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dincrypt · 24 days

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KILL ME PLZ AJFLFJSJ THIS IS TOO AMAZING 😩😩😩😩🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼

Pairing: Din Djarin x female sex worker!reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 3.1k Content Warnings: touch-starved Din; reader is blindfolded; smut Summary: Mando makes regular visits to the healing baths. Note: A big thank you to @frannyzooey for always enabling my depravity and finding the dope ass images for my header ❤︎

He always waits for you inside the door.

“It’s the least I can do,” he says, when you’re surprised by the unexpected touch the first time. A light hand cups your elbow, guiding you to the middle of the room, until you can feel the smooth tiles that mark the edge of the sunken pool with your bare toes.

The marble is slick with condensation, heated by the same geothermal source that warms the spring water. The air is steamy and humid, braided with the rich scents of cardamom and argan oil, of rose from the petals you know are strewn across the surface of the bath. Candles flicker languidly in the shadowy corners of the room, but you can’t detect any of their light.

When you lower yourself to the floor—carefully, blindly—he checks the tightness of the black silk wrapped around your eyes with gentle fingers. He reassures himself it’s secure, that you can’t see a thing through the fabric in the dark, hazy room. A reassurance he needs every time.

You come to expect it. To expect him.

He’s consistent. He’s hesitant.

It takes dozens of visits before he lets you join him in the bath. You always offer; he always refuses—politely, always so politely: a no, thank you, eventually paired with a fleeting touch. A warm hand placed over yours. Two fingers stroked down the red silk of your dress. If you’re lucky, a squeeze to the thick of your thigh or a graze of your cheek. His denial is so soft, so warm—so regretful—that you ask every time just to hear him want it.

When he inevitably says no, you sit behind him on a velvet cushion on the edge of the pool instead, swathed in the inky blackness of your blindfold, your feet dangling in the warm water, and work scented oils into his skin and tension out of his shoulders, his neck, his arms, his back, his chest. Your existence is reduced to tactile information, your world narrowed to the sensations in your hands—the textures at the tips of your fingers. The taut muscles of his shoulders, the raised scars that litter his arms and chest, the hair dusted over his pectorals, the callouses on his palms. All slick with water, slippery with massage oil.

The helmet stays on for the first handful of visits. You know by the modulated sound of his voice, by the brush of beskar against your wrist when you work a knuckle into the base of his stiff neck. It disappears somewhere around the tenth visit. When he meets you at the door, your name sounds markedly different. You don’t mention it, don’t draw attention to it, but you do enjoy the unfiltered, raw quality of his voice from then on.

The noises he makes when you touch him are always better than you remember. Their tone and cadence mark a gradual progression from high strung and uneasy to mellow and sedate as the tension coiled in his muscles dissipates under your hands. The harsh exhales devolve into low groans, quiet grunts. Sounds of pleasure waited too long to be had, of physical release so desperately needed. Every once in a while, when you work out a particularly stubborn knot, he murmurs a hushed, rumbling oh, fuck.

Once, when you earn a delicious moan paired with a strained, needy fuck, just like that, he bites off the last word so harshly that you know it was involuntary.

It turns you on more than the touch of any client ever has.

Even with the blindfold, you can feel the burn of his eyes on your skin. Its weight is familiar from the start, when you meet him at the entrance to the baths, the echoing stone entry hall with its gilded fixtures and branches of guttering candles. A balled fist rested on the counter, he nods at you in all his armored glory, a cordial gesture that seems to gain gravity and intimacy each time he offers it. The black visor follows your walk down the long hallway to your rooms, dips to your hips when he thinks you’re not looking. Heavy, substantial. Pressure that could be measured, harsh enough to leave an imprint in its wake.

It stays on you until you shut the door between you, leaving you in the antechamber to tie on your blindfold and him in the main room to undress.

When you knock and enter, you can still track his gaze despite the layers of black silk—the feeling of it like a searing brand. Settled on your face when you smile up at him. Dragged over the curves of your breasts when you shamelessly tip forward to trail fingers through the water and they just barely begin to spill over the low cut of your dress. Trained on the movement of your tongue when you part your lips and lick a slow, gratuitous line over the bottom one. Riveted to the dark space between your legs when you spread your knees unnecessarily wide and the fabric of your thin, short dress rides up your thighs.

You tell yourself not to hope for more.

Then one day he shows up, and you can tell something is off. His usual steady, controlled energy has been replaced with a pent-up buzz. He’s worked up. You can hear it in his clipped words, feel it in the extra touches. The hand on your lower back guides you to the pool almost hurriedly.

His shoulders are even tighter than usual when you get your hands on them, his back a series of stony knots. He groans when you work at the tension in his neck, your thumbs digging into the tautness at the base of his skull. And when you offer yourself this time, feeling optimistic that you’ll get your most reluctant no yet, a strong hand guides you slowly and wordlessly down the smooth stone steps to join him in the water.

Reflexively, you pull your dress up and over your head, tossing it behind you before the hem can catch in the water. You lose his touch in the process, but a path of goosebumps down your body echoes the course of his gaze as it pulls along your curves. You can feel his attention, his captivation at your nakedness in the fervent tension that snaps taut between you.

His invitation is so unexpected, though, that once you’re standing in the hot, waist-deep water, you’re stunned motionless. Disoriented. You don’t know where he is for a moment; you feel his hot gaze everywhere, all at once. You never actually thought you’d get this far with him, and now it feels daunting—the darkness of blindfold, the ever-changing line of his limits and preferences. You feel untethered.

Until the water shifts and he touches you.

“Beautiful,” he says, damp fingers following the curve of your cheek so lightly you can only just feel them.

You take his hand in both of yours and kiss his palm, soft lips brushing over rough skin. He catches you under your chin, and one fingertip traces your lips, his other hand settling on your waist, flexing.

