work clothes, so much softer, so much… him. Your breath caught in your throat as you stood there, suddenly aware of the fact that you were standing in his bedroom wearing his clothes, all of it feeling far too intimate for your liking.
Your thoughts wandered, and before you could stop yourself, you imagined what it would be like for him to see you like this, in his clothes, the smell of him all around you. Your mind flashed to the moments you tried to ignore—his gloved hands brushing yours, the teasing comments that made your stomach flutter, the times your eyes lingered on the way his armor shifted with his movements.
You quickly snapped yourself out of it. “Focus,” you muttered under your breath. You had more important things to think about than some ridiculous fantasy.
You glanced down at the kid’s pod. He was still sleeping, the small form curled up in his blankets. You smiled softly at him before walking over and quietly closing the pod, making sure he was settled for his nap. You needed to distract yourself, so you decided to climb into Mando’s bed, but not before strapping your blade to your bare thigh–just to ease the paranoid feeling in your chest.
It felt strange, unfamiliar, but there was comfort in it. You pulled the covers up around you, feeling the warmth of the bed seep into your bones, and before you knew it, your eyes drifted shut.
The soft hum of the ship, the muffled sounds of the engine, and the occasional clink of metal from somewhere in the hall lulled you into a deep sleep.
But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming, your paranoia fueled dreams filled with nightmares of Mando in trouble.
Mando’s secret, whatever he was caught up in, was far from over, and you weren’t going to sit idly by much longer. You had to be ready when the time came. But for now, you let yourself rest, hoping sleep would give you the answers that Mando wouldn’t.
You woke up a few hours later, your body stiff and groggy from sleep. The soft hum of the Razor Crest and the quiet whirring of the kid’s pod were the only sounds filling the otherwise still room. You blinked, rubbing your eyes as you tried to shake off the lingering fog of sleep. The kid was still nestled in his pod, curled up in the corner, his small chest rising and falling rhythmically. You closed his pod, not wanting to disturb his nap.
You let out a quiet sigh, stretching your limbs before you reached for your holopad. You were trying to distract yourself, keep your mind off what had just happened, and the nagging sense of unease that had settled deep in your chest. You flicked the holopad on, scrolling through schematics and plans for the ship—small upgrades here and there. The kid, the trapped feeling of being stuck in Mando’s room, and whatever Mando had gotten himself into were all still there, lingering in your thoughts, but you tried to push them aside for the moment.
But just as you were about to get lost in the designs, the door slid open with a sudden hiss. Your heart stopped for a moment, and you immediately shot to your feet, your hand instinctively going to the blade still strapped to your thigh. Your pulse quickened as you tried to get a read on the situation. Your eyes widened as you saw a group of figures standing in the doorway. You recognized none of them, but the sight of them immediately put you on edge.
There was a tall, scruffy-looking man who stood a little too confidently, his arms crossed over his chest. Behind him was a twi’lek woman in dark clothes, her stance aggressive and assertive. Next to them, a Devaronian with a thick, muscular build and sharp, menacing horns stood with his arms crossed. And then, there was the droid—shiny and polished, but with an unmistakable, almost robotic indifference to everything around it.
They all froze when they saw you standing there in Mando’s shirt, the fabric hanging loosely around your frame, and nothing else but your panties and the holster with your blade strapped to your thigh. You had no choice but to stand there, caught off guard and feeling exposed, like a deer in headlights.
A soft whistle came from one of the men—the scruffy one. “Well, well, what have we here?”
You immediately stiffened, your jaw clenching in irritation at the obvious look of interest in his eyes. You knew exactly where this was going. It wasn’t just the way he looked at you—it was in the way he spoke. You didn’t like it one bit.
Before you could respond, Mando’s helmet snapped toward the man with a sharpness you hadn’t seen before. The tension in the room skyrocketed as he moved toward the doorway, his posture aggressive. His voice was low, almost growling as he addressed the man.
“Keep your eyes to yourself,” Mando said coldly, his tone carrying a warning that left no room for argument.
The man didn’t say anything, but the expression on his face told you he wasn’t pleased by the command. He looked like he was going to retort, but then, the Twi’lek woman standing behind him spoke up, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Well, well, Mando. Who’s this?” she said with a mocking smile, her bright eyes narrowing as she looked you up and down. “I didn’t realize you kept pets on the ship.”
You felt a surge of heat in your chest at her words, the insult hanging heavy in the air. You weren’t anyone’s pet—least of all Mando’s. You couldn’t hold back the anger that bubbled up, your hands clenching into fists as you glared at the Twi’lek.
“I am none of your fucking business,” you snapped, voice dripping with contempt. “Who the fuck are you?”
The woman didn’t flinch. If anything, she seemed to take delight in your reaction. Her smile only widened, her posture even more arrogant now. “I’m just curious about who Mando’s letting on his ship these days. Not everyone gets the privilege.”
You felt the heat of your anger rising, each word she spoke only fanning the flames. The tension between the two of you was palpable, the unspoken challenge hanging in the air as she watched you closely, almost daring you to react.
“Well, it’s not your concern,” you spat, your voice as sharp as a blade.
Her lips curled into a smirk, and she leaned in just slightly. “Oh, I think it is.”
You could feel her goading you, trying to get under your skin. And she was succeeding. You stood there, seething, ready to snap. This was not the time to back down.
The Twi’lek woman’s eyes gleamed with a mischievous spark as she leaned forward, her voice dripping with malice. “I see why Mando keeps you around,” she purred, glancing you up and down again, her words cutting like a knife. “Must be nice to have a pretty little thing to play with… I didn’t realize he had a taste for whores.”
The words cut through you like a vibroblade, sharper and more personal than you anticipated. A flush of heat spread across your face, not from embarrassment, but from sheer, unadulterated rage. This bitch. The audacity. The way her eyes lingered on you made it feel like you were exposed, like she could see every inch of your skin, and she didn’t even care about the weight of her insult.
You felt your pulse spike, your body tensing as the anger coiled inside you. Without thinking, your hand moved to the knife at your thigh, your fingers curling around the hilt of it. The impulse was immediate and intense—shut her up, make her regret those words—and your instincts took over. You yanked the blade free, your heart hammering as you lunged at her, your movements fueled by a desperate need for retaliation.
But before you could get within arm’s reach of the smug Twi’lek woman, you felt a forceful grip around your waist. You barely had time to register the movement before you were yanked off the ground, lifted effortlessly as if you weighed nothing. Your legs instinctively wrapped around the person who caught you, your body pressed against their chest.
Mando. Of course.
His strong arm held you in place, cradling you with a level of ease that made your head spin. You could feel his armor-clad body against yours, his heat radiating through the layers of metal. His grip on your arm tightened, pulling your knife hand away from the Twi’lek woman as he murmured in your ear, his voice low and unyielding. “I don’t like this as much as you do,” he said, his words steady and calm despite the chaos of the situation. “But I need you to trust me… and behave.”
His other hand slid under you, lifting you higher, and suddenly, your legs were wrapped tightly around him, your body pressed flush against his. You couldn’t help the shiver that raced up your spine at the feeling of his strength. The way he held you, with such casual confidence, sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. You hadn’t realized just how strong he was—how capable—until now. He was holding you like it was nothing, like you were weightless in his grasp.
For a split second, your mind went completely blank, overwhelmed by the heat of the situation and the proximity of his body. His gloved hand brushed over the bare skin of your thigh as he effortlessly disarmed you, slipping the knife back into its holster.
You tried to focus, tried to ignore the way your pulse quickened and your breath caught in your throat, but it was impossible. The heat curling low in your belly was undeniable. His body was pressed so close to yours, the firm outline of his armor against your skin sending a wave of desire through you. You felt it in every nerve, every inch of your body—his strength, his control, his scent mixed with the sterile, metallic smell of his armor.
Get it together, you silently told yourself. This is not the time for this.
You forced your mind back to reality, but that didn’t stop the heat building in your chest. You were angry. Angry at the way the Twi’lek woman spoke to you, angry at Mando for not telling you about the kind of people he associated with, and now… you were angry at yourself for the way your body reacted to Mando’s proximity.
You gritted your teeth, your breath uneven as you glared at him. “Fine,” you bit out, your voice tight, but still laced with frustration. “But we’re having a conversation about this later.”
Mando’s helmet angled down toward you, his posture still as rigid as ever, but there was something in the way he held you that was… different. His hand lingered on your thigh for a moment longer than necessary, as if he was aware of the effect his touch had on you. He said nothing, but the silent understanding between the two of you was palpable. He was warning you, but not in a way that felt threatening. He wasn’t going to let you do anything rash, but he also wasn’t dismissing your emotions.
For a second, you thought you saw something flicker in his stance—something that felt almost… personal. No, you were imagining things–being hopeful. You had to put a stop to these feelings.
Mando put you back on your feet, though his hand slid up to your waist where it stayed. You tried not to let the contact fluster you.
The Twi’lek woman’s sharp, mocking voice broke the silence.“Didn’t take long for him to claim his territory, huh?” she sneered, clearly amused by the entire situation.
You wanted nothing more than to scream at her, to make her understand that you were not some prize to be claimed. But Mando’s grip on you was unwavering, and as much as your chest burned with the desire to lash out, you knew you had to hold your ground. You were mad. So mad. But you did trust him. You had to, even if it was hard to ignore the simmering resentment that had started to build.
And yet… you couldn’t help but feel that familiar pang of something else whenever he was close. The heat in your chest, the pulse of desire that wouldn’t die down no matter how much you tried to suppress it.
Mando didn’t look at the woman, didn’t address her taunts, but he was done with her blatant disrespect towards you. His helmet snapped toward her mercilessly, and his voice, cold and firm, rang out. “Enough, Xi’An.”
