i just want to reiterate:
dinjamin djarin is uncircumcised.
and he has a huge penis.
i don’t take criticism goodbye
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Please enjoy my character of the week featuring our favorite Tin Space Daddy.
The World Of Tomorrow
Pairing: Clan Leader Din x F!Original Character
Warnings: Slow Burn, Violence, eventual smut, a galaxy in ruins, war. Sexy Clan Leader Din🤌🏽😗
Story Summary: This is the story of two lovers who come together in the middle of a galactic wide war. Planets are destroyed - cities are burned, and there isn’t much left of the Universe. A slow burn, anticipation lovers quarrel
001 (Coming Soon)
Send me a message if you want to be added to the tag list for this story❤️
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THE WAY[GN! Reader version] CHAPTER 7
Gif By: Burning-chi-thunderfoot
THE WAY(GN! Reader Version)
CHAPTER 7: BELIEF
Pairing: Din Djarin x GN! Reader
Word Count: 5k
Warnings: Mild swearing, Loss of memory, Angst, Comfort, FEELS
Thank’s for being patient on the GN/Race Neutral version, we are nearing the end for this version but be sure to check out the Original Version featuring my OC Li’ani to continue the story past Chapter 10!
a state or habit of mind in which trust or confidence is placed in some person or thing
ORIGINAL VERSION FOUND [ HERE ]
You feel the prickle of tears threatening the corner of your eyes, but you struggle to be brave, like your Master.
“Master, please come with me!”
There’s a lull in the chaos, or perhaps it was your focus on them that allows you to tune out the overwhelming array of blaster fire. When you make eye contact, you see something that won't be recognizable as determined resignation until much later.
The last words you would ever hear from them, the last wisdom they would ever impart to you…
You aren’t sure if your gasp sounds loud because you have startled awake or if you startled awake because your gasp was so loud. There is a rushing of white noise followed promptly by an intense ringing as consciousness fast forwards, and everything is at once too loud, too quiet, and too bright.
Why was it so bright?
You’d been in the fresher, and then…
Every muscle in your back screams when you whip up to a sitting position. There are what feels like a million abrasions and the stinging heat of several burns that start to numb and dissipate as your innate healing factor kicks into gear.
It was bright. You realize it’s because you were now outside.
And why you now outside reach you at the same time, everything else does. You’d been in the fresher, had been startled by...someone...who then barricaded you in the there.
As they often did, a panic attack made itself an unwelcome guest. Somehow you still managed to overcome the episode enough to move aside the object barricading you into the small room.
Already purely focused on finding Din and Grogu, you were mid-sprint out of the ship and zoned in on the monument towering high above.
You couldn’t be sure how many feet away you managed to get before the explosion, but it was just far enough away that you’d lived.
At least you believe you are alive; you hope whatever came after wasn’t this...uncomfortable.
The ringing in your ears filtered out any other sounds, though the intensity was already starting to drop. Finally, the pain subsides enough for you to shift to hands and knees; dust and smoke combine to set you to painful coughing as you work your way back to standing. The sharp grinding sensation along your torso indicates breaks in your ribs. Though already, it was starting to dull enough to think.
Din and Grogu!
You wanted to run again but find yourself in no condition to do so for a few moments still. Instead, you reach out to them and feel the child’s fear when you aim at him, sending soothing energy in the hopes it might calm him. But before you can contemplate why, is signature pulling away in the distinct manner of someone leaving on a ship did.
Your heart lurches into a panic.
Finally, you find the grit to stand and begin to hobble towards where you can sense Din.
Thank the Force; you can still sense him. He was planetside and alive.
With each footfall, the pain lessens, and soon you are sprinting in the direction that’s calling to you.
The profundity of what was lost widened in him greater than the most fathomless canyon. He’d been so concerned about how much time had gone by or how much time he had left that it never occurred to Din that it was the depth of the events that changed you & mattered more. Maybe it was inevitable that just as unexpectedly Grogu and you had entered his life, they would be taken away.
His ship, his foundling and his...
“I’m...So...sorr-” Boba’s grit-worn voice begins carefully before the final interruption, but for once, it was a welcomed one.
“Mando!!!” If Boba and Fennec’s heads didn’t whip around at the voice, he might think he had a Spice Dream himself.
Din’s boots are carrying him in your direction, his mind trailing behind in pure disbelief.
When you reach each other, you hit his chest with a tangible impact proving to him you are solid and blessedly real. The relief he feels then is almost sick-inducing in how overpowering it is.
You stand there for Maker knew how long before he realized your feet weren’t even touching the ground and lowered you back down. Large gloved hands make passes over your face to your shoulders, and he steps back to look you up and down.
You are battered, but thank the Maker…alive!
Dirt clings to your face and in your still-damp hair, clothes slightly singed, but otherwise, whatever injuries there were are either healed or hidden.
“The Force, are you alright?”
“Like how I showed...Grogu…”
Your face falls in realization.
His head bows under the weight of the words he can’t find; thankfully (somehow), your expression reveals that you know. Shaking hands find a hold in the dark grey fabric of his cloak, clinging to him as he wraps you in a weary but firm embrace. Din is thankful that Boba and Fennec exchange their looks in silence and allow them to have the time they need. Nothing is uttered even as they finally move to examine the crater left behind from the Crest’s destruction.
The sight of the smoldering cavity gouged into the planet's surface sends another wave of something tangibly terrifying through him. You were here, in this very spot and somehow managed to get away. Din thinks that his Jedi was either unlucky or incredibly blessed. Perhaps it was both.
It doesn’t take very long for you to locate the shifter knob, dusting it off and staring at it silently. Quickly to follow Din collects his spear.
Both are pure Beskar, so they are pristine despite everything around it being unsalvageable.
All that remains is pulverized soot and charred debris.
You placed the knob in his hand without making eye contact, but don’t move away either.
When Boba approaches to prove the Armor belongs to him, you swivel your face away from the older man he wonders if there might be a problem there.
All the same, he’s more than willing to allow you to turn into him, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and keeping it there felt reassuring. It reminded himself that you were truly alive, it was needy, but he didn’t care.
Boba and Fennec vow to help them get Grogu back, and with no recourse and no ship (and their display of solidarity) he accepts. Despite his anguish Din finds common ground with them and is thankful for the Honor they display.
Everyone is contemplative as they enter Slave1 and pass out of the atmosphere to leave Tython behind.
Before heading to the cockpit Boba turns towards Din and then looks pointedly at you.
“Apologies about earlier-“
You don’t respond, remaining still at Din’s side. Boba’s brow ridge arch’s at your lack of response, though to his credit he takes it in stride.
“Fair enough…I have a bunk just over there…it’s not much but it’s private. You two should take it, I have a cot out here I can use if need be, and well…Fennec, she’s Fennec…” thankfully there’s nothing implied, no playfulness in his tone. It’s straightforward and earnest and Din nods in thanks.
Watching Boba go, it’s not until he turns back to you that he realizes you’ve already escaped towards the direction of that aforementioned bunk.
Din only hesitates for a moment before following, though part of him wonders if what you really need is a moment alone. He pauses for only a few breaths before continuing. Perhaps It’s pure selfishness that he doesn’t want to be alone, but he doesn’t have the self-control to stay away right now.
As quickly as the door shuts behind you it’s opening back up again for him to slide into the darkened room like a shadow.
The scene is so familiar that he wonders if this is how things are destined to repeat, a small moment of peace before tragedy inserts itself.
Din stands above you, one hand on the wall as he tries to find something to say…anything.
Nothing comes, his own pain weighing him down.
He lets it pull him to the ground, back sliding down the wall until he sits only a flimsy’s width from you and allows his Helmet to hang between his arms. Maybe sleep would come, maybe not. He wasn’t sure if either state would be helpful.
Worse is he isn't sure what shreds at him more, the sound of a muffled sob coming from you or his freezing in uncertainty about how to help you.
He does nothing instead, just sits with the crippling realization he didn’t know what to do.
“I’m so sorry, please forgive me” his head is snapping up the moment those words register.
You are falling apart right beside him, and Maker it’s going to undo the last ounce of restraint he has remaining.
You turn away and he can’t suffer it anymore. The look in your eyes is going to haunt him, just like the helplessness of watching Grogu being snatched away. He has never felt so weak, so powerless and he has never hated something so much as he does that feeling.
Din nearly rips his gloves off the moment his mind is made up. For a second or two your sobs tear into him before he finally, blessedly, gets to feel your face under his bare hands.
You don’t acknowledge Din even as he joins you on the ground, too concerned with hiding the sobs that are already breaking away. Even the firm press of your face into the cook of your elbow can’t mask them, but it offers some weak semblance of shelter. It’s not that he’s never seen you cry, You've’s done your fair share of it both in his presence and alone. It’s that he is mourning and it isn’t fair to take away from that because You can’t keep your own damn tears at bay. How you wish he’d stayed out with the others, or perhaps you should have escaped to the fresher instead.
It’s too late now, too late for so much.
You need to get it together, knew he should be the one being comforted.
But this gnawing, biting guilt just won't leave you be.
“I’m so sorry, please forgive me” you beg, chin shaking & voice drowning under the waves of regret threatening to drown you. It’s time to face your part in this, if you’d been there…been strong enough, Jedi enough…then maybe Grogu would be here with you right now.