You don’t want to push him too fast, and you also want to take full advantage of this opportunity while you finally have it.

You part your lips, and his fingers still.

You let your tongue peek out to circle the pad of one finger, inviting. To your delight, he responds by carefully pushing two fingers into your mouth. When you close your lips around them and suck, he lets out a broken, pained sound, pressing down on your tongue lightly before he eases them back out and drags a wet line down your chin to settle his hand around your throat.

You smile up at him, unseeing, as you trail fingers down his chest, the soft give of his stomach, dipping below the water as you reach the ridge of his hipbone. Moving slowly, always slowly, so he can stop you if he wants to.

Sure enough, his hand finds yours, trapping it against his skin. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to," you interrupt. "I want to touch you.”

It’s an understatement. There isn’t enough time to share all the myriad ways you’ve fantasized about touching him.

“I’ve thought about this since the first time I saw you walk in here in your armor,” you say, letting your voice pitch low. “What you’d feel like under all that metal.”

His hand disappears, and yours slips further down the v of his hips to wrap around the base of his cock. Hard, thick, big like you knew it would be.

“I think about it every time I work my way down your chest. How easy it would be to slip my hands lower...to see if you enjoy having my hands on your body as much as I do.”

He breathes out slowly, but his whole body is rigid as you drag your other hand over his shoulder, down his chest, a granite statue under your touch even as you start to work him over in long, luxurious strokes.

“I’ve been dying to know, Mando.”

His cock twitches in your hand, his skin hot and slick as it pulls over his hard length. He isn’t relaxing into your touch like he usually does, and this white-knuckled, shallow-breath, penitent version of pleasure is not at all what you’d intended for him, what he deserves.

You tip your face up toward his. “I need you to relax for me. Can you do that?”

A rough exhalation. Noncommittal, a little wry.

You step closer, gingerly moving into his space. He lets you. The water shifts around you as you move into him, close enough that your breasts brush his warm body and you can place a soft kiss on his chest. His ribs expand in a rapid, deep inhale, a rough hitching breath, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck.

You press him backward with a palm to his sternum, and he resists reflexively, his feet planted firmly. A man not so easily moved. Who is used to doing the telling, not being told.

“Sit for me?”

He relents with a hum, going pliant for you as you back him up to sit on the submerged marble bench. He helps you climb up, strong hands guiding your movements, settling you onto your knees in a straddle over his lap.

You dip your head to find the crook of his neck and lavish open-mouthed kisses on his throat, below his ear, automatically respecting the limits of where his helmet would be, as you move your hand between your bodies. You’ve never touched above his neck and won’t change that now, even though you’re dying to trace the contours of his face, to fit your lips to his.

Perched over him, you can feel his body gradually relax under your attention, his posture softening, his breath dropping into a more natural cadence. His hands find your hips, your thighs, slide back to grip your ass, as you begin to increase the pace of your stroke.

“Have you, Mando? Have you thought about this?”

You feel him nod once against the side of your head. Jerky, frantic.

“Good,” you purr into his skin, letting your teeth drag over his collarbone.

He groans, his hips lifting off the bench to push himself into your grip harder. The heat that always simmers in your core when you’re around him grows and spreads. It’s overwhelming—so much of his bare skin on your bare skin, after so long with so little. Almost feverish as you move together in the hot water.

Your hand pauses mid-stroke; his hands tighten in protest, sliding you a tiny bit closer on his tense thighs. “Do you think about me?”

His ragged breathing stalls. He nods again. “All the time.”

You hum, pleased, and resume the tight pull of your fist. Your own arousal is approaching a blistering point, so hot and bright, and he’s barely touching you—one hand on your ass, the other dragged up your body to palm your breast, his strong thighs pressed to the inside of yours. He rolls your nipple between two fingers, and you gasp.

“Feel so good,” he rasps, the heavy weight of his hands reverent as they catalog the slopes and rises of your body. “Just like I imagined.”

You can’t help but think about how easily you could sit on his cock right now. All it would take is a slight shift and tilt of your hips and you could catch the blunt head at your entrance. He’d stretch you so deliciously—that girth and length—but your wetness would let you work yourself down onto his lap until he was filling you completely. You’d fuck an orgasm out of him, riding him until he found his release in the tight clutch of your body, milking his cock until he shuddered from the oversensitivity.

One day. Maybe.

He’s close—you can tell by the strain in his voice, by his ragged breath, by the way his hands tighten on your ass. By the way he wraps one large hand around yours on his cock, tightening your grip.

“Just like that.”

You’d give anything to see his face when you feel the urgent flex of his hips as he fucks into your joined hands, the jerk and shudder of his large frame as it curves over you, his forehead dropping to rest heavily on your shoulder as he moans brokenly through the pleasure. It’s the most intimate part of all of this—so human, so trusting. So tempting to reach up and touch his face, to put detail to what you’ve imagined so many times.

You regret that your hand is submerged in water, that you can’t feel his hot release slide over the dips and swells of your knuckles. That you won't be able to lick it off your fingers—to taste it, for your own pleasure and for his. To listen to the sounds he’d make as he watched you eat his come.

Instead, when it’s over, when he’s finished, the weight of his forehead lifts from your shoulder and his touch abandons your body. You resist the urge to search it out, to ask for it back.

You imagine how he looks unwound underneath you, his head tipped back against the edge of the pool, muscles slack. His body finally truly relaxed.

Your part is done.

He’s never spent this long here, and you imagine he’s hyperaware of that. Always on a timeline. Some small part of you thought maybe—hoped—this time would be different, that maybe he’d linger, that maybe he’d want to touch you. You slide backward off his lap to take your leave reluctantly, but when you reach blindly for the edge of the pool, there’s the sound of quick movement through the water and he closes a hand around your wrist.