The Twi’lek’s smirk faltered for a second, but she only laughed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please. Like I’m scared of you, Mando.”
You bit your lip, feeling your face flush with the rush of emotions flooding through you—rage, frustration, and something darker that you couldn’t quite name. You wanted to scream at both of them, but instead, you clenched your fists and fought back the urge to lash out. This wasn’t how you imagined today going.
The ship suddenly lurched violently, throwing you and the others in the ship off balance. The abruptness of it sent your body into a panic, your instincts kicking in. Before you could even process the sudden movement, the world tilted, and you found yourself tumbling forward.
You didn’t even have time to brace yourself. The floor came rushing at you, but before you hit it, a pair of strong arms caught you, lifting you effortlessly into the air. You gasped as you were pulled against a hard, armored chest, your heart racing from both the shock of the lurch and the overwhelming proximity to Mando. His body was like a rock against yours, the heat radiating through his armor making your already flushed skin burn hotter. You barely had time to register the way his arms wrapped around you, holding you close, before you were on the ground, his weight coming down on top of you as he shielded you with his own body.
“Easy,” he murmured, his voice calm, even though the ship continued to shudder beneath you.
You were frozen for a moment, your chest pressed to his, your body pinned beneath the weight of his armored form. His helmet loomed above you, a protective barrier between you and everything else, and yet it felt strangely intimate. The way he held you was possessive, urgent, as if he were determined to shield you from any harm—no matter the cost. His gloved hands braced on either side of your head, his body still covering yours as the ship continued to shudder, throwing the others in the ship around from the turbulence.
Your breath hitched as the full reality of the situation washed over you. You were under him, pinned by his bulk, and his body was pressed so intimately against yours that you could feel the hard edges of his armor in places that left you breathless. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythms, and your heart beat eratically. The heat between the two of you was almost unbearable, your legs still trapped beneath him, your body pressed tightly against his in ways that sent shivers down your spine.
Mando’s voice, low and gravelly, broke the tension. “You’re alright,” he murmured softly, his gloved hand sliding from the floor, brushing against your arm as he made sure you were stable. He seemed almost… tender in that moment, as though the concern for your safety was as real as the weight of his body on top of you.
For a second, you didn’t know how to react. Your body was still pressed against his, every inch of you aware of how close you were, and the intensity of the moment sent a wave of heat crashing through you. The way he held you, the way his body moved with yours, had you feeling almost helpless in his arms—and you couldn’t decide if you hated or loved the feeling.
Your pulse raced—not from fear, but from something else. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge. The magnetic pull between you and him was undeniable, and you tried to push it down, tried to focus on the situation at hand.
The ship shuddered again, but Mando didn’t budge. His body remained a solid barrier over yours, the press of his weight keeping you grounded. The Twi’lek woman’s laughter cut through the air, but it felt distant now, like background noise compared to the electric current between you and Mando.
For a moment, the world outside of you and him faded. All you could hear was his steady breathing and the rapid pulse that thrummed between the two of you. Every inch of your body was acutely aware of his, and that undeniable heat curled low in your belly.
He was still on top of you, and the temptation to lean into him, to feel the raw intensity of the situation, was almost too strong to resist. You could feel the weight of his body, the power in his frame, and you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining how it would feel if you were pinned down under different circumstances, the feeling of Mando’s bare hands pinning your wrists above you as he thrusted deep inside of yo–Get a grip, you thought to yourself, shoving that thought down as fast as it came.
Mando’s helmet shifted slightly, his visor meeting your gaze. His gloved hands moved from the ground to your waist, a reassuring touch—though it wasn’t gentle. The way he had you under his control, even in this chaotic moment, made it hard to focus on anything other than the sheer closeness between you.
“We’ll be landing soon. There is just some minor turbulence,” the metallic voice of the droid chirped.
The ship lurched again, but it barely registered. Your mind was consumed by the feeling of Mando above you, his body pressing into you with an almost unnatural force. And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability as he held you there, even as you hated it. The way his presence was all-encompassing, grounding you in a way that left you feeling both safe and exposed at the same time. You had no idea how to navigate it, how to balance the raw tension with the danger of the situation.
His gloved hand brushed against your skin once more, and the quiet moment stretched between you like a taut wire, the atmosphere charged with something you didn’t know how to name. His touch lingered at your waist just a moment too long, as though he was trying to gauge whether you were okay—or maybe trying to pull back, just in case you weren’t. But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him off. You didn’t want to.
Finally, as the ship’s movements slowed, Mando shifted off of you, but not without that final lingering touch. It was almost possessive, his palm brushing your skin, sending a jolt through you. He didn’t say a word, though, just helped you to your feet, his hand steady at your back as you stood. But the distance between you both felt heavier than it should have, as if the silence stretched between you two with a weight that was more than just the aftermath of turbulence.
You didn’t meet his gaze immediately. Instead, you stood there, trying to calm the pounding in your chest, but the words came out before you could stop them. “Don’t ever do that again.”
The moment your words left your lips, you felt the shift. His posture stiffened, and for the briefest moment, you saw the flicker of something in the way his body tensed. Maybe it was the way he didn’t look at you. Maybe it was the slight hesitation before he helped you up. Whatever it was, it caught you off guard. It made you second-guess the sharpness of your tone, but it also made something twist uncomfortably in your chest.
You could feel the air between you change, thick with unspoken things. Was it embarrassment? Guilt? Was he angry? You couldn’t tell, but something in the way he held back now made you feel even more uncertain than before.
He helped you to your feet, guiding you down the narrow hallway, and despite the tense silence, there was an undeniable closeness between you both. The air still felt heavy with everything that had just happened. His gloved hand brushed against your bare skin, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine, but he didn’t linger on it.
“Sorry…” he muttered, his voice almost too quiet to hear. His tone didn’t carry any weight of guilt, just an acknowledgment that hung in the air between you like an unspoken understanding. He didn’t dwell on it, and neither did you. It was easier to pretend it hadn’t shaken you, easier to ignore the way your pulse still raced from the moments that had passed.
You both moved in sync toward the sleeping quarters, the weight of the earlier tension still present but unspoken. Mando didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. Neither of you had the words for it just yet, but you both knew things had shifted.
What was this? You didn’t know.
But there was one thing you were sure of.
You were in way over your head.
As you entered the sleeping quarters, Mando moved with purpose, glancing over at the child’s pod. The little one was still asleep, his rhythmic breathing soft and steady. A small, reassuring weight lifted off your chest at the sight of him, but the rest of your body was still tense—still filled with the residual heat and anger from the scene with the Twi’lek woman.
Mando moved toward the child’s pod, checking the controls and making sure everything was functioning as it should. The last thing you wanted was for the kid to be disturbed. After all, he had been through enough.
He stood over the pod for a moment, his back to you, and you took that brief moment to compose yourself, trying to ignore the tumultuous thoughts swirling in your head. You needed space, and right now, Mando was giving you none.
Once he was satisfied that the kid was fine, Mando shut the pod with a soft hiss, turning to face you. His helmet was angled in such a way that you couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel the weight of his gaze. He stepped toward you, his movements still deliberate, his presence still suffocating.
“We need to make sure the kid stays out of sight from the others,” Mando said, his voice low, but not unkind. “It’s gonna get a little rough out there. I need you to trust me.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but he interrupted you, holding a hand up. “Look, I’ll explain everything in a minute. I just need you to stay here for now, get dressed. I might need you to pilot the ship or handle something else once we’re out of here.”
The order was clear, but there was something about his tone that made it feel like more of a plea than a command. He wasn’t asking for your help, not exactly. He was telling you to stay put, but it wasn’t with the usual coldness you’d come to expect. It was… softer. And that made your pulse quicken all over again.
Still, you were pissed. The situation was still a mess, and you hadn’t forgotten about the way the Twi’lek woman had looked at you, her sneering words still echoing in your mind. You wanted answers, and you weren’t sure when you were going to get them.
But Mando wasn’t done. He took a step closer, his gloved hand resting on your shoulder for just a second, like he was trying to comfort you, but you weren’t sure if it was working.
“We’re going to be breaking Xi’An’s brother out of a prison ship,” he said quickly, his words cutting through the quiet of the room. “The job’s straightforward—get in, get him out, and get out. But things might get tricky. There’s a lot at stake here, and you need to be ready for anything.”
You nodded, absorbing the information. A prison break, of course. That was what this was all about. You had assumed something shady was going on, but you hadn’t expected the situation to be this complicated.
Mando shifted uncomfortably, his helmet remaining fixed in your direction, and he continued, voice more commanding now. “Once we break out Xi’An’s brother, I’ll need you to pilot the ship. I’ll be in and out of there quickly, but you’re going to have to move fast to get us out of there when the time comes.”
He paused for a moment, his helmet still angled toward you, as though considering something for a brief second. “You can handle that, right?”
The question was direct, but there was something in his voice that almost sounded like concern, though you couldn’t be sure. You weren’t exactly keen on being left behind to do the heavy lifting of a prison break, but you understood why he had to ask. You gave him a firm nod, your lips pressing into a thin line.
“Yeah, I’ve got it covered,” you replied, voice tight but determined.
Mando’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but he didn’t make any move to leave. Instead, there was a slight hesitation in the air, a shift that made your pulse quicken without quite knowing why. It was almost as if he was gathering his thoughts, trying to find the right words. Then, without warning, his voice came out in a low, gravelly tone.
“You…” He trailed off, his tone softer than you’d heard it before. “You look good in my shirt.”
The words hung in the air, completely unexpected and far more intimate than you were ready for. Your mouth opened, as if to respond, but before you could get a single word out, Mando had already turned toward the door, his heavy steps carrying him toward the exit.
“Get dressed,” he called over his shoulder, his voice now back to its usual no-nonsense tone. “We don’t have much time.”