The thought of never being able to hold Grogu again burns away the oxygen in your lungs, the reality of your child lost in the wake of your inability to do anything about it digging a hole through your heart.
Din’s helmet raises the instant the plea falls from your lips, the reflection in the Beskar of your tear ruined face leering back a distorted copy off of the beskar and glass Helmet. It matches how you feel inside and you look away, unable to face yourself. How had you any right to be allowed tears when Din is the one who had his child taken today?
Next to you, he shuffles & you think maybe he’s getting up to leave.
Of course, you don’t blame him, feels his ire is deserved, but it causes a new wave of tears to flow at the idea of him hating you. Blaming you the way you condemn yourself.
Instead, you are surprised by the soft plop of leather dropped to the floor, gloves discarded and bare warm hands framing your face. Firmly he turns you towards him.
“…you’re shaking” Din wonders aloud, the T-shaped window of his visor cants slightly to one side.
His thumbs swipe back and forth across the apple of your cheek, then up to rest at their peak. Too shocked to speak again for a moment, your head shakes side to side the tiniest bit until you can mutter an “If I’d been there…”
“They would have taken you too, or worse…” His words are so quiet, the vocoder barely registers them at all. You’ve expected a lot of things from him, accepted the possibility of many things you believe are much deserved…but this wasn’t one of them.
This gentleness in which he holds you through his own pain, you cannot wrap your brain around it, it was overwhelming. When you make a half-hearted attempt to turn away so he couldn’t see how shame-filled you are, his hands are firm though and won’t allow it.
“…Cyar’ika please look at me…” and you do then, because how could you not? How could you not do anything he asked when his voice sounded so damn vulnerable and wide open.
“If it’s your fault, it’s mine in equal measure” he continues but your head is swinging side to side before he even finishes.
“...not your fault” more fat tears slip-free and his thumbs wipe them away as if he cannot help himself.
“…if it’s not my…fault” Din takes a stuttering breath, and his modulator crackles a little but he seems to compose himself.
“If it’s not MY fault…then it’s not yours either” he utters with such assurance that you actually begin to believe it. You should have known this would be his reaction. You would never allow for such blame to be placed on himself, there was nothing he could have done. It was a logic now being turned back on you, and you desperately grasp it. Urgently wanting to trust his words & believe in them wholeheartedly.
You were actually trembling, and the observation tumbles from him.
Dank ferrik, he should have never left you behind. He was so impatient to get the task over with that he didn’t think. Because of it, Grogu was gone and you were traumatized.
Everything he touched came away battered and bruised. It felt like a curse, perhaps it was.
“If I’d been there…”
Shit. There it was, you are blaming yourself because of course, of course, you would.
“They would have taken you too, or worse…” The idea of it will haunt him.
He could have lost you both. Grogu had become everything to him in a year, Din never thought there could be space for anyone else in his battered heart. But such was the enigma that his little green foundling was. He’d sworn to stay closed off, guarded against anyone further…and yet here you were. All the while you were placing blame on yourself, he was doing the same. You didn’t deserve this, and he didn’t deserve you.
They were quite the pair, he thinks.
When you try to pull away from him, his grip tightens.
“…Cyar’ika please look at me…”
Din doesn’t care how desperate he sounds, he’s not going to allow you to feel the same way he does.
Not if he can help it, at least not alone.
“If it’s your fault, it’s mine in equal measure” and again your head is shaking to disagree before he can finish.
More tears appear as you argue your guilt, and he’s desperate to wipe both away as if he can take on your sadness in doing so. If it was possible to carry the burden of your pain for you he would, that in itself shakes him.
Din’s voice cracks under the need to compose himself before continuing. The pressure at the corner of his eyes joins the tightening of his throat…it takes a few breaths before he can continue.
“If it’s not MY fault…then it’s not yours either”
They aren’t just platitudes though, he truly believes this.
It never occurred to Din that the guilt that's been corroding him from the inside out was being shared by you. He shouldn’t be so blindsided, from day one it was apparent that you loved Grogu. Though you might not have had the benefit of the length of time he’d had, the intensity of your affection was never a molecule less. Not for either of them.
Bigger than his need to find consolation is the acute need to comfort you.
“…can I ask something of you…”
Nearly right away you are nodding, your expression illuminating your keenness.
A small voice far in the back of his mind is questioning him, the one that always prevents his guard from coming down. He doesn’t ignore it often, but it goes one of two ways when he does. He comes away hurt, or he gains back a level of humanity he’d thought long gone. Either way, he’s left changed forever.
That sensation of weightlessness while being lifted to safety by his Mandalorian savior, an orphaned child in the arms of grace covered Beskar.
The feeling of being barely tethered to his body as the calm acceptance of death settles over him, followed by IG’s life-saving treatment.
More recently the feeling of your weight in his arms as he escaped that ice cave on that snowball of a world.
“….could you…close your eyes?”
When you shut them without hesitation, it has a tangible effect on the tempo of his pulse.
Your willingness to trust him…
The room feels chilled when the helmet comes off, his flushed cheeks cooled further by the tears that have managed an escape.
His large hands find refuge on either side of your face the moment his helmet is safely on the ground, and he’s drawing you to him until the crowns of your foreheads meet.
The last time Din had shown such affection was the press of his helmet oh-so-gently to Grogu’s forehead. He’d never had the pleasure of a skin-to-skin Keldabe, but now he knows why they call it a kiss.
It can double as a weapon, one he’s regularly guilty of utilizing against ugly fists and angry faces.
It’s understood that among those with the closest of familial bonds, it was a way to share affection when you lived shielded beneath a barrier of armor. Din had no such family…well that wasn’t right, he might not have in the past but that wasn’t true any longer.
Grogu was his Foundling…
And when they got him back Din would make sure that he looked upon his Ad’ika with his own Maker given eyes, and that his son saw his face unshielded by any barrier.
This is the Way.
Lately, those sacred words he’d lived by had begun to lose their significance.
Right now though, with your forehead pressed to his and his breath uniting with yours, he thinks he understands them better than ever.
“I’m so sorry Din, I know the Crest was your home”
Not without Grogu…and not without you.
He nearly says it aloud but is too startled by how sure he feels. It’s too bare a confession, now isn’t the time for it that inner voice proclaims.
“It was just a ship…it’s who you share it with that make it a home”
He’s never been the praying type but wordlessly begs the Maker to help him stay strong. “Ships can be replaced, but people can’t…”
It’s a compromise but leaves him wondering if you can still pick out the divulgence wrapped up in it. The idea makes him both fearful and excited. Not yet, soon, after we get Grogu back.
Din spars with his logic and this feeling sitting in his chest, a kata danced between what he wants to say and what he needs to hold back.
He can’t speak his whole truth into existence, he doesn’t have all the words yet, but he can show you. Anguish eases into something unreadable, a type of calm that he feels in his bones, and wonders if it’s some Jetii magic at play. If he could ease the tension holed up between your brows he would, and his mind has the audacity to think about placing his lips there to smooth away the pain.
“We are going to get him back” you swear with such certainty it hauls him back to the present. Not for the first time Din wishes that he could look into your eyes. Not simply because of the truth he sees there every day, more than anything it's driven by the want to see your reaction to him. Din, for the first time, desperately wants to see what appears there when you see him.
All of that aside, first and foremost Din has to get Grogu back. Only then can they move forward.
“Your right, we will. We will get him back, and rebuild”
His hand engulfs where the Chrono once was and allows a moment to wonder at how your limbs look cradled in his grip. Din doesn’t stop himself then, pressing a kiss on the heel of your palm. The small intake of breath and display of expressions is an instant reward. In the wake of this, you smile and laugh through a sniffle, extracting a smirk of his down with its contagiousness.
“…what?” Din again thinks that when this was all over, he would make it his mission to see a smile on your face as often as sentiently possible.
“I’m going to need to start from scratch on a lightsaber now…” the pout on your mesh’la face is the welcome mat to a moment of levity sorely needed. Din laughs, honest to Maker chuckles. Humor settles into something adjacent to peace, even only for a few minutes, and he lets it just be for a while. It’s not long enough for either, but he knows there are plans to be set before the real work begins. Better to get done what needs doing now before exhaustion catches up to both of you.
Din pulls away with resignation written in the slowness of the replacing of his helmet, reaching out to squeeze your fingers twice when it's back in place.
You shuffle about until Din remembers, his mind doing the mental equivalent of a facepalm.
Having the gloves off allowed him to more quickly locate the small crystal of kyber he’d tethered to a simple cord.
“I almost forgot, I hope this can help…”
Shock wrote itself all through your body, staring unbelieving at the talisman swinging slightly in his grip.
He can’t help the self-satisfied tug at the corner of his mouth.
“Meant to give it to you earlier, but…” he doesn’t get to finish the explanation before your arms are slotting across his sides and pulling him flush to you. A nanosecond of recovery and Din allows himself to melt into the hug, his free arm cradling the back of your head. Foreheads meet again, well yours and his helmets. It’s not the same, but it still plays with his pulse in a not unpleasant way.
Again he loses track of time, your breathing evening out so much he thinks you might have fallen asleep standing. Din wouldn’t be surprised as you have barely gotten more than a few measly hours before everything went down, but the idea you might find rest against him makes him feel pleasantly warm.