Relief courses through your veins.

He doesn’t say anything, just guides you. You can’t tell what his aim is until he arranges your body over his just so—just the way he wants you. He has you straddle his lap backwards this time, your back flush to his chest, your knees opened wide by the spread of his legs between yours.

You think about what he does for work, the command and skill it requires. Those capable hands and sure grip have wrestled so many bounties into submission—into handcuffs, into rope bindings, into his carbonite chamber—and here they are exerting their power and ability for the sake of your pleasure. Blunt instrument, suddenly fine.

His breath is hot by your ear, his heavy hand settling meaningfully on your inner thigh. “Can I—?”

“Yes. Fuck, please—”

You guide his hand between your legs, desperate, and his mouth finds the back of your neck. His mouth. Stubble scrapes across your skin, soft lips molding to the contour of your shoulder. The heat that’s been building in your body, that started as a low smolder in your core, has been growing to a rolling boil the whole time you were touching him. And his mouth on your body? Like striking a match to gasoline.

The reality of the situation, the surprise of this touch, ratchets your arousal to a precipitous height. It’s the sheer brazenness of it—the unflinching way he’s taking such a huge step. In the name of your pleasure, of his desire to taste you.

The offering of such intimacy, a secret shared.

A warm tongue blazes a lazy trail from the notch of your vertebra to your nape as two fingers slip into the slit of your sex, beginning a slow massage of your clit. Your mind goes blank.

It’s almost embarrassing how easily he makes you come, how little time it takes with his hand between your legs and his lips on your skin. He fucks you with two thick fingers, another swirling over your clit, and you wonder vaguely how he knows how to curl the two inside you just right against your g-spot.

You reach behind you to grip the back of his neck as you arch, your hips circling. He hooks his chin over your shoulder and you go molten at the thought that he’s watching himself finger-fuck you to climax.

“Are you going to—?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good.”

It's said through clenched teeth, a gritted jaw. He’s deriving so much pleasure from your pleasure, it's dizzying.

Teeth close over your shoulder and he bites down as you begin shudder and shake, as you clench and spasm around the thrust of his fingers—as you listen to his voice break on a groan as he feels it and draws it out—until the pleasure wanes and you melt back against him, boneless and sated, his strong body an anchor underneath you in the water.

You pant together, your head tipped back to rest on his shoulder, and all you can think about is how fucking close his lips are to yours. You could turn your face and kiss his jaw. He could angle your head and push his tongue into your mouth so easily. You’re so pliant; you want it so badly.

You consider asking. And then you consider the fact that he’s likely thinking about the same thing—your closeness is palpable, the tension a live, shivering thing—and he isn’t doing anything about it. He isn’t fitting a hand to your cheek to maneuver you just so.

You won’t ask for something he isn’t ready to offer.

When he finally does let you go, this visit that was so different from the others ends the same. He guides you back to the exit and hands you the robe that hangs by the door. As he helps you shoulder it on, he murmurs a sincere thank you, accompanied by a rumble of your name.

There’s one notable difference: as you're walking through the doorway, he catches your hand and squeezes it fleetingly before letting it drop.

The door shuts behind you with a click.

As always, a stack of credits far too high will be left in the room for you, and just like every other time, you’ll wait impatiently for his return.

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dincrypt · 1 month

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happy that you're back and you're welcome for giving your username back lmaoooooooo

Omg!!!! Y’all I bullied the blog who had my user at first cause I thought it was a bot 😭😭😭😭 turns out it was this lovely person. I can never thank you enough!!! Come out here so I can follow you 😂😂😉

#dincryptask

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dincrypt · 2 months

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I actually screamed when I saw you had made a return to tumblr. So happy to see such a talented story teller dipping their toes back into the art.

Thank you!!!!!

#dincryptask

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dincrypt · 2 months

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I’m taking your reappearance as a sign to re-read E&M. 😌 TIA

Noooooo wait until I’m done editing and revamping the chapters!!!😂😂 but if you insist 😚

#dincryptask

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dincrypt · 2 months

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Good to see you back! Hope you’re doing well.

Thank you!!! I am doing fantastic, I have many rabbits and one husband 🥰😂

#dincryptask

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dincrypt · 2 months

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Sooooooooo happy your back!!!!!!!🥳😍

Thank youuuuu!!!!!🤩🤩🤩

#dincryptask

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dincrypt · 2 months

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Where can we read Everything and More? The links are broken on tumblr and I can’t find it on A03. Thank you :)

Right here 😘

#dincryptask

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dincrypt · 2 months

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THANK YOU OMG WE FOUND IT!!!

Sugar Daddy Din & Sweetheart | Everything & More

Hey, so… I wish I could inject @dincrypt’s incredible fic straight into my veins, but instead I drew this to try and satisfy my cravings. Some parts are just my own fantasies (manifestations) for the characters whoopsie and others are a little more canon. If you need me, I’ll be daydreaming about these two!

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dincrypt · 2 months

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Hush

Summary: Din needs sleep, but it’ll take a bit of coaxing.

Content: Just sleepy fluff

He was rolling his shoulders again.

It was the closest thing to a tell Din possessed, and had taken you almost a year with him to decipher. He never yawned. Not that you had seen, anyway. Never complained. But the moment you noticed him straightening his posture, rolling his shoulders back as though it were nothing more than a stretch, you knew Din was exhausted.

All it took was a rut. Normally, he was wise enough to recognize when he needed sleep, and responsible enough to take it. He’d shed his armor, wrap himself around you in the warmth of your shared bunk, and soon be letting out the soft snores that lulled your own eyes into slumber.