The door slid shut behind him, leaving you standing there in stunned silence, the weight of his words still sinking in. Your heart was thudding in your chest, your mind racing. Did he mean that? Or was it just a passing comment?
You stared at the door, trying to gather your thoughts, but the confusion mixed with something else—something hotter that made your skin flush as you realized just how close you were to him. How dangerously close.
Shaking your head, you turned to the small corner of the room where your clothes had been discarded. You couldn’t focus on that right now. You had a job to do. You had to keep your head straight, get into the right mindset, and be ready for whatever came next.
But still, his words kept ringing in your ears, and the heat in your chest refused to go away.
You quickly changed into your clothes, trying to push aside the lingering tension. You didn’t have time for this. The mission was more important.
At least, that’s what you told yourself.
You finished dressing and took a steadying breath, ready to move on and do what Mando had asked. But as you stepped toward the door, ready to follow through on the task ahead, the thought of his voice and his words wouldn’t leave you.
And that was the problem. You watched as Mando left with the group, jittery with both nerves and the heat of Mando’s words. And so you waited.
-
Two hours. It had been two hours since Mando had told you to wait on the ship. Two hours of pacing, of turning over every possible scenario in your mind, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and why Mando still hadn’t returned. You couldn’t sit still anymore. You had to move.
The comm came through suddenly, breaking the silence and jolting you from your thoughts.
“Listen to me,” Mando’s voice crackled through the comms, calm but laced with a tension that sent a chill down your spine. “It’s a setup. They trapped me somewhere. I need you to stay put and stay on the ship. I’m going to get out.”
Your heart stopped in your chest. A trap? You didn’t care about anything other than finding him, making sure he was safe.
“No. Mando, I’m coming for you. I can’t just sit here,” you practically shouted at the comm, the panic starting to rise in your throat.
“Calm down,” he said, his voice a little firmer now. “Stay on the ship. You’re no good to me if you get caught out there too. I’ll handle it. Just wait, and I’ll be out before you know it.”
You ground your teeth, frustration boiling inside you. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to do something, anything, to go and find him. But he was right. He was capable of handling himself, and if you went out there now, you might only make things worse.
Reluctantly, you agreed. “Fine. But you better get out of there fast.”
You kept pacing, watching the time tick by, anxiety growing like a fire in your chest. You couldn’t just sit here, helpless. The minutes dragged on, each one worse than the last, and soon enough, your decision was made.
Fuck it. You couldn’t wait anymore.
You slipped off the ship, moving swiftly and silently through the corridors of the massive vessel. You didn’t even know where you were headed, just that you had to find Mando, to make sure he was okay. Your pulse was racing as you crept along, every sound sending a jolt of adrenaline through you.
You dispatched a guard droid with ease, your blade cutting through its systems like butter, but still, the ship felt too quiet. Too empty. The hum of the vessel’s engines was the only sound you could hear now, and even that felt distant, like the ship was alive and yet disconnected from you. Every step you took felt heavier, as though the darkness pressing in around you was suffocating, tightening around your chest. The only thing louder than the silence was the erratic beat of your own heart.
The light flickered, casting long, eerie shadows along the metal walls, and then, with a shudder that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, the lights went out. Just like that. A sudden, suffocating darkness swallowed you whole.
Your breath caught in your throat. You froze, eyes adjusting to the blackness, the low hum of your commlink the only weak point of light in this endless expanse. The cold air seemed to press in on you, the ship’s metallic bones groaning as it shifted. You felt utterly alone in the dark, every step you took seeming to echo in your ears. The stillness was almost worse than the chaos. It had that dead, hollow quality that made your skin crawl, and every single nerve screamed at you to stop, to turn around, to run back to the ship and wait for Mando.
But you couldn’t. Not now. Not when you were this close.
Then, a sound—footsteps—just at the edge of hearing. Too light, too quick, but unmistakable. Someone was out there.
You pressed yourself into the shadows, your pulse rising as your fingers curled tighter around your knife. Your heart hammered in your chest, adrenaline rushing through your veins, but you told yourself to stay calm. Stay sharp.
The footsteps grew louder, closer. Whoever it was, they were moving fast. Too fast.
And then, he appeared. A silhouette in the dark, moving like he knew exactly where you were, his boots echoing against the cold floor. You didn’t have time to think—your body reacted on instinct. You rushed forward, knife raised, ready to strike, but you weren’t fast enough.
He was on you before you could land the blow. His weight crashed into you, knocking the air from your lungs as he shoved you to the ground. The cold, unforgiving floor of the ship met your back with a brutal thud, the impact stealing your breath.
Panic flooded your system, your heart pounding louder than the thud of your fall. Your hands flew to the knife, but he was too strong. His grip tightened around your wrists, forcing your arms above your head. You thrashed beneath him, desperate to break free, but the more you fought, the more he pushed you down, his body pressing on top of yours.
You could feel his breath on your face, heavy and labored, and all you could think about was the knife—his knife—now pressed against your throat. Cold steel kissed your skin, and the weight of it made your throat tighten. You couldn’t get a proper breath. Couldn’t think.
“Stay still,” he growled, the knife digging a little deeper. “Don’t make this harder on yourself.”
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. You weren’t going to give him that. Not when you still had a chance to fight. You twisted beneath him, trying to free your legs, but they were trapped under his body. You were pinned.
No escape.
You felt the panic rising in your chest like a tidal wave, clawing at your throat, making it hard to breathe. The edge of the knife pressed against your skin, just waiting for the wrong move.
And then—your mind snapped to him.
Mando.
The thought came out of nowhere, like an instinct, something that was just so ingrained in you that it was impossible to ignore. You thought about him. About the way he always seemed to have your back, the way he had your trust. Your thoughts flickered to the kid—his smile, his laugh. You’d never see him again. You’d never get to tell Mando how you felt, never get the chance to be with him.
This was it. You were going to die here, on this ship, in the dark, with a blade at your throat. And you hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell Mando that you cared.
A broken, almost hysterical laugh bubbled up from your chest. It felt so unfair. The kid would grow up without you. Mando would never know how much he meant to you. Your thoughts were racing, spiraling out of control as you tried to grasp at something—anything—that could stop this, but the dark reality settled in. You weren’t going to make it out of here. It was all slipping through your fingers like sand.
But then, a crash.
The figure above you was wrenched off in a single, fluid motion. You didn’t even register it at first—just the sudden, sharp shift in pressure, the weight lifted from your chest. A loud grunt followed, and then the man was gone, hurled into the darkness with a sickening thud.
Your chest heaved, breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as you scrambled to push yourself up. And then, in the shadows of the darkened hallway, you saw him.
Mando.
You blinked, unable to fully comprehend that he was here, right here, right now. He stood over the mercenary like a storm, a force of nature, his armor gleaming in the dim light. Without hesitation, he was on the man, his gloved hands wrapping around the mercenary’s neck and slamming him against the wall with a sound that made your stomach turn.
The mercenary’s knife was knocked out of his hand, clattering against the floor as Mando finished him off in a swift, brutal movement. The man’s body crumpled to the ground, a heavy silence falling over the ship.
You stared at Mando, still on the floor, trying to piece together what just happened. You were alive. He was here. You were okay. But the overwhelming relief didn’t hit you at first, not until he turned toward you, helmet angled just enough that you could almost feel the weight of his gaze on you.
“Come here,” he said, his voice low and steady as he extended a hand to you. His tone was all business, but there was something softer there, beneath the surface—something that made the hairs on your arms stand up.
You took his hand, feeling the strength in his grip as he helped you to your feet. There was a brief, lingering moment where neither of you spoke, just standing there, close enough that you could feel his heat radiating from his armor. His presence was commanding, undeniable. And you… you couldn’t breathe properly, not with the way your heart was hammering in your chest.
But you didn’t have time for that. Not now.
“You okay?” Mando asked, his voice a little softer now.
You nodded, though your voice caught in your throat. “I—I thought I was going to die.”
Mando’s gloved hands were gentle as he cupped your face, his touch oddly tender amidst the chaos that had just unfolded. His helmet loomed close, his posture rigid, but his movements were careful, his fingers lightly brushing over your skin, checking for cuts, bruises, any sign of injury. The intensity of his inspection was palpable, as though he needed to reassure himself that you were truly unharmed.
The tension that had been building between you both crackled in the silence, but that tension quickly turned into something else, something sharper. His posture stiffened, and when he finally pulled his hands away from your face, you noticed how his shoulders tightened under the weight of his frustration.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick with irritation. “I told you to stay on the ship.”
The words stung more than they should have, but you weren’t ready to back down. Not this time. Not when he was being so infuriatingly overprotective.
“I couldn’t sit there while you were trapped,” you snapped, your chest heaving with the remnants of adrenaline and anger. “You think I’m just supposed to wait around? While you’re stuck somewhere? I’m not that kind of person, Mando.”
Mando’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I don’t care. I need you to stay out of danger. You’re not invincible. I can’t lose you like that.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you were left standing there, breathless. But the sting of his words only fueled the fire in you, and you found yourself stepping closer, your own frustration bubbling over.
“I don’t care if you’re worried about me,” you fired back, voice tight, “I couldn’t just stay on the sidelines, especially when you’re in danger. I’ve seen what happens when you get caught in the thick of it.” You shook your head, turning away from him for a moment. “I couldn’t let you go through that alone.”
Mando’s jaw clenched, and there was a long pause between you both as you exchanged heated glances. The anger swirled between you like a storm, both of you stubborn, both of you unwilling to relent. The silence hung in the air, thick and heavy with everything that had been left unsaid.
After a moment, Mando exhaled slowly, turning toward the ship’s exit. You followed him, neither of you saying another word. The ship lurched into the air, the engine roaring to life as you made your way back to the safety of the ship, the weight of the argument hanging like a dark cloud between you.