That is until his kriffing com goes off.
The moment is broken, so he presents you with the makeshift talisman. Din rights the skewed cord until he’s satisfied, letting the tips of his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he finally backs away.
A cleansing sigh is shared, and when you nod and somehow make eye contact in that uncanny way Din knows it’s truly time to leave your bubble.
Fennec was still the only one in the hull when they slipped back out. Her gaze never wavering from the weapon propped across the top of her lap, full focus seemingly on her work.
She doesn’t acknowledge your arrival, so you don’t either.
His visor is on Shand for a long moment as if thinking and then turns to you again, gently touching your arm to gain your attention. His head tipped up at the ladder to the cockpit and you get what he’s asking without speaking.
I’m going up, will you be ok.
You wave him away with a wearied smile & it seems to be enough.
Din cleared his throat softly and made his way up the ladder to the cockpit where Boba was.
One of the empty jump seats is calling your name so you heed the hangover like exhaustion and takes it over. Finally, there’s time and a place to think, arms crossing over your chest in a feeble attempt to ward off the chill that came with space travel. The kyber crystal gently pulsates as if content as you roll it smoothly between your fingers. You could go back to the bunk and try for sleep. It was offered specifically to you and Din, but there’s the inkling that the moment you lay down you will be wide awake. So not ready for sleep, especially not alone (a subject to puzzle over later) you remain.
After a few minutes of only the noises of Fennec’s tinkering to keep you company, the sense of being examined becomes too hard to just ignore.
“Your eyes may be on your weapon but your attention is on me, please speak freely…”
You probably should be warier, especially when those dark eyes are slowly lifted to meet yours, the hint of a smirk already loaded on her lips.
Now, you might not have ever been the most seasoned of Jedi, but you know an apex predator when you see one.
That’s what instantly comes to mind when meeting that sure & unwavering gaze. While not yet persuaded if fearful is the right state, something tells you most people would be.
“So…you and the Mandalorian?” Fennec’s voice was even but had an undercurrent of something you couldn’t name with confidence. Usually, you were so much better at reading people, and not for the first time wonder if that hellishly long time in Carbonite had affected your perception.
“What about us..uhh...Him?” it was intended to sound noncommittal but instead, it has you cringing internally.
An urge to return your attention to the crystal around your neck is strong, or escape to anywhere…but instead, you hold Fennec’s gaze. It reads like an assessment or test of some sort. Normally you wouldn’t bother, but needed this person's help means you were not going to willingly be the weakest link.
“Rough day huh?”
“Pretty much the worst” the hope is that the humor could mask any anxiety, though the longer you hold gazes with this woman the more you feel like fidgeting.
Finally, Fennec sighed, turning her eyes down to place the blaster and tools aside and giving you a momentary out to look away too.
You know exactly when Shand’s attention is back on you because her aura was so…intense…but, you wait for another few breaths before looking up to meet Fennec’s gaze again.
“Do you know what the lowest point of a wave is called?”
Whatever direction you thought Shand was towing this conversation, it certainly wasn’t in this one.
“The Trough” you reply anyway, and so quickly the words formed before the thought solidified.
You are actually a bit proud of yourself by the impressed (or perhaps surprised) expression that crosses the hunter’s face. It was very random the things you could and couldn’t recall. There was often no rhyme or reason to it, but there it was.
Honestly maybe instead you should be offended, but are very much willing to let it go.
“That’s correct, and do you know what the best part about hitting bottom is?”
This time consciously you catch on to the hint of where you were being led, meeting her piercing gaze with one of your own.
“That you have nowhere to go but up?” It was half a question and half a statement on your part because you know it’s the right answer.
This deadly Hunter, all intensity and calculation actually gives you a smile then and seems to genuinely take you in, like she was seeing you for the first time. It softens her features like a reflection in a pond, though it’s more like a window into Fennec Shand.
“I can see why he likes you” she states as if she’s commenting on the weather. To your credit, your own expression remains neutral though inside it feels very much like a victory.
Then without preamble, her attention is returned to her weapon and you are left to sit in the ambient silence as you all slip through Hyperspace. You and Din both might have sunk to the deepest depths of this rock-bottom moment, but at least it was together. As long as you had each other’s help in fighting the tide to get back to the surface there would be another breath and another.
Your eyes close and breathing levels out. Even as the ship you are on slides through space and time you could detect it. The Force reaching out like vines that touched and connected to everything living.
It’s not the same as it had been, dulled somehow, but it’s there. A flicker of hope ignites in the center of your chest.
Nearest was the precise thrumming beat of Fennec’s life force, the rhythmic strong drumming of Boba’s, and the steady comforting hum of Din’s further out.
You stretch out, even more, searching for that bright little light you’d come to love & care for.
You still aren’t sure what was happening with your connection to the Force, but chose to trust in it anyway. The hope that he could feel you in return spurring you on.
We are coming Grogu, hang on.
Back- [ CH. 6 ]
Fwd- [coming soon]
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something in water
pairing: Din Djarin x Reader
warnings: No (Y/N) + the mandalorian season two spoilers - grief and angst
How heartbreaking it is that the first time you see his face it is filled with grief.
None of you move as the door quietly hisses shut behind the Jedi carrying your son.
Even Moff stays silent. Whether borne in furied awe of what has just happened or because he knows that no scathing, sarcastic remark could ever hurt as badly as this, you don’t know, and you don’t care to find out.
Your entire focus. All of it. Is on him.
You don’t look at him, not fully, at least. Neither do the others. You suspect that even Bo has averted her gaze, but you can’t be sure. All you’re able to really discern is Din and his movements; the gradual, bone weary bend of his knees as he reaches for the helmet at his feet, the way he rises to his full height, tilts his chin forward, adjusts his hold on the visor, then lowers it down over his head - methodical, robotic. A movement done quietly a thousand times over never quite so laid bare as this.
You’re the closest to him. If you wanted, you could touch his shoulder. You could speak to him, whisper something, maybe even get him to look at you even though you both know that right now he’s more spirit than body, that he wouldn’t hear you; that your fingers would go through the armor, fall back to your side, filled only with the despair of a day you both knew was coming.
The Child made his choice. Your purpose. Mando’s purpose. It had always been to save him from the start, to return him to his teachers, his family, his kind. It hadn’t been to get attached. Or to sing him lullabies. To feed him soup. Wipe his tears. Brush his teeth. Read him stories. It wasn’t to kiss him goodnight, mend his clothes, to rock him to sleep. It certainly hadn’t been to hold him back for any selfish reason.
It hadn’t been to love him, either.
Maker, how easy he made it.
Things return to focus the way bees wake up from smoke. Slowly, then one of them moves, and the rest - two, maybe three at a time - follow suit. Cara might have been the first. Or Fennec. Boba comes back, doesn’t ask for an explanation, and they drop your prisoner off somewhere. You had been more inclined to pay attention, to ease the burden of conscious thought from The Mandalorian’s shoulders, but Cara had done it for you - was the first to speak up, to step forward, to make decisions once the doors opened again. So you simply stood and tried as hard as you could to listen. Gideon would be dealt with, the darksaber and its political implications can wait. Fett will be returning to Tatooine with Fennec, off on their own business now that they’ve upheld their end of the deal. He and Mando talk. Cara approaches you, asks quietly. Is there a place you want to go?
I don’t know, you tell her, depends on what Mando wants.
Come back to Nevarro, we can figure it out.
You try so hard to ignore the pity in her expression.
Okay, you agree. Not once do you look at her head on, smiling weakly. That works.
The Slave 1 lands at the outskirts of the city just before sundown. For a moment, you all sit and look out at it through the cockpit. Then Boba extinguishes the engine silently and you descend the ramp in similar stillness. Din and Boba speak again. Before parting, the older bounty hunter extends his gratitude for retrieving and returning the armor a last time, and wishes his younger counterpart good fortune in his future endeavors. He doesn’t question what those might be and the other Mandalorian doesn’t say. They clasp hands. You exchange a few words with Fennec. They leave.
Cara guides you further into the port.
The last rays of daylight spread lazily across volcanic rock and atop the cool, stone rooftops of buildings. Nearly just as you left it except void of its usual crowd given the hour, the streets near empty save for a few stragglers. You haven’t decided whether that is a comfort or not. To have your heartbreak so easily on display yet hidden among vendors and their clientele would make this strange, surreal walk both abating and distressing, you think. It’s easy to escape your autonomy in a crowd, to pretend for a little while that you’re someone else, but the need to perform is there, too, in case anyone happens to be looking. You wonder if it’s easier with the helmet.
You’d look to Din for a cue if you thought he’d be able to give you one.
She leads you to a squat building with a basement level tavern and rooms that can be rented for a handful of credits above. It isn’t anything spectacular or even that well accommodated - with a boarded up viewport and cracking stairs. It’s old fashioned and dusty, still in the process of being rebuilt, but you aren’t picky and there’s the scent of something cooking wafting up that alleviates any further distress that might come. You never have been, and it isn’t like you would be now. As long as the place is warm and has a bed you can sleep in, you’ll be comfortable enough.