Occasionally though, sleep was denied to him for one reason or another. An uncooperative quarry. A necessary but especially long haul through sub light. It didn’t matter what it was, the moment Din was denied his regular dose of rest, suddenly sleep was jettisoned off his priority list, and he was impossible.

Now, his tell was slipping through the cracks, thinly disguised amongst smaller unnecessary movements as he fiddled among the ship, tinkering with circuits that were in perfect working order. You looked up from Grogu’s bed, having finally coaxed him to sleep. Your eye roll went unnoticed by Din.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” You suggested softly.

‘Huh?” He mumbled without looking up from a very important lighting rig, imperative to the function of exactly six green and red buttons.

“I said you need some rest,” you tried again, crossing the hull to touch his pauldron softly. “Come lay down.”

“Oh. That’s alright, I’m not tired.”

You nearly let a laugh slip. You managed to turn it into a sigh, knowing the former would only aggravate him. “Well I’m tired. And you know I sleep better when you’re with me. Won’t you come lay with me, just for a bit?”

That, apparently, was more palatable. His frame drooped and you knew you had him. “Well…I suppose if it’ll help you…”

“It will. Absolutely.”

“Ok then…”

You led him away from the oh-so-vital light circuits and helped him remove his armor. This had always been one of your favorite things about your husband, getting to see his warrior exterior stripped away, leaving you with the soft man you knew and loved underneath. He was fully capable of doing it himself, of course. He had for years. But you loved to be the one to slip it off piece by piece, feeling his muscles relax beneath your touch. He knew this, so he let you.

You left his helmet for last, knowing he preferred to remove it himself. Once the last piece of metal was off his body, you brought him to bed.

Despite his earlier argument, he practically melted into the mattress. Your heart swelled as Din crawled over to you and laid his head on your chest without hesitation. His arm draped over your stomach as one of your hands stroked his back, the other climbing into his hair.

You had marveled at it a million times, and you would no doubt do so a million more, because you would never quite get over the fact that a battle hardened Mandalorian, who everyone saw as a merciless killer, trusted and loved you enough to relax in your arms and go to sleep. You were one of only two beings in the universe who could touch him without consequence.

He began to mumble. Another thing he did when exhaustion got the best of him.

“I love you so much…”

“I know. I love you too. Go to sleep.” You continued to run your fingers through his hair, soft and thick.

“You’re so warm.”

“So are you.”

“And so sweet.”

You chuckled, drawing your hand down to stroke his cheek with two gentle fingers. “Go to sleep my love.”

“M’trying…”

“No you’re not, you’re talking.”

“Mm…”

He slowly fell into silence, his breath deepening. You listened for the onset of snores. Before they came, he spoke again,

“You didn’t kiss me.”

You held a sigh. “What?”

“Kiss me…you didn’t…you always kiss me goodnight…”

You stroked his hair again, fingers digging softly in his scalp. “You’re too tired love, just sleep.”

“Can’t…” his voice was muffled in your chest, “Can’t until you kiss me…”

Your eyes rolled with a gentle smile. “Then come up here and get it I suppose.”

He raised his head, but his eyes stayed closed. He didn’t lean up, apparently lacking the energy. Instead he simply lulled his head to the side and presented his pursed lips. You grinned and craned your neck down to give him a soft peck on the mouth.

Instead of laying back down, he whined. “Another?”

“No,” you breathed through a laugh. “Go to sleep.”

“Mmmmm,” he complained, brow furrowing over still-closed eyes. “Please?”

“Huuuh…Maker…”

You humored him, lingering a little longer in hopes of satisfying him this time. It either worked or he lost the energy to hold his head up, because his face planted back into your chest. Your heart warmed with a mixture of love and mirth as you compared this sleepy eyed boy, begging for kisses, to the blood stained hunter who had shot down a quarry mere hours ago. Sometimes it felt like you were married to two different people.

You continued to work your fingers down his back with smooth, rhythmic strokes, humming softly. Your other hand ran down his hair to the nape of his neck, playing with the soft locks there. Din’s breathing gradually deepened, then slowed. But you knew he wasn’t asleep yet.

“Love you…” he murmured, “So much, darling…love you…love you…”

You tilted your head down to kiss his hair. “Sssh, I love you too. Sleep.”

“So warm…so soft…love you…”

The last syllable faded and you felt his mumbling lips finally come to a stop. Not a moment later, his soft and shallow snores graced your ears. You held him a little tighter, echoing his words of adoration as sleep finally overtook you.

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader

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dincrypt · 2 months

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This hoe!!!! Where is this hoe????? And the one where it was white background and several different drawings of Din and Sweetheart!?!!?!? GAHHHH

Y’all plz if anyone happens to remember/somehow have saved more of the OG posts of Everything and More fan art plz send/tag me I will give u my left titty only the left one tho

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dincrypt · 2 months

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Y’all plz if anyone happens to remember/somehow have saved more of the OG posts of Everything and More fan art plz send/tag me I will give u my left titty only the left one tho

#din djarin #the mandalorian #everything and more #E&M #I have the pics saved to my phone I just want the POSTS ajflfjskskdj

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dincrypt · 2 months

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Ok but why does you coming back out of absolutely NOWHERE give me these vibes:

(I'm so glad to have you back!)

Oh cause that’s exactly what happened 😎😂 I am so glad to be back thank you 😜

#dincryptask

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dincrypt · 2 months

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Omg ARE YOU BACK

Back and worse than ever pookie 🫡

#dincryptask

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dincrypt · 2 months

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Dad and The Dog

Summary: This.

Content: Fluff. Puppy antics.

Note: Re posting my most popular fic since I’ve decided to emerge from hibernation lol

“If it pisses on my floor once, it's gone.”