Once you were in the cockpit, Mando set course for the stars, his hands tight on the controls, his posture as stiff as ever. You both sat in silence as the ship cut through the atmosphere, the stars on the other side of the viewport a reminder of the vast distance between you and the danger you’d just escaped.
But as you cleared the atmosphere, as the silence between you both grew unbearable, the argument reignited.
“Why couldn’t you just listen to me?” Mando’s voice was quiet, but the frustration was still there, simmering beneath the surface. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, his focus on the controls.
The cockpit felt suffocating, the tension thick enough to choke on. Mando stood before you, his broad frame rigid, his helmet tilted slightly as though he couldn’t believe you were actually arguing with him after everything that had just happened. The way his body was so still only made your frustration mount, a stark contrast to the way you were practically vibrating with anger.
“Because I’m not a damn prisoner on this ship,” you snapped, each word cutting through the charged silence like a vibroblade. “I have a stake in this. I’m not going to sit around waiting for you to come back. I’m not just here to sit pretty and keep the ship in one piece while you risk your life. I’m not gonna be left behind.”
His head tilted slightly, the shine of the black visor catching the dim cockpit light. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured but laced with a dangerous edge, like a storm barely contained. “You think I asked for this?”
Your jaw tightened, but he didn’t stop.
“You think I wanted to come back to find you fighting for your life? That I wanted to worry about whether or not I’d lose you today because you couldn’t follow simple instructions?”
The words hit you hard, your chest tightening with a mixture of anger and something you weren’t ready to name. His voice was colder than you’d heard it in weeks, and the accusation in his tone stung more than you cared to admit.
“Maybe if you told me what was going on,” you countered, your voice rising, “I wouldn’t have had to! You treat me like I’m supposed to just sit here and wait while you throw yourself into danger. I’m not your—”
“You’re not my what?” he demanded, stepping forward, his voice cutting through yours like a whip. “Not my responsibility? Because that’s exactly what you are when you pull a stunt like that.”
The word responsibility landed with the force of a blow, and your vision blurred for a moment with the heat of your fury. You didn’t know if you were angrier at his words or at the fact that they hurt so damn much.
“Fuck you,” you hissed, the venom in your voice surprising even yourself. Without waiting for a response, you spun on your heel and stormed out of the cockpit, your boots pounding against the cold durasteel floor.
“Hey!” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. You didn’t stop.
You barely made it halfway down the corridor before you heard the heavy thud of his boots following you. His strides were longer, faster, and before you could fully register it, his voice was back at your side, low and demanding. “Don’t walk away from me.”
“I’m done talking to you,” you threw over your shoulder, your pace quickening.
“Well, I’m not done with you,” he growled, his voice closer now.
You came to an abrupt stop, spinning to face him so fast that he had to pull back slightly to avoid colliding with you. Your chest heaved as you jabbed a finger toward him, your anger boiling over. “Oh, of course not. Because it’s never about what I want, is it? It’s always about your rules, your plans, what you think is best. But guess what? You don’t get to make that call for me.”
His head tilted slightly, his shoulders rising as though he were bracing himself. “You don’t get it,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.
“No,” you snapped, cutting him off before he could continue. “You don’t get it. I have a right to be here, to fight, to know what the hell is going on. You don’t own me.”
Something in the air shifted. His body stiffened, and for a moment, you thought he might back down. But then he took a step forward, closing the distance between you. Instinctively, you took a step back.
“Careful,” you warned, your voice trembling slightly. Your heart pounded in your chest, your anger simmering just beneath the surface.
He didn’t stop. Another step. Then another. Each one deliberate, controlled. Every inch he took forward, you took back until the wall met your spine, cold and unyielding.
Your breath hitched as he stopped inches from you, his broad frame towering over you. One of his arms came up, his hand bracing against the wall beside your head. The movement was slow, almost deliberate, and the intensity of his presence made your pulse race.
“You want to keep yelling?” he asked, his voice low, rasping. “Go ahead. But answer me this first.”
Your brow furrowed as you glared up at the black visor, your confusion mixing with your frustration. “What?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.
“Tell me you didn’t like it,” he said, his tone dropping into something darker. Something that sent a shiver racing down your spine.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” you spat, your anger barely masking the flicker of unease his words ignited.
“Earlier,” he clarified, his voice smoother now, almost sultry. “When the ship lurched, and you were pinned under me. You told me to never do it again. So tell me… tell me you didn’t like it.”
Your breath caught in your throat, his words pulling the memory to the surface with startling clarity. The weight of him pressing into you, the heat of his body even through the layers of armor. The way his hands had cradled you with such strength, such care.
Your pulse quickened, and a flush spread across your cheeks. “I…” you started, but the words wouldn’t come. Your mind was spinning, the memory of that moment replaying with vivid detail.
“That’s what I fucking thought,” he said, his voice laced with both triumph and frustration.
You opened your mouth to argue, to push back, but the intensity of his presence silenced you. His free hand moved to your hip, the touch firm but somehow electric.
“Mando,” you whispered, his name falling from your lips before you could stop it.
“Do you have any idea,” he said, his voice rough, raw, “what it would’ve done to me if I’d lost you today? If I hadn’t gotten there in time?”
His hand tightened on your hip, and you sucked in a sharp breath as he leaned in closer, the helmet mere inches from your face. His thigh shifted, parting yours to rest at your core, and the contact sent a jolt of heat through you that you couldn’t ignore.
“I…” you tried again, your voice faltering as the weight of the moment pressed down on you.
“You’re fucking infuriating,” you finally managed to say, your tone sharp, but your body betrayed you as your hips shifted slightly, the friction against his thigh sparking something you couldn’t control.
“And yet,” he said, his voice low and filled with something dark and possessive, “you’re still here.”
The air between you was crackling, electric and volatile, like a storm that had been building for far too long. Mando was impossibly close, his gloved hand gripping your hip with a possessiveness that left you breathless, his helmet tilted toward you in a way that felt predatory. His other hand still braced against the wall beside your head, boxing you in completely.
Your heart pounded in your chest as his voice dropped even lower, gravelly and dark. “You’re still here,” he repeated, his tone carrying an edge of frustration and something else—something deeper, something that made your knees weak.
You opened your mouth to reply, to argue, to yell something—anything—to break the tension, but the words died in your throat as he shifted against you. His thigh pressed up between yours, deliberate and firm, the pressure just right to send a shockwave through your entire body.
“Fuck you,” you breathed, though your body betrayed the words as you shamelessly ground down against him, seeking more of the delicious friction that had your nerves tingling with fire.
His helmet tilted, the black visor never leaving your face as his hands slid up, one spanning your waist while the other lingered at your ribcage, his thumb brushing maddeningly close to the underside of your breast. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice impossibly low and edged with something feral. “You keep saying that like it’s not exactly what you want.”
A sharp pulse of need shot through you, and you let out a sound somewhere between frustration and surrender. His words felt like a challenge, like he was calling you out for the very thing you couldn’t deny.
Your hands fisted the fabric of his flight suit as you leaned forward, your forehead brushing against the smooth surface of his helmet. The action brought you so close that his breaths—filtered through the modulator—felt tangible against your lips.
“Stop playing games,” you snapped, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desire. “If you’re gonna—”
He cut you off with a sharp movement of his thigh, his hands guiding your hips against him, forcing you to feel the friction, the heat. Your head fell back against the wall, a broken sound slipping past your lips before you could stop it.
“You think this is a game to me?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
You forced yourself to meet his visor, your chest heaving with every breath. “What do you want from me, Mando?”
“I want you to stop acting like you don’t know,” he growled, his hand sliding up your side, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Like you don’t feel it.”
You wanted to argue, to fight back, but the words wouldn’t come. Your mind was clouded, your body overwhelmed by the sheer force of him—his presence, his touch, the way he moved against you like he owned you.
“I can’t—” you started, but his thigh shifted again, and the sound you made was anything but coherent.
“You can,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. His helmet tilted down toward you, his voice softening just slightly. “I need you to.”
Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping the beskar as you tried to ground yourself, tried to fight the wave of heat building inside you. But it was impossible. He was everywhere, overwhelming your senses, leaving you no room to think, only feel.
“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you managed to say, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Sitting here, wondering if you’re gonna come back? Fuck—”
His hand slid up your side again, his thumb brushing against the bare skin just below the hem of your shirt—his shirt—and you shivered at the contact.
“I’ve wanted—no, needed you for so fucking long,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Your voice was raw, filled with frustration and longing. “I–ah–didn’t think you felt the same.”
His grip on you tightened, his body pressing closer, his thigh still firm between yours. “You think I don’t feel the same?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You think I could’ve lost you today and just kept going like nothing happened?”
His breath was ragged against your ear as he slid his hand further, his thumb tracing the curve of your side. “I’ve always wanted you,” he muttered, the words low and edged with a raw, primal edge that sent a shiver through your entire body. “Fuck, I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you on this ship—every time you walked by me in that tight hall, wearing my clothes like you fucking knew what it did to me. You don’t understand how hard it was to just… watch you, to feel you so close, but never touch. It was wrong—hell, I know it was wrong. I'm basically your fucking employer—but you were there, right there in front of me. Every time I saw you, I couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t think straight, and every part of me just wanted to take you, to pull you into me.” His voice grew tighter, almost as though he was choking on the words as his hands gripped you even tighter, pulling you against him. “But I couldn’t act on it, not until I knew you felt the same. Until I knew you weren’t going to just… disappear.”
Your breath hitched at his words as his hand trailed up, brushing against your ribs, his touch setting your nerves on fire. You wanted to respond, to push him further, but the weight of his words—and the way he looked at you, even through the visor—left you speechless.
“Mando,” you breathed, your voice trembling.
“Din,” he corrected softly, his voice a reverent murmur.