“Don’t worry about the payment.” Cara looks at you both from over her shoulder. “Rand owes me a few favors. I’ll make sure he lets this one slide.” She goes on to explain, descending the narrow steps into the cantina.
You follow simply because you’re caught in the tide of her walking, sure that if she were further away the current of her assurances would no longer hit you.
Cara leads you through the cantina and down a hallway that ends at a second set of stairs. As mentioned, at the top and a few paces back towards the wall is Rand behind the front desk. Wrinkled and scrunched with age, you met him briefly the last time you were on Nevarro. It ended up that you didn’t stay for more than twelves hours, but you had recognized him immediately as being a man as generous as he was old. A rare find, these days.
“It’s always intimidating when the Marshal pays a visit, but I had not thought I’d be seeing that armor again. You three aren’t here for me, I hope.” The elderly man chuckles, looking at you behind large, thick rimmed glasses that make his eyes beady.
You fight the urge to cringe and replace it with an uneasy smile as Din replies with a brief and far-away. “No.”
Your friend quickly saves face. “That offer from before still on the table?”
He must read the room because he nods solemnly and murmurs a quiet: “Of course.”
Rand shuffles away. Neither of you say anything. You examine the lobby and the warmth it seems to exude despite its durasteel furnishings and stone flooring. It might just be that you’re tired.
He returns with a singular key-card, holding it up in a knob knuckled hand. “Afraid there’s only a single room left. I hope that won’t be a problem. With rebuilding and the Imperials, I can’t-”
It would have been before, but it isn’t now.
“It’s fine.” Din again, closer but still somewhere you can’t reach.
“Good. Good.” The old man nods, extending it to Mando. “You should find everything you need inside, but if you don’t, I’ll be here.”
“Thank you.” Is all he says and you thank him, too, watching the muddied reflection of your face in the back of The Mandalorian’s helmet as you follow him to your sleeping quarters. Cara remains at the desk, explaining with as little detail as she can what has happened to keep the octogenarian from bothering you with his curiosity and concern; not before telling you both to get some rest.
You wait for him to get the door open.
You step in. It shuts.
And your resolve crumbles.
You don’t - can’t - cry with any dignity. You can’t keep your chin up or your gaze level or stop your knees from buckling or your chest from aching. Even as you dig your fingernails into your palm to stop from collapsing, it’s impossible to hide your grief. The quarters are intimidating in their stillness, in their direct opposition to the storm seething in both your heads. It is dark, dimly lit with light of active volcanoes and homes nearby filtering in through the viewports, humming with electricity, so the first thing you do is apologize.
You aren’t sure for what. You aren’t sure if it’s because it must be worse for him or if it’s because you’re sorry this has happened, sorry in general that there hadn’t been more time. He had Grogu before you did and you should be strong because he needs you to be. You shouldn’t be sobbing like a child in the entryway of a darkened room, desperately looking for something to hold onto, watching the beskar covering his shoulders shift in the shadows in front of you as he rolls his shoulders and tips his head back to the ceiling.
Din turns around. He removes his helmet a second time. You don’t wonder about it - you don’t try to think that if you squinted you’d be able to make out the curve of his nose, the sharp cupid’s bow of his top lip, the deep brown of his eyes and the thick waves of hair that fall around his ears; features you tried not to commit to memory yet have anyway despite yourself. You don’t think about the meaning of it, trying to stifle your tears out of habit as he gets closer - what good are they anyway when every time they fall nothing changes - not that you’ve ever allowed yourself to cry in front of him before because that would mean shifting the dynamic a second time; asking more than he could possible give and potentially risking the danger of pushing him away.
But when his forehead rests against your own all you can do is close your eyes and suck in a deep breath.
“We’re alright.” His voice is rich with anguish, trying to convince you as much as he is himself. Your hands find his face and he lets you touch him. What an honor, you think. The obscurity protecting you both.
Your thumbs brush away the wetness on his cheeks. His palms curl around your own, rough, gloveless.
“We’re alright.” You echo.
For now, you’ll choose to believe it.
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This is an actual phone case that you can purchase at the Disney parks.
You can’t tell me that this doesn’t look like they are a couple. It’s official guys, they fucked. Disney acknowledges it as canon.
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Matt + #8 and Din + #38!! (-letterfromvienna on main)
Headcanon prompts list found here!
8 - “Dreams” with matt Murdock
Matt once attempted to describe his dreams to you and Foggy, and all he’d been able to think of was layers. Sometimes, just sometimes, he can see. The subject always plays a part—if it’s something or someone he’d seen as a child, he might see them with a fuzzy clarity, a memory returned yet tinted by the dusty glass of time. But if its subject had come later, if it comes with no visual reference by which his mind might construct an image, he sees instead in shades of watercolor paint, vague faceless silhouettes composed from snatches of detail overheard, detail he’s touched and sensed.
And, regardless of what he may or may not see, almost every dream is filled with a symphony of sensation, scent and sound and warmth and electric hums layered atop tongues of flame, until even some visual dreams ripple and flow around him like a kaleidoscopic river, images morphing and dripping until the painting of events becomes so abstract he struggles to process it at all. Those are the nights, when there is simply so much going on around him, that his dreams often slide into something darker: chaotic noise that muffles his hearing, sharp tangs of scent that hide the odor of lurking predators nearby, cotton filling his mouth and stealing his ability to taste the air.
Those are the dreams he hates the most, the nightmares he wakes from soaked in sweat. And those are the nights he finds himself most grateful to find you beside him, where he can bury his face against your neck and fill his senses with you.
28 - “Sympathy” with Din Djarin
People think Din unfeeling. It’s an insult thrown at him all too often, in far crueler language; a joke tossed over his head. And by all appearances, it seems to be true. His helmet certainly reveals no expression, and he wears too much beskar to appear anything but cold and apathetic. He hunts with a ruthless efficiency, closed off to the pleas of quarry. He’s known for it, for being stony and unyielding, absolutely pitiless, and he does nothing to alter that reputation.
And yet every inch of it is a bald-faced lie.
Din, publicly, will deny it of course, ‘I am not a taxi service’. He will grumble and grouse and huff, at you and anyone else, but in truth, if you give him just the right story, if that wounded Massiff pup crawls to him across the sand, if his strange bug-eyed space wizard begins to sniffle, Din Djarin will fold like a house of cards. He’s grateful for the helmet most days, because it allows him to retain the illusion that he’s doing this for practical reasons even if he’s got a habit of picking up strays left and right. That helmet hides the way his face twists when his son begins to cry, hides the way his face softens when that scrawny pup whimpers, and somehow, despite being objectively terrifying, he winds up with the kid in one arm, the Massiff pup in the other, carrying them both because his son just wanted to be held and the pup is too weak to walk, because he can never, ever walk away from something adorable in need of a little assistance.
And though you grin, though he grumbles—“not a word, you hear me?”—you know the truth.
Din Djarin has a sympathetic streak a mile long, and you love him for it.
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“Its just so dull.”
Din turned to face the teen after her sudden claim. The duo sat in the cockpit while in hyperdrive, the child sleeping in the barrack down below. The teen had her gaze set at the window, with the light of the stars streaking past shining onto her face.
“Dull?” He questioned.
The young girl turned her gaze from the cockpit window to the Mandalorian. Despite never seeing him without his helmet, she always managed to make eye contact with him, as if the helmet did nothing to hide his face.
“It’s just that, there’s not that much color.”
The Mandalorian tilted his head to the side confused, prompting her to continue.
“It’s just something I noticed during my time here. The planets and systems we visit, it’s like they’ve had the soul sucked out of them.” The girl stated her observation while sitting up, adjusting her position on the co-pilot's seat. “The only bright colors that caught my eye was when we went to Sorgan. Even then, it was only green with bits of blue.”
“Thats quite the observation.” Din murmured in reply. Ever since they crossed paths, the teenager continued to surprise him. With her expressive personality, Europa was unlike anyone he ever met. And as his time as a bounty hunter, that was saying something. The girl was certainly a force to be reckoned, her protective nature toward the child in their first meeting showed him that. And her actions on Sorgan, defending the village from the Klatoonian raiders and single handedly taking down the AT-ST only furthered his impression on the girl. Now, sitting in the cockpit of the Razor Crest, the teen looked at peace and relaxed, disguising the true warrior inside her.
“Back home, there’s just color everywhere. Even when we jumped, all you could see were pink and purple streaks of light. Some planets I visited were constantly surrounded by auroras. My mom’s homeworld Xandar was constantly surrounded by a blue hue to contrast the planet’s surface.”
“That sounds lovely.” Din remarked.
“Yeah,” Europa replied. The girl set her gaze once more at the stars streaking past them. “ I just wish I could’ve seen it one last time.”
Catalyst - Chapter 7: The Truth
summary: When Mando sets course for Nevarro, you try your best to be honest with him about what you truly want.
warnings: childhood trauma, parental death
word count: 3.779k
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chapter 7: the truth
You wake up feeling at ease for the first time since you embarked on the mission with Mando. The sun’s just come up by the time your eyes are fully open. With a yawn, you sit up, furrowing your brow as you take in your surroundings. You’re laying in the bed of the now-empty cart with a fully restored Razor Crest just a few steps away. Mando, the Ugnaught, and Kih are nowhere to be found.