A tiny gasp escaped the mouth of your son, his already enormous eyes stretching with concern. You round on Din, bringing a protective hand over the mouth of Grogu’s pod.

“Din,” you chastise, not at all gentle. “Don’t say that! She’s a puppy, accidents are bound to happen!”

From behind your hand, a fuzzy white head popped out, panting so hard it looked like a smile, and barked in Din’s direction. Grogu gave a little cry and tugged his new pet back into the safety of the pod.

Your family was heading back to your ship after an eventful and productive trip to the market, all of you - except for one - ecstatic with the results.

“It’s going to get big you know,” Din pointed out, not even turning around as he stalked forward.

“The man said she’s an Anooba cross. She’ll be smaller than normal,” you countered, reaching back to rub a pair of perky white ears. Grogu grabbed handfuls of her fur protectively as he eyed Din, face somewhere between an adorable attempt at intimidation and a downright pout.

You could hear Din grumbling under his breath, pressing a control on his vambrace as you approached the ship. “Sure, crossed with a Massiff for all we know…”

You ignored him to help Grogu and his new puppy climb out of the pod. Two sets of miniature feet took off up the ramp. She immediately set about exploring her new home, nose to the floor as she ran in a zigzag, tiny owner right on her heels.

“Hey, keep that thing contained,” Din snapped as he followed them, pressing a button to close the hatch.

You sighed and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” you tried softly, hoping to diffuse the frustration clearly boiling under that armor. “Why are you being like that? I thought you liked dogs?”

“I do,” he argued. “Just not in a small space full of important things that can be chewed or peed on.”

“I’m sure your five crates of sonic charges can handle a little puppy teeth,” you said with an eye roll.

Din tilted his head, and years of reading a blank visor told you of his exasperation. You smiled and reached up to pull his helmet off, revealing the long suffering frown you expected. Setting it aside, you placed soft hands on his cheeks, running your thumbs back and forth.

“Come on. He needs this. Didn’t you just say a while back it would be nice for him to have someone his own size to play with?” As you spoke, a chorus of barks and delighted coos rang in the background.

Din’s shoulders drooped and his brows furrowed. “Yes! But I meant…” he gestured between the two of you, “I meant a sibling.”

“Well, think of this as like…a stepping stone to that. First he gets a puppy. Then a sibling.”

“Why the hell does there need-“

A loud crash cut him off, and he spun around to see Grogu and his pup sprawled on the floor, the contents of Din’s tool box scattered around them. The puppy clambered to her feet and pounced on Grogu, lavishing his face with wet kisses which he accepted in pure delight. Din frowned deeply and turned back to you.

“Why does there need to be a stepping stone? I don’t see how a puppy will prepare him for a sibling.”

With a gentle sigh and shake of your head, you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “It makes him happy. Isn’t that enough?”

You didn’t wait for a response, instead tapping his face gently with your palm before leaving to help Grogu pick up his mess. Din watched you, confusion and frustration etched into his scowl. The puppy bounced around your feet as you bent to gather the tools, giving each one an experimental gnaw.

With the smallest sneer and the slightest huff, Din retreated to the cockpit for what he expected to be his last ounce of peace for a very, very long time.

Code Red. Code. Kriffing. Red.

Or, technically, code yellow.

Grogu was hysterical. Sucking in enormous breaths faster than his little lungs could handle, cries piercing through the hull as he pointed at the puddle that managed to be directly next to the absorbing pads. You were on your knees in front of him, desperately trying to reach through the panic.

“Hey, hey, calm down baby it's alright.” You held his face and wiped the little tears away. He continued to sniffle. “Look at me.” You held him more firmly, eyes on his. “Daddy didn’t mean what he said, ok? He’s not going to take your puppy. I promise.”

That managed to break through, barely. With another deep breath, his cries lessened.

“And even if he did - which he didn’t - all we’d have to do is this…” You reached for the absorbing pad and placed it over the mess, promptly wiping away every ounce of evidence. “See? He’d never even know.” You smiled and winked playfully.

Grogu stared blankly at the pad, then looked at you, mouth turning up in an adorable grin. You laughed and looked around for the offender, who had ducked into hiding the moment her owner started to cry.

“Verd’ika?” You called. The choice of a Mandoa name was not coincidental. Though you suspected the attempt of endearing her to Din had accomplished very little.

She appeared hesitantly from behind a cargo box, puffy tail between her legs, back spines laid flat. You gave her a sympathetic, yet stern look.

“Verd’ika, you know what you did, don’t you?”

She scurried over to Grogu, burying her face in his cloak and refusing to look at you. Grogu hugged her, not contributing at all to your attempt at discipline. With a defeated sigh, you gathered up the soiled pads and tossed them in the incinerator.

“I suppose you’re beating yourself up enough already.” You bent down and stroked her head. Then looked at Grogu. “Go get the cleaner sweetheart. Let’s make sure the floor is nice and clean before daddy gets home.”

He nodded urgently and waddled off, his ever-present white shadow following.

Clan Djarin’s newest edition managed to have multiple accidents throughout the day. No matter how many treats you placed on the pads, no matter how highly you praised and encouraged every time she sniffed them, something about cold metal apparently made it the ideal location for relief. The floor was scrubbed spotless by the time Din returned.

He removed his helmet with narrowed eyes, carbonite chamber still humming with the acquisition of his newest bounty. You appeared from the bunk, all smiles.

“Welcome back dear, how’d it go?”

“Fine...” he answered slowly, eyeing the floor.

You swept yourself into his arms and kissed him, hoping to redirect that concerning gaze. He kissed you back, absently, and you could tell his eyes were open, still fixed on the floor. You put your hands around his neck and kissed him a little harder.

Unfortunately, it only served to make him more suspicious. He pulled away from you with a frown.

“It peed on the floor didn’t it?”