Your heart stuttered at the sound of his name, and you opened your mouth to say it back, but before you could, he leaned in, his helmet brushing against your forehead as his hands slid to your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. “Are you going to do something or what?” you challenged.
He didn’t reply, but his hands moved again, sliding down to cup your ass and grope the pillowy flesh. Then, with a fluid strength that took your breath away, he lifted you.
Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, locking at the ankles as your body molded against his. You gasped at the firm press of his body against yours, your core pressed directly against the undeniable hardness between his legs. Even through the layers of clothing and armor, the sensation was maddening.
Your hands braced against his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric as the reality of the moment overwhelmed you. “Mando—Din,” you corrected yourself, your voice breaking as your forehead rested against his helmet again. “I need you. Now.”
His hands gripped you tighter, and the way he growled your name was a sound you would never forget. He stepped back from the wall, carrying you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing. The heat of his body was a blazing contrast to the cool metal of the ship, and your breath hitched as he lowered you to the floor with surprising care, even amidst the unrestrained urgency crackling between you.
He hovered over you, his hips slotting between your legs again as his hands roamed your body, claiming every inch of you without hesitation. The hard edges of his armor brushed against your skin, a stark reminder of the man beneath it—unyielding, impenetrable, yet undone for you.
You arched into his touch, your mind clouded with nothing but him, the overwhelming need you felt, and the knowledge that nothing could keep him from you now.
Your hands trembled as they slid down his chest, palming at the cold, unyielding metal of his armor. The sharp edges and smooth plates were a stark contrast to the heat radiating off him, and you bit your lip, frustrated by the barrier between you.
“Din,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, but the urgency in it was unmistakable. Your fingers tugged at the edges of his cuirass, a desperate plea breaking free from your lips. “Please… take it off—I need to feel you.”
He stilled above you, his helmet tilting down as if weighing your words. You knew what you were asking was monumental—he rarely took his armor off, and certainly not in front of anyone. It was a part of him, an extension of the creed he held so tightly. But right now, you needed to feel him. Not the metal, not the layers—him.
His gloved hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as he seemed to search for something in your expression. Whatever he saw there, it broke down the walls he’d built so carefully around himself.
With a slight nod, he sat back on his knees, his hands moving to the clasps and fastenings of his armor. The air grew heavy with anticipation as he worked, the clinks and clicks of metal being removed echoing in the small space. Piece by piece, the armor came off—shoulder plates, chest plate, gauntlets—until he was left in just the dark flight suit that clung to his body.
Your breath caught as you watched him, the dim light casting shadows across his broad frame. The fabric of the flight suit hugged every inch of him, leaving little to the imagination. He hesitated for a moment, his hands stilling at the zipper of his suit, as though giving you one last chance to stop him.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and rough, yet threaded with a vulnerability that tugged at your heart.
You nodded, your lips parting as your chest rose and fell rapidly. “Please, Din.”
That was all it took. He pulled the zipper down in one swift motion, the sound louder than it should have been, and peeled the suit off his shoulders. The fabric slid down his torso, revealing tan, scarred skin and taut muscles that made your mouth go dry.
You swallowed hard, your gaze drinking him in as more of him was revealed. The ridges of his abs, the curve of his waist, the trail of dark hair that led down to the waistband of his boxers—it was overwhelming. Your eyes dipped lower, and your breath hitched at the sight of his arousal, straining against the fabric of his boxers. He was huge, the outline of him leaving little room for imagination, and the sheer size of him sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs.
“Maker,” you whispered, unable to tear your gaze away from him. Your skin felt electrified, every nerve alight with anticipation.
Din’s hands slid under your shirt, his calloused fingers skimming over your stomach and ribs with an intimacy that sent a shiver racing up your spine. His touch was light, almost reverent, as though he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “Your turn,” he murmured, his voice rough with arousal.
You didn’t hesitate, your hands flying to the hem of your shirt. His eyes, hidden behind the black visor of his helmet, seemed to burn into you as you stripped the fabric from your body, leaving your torso bare to him. The cool air of the ship kissed your skin, but the heat in his touch was enough to set you ablaze.
His hands followed, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, until you felt utterly consumed by him. His helmet tilted as though he were memorizing every detail of you, and the air between you crackled with a tension so thick it was almost suffocating.
Din froze as your bare form was revealed to him, his chest rising and falling with heavy, measured breaths. His gloved hands hovered for a moment as if the sight of you had momentarily rendered him incapable of movement. When he finally exhaled, it came out in a deep, guttural groan, one that sent a shiver coursing through your entire body.
“Maker,” he rasped, his voice raw and unguarded, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it.
His visor tilted, drinking you in as though he could see every curve, every dip and swell of your body beneath the low light of the Crest. To him, you were radiant. The soft, golden glow of the overhead lights cast a halo around you, highlighting the light sheen of sweat glistening on your skin. You looked ethereal, angelic, like something he had no right to touch.
But it wasn’t just the beauty of your body that undid him—it was you. The way your chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, the way your hands trembled slightly, clutching the blanket beneath you for some semblance of stability. You were so alive, so perfect, and you were here with him. For him.
His cock twitched painfully against the confines of his boxers, straining against the fabric as he took in the sight of you. He could feel the heat pooling in his belly, the pulsing need to touch you, to claim you, to lose himself in the one thing he never thought he could have.
“Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself, but you heard it. The word sent a flood of warmth straight to your core, your thighs instinctively pressing together to temper the ache building there.
Din noticed, of course. He always noticed. His hand, still clad in its leather glove, trailed down your side, the contrast between the cool leather and the heat of your skin sending sparks along your nerves. He reached the waistband of your panties, hesitating for a brief moment before hooking his fingers under the fabric.
His movements were deliberate, almost agonizingly slow, as though he wanted to savor every second. He peeled the fabric down your legs, his eyes—hidden though they were—never leaving you. The sight of you fully bare beneath him stole the air from his lungs, and he let out another low groan that made your toes curl.
“Din,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need, your thighs shifting restlessly as the heat between them became unbearable.
“Patience,” he said, his voice dark and commanding, yet laced with a tenderness that made your heart race.
His hand returned, now free of the glove, and the warmth of his palm against your inner thigh made you gasp. He traced a slow, teasing path upward, his fingers brushing against your slick heat, and you bit your lip, barely stifling the whimper that escaped you.
“So wet,” he murmured, almost reverently, his thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your back arch off the floor. “Is this all for me?”
“Yes,” you breathed, your voice breaking as his fingers slid through your folds. “All for you.”
His other hand settled on your hip, grounding you as he slid one thick finger inside you, the stretch making your head fall back with a soft moan. He moved slowly at first, his finger curling and pumping in a rhythm that had you writhing beneath him. Then he added another, his thumb never ceasing its gentle assault on your clit, and the pressure built rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in your core.
“Din, I—”
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice softening as he leaned closer, his forehead just inches from yours. “Let go for me.”
The words, the command in them paired with the tenderness, sent you over the edge. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body trembling as you cried out his name, clutching desperately at his forearms to anchor yourself. He worked you through it, his fingers never faltering as he coaxed every last bit of pleasure from you.
When you finally came down, your chest heaving as you blinked up at him with dazed eyes, Din didn’t give you time to recover. He was already pushing his boxers down, freeing himself, and the sight of him made your breath hitch. He was massive, thick and long, and your core clenched at the thought of him inside you.
He leaned down, pressing his helmet against your forehead as his hands slid under your thighs, hitching them around his waist. “Tell me,” he rasped, his voice rough with need, “if you want me to stop.”
You shook your head fervently, your hands clutching at his shoulders. “Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice breathy and desperate. “I need you, Din. Now.”
With a low growl, he removed his cock from his boxers, positioning himself at your entrance, the head of him brushing against your sensitive folds. Then, with one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed inside, and you cried out at the stretch, the fullness, the overwhelming sensation of him.
The moment Din pushed inside, your body arched off the floor, a strangled cry tearing from your lips as the sensation of him stretching you filled every inch of your being. He was thick, his girth almost overwhelming as your walls clenched around him involuntarily, fluttering at the sheer force of his entry. Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought to adjust to the exquisite stretch.
“Stars,” you gasped, nails digging into the taut muscles of his shoulders. “Din, I—”
He stilled immediately, his hands gripping your hips firmly, holding you steady even as his own body trembled with restraint. His voice, low and strained through the modulator, was like gravel. “I know, baby. I know. Just breathe.”
You could feel his cock twitching inside you, a constant reminder of his size and the way your walls struggled to accommodate him. The burn ebbed slowly, replaced by a pulsating ache that was both pleasure and pain, your body contracting around him as it learned to accept him. The Crest’s dim lights glinted off the sheen of sweat on your skin, making you glow beneath him, and Din’s breath hitched audibly at the sight.
His thumb stroked soft, reassuring circles against your hip, his own restraint evident in the way his chest rose and fell with thudding breaths. “Kriff, you feel…” he started, his words trailing off as if they couldn’t capture the magnitude of the moment.
Finally, the pressure shifted, the ache transforming into a hum of pleasure that sent vibrations through your core. You gave a small, experimental roll of your hips, testing, and the motion pulled a groan from his lips as your walls sucked him deeper.
“I—I think I’m ready,” you whispered, your voice breathy and tinged with urgency.
Din hesitated, his forehead pressing to yours. “Are you sure?” His voice was rough, every syllable trembling with the weight of his self-control.
“Fuck, Din,” you moaned, your hips grinding against him instinctively. “Move. I need you to move.”
His restraint snapped like a tether pulled too tight. He pulled out slowly, your walls clenching and fluttering in protest, only to slam back into you with a force that left you gasping. Your body trembled beneath him, your nails raking down his back as he set a slow, deliberate pace, each thrust deep and intentional, filling you completely.