You sit up and try not to panic, taking your knapsack along the way and hanging it over your shoulders. Your fingers pick at the straps as you walk up the ramp of the hatch, making your way into the hull. When you still don’t see anyone, you start to speak.
“Mando?” you exclaim, moving towards the ladder that leads to the cockpit. “Man—?”
The sudden sound of the engines whirring makes you jump out of your skin. Once you gather your bearings, you smile, remembering the way the engines sounded when the Jawas had first stripped the ship. You start to climb up the ladder, knowing Mando must be inside the cockpit if the engines are starting up.
You find all three of the people you’ve been looking for in the cockpit, with the Ugnaught standing just behind Mando’s chair. Kih’s pram is closed and floating alongside Mando, who turns to face you as you walk in. “Looks like the ship’s working again,” you say with a smile. It starts to fade as a realization falls upon you. “Sorry I didn’t help.”
“You needed rest, kid,” Mando responds. His tone of voice is happier than you’ve heard ever since he first picked you up. It makes your smile return. “I would’ve woken you up if we needed your help.”
You just nod, watching as Mando sighs and pushes himself out of his chair. He brushes past you and heads down to the hull, causing you and the Ugnaught to do the same. Kih’s pram stays in the cockpit behind you. Mando stands by the hatch and watches as the Ugnaught approaches him.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Mando says once the Ugnaught stands alongside him. “Please, allow me to give you a portion of the reward.”
You bite your lip at that. You keep forgetting that Kih won’t be sticking around for long.
“I cannot accept,” the Ugnaught remarks. “You are my guest and I am therefore in your service.” The Ugnaught bends down by the threshold of the hatch and finishes packing up his tools.
Mando walks around the Ugnaught, standing on his other side as he takes a breath and speaks again. “I could use a crew member of your ability, and I can pay handsomely.”
You widen your eyes at that. Mando’s known the Ugnaught for less time than he’s known you—and he’s had yet to officially ask you to be a member of his crew. You push the thought away and try to be happy for the Ugnaught instead.
The Ugnaught stands and turns towards Mando, folding his arms and nodding with respect. “I am honored,” he begins, “but I have worked a lifetime to finally be free of servitude.”
“I understand.” You can hear the smile in Mando’s voice as he continues. “Then all I can offer is my thanks.”
“And I offer mine.” The Ugnaught stops and gestures to the view beyond the Razor Crest. “Thank you for bringing peace to my valley.”
The two then exchange a final nod before the Ugnaught walks down the hatch. The Ugnaught mounts his blurrg and holds on to the reins, stopping as he turns and waves to Mando. You move to stand alongside Mando as the Ugnaught also waves to you.
“And good luck with the children.” You keep yourself from arguing that you’re not a child. “May the baby survive and bring you a handsome reward.”
You look up at Mando, who remains unmoving at the Ugnaught’s words. The reminder of Mando reaping a reward from Kih grows more and more unappealing to you.
“I have spoken.” Mando nods at the Ugnaught’s final words, finally moving again as he turns towards the cockpit. He taps his hand upon your shoulder to urge you to come with him. You follow in silence, trying to keep the thoughts in your head quiet as you head up to the cockpit. Mando points to a seat on your left, since Kih’s pram takes up the seat on your right. Mando sits in the pilot’s seat and clicks around the controls.
As the Razor Crest flies off the planet, you stare through the transparisteel, leaving behind the adventure—and the security of your bond with Mando. You can’t help wondering if he’ll follow through with your initial deal and leave you on Nevarro. Even if it’s still the planet from which you came, it’s the next planet he’s traveling to, and you wouldn’t dare to go back on a deal with a Mandalorian—even if it’s this Mandalorian.
“Is the kid still asleep?” Mando asks once the Crest has broken through the atmosphere.
You look over at Kih’s pram and see his upper lip curling in the way it does while he sleeps. “Yeah,” you answer, trying not to sound as upset as you feel. There are all kinds of worries running through your mind now that you’re on your way back to Nevarro.
You don’t convince the hunter. Mando turns towards you before he launches the ship into hyperspace, tilting his helmet with evident concern. “You okay?”
You nod and even manage to smile. “Yeah—sorry, I just… I think I still need to catch up on some sleep from the past few days.”
Mando chuckles and turns back around in his chair. “I understand.” He presses a few more controls before pulling back on the lever that sends the Crest into hyperspace. “We can all rest before we get to Nevarro.”
You’re about to respond when someone else beats you to the punch. A coo sounds from Kih’s pram, instantly drawing your attention as well as Mando’s. The baby’s sitting up in his pram, looking at both you and Mando with pure joy. He’s finally realizing that he saved you both from the mudhorn. It makes you giggle at the sight of his happiness.
Mando sighs with relief as he turns back to the controls. “Maybe we don’t all need rest.” He steals a glance at you. “You can head down to the hull, Pap. I’ve got to send a transmission.”
You nod, the quick moment of joy fading as you remember that Kih’s still a part of his job rather than his crew. Mando disengages the pram from his vambrace as you set a hand on it, urging it out of the cockpit and down to the hull with you. Kih coos at you to catch your attention, tilting his head and lowering his ears as if he can sense your sudden distress. “It’s all right, Kih,” you assure him. “Maybe he’s gonna tell his boss what you did and he’ll let him keep you!” You look away as you set down your knapsack and say your next words under your breath. “And me.”
You leave Kih by Mando’s compartment as you walk further into the hull. You search the storage units that Mando had pulled your blankets from the first night you spent aboard the Crest. They’re nowhere in sight. You huff with frustration as you look around more, finally lifting your gaze to see some hanging within a net that’s attached to the wall. You stand on your tiptoes in an effort to reach it, but it’s just out of your grasp.
Suddenly, a gloved hand reaches above yours to take a hold of the netting. You turn your head around to see Mando standing just behind you, grabbing the blankets for you. “That must’ve been a short transmission,” you joke.
Mando chuckles as he walks over to where he’d set up your bed before. You follow and watch as he eases your knapsack aside and lays down the blankets. “I didn’t need to say much. I just had to let him know I didn’t die.”
You cross your arms and narrow your eyes. “That’s not funny, Mando. You almost died many times.” Regardless of what you’ve just said, a small smile spreads on your lips.
Mando glances at you over his shoulder. “Sorry, kid. I know that scared you.”
You shrug, letting Mando finish with your bed. When he steps away, you sit down upon it, thanking him in a manner that’s just as shy as it was the first time you slept here.
“Looks like the child really did have some sleep left in him.” Mando’s words cause you to look back at Kih in his pram, where he’s once again laid back and is now snoring softly. You smile at the sight, grateful to cling on to whatever sense of peace you can get. “If you’re all set out here, I’ll do the same.”
“Yeah, I’m all right,” you lie, turning back to Mando and giving him a nod. You blame his exhaustion for not calling out your lie. “You need to sleep.”
Mando opens the door to his compartment and starts to ease himself on top of his cot. Before he disappears inside, he looks out at you. “If anything happens, Pap—.”
“Just sleep, Mando!” You laugh as you wave him away. “We’re in hyperspace. I’ll be fine.”
Mando chuckles. “‘Night, pap’ika.” He disappears with his words, closing the door to his compartment. You release a heavy sigh and look at Kih again. He’s still sleeping. You lay down and stare at the ceiling of the hull.
You’re truly alone, now.
You try to do what Mando said and get some rest, but your mind won’t stop running. You’re reflecting upon your experience with Mando on this unexpected journey, from the moment you entered the Crest until this moment you’re in right now. You hadn’t expected Mando to care for you the way he has, to extend forgiveness when you’ve put yourself—and, as a result, also him—in considerable danger, or to make you feel as safe as your parents once did. In just a few days, Mando has become the closest thing to a parent you’ve ever had ever since they died.
You remember it as if it was yesterday. Your parents had bid you goodnight just as they always did—like Mando did just now—and you slept well through the night. When you woke up the next morning to greet them, you found them both on the floor of your home with blaster marks on their chests. The Empire began their reign over Nevarro that same day.
Now, you feel as if you’re about to face a similar thing, with someone you care about leaving you.
You know it’s unfair for you to blame Mando. He hadn’t asked to take you in; he hadn’t even invited you. Mando was the one who could’ve turned you away—and didn’t. The fact he’s kept you around this long is extremely kind of him. You shouldn’t expect more.
And, yet, you do. You think about how he comforted you with such reassurance the night you dreamt you were alone and the numerous times he’s helped you to stay safe ever since. Mando has protected you in a way no one else has ever since you lost your parents.
You can’t lose Mando too.
Your eyes are closed now, but you can feel the tears coming on. Being left on Nevarro means being alone again, starting at square one and having to figure out how to find another purpose again. It means leaving behind what you’ve already found aboard this ship in Mando’s care for you and your own care for Kih, who’s saved both your lives. You’re not sure you can handle that.
You sit up when it starts getting harder to breathe, resting your back against the wall beside Mando’s compartment as you pull your knees into your chest. You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. Mando needs rest, and if you show any signs of distress, you know you’ll be disturbing that. It would give him another good reason to leave you behind.