“It’s a she,” you corrected.

“She peed on the floor.”

“I have no idea what you-“

You were spared the completion of your lie by Grogu’s entrance. He waddled to his dad with outstretched arms, smiling. Din bent down to accept him, throwing an uncertain glare at his snow colored companion.

“Hey buddy,” Din said softly as he lifted his kid. Verd’ika pawed at his boot. “Anything exciting happen today?”

Grogu drew his lips in and shook his head. Din glanced between both of you, brows raised in an expression of innocence and wonder. “Really? Nothing at all?”

Two heads shook in confirmation. Din looked down at his feet. “How about you?” He said to Verd’ika, “Anything to confess?”

Verd’ika barked once, front paws sliding forward as her rump lifted in the air, tail whirring. “Is that so?” Din looked to you in mock surprise. “She says she peed on the floor today.”

You gasped and snatched the puppy up, holding her out in front of you with an accusatory glare. “Verd’ika, how could you? Lying to your father that way!” You turned her around in your arms to face Din. “Tell him the truth Verd’ika, tell him what a good girl you’ve been.”

She barked once more, squirming as she craned her neck back to nip at your chin.

“That’s better. See Din?”

Disbelief dripped from his features. Thankfully, instead of pushing the argument, he just rolled his eyes and brushed past you on his way to the cockpit, Grogu still in his arms.

Before he could take another step, Grogu let out a cry of protest, reaching behind him for Verd’ika. Din sighed and turned around, bringing him close enough to scoop the puppy from your arms.

You watched with an unabashed grin as your riduur clambered up the ladder, arms full of squirming dog and child.

Nights on the ship were peaceful.

Rather, the artificially timed darkness designed to preserve some semblance of a circadian rhythm while deep in hyperspace, was peaceful.

Din was a light sleeper, and still not used to extended lengths of inactivity, even with the balance you brought to his life. It wasn’t unusual to find him missing from your bed throughout the night, fiddling with whatever mundane task he picked up in an attempt to quiet his mind.

After waking up for a second time to find him gone, you decided to go looking for him. When the usual tinkering couldn’t do the trick, more often than not your voice could, a few sweet words of encouragement lulling him back into bed.

The cockpit was the first place you checked. He found something soothing in the gentle, repetitive nature of flying the ship, even when it wasn’t necessary. Sometimes it was all he needed to relax enough to allow him to sleep. Other times, he needed you.

You found him there, unsurprisingly. As you crested the ladder you caught sight of his head above the pilots seat, brown locks messy with unsuccessful sleep, shoulders moving with what little effort flying through clear space required.

What did surprise you, was the white ball of fur at his feet, staring up at him.

Din was speaking. Quietly. You stayed on the ladder, tilting your head to hear him better.

“I’m not giving you any,” he grumbled, and with a glance to the side you realized he was talking about the package of jerky pieces he was snacking on. “Quit asking.”

Verd’ika let out a small whine, reaching forward to paw his socked foot. Din looked down at her. “What? I said no.”

She didn’t let up. Her head creeped forward, eyes on Din’s face. Her lips quivered with a barely muted bark.

“Ssh!” He snapped, finger to his lips. “They’re sleeping.”

You covered your mouth to contain the laugh bubbling in your chest. For someone who claimed to not be interested in this dog, he sure was having quite the conversation with her.

“Alright, look, here,” He retrieved a piece of jerky and tossed it in her direction. Verd’ika snatched it right out of the air, swallowing it whole.

“Hey…” Din said, tone just on the edge of impressed. “Good job.”

She licked her lips and tossed her head up. He shook his head. “Now you’re just pushing it.”

She insisted, once again batting at his feet with a string of quiet whines. Din growled and grabbed the package. “Fine, but you’re gonna have to work for it. I don’t suppose they’ve actually been training you, have they?” He held a piece of jerky up above her head. “Sit.”

She cocked her head at him, ears pricked, and slapped her tongue across her jowls. Din sighed.

“Didn’t think so.” He scooted forward in the pilots chair, setting the package aside but still holding a piece in front of her. He reached forward to place his other hand on her back, at the base of her tail. “Look Verd’ika, sit.”

He pushed her rump down to the floor as he said the word, her eyes still glued to the jerky. “Good girl!” He gave her the meat and she scarfed it greedily, immediately standing back up.

“No, you’re not supposed to-“ he started, reaching for another piece. “Alright come here, lets try again…”

With a grin, you turned and headed back down the ladder before he saw you.

You woke up to the sound of Din loudly calling your name.

“Come here! Bring Grogu!”

Your knee-jerk, sleep soaked reaction was panic. Only when he called you again and you heard the laughter in his voice were you able to calm down, slipping out of bed with a groan. You found Grogu in a similar state, groggy eyed as he rolled out of bed at the sound of his father’s voice. You picked him up and headed for the cockpit just as Din called you for a third time.

“We’re coming!” You answered, trying to keep the irritation from your voice.

Your steps were heavy up the ladder as sounds of barking and a few low chuckles reached your ears. In the cockpit, you found Din standing with Verd’ika in front of him, a handful of jerky in his palm as she watched him with rapt attention. He smiled at you as you entered.

“Watch this,” he said excitedly, holding up a treat. Verd’ika stood at attention.

“Sit!”

Immediately, her behind sunk to the floor. Din glanced at you, looked pleased at your impressed smile, then turned back to the puppy.

“Lay.”

Her paws slid the rest of the way down until her belly touched the floor.

“Good girl!” He tossed her the treat, which she inhaled.

“Did you see that buddy?” Din asked his wide-eyed boy. Grogu smiled with a happy sounding gurgle. Din walked over and took him from your arms, Verd’ika barely a step behind. “She’s pretty clever huh?”