The sensation was overwhelming. Every drive of his hips sent shudders rippling through you, his cock dragging against every nerve, your walls pulsating around him with every movement. The friction was maddening, a delicious agony that built steadily, and you could feel every twitch, every throb of him inside you as he claimed you.
“Din,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his name fell from your lips like a prayer.
He groaned in response, the sound guttural and raw as his hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place for his relentless thrusts. “You’re so tight,” he rasped, his modulated voice vibrating against your skin. “So fucking perfect.”
Your body was a live wire beneath him, every nerve ending alight as the coil in your core tightened, your hips grinding up to meet his with desperation. Each thrust grew rougher, more urgent, his pace driving faster as your walls quivered and sucked him deeper.
“I—I’m close,” you stuttered, your voice trembling as the fire in your belly burned hotter.
“I’ve got you,” Din murmured, one hand sliding between your bodies to find the swollen bundle of nerves at your center. His fingers pressed against you, the pressure sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “Let go. Come for me.”
The combination of his thrusts, his touch, and the overwhelming fullness of him buried deep pushed you over the edge. Your release hit like a supernova, your walls contracting and fluttering around him as waves of pleasure pulsed through you, leaving you breathless and trembling.
“Din!” you cried out, your body arching against him as the pleasure ripped through every inch of you.
The way you clenched around him, your walls milking him as you came, was his undoing. His thrusts grew erratic, each one deeper and harder as he chased his own release. With a guttural growl, his body tensed, his cock twitching as he spilled inside you, the force of his climax sending shivers through his frame.
After the intensity of the moment passed, a deep silence enveloped the two of you, punctuated only by the sound of your heavy breathing. The ship’s low hum seemed distant compared to the pounding of your heart in your chest, still racing from the whirlwind of sensations. Din slowly pulled out, his movements gentle, almost reverent, as he settled back beside you on the cold floor of the cockpit.
The aftermath was strange. Your body still hummed with the memory of his touch, the lingering warmth of his skin, but now, there was a profound sense of exhaustion, of weightlessness, almost like you’d been floating outside of yourself. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him—his form still looming over you, imposing and powerful, even with the helmet still in place.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Din’s hand reached for you, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with a tenderness that caught you off guard. His fingers lingered on your cheek, as if he was making sure you were real, that this wasn’t some fevered dream.
He exhaled sharply, almost like he was trying to shake off the weight of what had just happened. You watched him, unsure of what to say, feeling the quiet aftermath settle around you.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me you felt the same?” you asked, your voice quieter now, but still filled with that same raw frustration. You weren’t angry, not really—you just needed to understand. The silence in the cockpit was deafening, and all you could think about was how much this moment had changed everything between you.
Din didn’t answer immediately. His gloved hands flexed as he reached for the remaining pieces of his armor, moving methodically, almost as though he was trying to mask the emotion you knew he was feeling too. But then he stopped, his back still to you, and you could see his shoulders tense.
He turned slowly, his helmet facing you, but his posture was less rigid than usual. It was almost like he didn’t know how to stand anymore. He let out a breath, long and low, and then finally, in a voice that was quieter, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it, he spoke.
“I was scared,” he admitted, the words coming out rough, as though they were hard to say. “Scared that you wouldn’t feel the same. That if I told you, you’d leave… that you’d leave me and the kid.”
Your heart tightened in your chest as his words sank in. You could feel the weight of his vulnerability, the fear that had kept him silent all this time. You wanted to reach for him, to tell him how foolish he was for ever doubting you, but you let him continue.
“I’ve been willing to suffer through it,” he went on, his voice catching just slightly, “if it meant you’d stay. I never wanted to put that burden on you. I never wanted you to feel like you had to choose between me and… well, everything else. But when you went after me earlier…” His voice faltered for a moment, and for the first time since you’d known him, he seemed unsure. “I thought I was going to lose you. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t let that happen.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and fragile. You swallowed hard, feeling a rush of emotion you hadn’t expected. All this time, he’d been hiding his feelings because he thought you might leave.
You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you placed it on his arm. His gaze softened under the helmet, his body still tense, but there was something in his stance that made you believe he was finally, truly being open with you.
“I’m not going anywhere, Din,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly with the sincerity of your words. “I thought… I thought you knew that.”
Din’s breath caught in his chest, and for a moment, he stood there, completely still, before his gloved hand reached out, gently cupping your face. His touch was warm through the cool material of his armor, and his thumb brushed over your cheek in a motion that felt almost reverent.
“I don’t want to be alone in this anymore,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t keep pretending like I don’t need you. I’ve… I’ve never needed anyone before. But I need you, both of you.”
You were speechless for a moment, overwhelmed by the sudden flood of emotions—everything that had been unspoken between you finally coming to the surface. You could see it in the way his posture softened, the way his gloved hand held your face with such care, like you were something precious to him.
You reached up, gently touching the edge of his helmet, as if trying to bridge the distance between the two of you, the one that had been there for so long. “You’re not going to lose us, Din,” you said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A small, almost imperceptible sigh escaped him, like he was finally letting go of some of the weight that had been pressing down on him for so long. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you closer. His helmet leaned down just slightly, as if he was breathing you in, the closeness between you palpable.
Then, his voice, softer this time, held a hint of the emotion that had been building for so long.
“I’m sorry for not saying it sooner,” he murmured. “For not telling you how much you mean to me. But now, I’m telling you. I need you here. With me.”
Your chest fluttered at the admission, and you smiled softly, feeling lighter somehow, as if the weight of everything that had been unsaid between you was finally being lifted.
“I need you too,” you said, your voice almost shy now, but filled with certainty.
And with that, the last of the tension between you melted away. He pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around you as you nestled against his chest. For a moment, it was just the two of you, holding each other in the quiet, dim light of the Crest, the sound of your heartbeats the only thing you could hear.
Din’s voice rumbled softly in your ear. “Next time, don’t go running off without me, alright?”
You laughed softly, your fingers tracing small patterns across his chest. “You’re not the only one who gets to be stubborn, you know.”
He chuckled, and for a brief moment, everything felt right—like this was how it was always supposed to be.
“I guess we’re both stubborn then,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with that same tenderness. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you around, huh?”
You smiled, leaning back to look up at him, the warmth of his embrace making you feel more at peace than you had in a long time. “You better,” you teased softly, your fingers still tangled in the fabric of his flight suit. “I wouldn’t want to leave you and the kid to fend for yourselves.”
A soft laugh bubbled from his chest, and as he looked down at you, you could see the beginnings of something new between you—a bond that wasn’t just about survival or shared missions anymore. It was deeper than that. You didn’t know what the future held, but right now, you knew one thing for sure: you were in this together.
Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) size difference/size kink, mentions of masturbation (f), oral (m receiving), fingering, p in v sex, creampie, kinda fluffy? almost? If I missed anything please let me know!
You’d always considered yourself average as far as Tattooine was concerned. For a human, you were average height, average build—average, average, average.
But Din had a way of carrying himself that made you feel more important by proxy. People moved out of your way, averted their gaze, as if you were an extension of the hefty Mandalorian soldier.
And for once, you felt tiny; puny compared to the heap of man and metal that walked by your side.
You didn’t know how tall he was without his armor, how broad his shoulders would be without the pauldrons that framed him, but the manner in which he walked—brooding and aloof, confident in every step despite the near constant gunfire aimed his way—made you feel as though the beskar only served to heighten his already looming stature.
It drove you insane.
The nagging voice in your head got louder every day; he could kill you with one hand, he could squash you where you stood—he’d probably fuck you out of your own mind.
And what were you to do about it? A glorified babysitter who kept ship and dressed wounds; who occasionally found a spot by the Mandalorian’s side in the cockpit, leaning against him without protest from his modulated voice.
You were a business measure. You were a way to ensure nothing went awry when Din was busy or away. Or worse.
But it didn’t stop you from spending sleepless nights in your cot with your hand in your pants, stuttering out his name when you pressed your fingers to the sweet spot you knew so well, curling up and imagining how the rhythm of his breathing would feel through his armor.
Now, as you made your way to the cockpit, you felt a chill run over you—the cold air of space sunk into the ship and settled in your bones.
You pushed down the urge to imagine the way Din’s unobstructed skin would feel against you, warming you, protecting you from the harm of the vacuum surrounding the ship.
“Kid’s asleep.” You stood at the entrance of the cockpit, not necessarily expecting a response.
You’d come to enjoy your one-sided conversations.
Din didn’t look up, but his head bobbed slightly in acknowledgement.
“I thought he’d never get to sleep…he was hungry, then he wasn’t, then he was toddling like he owned the place.” You sighed, “He was especially grabby tonight. For someone with three fingers, he’s got quite the grip. Should probably teach your son that noses aren’t for pulling on.”
“Not my son,” Din tilted his head, visor pointed over his shoulder as he responded to you, “Just…my kid.”
“Right…” In all the time you’d spent on the ship, you still hadn’t managed to figure out what connection the two had to each other. “Well, either way, I think he’s getting a little better at recognizing when he’s tired himself out—knowing what he wants.”
Din nodded again, just enough for you to recognize that the conversation was over. You turned to leave, cursing yourself for your inadvertent conversational faux pas.
At least you had your bedtime daydreams.
“And you?” Din spoke before you managed to exit.
“What about me?” You stood still, waiting for him to provide an explanation.
“Do you think you’re getting better at recognizing what you want, mesh’la?”
You remained unsure of what that word meant, or why he used it to address you—several times when he’d first taken you in, you’d corrected him, reminding him your name, and every time he’d just stared, nodded, and thanked you.
Din still didn’t look at you, and it was somewhat unnerving that he was so good at playing the part of a statue.
“I don’t…” You took a few steps forward, the gap between the two of you still seemingly endless, “I’m not sure what you mean…”
“Mmh,” was his only response.