The sound of Kih cooing gets you to look over at his pram. He’s sitting up now with his long ears laying flat at his sides. His big eyes study you as if he completely understands what you’re going through. You try your best to give him a reassuring smile, but this little one who’s spent more years in this galaxy than you have seems to see right through it. Kih pushes his way out of the pram, landing on the floor and waddling over to you as he coos again. You furrow your brow when you come upon a realization.
You’re not the only one Mando will be leaving on Nevarro.
With a sharp breath and trembling lips, you gently pick Kih up, letting him snuggle against your chest as you tuck his little head under your chin. You squeeze your eyes shut to try to keep your tears in, but you can’t. Your mind keeps reminding you of the way you felt when you found your parents on the floor that day. With a shuddering breath, the tears come out, shaking your body with sobs that you try to bury in your sleeve as you hold Kih tighter. You can hear Kih cooing as if he’s trying to comfort you, but you’re consumed by your sadness now, only able to mourn what you’ve already lost and what you’ll soon lose.
You don’t realize how loud your crying has become until the door to Mando’s compartment slides open. Your head jerks up to look at Mando as he steps out and kneels down beside you. You look away from his visor in shame.
“What happened, pap’ika?” Mando asks. His modulated voice is full of concern, but you can hear the sleepy rasp it also contains. You wince at the idea of you being the one who’s preventing Mando from getting his much-needed sleep.
“N-Nothing,” you hiccup, trying to contain your sobs as you instead focus on gently petting Kih’s ear. The little one has since fallen asleep on your chest. “I’m sorry I woke you up. You can go back to sleep.” You whisper these words, knowing that if you say them any louder, they’ll only bring more tears.
Mando sighs—though it’s not a gesture of annoyance. It’s a soft sound, as if he’s preparing himself for something. He reaches his gloved hands forward to ease Kih out of your grasp before he carries him back over to his pram. Once he’s closed the pram, Mando comes back to you, sitting alongside you as he pulls one knee up to his chest and rests his elbow upon it. “You’re upset,” he states. “I can’t sleep when I know that.”
You bite your lip, still trying to keep yourself from crying more as you pick at one of the blankets underneath you. You’re thinking of what you can possibly make up to keep Mando from knowing the truth—but you’re at a loss.
“May I know what’s upsetting you?” Mando’s question is gentle. You can hear the leather of his gloves creaking as he relaxes them, an invitation to be honest with him.
You take a deep, shaky breath, finally looking up at Mando again. You were ready to talk until you met his visor. Now, you’re thinking of all the things he’s done for you again and how unprepared you are to leave his custody. Your lips tremble just like before and a sob slips out as you confess the truth. “I don’t wanna leave, Mando!”
Mando just reaches an arm over your shoulders and urges you to lean against him. You bury your face into the cloth of his cowl and grip the material of his cape, holding on to whatever you can with the uncertainty of how much longer you’ll be able to do so. Mando’s hand runs over your back in a soothing manner as he waits for you to finish crying. When the tears finally stop, you take a few deep breaths and remain where you are, reluctant to leave the security of Mando’s embrace. It reminds you of your father’s.
Once your grip starts to loosen on his cape, Mando does exactly what he did the night you had the nightmare, drawing the material up and over your shoulders as he starts to speak. “You don’t want to leave Arvala-7 or you don’t want to leave me?” he asks, seeking clarification.
“I don’t wanna leave you,” you respond with a sniffle. “We already left Arvala-7.”
“That’s true.” Mando chuckles, making you smile a bit as he goes on. “I… wasn’t planning on making you leave.”
You lift your head at that, looking at his visor with bewilderment. “Really?”
“You told me you didn’t want to go back to Nevarro. I wouldn’t leave you there.”
Your gaze falls as you deflate yet again. “So, you’ll leave me at the next planet you go to after that?”
Mando pauses for a long moment. You look up at him just before he finally answers. “Do you want me to?”
You shake your head. Mando looks straight ahead, as if he’s deep in thought. You still feel discouraged, assuming that Mando still wants to leave you somewhere. “Do you want to?” you ask him in a quiet voice.
Mando turns back to you and tilts his helmet. “I should. My lifestyle is… too dangerous for a kid like you.” You frown at that. “But, I would much rather keep you under my protection.” Your frown disappears as you give him a hopeful look. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I left you on your own somewhere.”
You smile wide at that. “So, does that mean I can stay?”
Mando nods. “As long as you need to.” You squeal with delight, hugging Mando tight as he chuckles and keeps his cape wrapped over you. “But that means you have to listen to me, Pap. You’ve seen that my work is dangerous. I can’t have you getting hurt. If I tell you to stay or hide somewhere, you have to obey. Do you understand?”
You nod. “I understand, Mando. Promise.”
“Good.” Mando pats your head with his hand and sets it upon your shoulders. Now that your one worry has been put to rest, you can focus on the other, one that makes you tense up before you speak on it.
“Do you still have to leave Kih on Nevarro?”
Mando freezes. You can sense the new tension within him as you continue to embrace him. He takes a deep, calculated breath before he answers. “Yes.” You grimace at that. “I told you before that we won’t have him for long. He’s not mine to keep.”
“Do you know what they’re gonna do with him?”
Silence. When Mando speaks, his voice is strained. “No.”
You sigh with frustration. “What could they possibly want with a little baby like Kih? What if they do something terrible with him, Mando? You have to keep him safe!”
“I… wish I could, pap’ika.” You look up at Mando as he stares straight ahead like before. “But hunters have rules. If we break our Code…” He shakes his helmet. You wince at the idea of Mando getting hurt. “I’ll at least try to get a sense of what’s going on when I bring him in.”
You nod. “Be careful, though. I don’t wanna lose you like I lost my…” you trail off, letting the painful memory sit in the air as you swallow hard.
“You won’t, Pap.”
“My parents used to say that, too.” You look at Mando with severity as you continue. “And you know what happened to them?”
“Pap’ika, you don’t have to—.”
“They were killed by the Empire. Because they did the right thing and spoke out.” You blink back a few tears and release a breath. “I found them with blaster wounds the next morning.” You look into Mando’s visor feeling as vulnerable as ever. “I don’t want to find you like that too, Mando.”
The leather of Mando’s glove creaks as he pulls one of his hands into a tight fist. He holds you even tighter against him as he responds. “Like I said before, you won’t.” Mando looks at you with his helmet straightened out. “But I will do what I have to do to keep you safe, just like your parents did.” Mando looks away for a moment as he adds something under his breath. “And mine, too.”
You wrinkle your brow in concern as you look up at your guardian. “Did you lose your parents too?” Your voice is quiet, as if you’re afraid the words will break him.
Mando doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a deep breath, looking at you and tapping your back. “We need to get more rest.”
You nod, assuming that Mando’s not ready to tell you about his parents just yet. “I’m sorry I interrupted your sleep.”
You can hear a smile in Mando’s voice as he responds. “I’ve told you a few times, kid: you apologize too much. It’s all right. This isn’t the longest I’ve ever gone without sleeping.”
“Mando!” you scold, laughing as Mando stands up and turns to you. “But it’s already been four days!”
Mando shrugs. “You get used to it.” Once you’ve made yourself comfortable in your makeshift bed, Mando kneels down beside you and tilts his helmet. “I know you want me to get rest, but if you need me again, come get me. Okay?” You nod. Mando does the same. “Good.” He pats your head and stands. “Sweet dreams, Pap.”
“You too, Mando.” You whisper the words, afraid that if you say them any louder, you’ll burst into tears again—but this time from joy. You have a new sense of security now that Mando’s assured you he won’t leave you, but all the worries still haven’t gone away. You sit up and look over your shoulder at Kih’s closed pram.
All you can do is pray to the Maker that Kih will be okay—and that Mando will be, too, no matter what he has to do.
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Part 1 of the Nowhere Girl Series
Summary: The Mandalorian is sent to capture you, he finds the task more complicated than expected. Maybe you two can help each other out. (9.4k words) read on ao3 here
Pairing: The Mandalorian x f!reader
Warnings: NSFW, slightly dub-con for a moment but they both want it i promise, smut, canon typical violence, blood, hurt/comfort, a dislocated shoulder, sexual tension, PIV sex, rough sex, dirty talk OBVIOUSLY, major praise kink, fingering, age difference (not specified), me making a bunch of shit up, this takes place right before Episode 1 so no baby
A/N - this was supposed to be really rough hate fucking with Mando but it just turned into him endlessly praising you…. idk what happened but enjoy <3
The Mandalorian is pissed.
He’s worked with Karga for a while now, known him for years. He knows sometimes things get quiet, that there’s slim pickings for the more than eager bounty hunters who will pick up anything and anyone - just like him - for desperate credits.
But this? This was a new low. Even for Karga.
Up and coming Coruscant senator, Karga had informed the Mandalorian, she’s on the run from the Imps.
Mando had rolled his eyes underneath his helmet as he was filled in on details of the only puck Karga had for him. Ridiculous, sounded like a babysitting gig.
“Oh come on, don’t give me that look.” Karga huffed, rolling his own eyes at the emotionless beskar helmet.
The Mandalorian said nothing.
“Look, it’s a job, you want it or not?”
A waste of his fucking time was what it was.
Karga huffed again and removed the puck from the tabe but Mando was faster, his gloved hand slamming it back down and gripping it into his palm.
“This is all you have?” The Mandalorian pushed, voice weary through the vocoder.