You nodded your agreement, watching as Din placed a treat into Grogu’s palm. “You wanna try? Give it to her when-“

The second the meat touched his hand, Grogu tossed it to Verd’ika. Din stuttered half a movement at grabbing it, stopping short as it disappeared into a set of sharp white fangs, gone. He dropped his head before turning to Grogu.

“No buddy, after she listens, ok?”

Two dark eyes stared blankly at him, blinking once. Din held up another treat. “You hold it. I’ll tell her what to do. When she listens, give it to her. Ok?” He hesitantly placed the meat into Grogu’s waiting palm.

This time, he held it. Din nodded and looked to Verd’ika. “Sit.”

She sat. Grogu dropped the meat and it promptly disappeared.

“There you go! Good job buddy!” He bent down to pat the puppy’s head, “Good girl Verd’ika!”

You laughed delightedly and squeezed his shoulder. “Glad you two are finally getting along.”

Din shrugged nonchalantly, not quite meeting your eye. “Well...she’s finally listening.”

“Suuuure,” you droned, reaching down to pick her up. “And I’m sure her being completely adorable has nothing to do with it, right?” You held her out in presentation, and Verd’ika cocked her head as she looked at Din, as though attempting to contribute to your point.

He rolled his eyes and fought a smile, then tugged you forward to place a kiss on your forehead. “Well,” he leaned down to kiss Grogu as well, “I suppose it’s no secret I have a weakness for adorable things.”

The grocery bag was heavier than the last time you slung it over your shoulder.

Your eyes narrowed as you adjusted the strap, immediately knowing who the culprit was. Or rather, culprits.

You turned around in the middle of the dusty market street, eyeing your riduur and son, who stopped short behind you. Any time they came along on shopping trips, they had a habit of ganging up on you, flooding your limited carrying space with useless treats. That’s why you were the only one who got to carry the grocery bag anymore.

At the sight of your glare, Din tilted his helmet in question.

“What did you two sneak in here?” You asked, jostling the strap over your shoulder. Grogu’s mouth dropped and he looked to his father.

“Nothing,” Din said easily.

“Its heavier than it was a few minutes ago.”

“Aww, then I’ll carry it for you cyare,” he reached for the bag but you took a step back.

“No no, I’m simply giving you a chance to come clean before I open it up and find out.”

Din exchanged a look with Grogu, then shrugged at you. You gave them a final warning glare before peering down into the bulging sack at your side. In it, a top your own selections of spices and balanced ration meals, sat two sleeves of cookies and three packages of jerky. You looked back up to see Din peering over, as if he too was curious of the contents.

“Huh.”

“Huh indeed,” you droned, pure sarcasm. “Wonder where those came from.” Din’s helmet rumbled with a low chuckle and you smiled. “That’s a lot of jerky. I don’t think Verd’ika can eat it all.”

“It’s for me,” Din said immediately.

You dropped your head incredulously. “Really? Three packages just for you?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re not gonna give any to her?”

He shrugged. “Well, maybe if she’s good. But it's not for her.”

You made sure he could see every ounce of disbelief on your face before turning and leading the way back home.

He never did admit it. Just as you never admitted to waking up that night and hearing him in the cockpit, voice scarcely above a whisper through the faint sounds of a crinkling bag,

“Verd’ika. Look what I got you.”

Week five of life with a puppy came, and there was hair on your bed. Short, white, unmistakably canine, and only on Din’s side. You stared at it, smirk growing at the same time your eyes narrowed. You called for Din and he poked his head into your quarters.

“What’s this?” You asked sweetly, gesturing to the fur scattered on the sheets.

He peered at it suspiciously. “What’s what?”

“This dog hair. Did you have Verd’ika on our bed?”

“No,” he said quickly. A little too quickly.

You placed your hands on your hips. You didn’t mind if she slept in the bed with you, not at all. But the fact that he was being sneaky about it and clearly trying to hide it, made teasing him simply irresistible. “Really? Then how did it get here? Only on your side?”

He shrugged. “She must have snuck up there at some point.”

“Ah. Well then,” you took a step toward the door, “I suppose I should get on to her.”

“No!” He stopped you with a firm hand on your shoulder. You gave him a look of utter bafflement and he retracted, cheeks flushing pink. “I mean...it’s too late now. You have to catch them in the act. She won’t understand.”

“Ah...I see...” you nodded as though the thought was very wise. “In that case I’ll just keep a better eye on her then.”

He returned your nod, just as serious but no more convincing. “Good. Me too.”

You didn’t.

The hair returned most mornings. No matter how many times you settled Verd’ika next to Grogu in his bed, there was almost always a fresh batch of fur waiting for you. It was always less than that first time, and you recognized the signs of an unsuccessful attempt at brushing it away. The stubborn stragglers were his downfall.

Rather than confront him again, you decided to let it slide. He wasn’t going to come clean any time soon.

After several months of living with a Verd’ika and a Din who insisted his tolerance of her was minimal, he dropped a shocking statement over dinner one night.

“I was thinking I might start some extra training with Verd’ika.”

You froze. Eyebrows raised, fork halfway in your mouth. You lowered it slowly to answer him. “What kind of training?”

Grogu had also perked up at the mention of his pet’s name, long ears pointed in Din’s direction. Below the table, a shuffle of paws told you Verd’ika had heard it too.

Din swallowed a mouthful of soup, then spoke nonchalant as ever, “Thought she may have the potential to be a good guard dog. For when I’m gone. It’d be nice to know there’s someone looking after you two.”

Your grin was determined, but you smothered it down, cheeks aching and pulling. It had taken barely any time for Din to go from “one accident and she’s gone” to, “I would like to leave those I love most in the care of this creature.” The thought was nearly too much for your heart to bear.