But you stayed behind him, curiosity getting the best of you.
“Was there—what are you trying to say?” You pressed for clarity. His quiet intensity made you nervous.
There was a long pause. You momentarily wondered if he would even grace you with an answer. He did that sometimes, staring down at you through his visor as you mulled over something he’d said, refusing to muster a reply to your line of questioning and leaving you to figure it out yourself.
“You’ve done work on the walls.” Din leaned in his chair, pressing his body to the chair’s back and spreading his thighs as if to stretch them.
You swallowed, trying not to watch him move, though your stomach flipped a little when one of his gloved hands came to rest near his crotch.
“I’ve done work that you asked me to do…” You still weren’t sure where he was going with this—if he was going anywhere at all. “Wiring and welding…is there something else? Because it wouldn’t be a bother, ‘specially since the kid’s asleep.”
You were greeted with another long pause, only disturbed by the sharp breath Din let out that caught in the modulator.
It sounded almost as if he was laughing.
You shifted on your feet, uncertain and growing more tense by the minute. Was he unhappy with your work? Was he going to make you rip out what you’d done, start all over again—berate you for your shortcomings?
“You’ve noticed that they’re thin.” Din’s words made your anxious musings of being out of a job vanish, replacing them with entirely different anxieties.
You wondered if he could see you shaking like a leaf.
“I w—Din it’s not…” You couldn’t think of an excuse, and you were suddenly hit with the notion that perhaps he wasn’t even talking about that; maybe he was simply asking you to be quieter as you rummaged through cabinets and closed doors.
“I like the way you say my name.” He turned the chair around, facing you. You stared at him dumbly, his legs still spread in a shamefully alluring manner. “What do you think about?”
Your lips parted as you considered his question.
On one hand, there was still a chance to argue back, plead your innocence, feign ignorance; a chance for you to ignore him, to walk out of the cockpit and crawl into bed.
On the other hand, you didn’t want to walk away.
“You…” You mumbled, looking down at the floor. You fiddled with your hands in an effort to feel less awkward. “I think about you.”
“And?” He wasn’t going to let you omit details.
“I think about…about how much bigger and—and stronger than me you are.”
He stayed silent, and you searched for ways to fill the gap he would otherwise fill in the conversation.
“I think about how you make me feel so small when you stand next to me—sometimes when you give me instructions, you stand so close to me, crowd me against the wall, and I—I like…I like your shoulders.”
You cringed at your words. I like your shoulders? You wanted to kick yourself.
“And I think about how your hands would feel—always think about how big they are, how they’d, um, how you’d probably be able to grab me…play with me and use me so easily.”
Din let you stew in your words for a moment longer before speaking.
“Come.” He tilted his head back, a small gesture to bring you forward.
You obliged, forcing your legs to move, settling to stand between his knees.
“Sit, mesh’la. On your knees.” He watched you, and though you looked at him skeptically at first, you did what was asked of you.
When you’d gotten yourself comfortable, shifting on your knees between his legs, you looked up at him. His face was tilted down, watching you acquaint yourself with the position you’d taken on the floor.
“You are easy to play with.” He said it so robotically, a monotonous acknowledgement of the scene before him as you clung to his every word.
“I knew it,” you offered a sheepish smile, hoping that making light of the situation would help the tension dissipate.
Din reached out to hold your chin, tilting your head up to force your line of sight directly into his visor.
“What else do you think about?” The worn leather of his gloves felt smooth on your skin, and you let out a shaky breath of appreciation at the contact.
“Think about…” You reached up hesitantly, letting your palms rest on the armor plating his thighs. “How you’d feel. How heavy you’d be on my tongue and how—how deep you’d be…inside me…”
You heard him groan, an intensely human sound beneath his helmet, and it spurred you on, suddenly aware of the power you held and the mutual need that both of you were experiencing.
“I think about how thick you are—always imagine that my hands would be too small to fit around you properly. And how much effort it would take for you to fit.” You let your fingers spread over the cloth of his flight suit.
Din removed his hand from your chin, both of his palms coming to rest on top of your own hands. He gripped them loosely, pushing them back onto the armor on his thighs.
You felt a pang of disappointment until you realized that he was giving himself the space to undo the clasp of his suit to give you what you wanted.
He sat up a bit straighter, fumbling with the fastener before managing to undo it with a grunt. He paused, looking at you between his legs for a moment, and then he pulled his cock from its confines.
He was beautiful; long and thick, tan shaft holding up a red, rounded tip. Veins ran down the underside of his length, decorating him.
You tried not to let the feeling of shock show on your face, but he laughed lightly, validated by your obvious astonishment.
“Is it what you thought it would be?” Din’s voice was low as he began stroking himself with a gloved hand.
You whimpered, unable to contain the startled glee in your voice. “Din—”
“Yes,” he cut you off, sighing, “Please.”
You let out a hum, bringing your hands up to his cock, met with the thrilling revelation that your fantasies had been grounded in reality—your hands were insufficient in engulfing his length, fingers struggling to close around him, several inches of him remaining untouched.
You leaned forward, hesitantly sticking your tongue out and swirling it around his tip.
Din’s head fell back as he cursed, fingers flying to grip at your hair and follow you as you began to bob your head up and down over what you could fit into your mouth without choking.
“You’re—you’re warm…” He grunted out, gathering strands of your hair into a makeshift handle. “Did you think about this, mesh’la? Did you think about having me in your mouth like this?”
Your response was muted by his cock, but the happy sound that bubbled from your chest let him know everything he needed to.
You let the spit that dripped over him coat your palms, using it as a lubricant to slide your hands over his cock while your continued to force more of him down your throat.
Din hissed at the feeling, the way your wrists jerked in sync with the movement of your tongue over him, and he tightened his grip on your hair.
He let you continue for a while, before deciding to pull you off. You rested your head on his thigh, one hand still trailing the veins of his cock while you tried to catch your breath, drooling.
“Look at me,” he urged, tugging at your hair to tilt your face up. Your lips were puffy, chin coated in your drool, and there were tears glazing your eyes. He stared, content with how easy it was to get you cockdrunk. “Perfect.”
“I wasn’t done…” You whimpered an argument, pouting.
“Yes, you were.” Din coaxed you up from the floor, hands on your arms lifting you to stand.
He let his arms drop, looking at you, how wrecked you were while still fully clothed before him, and his fingers moved to toy with the buttons of your trousers.
“Alright?” He froze, awaiting a sign that what he was doing was ok, that you were willing to let him continue.
“Din, if you don’t take them off, I will.” You let yourself drag a hand down the side of his helmet, and though you felt cold metal in place of skin and hair, you still felt as though the gesture was intimate, fitting for this scenario.
Din had heard what he’d needed to hear, finally undoing the buttons and letting your pants pool around your ankles. You stepped out of them awkwardly, playing with the hem of your shirt and looking at him expectantly.
He nodded, a more obvious signal this time, and you shed the shirt from your body, too, leaving you fully exposed. You began to lean forward into him, but he placed a hand on your shoulder, pushing you away.
“Turn around.”
You spun, turning your back to him. Without warning, you felt leather-clad fingers squeezing your skin, roaming your hips before gripping harshly at your ass.
“Now sit.” He put both hands on your hips and tugged you back to him, letting you adjust as you fell into his lap. He helped you spread your legs, hooking your knees over him and opening you to the cold air of the ship.
“Bite.” Din pressed a finger to your lips, “I want to feel you.”
You whimpered, carefully biting down on the tip of the glove and letting him pull his hand out. He grabbed the fabric that hung from your mouth and tossed it to the side.
“Good.” His newly ungloved hand roamed your body, groping your tits and squeezing roughly at any untouched skin he could find. His other hand gripped your hip, keeping you steady.
You whined, trying to grind down against him. The pulse of his cock, still hard and coated with your spit, pressed into your back, and it made you impatient and dizzy.
“Stay still.” Another command that had you whining, but you acquiesced.
Din’s bare hand wrapped around your thigh, pulling it further to give him ample room to touch you where you needed him. He pressed one finger to your clit, and though the touch was somewhat soft, you bucked your hips into the feeling.
“Such a little thing,” he mused, “It’s so easy for me to keep you where I want you.”
That made you moan: his acknowledgement of your size difference and the way he used it to his advantage. You squirmed in an effort to get him to give you more of what you wanted.
Din’s finger dropped lower, teasing your slit and hovering over your hole. He dipped the tip of his finger into you, growling at the slick feeling that coated him.
“All this from nothing.” He thought aloud before plunging the finger into your cunt, curling it to jab into your most tender spot.
“Oh m—Din!” You hadn’t expected the intrusion, but you welcomed it all the same. You writhed on his finger, much thicker than your own and filling you in a much more satisfactory way. “More—another, please.”
“You can handle more?” You thought you heard him smiling.
“Even if I can’t, you can make me,” you whimpered, “I want more.”
Your response earned a rumble from Din, a low growl that vibrated through his chest. He pressed another finger into you, leaning over your shoulder to watch your cunt swallow the digits and coat them with your juices.
“Look,” he grunted, “Look how much you struggle with two fingers. How are you going to take my cock?”
And you were struggling, but it was wonderful; his fingers pressed against your walls, stretching you out in preparation for what was to come, and you brought your own hand to your clit to rub circles over yourself.
But Din grabbed your wrist, leather digging against you as he tugged your hand away from your core.
“Mine.” His voice was animalistic, so lost in the way you squeezed his fingers and the way you listened to his demands. He tossed your own hand to the side, replacing it with gloved fingers that pressed rhythmically into you in time with the fingers he had working you open. “Had plenty of time to touch. Thought you wanted the real thing.”
“I do—Din, I do, I do,” you were pleading, begging for his help in getting you to your high. “Please, I do.”