Karga nodded solemnly. Mando tilted his helmet at the Guild leader, annoyed and unimpressed.
The man scoffed, he seemed amused, “Think she’ll be easy?”
“A kid who’s runaway from home… I’m not a babysitting service-”
“No one’s been able to track her down. I’ve got multiple pucks on her and no one’s come back for months. I’m running low on bounty hunters.” Karga nearly chuckled.
The Mandalorian felt his adrenaline spike. He needed a challenge, it wasn’t a hunt if it wasn’t a challenge.
“She’s no easy feat, Mando. She’s wanted for armed robbery, embezzelment and suspected murder. She’s a slippery one” He sighed, running a hand down his face in astonishment, a devilish smirk pulling at his lips, like he couldn’t help but be impressed.
Now that’s what piqued Mando’s interest.
You’re dangerous. It’s always more fun when they’re dangerous. It’s more of a challenge, it’s more rewarding.
The Mandalorian had been craving a challenge. Meaningless bounty after the other, cowards, pathetic con men, easy takedowns. All of it, it was becoming mind numbing.
He missed the tracking, the spying, the surveying, the chase.
The Mandalorian is pissed.
And that’s how he found himself here - fuming, chasing after some kid, the tracking fob lead him all the way to you.
You’re on Sriluur, one of the most grimy, crime infested planets in the system. Seems like a pretty obvious place to look, almost too obvious.
What would a wanted bounty be doing herer? Then again, nearly everyone on this forsaken planet is probably a wanted bounty somewhere, by someone.
Maybe this is a very calculated move, hiding out amongst a never ending crowd of lowlifes and criminals, you just blend in, become faceless in a way.
But you, you couldn’t be more obvious even if you tried.
Mando finds you in a cantina: grimy, dingy, damp and dark. He’s confused, to say the least. You…. you don’t belong here.
There’s no way that you’re the one he’s chasing, the one he’s hunting, the one accused of robbery, embezzelment, suspected murder, on the run from the fucking Imps. The tracking fob went berserk when it landed on you, he had thought it was broken because there was no way it was you.
A runaway from Coruscant, an up and coming senator.
That all makes sense now that Mando’s looking at you. You fit the part, you’re clearly young, beautiful, fucking beautiful - Mando stays on that thought for a while, trying to make sense of it, make sense of you.
Why are you doing this? What do you have to gain, what are you running from?
You stand out from everyone here on this fucking planet, you’re a light amongst black holes, how do you not immediatetly make yourself a target?
He watches you for the most part of the afternoon from a dark corner of the cantina. He wonders what, or who, you’re waiting for. You’re armed - heavily armed for someone your size - like Karga said you’d be. Two blasters and some sort of rifle slung over one of your shoulders, three daggers and a vibroblade stashed in your jacket, all probably stolen, Mando decides.
Your eyes shine bright like suns, like jewels, glossy even in the low light of the cantina, they shine with something Mando knows too well: some sort of emptiness, bitterness, the need for something no one will give you, something you have to take yourself.
Two men step into the bar, they spot you before you spot them, Mando clocks. His heart rate picks up and he keeps his hand over his blaster, watching you, watching them. They sit themselves down at a table across the cantina from you.
The air shifts, it becomes too quiet and heavy with unsaid potential and Mando can’t be the one to move first, he’ll ruin whatever it is that’s building right now.
A blaster goes off.
One of the men falls face first onto the table he’s sat at - shot through the stomach, a singeing red, burning hole left on his lower half from underneath the table.
Things seem to move in slow motion: you rise from your corner, blaster outstretched towards the now lone man, him rushing towards the back entrance. Mando follows behind you as you chase after the man, shouting out at him, shouting out a name, one Mando doesn’t recognize and he feels so out of place.
He stays near the doorway, watching as you corral the man out in the alleyway, in plain daylight and hold him at gunpoint.
The good thing about being on a planet like Sriluur is that no one bats an eye at street violence, no one’s going to snitch on a good alley fight.
You cuff him almost too easily, knocking him to the ground with an easy kick of the leg. You’re good, clean and swift - Mando guesses you have to be since you’ve been on the run for so long.
It also doesn’t hurt that you’re stupidly pretty, he can’t help but think.
“Where’s the loading dock?” You interrogate the man, blaster pressed to the back of his head as your boot stomps him into the ground, hands cuffed behind his back.
Your voice goes straight to Mando’s belly igniting something akin to a volcanic eruption or a swarm of butterflies - which one, he’s not sure but fuck did you sound sweet. To sweet to be so fucking fierce.
“Y-You won’t reach it before the shipment.” The man groans, face grimaced in pain as you press into his back harder, jamming the nozzle of the blaster into his neck.
“Where is it?” You grit from behind clenched teeth, cocking the gun. The man quivers, lip trembling as he tries to wriggle out of your grip but you’ve got him right where you want him.
“Out- out west! Past the badlands, into the desert but you won’t make it on foot-”
Like an idiot, Mando’s tracking fob slips from his pocket and both the man and you snap your heads in his direction, like he interrupted some sort of performance.
Your eyes land on the tracking fob before Mando can say anything, your blaster goes off and the man’s head thuds against the ground, dark syrupy blood pouring out from the back of his skull.
You got what you needed, so you make a run for it.
The Mandalorian calls after you but you bolt quickly down the alleyway, making as many sharp turns as possible to throw him off. You run with no particular direction, no set route in mind. You’ll head west once you’re sure he’s gone but you have to lose him first.
A Mandalorian, you can’t believe they sent a fucking Mandalorian after you.
You whiz down the streets of the criminal planet, pushing past vendors, scammers and junkies alike, trying to lose yourself in the crowd. You’re quite good at it actually, making a run for it, losing a hunter, but he’s got a tracking fob. That’ll be a challenge.
Glancing behind you, you see no shiny helmet bouncing through the crowd, you don’t want to be so bold to assume you’ve already lost him so you keep running. You decide to run towards your speeder, if you can’t out run him you can definitely gain some distance between the two of you this way.
Looking around you, you situate yourself, trying to figure out which way to run in order to make it to your speeder as quickly as possible and out run the fucking Mandalorian.
It must be a few blocks down, you run further south into the downtown area, knowing you hid it in an alleyway near a picked over fruit stand.
You’re close, you’re so close to your bike, just a few more blocks.
You round another corner, searching your pockets for your keys and that’s when he smashes into you, knocking you to the ground.
Pain radiates through your body from the impact of unforgiving beskar, your ears ring and your eyes go blurry.
You reach for your vibroblade, managing to knock his helmet with your elbow in the process. The Mandalorian goes down and you roll yourself over, trying to disarm him only to find that he holds neither a blaster nor cuffs.
Was he not after you? Was he not just hunting you down?
Your lapse of confusion breaks your concentration and he manages to pin you down, rolling you over and pinning your hands above your head as he sits himself on your chest. The wind is nearly knocked out of you as he crushes you into the dirt with his weight, stars fog your vision as a headache sets in, ears possibly bleeding. You feel like you’ve been hit with a gong.
“W-Who sent you?” You try to ask, voice fuzzy as your head pounds. You can barely focus on him, on the intimidating T shape of his visor as he pears down at you from above.
You should be terrified, you should be trying to push him off of you but you don’t feel threatened. He’s unarmed. You're still trying to figure out why.
Mando has a moment to take you in now, realizing that Karga was right; you really are young. Not that young just, younger than him and sparkling in the daylight where he can see all of you now.
Your face, your eyes, perfect eyebrows, a scar on your cheek that Mando finds himself wanting to touch. You’re pretty and... dirty. Gritty. Like you coated yourself in something in order to fit in better amongst the scum here.
“Doesn’t matter.” He grunts, easy up his hold on you once he realizes he’s practically smothering you.
You groan, eyes squinting, the sun suddenly seeming harsher now, hurting your eyes. Your vision slowly comes back, things aren't as blurry and you’re overwhelmed by how close he is.
“Why are you doing this?” The Mandalorian asks.
You don’t know what he means by ‘this’, so you grunt and push him off of you, he lets you, rolling off to the side. You’re dizzy as you stand up, trying to find your footing and shooting the Mandalorian and more than confused glare. What the fuck is he trying to pull right now?
You both know he’s here for you, he’s literally got your tracking fob beeping on his holster.
But he’s not cuffing you, he’s not threatening you. You’re both just… starring. At each other.
Maybe it’s a moment of recognition, acknowledging whatever it is that’s going on here. He’s after you, but he’s… not? You should be the one asking questions.
You let your hand slide up over your shoulder, reaching for your rifle but you’re stopped short by a flashing bright pain in your shoulder. You wince, hissing and bringing your arm back down to your side.
You give the Mandalorian a daggering glare before you turn to inspect your bike, checking to make sure nothing’s been stolen from your satchel which you stupidly left slung over the back while you were in the cantina.
Fuck, he really had slammed into you, hadn’t he? He came at you full speed, knocking you down to the ground with his entire body weight and then fucking sitting on you, like an idiot. He hadn’t necessarily meant to do that, he’s not quite sure why he feels so bad but, he does.
“Why are you running away from Coruscant?” He presses and you roll your eyes, even though your back is turned on him now, trying to ignore the late onset pain searing through your shoulder.