“It’s a good idea love, but do you think she’ll be big enough?”

He nodded. “Anooba’s get big. And I don’t buy what that vendor said for a second. He probably just heard me complain that we wouldn’t have room.” As he spoke, he tore off a piece of his bread and slowly lowered it beneath the table. You heard the smacking of lips below, followed by the reappearance of his empty hand.

Grogu, ever the imitator, did the same. A set of four eager paws skittered over your feet on their way to the little green hand holding out bread under the table.

“Keep that up and she’s going to be too fat to guard anything,” you laughed, even as you tore off a piece of your own bread for her.

Din scowled in offense. “Of course not. She’ll just build muscle.” He tilted his head to look under the table. “Isn’t that right Verd’ika?”

A muffled, bread-filled bark answered him in confirmation.

When you were little, you had been certain that a litter of loth cats someone had dropped off outside your home were the most adorable thing you had ever, and would ever, see. Six little bundles of multicolored fur, mewling and crying until you had warmed and fed each one. They held the top spot on your cute rank for years.

Then you met Din. Six foot with his helmet on, covered in armor, who hunted down criminals for a living. He immediately over took the loth kittens in terms of adorable. Next you met your son, and the two had been neck and neck ever since.

But this. This took the cake. Nothing in the universe would ever be cuter. You’d stake your life on it.

Din was on his knees, in the middle of a field on some grass planet you couldn’t remember the name of. His arm was wrapped up in one of his shirts, encouraging a confused Verd’ika to bite him while Grogu stood to the side, treats at the ready. Late afternoon breeze whipped through the fur of all three, white, brown, and sparse.

“Come on sweetheart, just like last time,” Din cooed. “Edeemir!” Bite.

Verd’ika dropped down on her front paws and tossed her butt in the air, tail whipping. Din sighed and shook his head with a smile.

“Your name is little warrior. Act like it.”

He started at her, arm jerking forward in a mock attack. Verd’ika barked in delight and lunged, chomping down on his padded forearm with all the force her little jaws held.

“Good girl!” Din praised loudly. On cue, Grogu stepped forward with a treat. “That’s a clever girl, good job sweetheart!” He petted her back and scratched behind her ears as Grogu babbled his own sounds of praise, stumbling forward to pet his puppy.

You shook your head with a laugh. At this rate, your only worry was that Verd’ika would begin biting people randomly in anticipation of her treat and praise parade.

“Are you sure that’s the best method dear?” You asked.

Din looked up at you with a bright smile, still petting Verd’ika. “Of course.”

“I’m just worried she’s going to start biting and thinking she’ll be rewarded for it.”

He shook his head. “No no, she’s learning to bite on command. She’ll only be rewarded if she does it when told.”

You grimaced uncertainly. “Alright, if you say so…”

They practiced and played until the sun fell low in the sky. With the short attention span of both younglings, it didn’t take long for anything resembling training to fade into games of fetch and chase.

Eventually you found yourself darting through thick grass, Verd’ika at your side. Behind you, Grogu held onto Din’s back as they gave chase, strong arms reaching out as they ran. You laughed and screamed as his fingertips brushed you, pushing harder with a dodge to the left. Verd’ika contributed by running as close to your feet as possible, jumping up to snap your clothes at every opportunity.

Inevitably, he caught you. Your run came to an abrupt halt in his vice like grip, a strong chest at your back as you screamed in the happiest way. Din pulled all three of you onto the grass in a heap of limbs and laughter. Grogu crawled up to Din’s chest, holding his arms out for Verd’ika as she launched into the fray. Din huffed and groaned dramatically as her heavy paws pounded onto his chest.

As your laughter faded into uneven breaths, one of your hands reached up to pet Verd’ika, the other sneaking into Din’s hair. He rolled his head to the side and looked at you, face framed by deep green blades, smile the brightest you’d ever seen it, dimpled cheeks flushed with exertion. Above you, your son clung to his puppy, smiling at his parents.

The sunset warming your body was ice compared to the warmth sprouting from your heart.

You stayed awake a little longer that night, hoping to finally catch visual proof of what you already knew was happening once you drifted off to sleep. After kissing Din goodnight, you turned with your back to him, waiting a few minutes before intentionally letting your breaths deepen and slow.

You expected him to get up, and return with her. Instead you were surprised when, after several long minutes of anticipation, you heard a faint scratch at the door, followed by it sliding open. There were foot taps on metal, then a dip in the mattress. Din murmured a greeting and you covered your mouth with your hand to contain a laugh.

She was trained alright. Like clockwork.

Slowly, hoping to catch him unawares, you turned. In the darkness you could make out Din’s back, a pair of snow white ears perking behind his shoulder.

You reached over carefully until your hand brushed his spine. Din inhaled sharply and stiffened. Caught. With a smile, you closed the distance between you, bringing your chest against him as your hand slipped around his ribcage to pet Verd’ika’s soft head.

“Softie,” you whispered in his ear. You kissed his cheek and felt him smile.

“Me?” He mumbled in a sleep-tainted voice, “Never.”

You grinned and kissed him again just as the door slid open for a second time. You looked up to see Grogu in the threshold, no doubt in search of his missing puppy. With a wave, you beckoned him over.

Din leaned across Verd’ika to lift Grogu on the bed, then rolled to face you, bringing both babies with him. Sheets shuffled as you scooted back to give them room, Grogu settling next to Din as he held onto Verd’ika, her soft back curling against your stomach. Four sets of slow breath filled the air, quiet and content.

Din’s eyes met yours across the pillows, warmth and love etched across the face you adored, his hand traveling back and forth between his son and his dog before finally settling on his riduur.

You both reached across the narrow space that separated you, holding onto each other, your universe safe and sleeping in the warmth of your embrace.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction

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