“Cum.” It was all he said, pressing his fingers roughly against your clit and curling those he had inside you to tease your orgasm from your delicate spot.
And you did; with a loud yelp and a chant of his name, you were coming undone on his hands.
You rocked against his cock where it nestled against your ass, whimpering as you let your head fall back against his shoulder.
“Good, mesh’la.” He stroked your hair.
He pulled his fingers from you slowly, and you shuddered, hit with the feeling of emptiness as your body clenched around nothing. He brought his fingers to your lips, and you welcomed them into your mouth, sucking on them and gathering the remnants of your slick on your tongue.
“Din,” you gathered yourself together, releasing his fingers and breathing deeply. You pressed your back to his chest. “More.”
“You’re being greedy.” He couldn’t hide his delight at your eagerness, the modulator picking up on the amused breaths he let out. “Stand up. Face me.”
On shaky legs, you obeyed.
You felt your thighs, gluey against the air, stick together as you moved, evidence of your pleasure that lingered on your skin.
When you turned to face him, went wide-eyed with fascination. His ungloved hand had wrapped around his cock, slowly stroking himself as he watched you.
“On my lap.” His free hand patted his thigh, and you approached enthusiastically.
You maneuvered yourself on top of him, straddling him and letting your knees press into the crevices between the armrests of the chair and his body. He placed a hand on your hip, rubbing his thumb over your skin, trying to feel you through the leather of his glove.
You settled against him, feeling the movement of his arm as he continued to jerk himself off. The tip of his cock brushed against your clit, and you mewled, rolling your hips against him.
“What do you want?” He urged you to speak, his fingers digging into your side.
“You—want your cock, Din.” You were shameless, desperate to feel him split you in half.
“And if it doesn’t fit?” He slapped his cock against you, making you whimper above him. You shifted your hips to savor the feeling of his skin on yours.
“You’ll make it fit.” You found the confidence to look into the visor, certain that you were gazing into his eyes behind the shield.
He groaned, pulling you closer to him as he lined himself up with your entrance.
“I will.” He reassured you, beginning to push into you.
You moaned at the stretch, the pressure of his body against yours as your cunt swallowed the head of his cock. You clawed at the armor on his chest, and he let out a throaty sound.
“So tight,” he seemed almost as breathless as you felt, “Taking me so well.”
“Feels—it feels so good,” you whispered, bouncing on the tip of his cock, “Give it to me, please. All of it.”
With a growl, Din removed his hand from the base of his cock, gripping your hips, manhandling you to contort your body the way he wanted you.
He pushed you down onto him, thrusting his hips upward until he was buried to the hilt in your cunt.
You screamed, head falling into the crook of his neck and writhing as your body accepted the invasion of his length. Despite the suddenness and the extent to which you had been filled, you craved more, dragging your hips against him and trying to see just how deep he could get.
Din cursed, rasping and desirous. “Look at you taking all that cock,” he was transfixed, obsessed with how your cunt gripped him. “You think a lot about having me force it in, little one? Forcing you to take it how I wanted? Ruining you?”
“Y—es,” you sobbed into him, “Wanted you to—wanted you to break me open.” You were choking back moans, arms wrapped around his neck.
He had engulfed you completely, dwarfing you and turning you into nothing but a toy—a doll at his disposal that he used with no regard.
And you loved it. You loved the texture of his veins running down your walls, the filthy wet sounds that he pulled from your cunt with every deep thrust, the way his balls bounced heavy against your ass when he forced you down onto him.
He brought a hand to the nape of your neck, pulling you back and encouraging you to look down at where your bodies connected. He released you, opting to grab your hand and press it into your stomach.
“You know what that is?” There was a smugness to his tone, one that made you feel lightheaded, “That’s my cock.”
You moaned, but he wasn’t done speaking.
“That’s my cock wrecking you—breaking you how you wanted. Not your fingers, mesh’la. Do you hear the pretty sounds you’re making for me? I never heard you scream like that when you were trying to fuck yourself.”
Your jaw went slack, legs aching and hot with the effort you had to put into keeping up with his pace.
“S—o much—so much better,” you choked out, “You feel so much better than my hands, Din.”
“I know I do. Tell me,” he kept your palm pressed against your stomach, watching as you bulged with him every time his cock punched into you. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Din—oh!” You were so far gone, so focused on the pleasure of having him so close, so deep. You managed to breathe a one-word response. “Big…”
“Big,” he laughed, “That’s right.”
His thrusts became slower, his cockhead nudging your g-spot at a delicious pace that made you give up your attempts at keeping up with him.
You fell against his body, happy to let him do the work while you succumbed to his movements.
“Tight little pussy—only cock you need,” he was speaking rhetorically, not posing it as a question or statement for you, per se, but a general agreement spoken into the cockpit that he was certain you would find truth in. “Only cock that’ll ever fit again.”
You felt drool puddle from the corner of your lips, having gone so completely dumb for him.
There was a fire spreading throughout your body, heat licking at your core as it threatened a deluge of bliss.
“Only you, Din,” you mumbled against him, “Please, only you.”
He had resorted to dragging you over him, pulling and pushing your hips over his length and watching his cock split you open. The action ensured that your clit pushed against him, giving you the friction you’d need to reach another high when paired with the stretch of his cock.
“Cum,” his voice had dropped just above a whisper, “Let me feel you squeeze me tight, mesh’la.” He squeezed your hips hard, bucking into you.
You came with a delighted squeal, gripping his shoulders and grinding yourself down into him. He hugged you to his body, further enveloping you, and you felt safe and fulfilled.
His thrusts quickly became more erratic, searching for release. You felt him stiffen against you, not out of discomfort but due to the imminent high he faced.
“Din…Implant,” you whispered, hoping he could hear your voice over the panted breaths you took. “Please. Inside.”
Your words were all it took, and his hips stuttered into you. He moaned, head falling back against the chair and arms hauling you even closer to his body.
You felt the warmth of his spend in your abdomen, painting your walls and filling you with him. You moaned softly, squirming on his lap in a display of contentment.
He brought a hand up to feather through your hair, letting you rest against him as you both settled.
“How do you feel?” He asked, after the silence had become too much even for him.
“So good,” you nuzzled against his pauldron, “You made me feel so good, Din.”
He turned to look down at you. “As good as you thought it would feel?”
Here once more and writing is so scary I doubt anyone would relate to that though.. ( • ᴖ • ｡) I'm a rhett girlie for life im sorry idc like he needs more love and im here to give it i dont tolerate rhett slander.
anyways to appease an audience I'll write rhett x water ascendant listener
It was a foolish bet, and admitting that was already enough for her. It was yet another weight of responsibility falling under a crown.
In the drunken whispers of the night, giggles punctuated every word as the Queen and Baroness exchanged cheeky smiles, betting who could ignore their respective significant others the longest. The Queen raved about the challenge with pride, boasting that her and Rhett’s schedules didn’t often overlap. The Baroness, on the other hand, found herself in a more precarious situation. Castin wasn’t one to simply overlook his wife; he noticed her absence, her beautiful grin, and the gleam of excitement in her eyes whenever they met. The first few days were unpleasant, to say the least.
Rhett was always the first person she turned to, always the person to catch her eye when she entered a room—and vice versa. So, having to quickly duck her gaze every time they passed in the halls was quite a challenge she wasn’t initially prepared for.
She maintained this act for almost a week. In the comfort of their bedroom, she pretended to slip into sleep before he arrived. She even skipped their shared breakfast dates. It took only a day of avoiding fiery glances, small acts of affection, and even conversation for everyone to notice something was wrong.
After a tiring evening filled with degrading advice from advisors and dirty side glances from the imperial leaders, the Queen was depleted, her energy drained to the depths of her gut, where emptiness consumed her. She dragged herself to her chambers, rolling her head back as the grand doors shut behind her, trying to shake off the day. As her eyes lifted, she met Rhett’s, who was sitting in a cushioned chair, the tips of his fingers grasping documents about trade near the coast that he needed to review.
She let out a small wince, dropped her head, and a shiver of energy trailed down her spine. Lifting her head, she made her way to Rhett, whose eyes immediately diverted from the documents as soon as his love settled in his lap. She nestled her head against his chest, seeking warmth from his body as her heart raced with delight.
“I’m so sorry for ignoring you this past week. It was such a stupid idea. (Insert some pretty name for the Baroness) and I ended up betting on who could ignore our partners the longest,” the Queen said, her voice gaining momentum as annoyance bubbled to the surface before ending with a low groan.
“I knew,” Rhett replied with a scoff, his hand dipping to her waist, slowly caressing the curve of her hip.
“What—” the Queen started before Rhett interjected.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” Rhett let out a low laugh, and she felt the small vibration in his chest from it.
“It took Castin less than a day to come to me, complaining about how the Baroness was ignoring him. Once I pieced your actions together, it all made sense,” Rhett said, a small smile curling his lips. The Queen looked up at him, the pops and crackles of the fireplace filling the deafening silence. Her smile broke into a laugh, lightening the mood.
“Are you serious? I was stressing over whether you’d be mad!” she exclaimed, her bright grin reappearing.
“At first, I admit it caused quite the conflict. But when Castin told me that the Baroness spoke to him, it gave me hope that you would cave as well,” Rhett said, offering a playful huff. The Queen’s smile faltered, and her eyes sharpened.
“She dropped out that early? I was holding the fort by myself this whole time!” The Queen sighed, hearing Rhett laugh at her adamant frustration over the situation. Regardless, she found her peace once more; her heart was at rest, her mind at ease now that she was back in Rhett's arms. There were worse challenges she could face in her life, but this was now a crossed-out item on her list—one thing she wouldn't dare try again.
quite the long one they are getting longer with each post ngl anyways thank you for so much love on these likes honestly its makes my day so much