You stay silent, just focusing on making sure everything’s in your bag so that you can head out to the -
“What loading dock are you looking for?”
You whip around towards the Mandalorian, hand on your smaller blaster, prepared to pull it on him.
“What do you know about the loading dock?” You seethe.
The Mandalorian keeps a steady watch on your hand, twitching over your blaster. He raises his hands in surrender. Maker, you’re jumpy.
“Nothing more than you do.”
You fling your blaster from your holster, finger on the safety trigger and aim it at the heavily armoured Mandalorian.
You mentally curse yourself, how ironic would it be if your blaster fire ricocheted off of his arm and came back at you.
Better have good aim then. You flick it over that spot near his belly, where the armour separates. Maybe you should shoot him in the arm, get him back for what feels like a dislocated shoulder.
Even Mando can notice how your arm hangs heavy by your side, how you hold back from moving it too much, your balance nearly thrown off due to the now useless limb. That needs to be popped back into place.
“Who are you?” You seethe, trying to get him to focus, take you seriously.
“I just want to help.” He speaks softly, voice coming out low from his vocoder. Maybe it would sound nicer if you weren’t on the verge of shooting him.
You roll your eyes, switching off your safety and cocking your blaster. “Better think of something fast, shiny.”
“I can help you get there. I-I can help you reach the dock.”
That piques your interest. Fine, you’ll humor him.
“I’m fine with my speeder-”
You squint in the Mandalorian’s direction, not quite believing him and not wanting to take your eyes off of him to inspect your speeder.
“How do you know it's broken?”
The Mandalorian can’t help but grin underneath his helmet. You take his silence as your answer and you growl something incoherent, chucking your blaster onto the dirt and turning around to inspect your bike.
Mando had managed to track your speeder down before he found you in the cantina. He saw you pull up on it and followed your dark figure into the city before he even got a good look at you, just trusting the fob.
He took out your engine, destroyed it, you see pieces of it now scattered amongst the alley. You kick the now useless speeder, much like your useless arm. Was he trying to take you down slowly? Break you apart piece by piece like a slow and easy kill? He’s toying with you.
“I have a ship.” The Mandalorian speaks, breaking the tense silence.
You turn to face him again, he leans against the opposite side of the narrow alley. “What’s in it for you?”
The Mandalorian says nothing, he keeps his visor trained on you but he nervously fiddles with his own fingers.
“What do you gain from helping me? Aren’t I just a bount-”
“I have a feeling I’m after the wrong person.”
“Bold of you to assume.” You scoff, nearly laughing at him but you don’t want to waste this opportunity. It’s not everyday you’re offered the services of a Mandalorian. You’re just not sure if you can trust him yet.
“Tell me what you’re after.” He presses again.
You’re reluctant to talk. Opening up isn’t your… speciality, so to say. Especially not with strangers. Especially not strangers who have a fucking tracking fob on you.
Fuck. You don’t see how you have any other options right now. A broken speeder and a useless arm, you realize it’s this guy or nothing.
You groan something frustrated and slightly pained. “Fine. I’ll fill you in on the way, shiny.”
You were born into it, as most people are on Coruscant.
Born to a cold, unforgiving family focused on politics and appearances. You were always going to become a senator or something of the sort, you had informed Mando.
None of the kids had a choice and no one cared to do anything about it, no one cared to change things, help the planets that were being robbed and forgotten about. So you had decided to do something about it.
You broke free a few years ago and have been robbing from the Imperials ever since. They have these fancy, luxurious, expensive getaway houses and cottages all across the galaxy and you follow them like bread crumbs on a trail.
The cottages usually indicate some sort of side business, the Imperials leaving their families to go on a ‘business vacation’ - which really means illegal government shit, obviously.
Planets which house their cottages also house their loading docks, outposts, trading posts, anything that helps them keep the wealth in this incognito backtrade, away from the official systems and taxes, just continuously fueling the 1%.
But you, you’d been stealing from them. You infiltrate the loading docks and outposts, you reroute the goods to the planets and communities that the corrupt government forgets about, like Sorgan, Kashyyyk and Endor to name a few. You make sure they get what they need, what the higher ups try to keep for themselves.
You steal it from them and redistribute it equally, fairly - leaving none for those in Coruscant.
He doesn’t feel sorry for you; you’ve had nothing but privilege your whole life, you chose to leave it, to fight for something. You took it upon yourself to stand up and fight the only life you’ve ever known.
He doesn’t feel sorry for you, but Maker are you good.
You have a purpose, something to fight for, something that drives you every single day. Something you care about. That’s not something a lot of people can say they have, definitely not some criminal on Sriluur, or even a bounty hunter like him.
No wonder the Imps are after you. You’re killing men left and right with such ease it seems. You’re fucking good to have been on the run for this long, to be this successful.
Mando’s just thankful he didn’t turn you into them with what limited information Karga gave him. It’s a good thing you’re pretty.
“Not everyone can be a mindless cog in the machine, one piece breaks loose and the whole thing falls apart.” You explain while you and the Mandalorian trek through the cool, dark and seemingly never ending desert of Sriluur.
You had told him that you couldn’t fly too close to the loading dock. They’re armed, they have men on the lookout, radars searching for ships flying overhead. You had said they would see you coming from a mile away, way before you would even see them.
So Mando landed the ship quite a distance aways, just outside of the Badlands. You would have to walk the rest of the way, through the night so that you make it there in the early morning.
“I realized it was either going to be me or someone else who was going to have to make the first move, and I was tired of waiting for something to happen so I just… I just ran.” You shrug, as best as you can with your fucked up shoulder but you wince at the dull pain.
You’d been walking for hours now, and your arm was only hurting more and more. Mando would have to do something before you reached the dock, there was no way you’d be able to fight, or even shoot, in this condition.
“Let me look at yo-” The Mandalorian reaches out to you but you jerk away from him, grimacing again at the dull pain which radiates throughout the heavy limb.
“I’m fine.” You groan, supporting your arm with your other one, trying to hold up the dead weight.
You groan. He’s right, you know it. You know he is but you don’t want to go through with having a stranger pop your arm back into place.
Weighing your options, you come up on a dead desert tree and you quickly lean your weight on the dead and hollow bark, trying to calm yourself down and breathe through your nose.
“I can help.” He offers, hands twitching near his sides.
You glare at him, look him up and down as he slowly approaches you. You say nothing, he takes this as confirmation.
Gently, the Mandalorian takes your forearm into his gloved hands, taking some of the dead weight for you and you sigh a bit at the relief.
“You ever done this before?” You ask, trying to make small talk and distract from the way he’s touching you so preciously, how close he’s standing to you. Whatever, whatever, whatever, this is totally fine.
Mando can see the fear in your eyes, the fear of the sudden pain that’ll come with snapping your arm back into its socket, the fear that he might fuck it up. He knows you don’t trust him, he knows you’re letting your guard down for this, to let him help you. He thinks you’re brave for that.
So he takes off his gloves.
And you watch in a mix of amazement and shock at the tanned and calloused skin which is slowly revealed to you. “H-Hey isn’t that not allow-”
“Shut up.” The Mandalorian grunts, voice deep and gravely and regrettably making your stomach flutter. You swallow your protests and let him do what he needs to do.
He inspects your arm and you let him, somewhat losing yourself to the touch of another, skin on skin - his warm and weathered hands on your hot flesh. It feels good, a nice contrast to how he body slammed you earlier today.
The Mandalorian sighs. “Mando.”
“My name, call me Mando.” He tells you, visor trained heavily on you, gauging your every reaction.
“O-Okay.” You gulp, unable to look away from the pitch black, intimidating T of his visor. You didn’t realize how close he was to you, you think you can hear him breathing under that helmet of his.
“Let me hear you say it.” His hands wrap around your bicep, testing the muscle it seems and your face burns at his tone, how deep his voice has gotten.
“M-MandOH!” He jerks your arm upwards right as you say his name and he watches your face twist in pain. That fucker. He was trying to distract you and it worked.
“Okay, okay- is it in?” You ask as a sweat breaks out on your hairline from the pain, your body quickly overheating as you breathe heavily.
“No.” Mando answers. You’re about to go off on him when he continues, “Y-You’ll have to take your shirt off… I can’t see the muscles like this.”
“You’re kidding me.” You groan, eyes closing tight as you try to calm yourself down, your mind growing heavy.
You can’t believe this is fucking happening, this day is not going at all how you planned. Regardless, you use your still intact arm to reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your torso as much as you can before the pain from your other arm stops you with a pained moan.
Mando moves closer and nearly pins you to the tree, grabbing the hem of your shirt into his hand and gently pulling it the rest of the way, careful to remove it from your injured arm before he tosses it over his shoulder so it doesn’t get covered in sand.
Mando doesn’t look - he swears he doesn’t…. Until he does.
His burnt red breast plate is nearly grazing against your chest, barely covered by the thin material of your bra.
Your chest heaves with pain laced breaths, your body trying to regulate something to get anything under control again. The curves of your breasts shine with sweat, you glimmer in the moonlight and Mando finds himself wanting more and more to put you at ease, to lick you, taste you, clean you of your sweat with his own tongue - you pretty, young thing.
His head is getting foggy, he needs to focus on the task at hand but that isn’t so easy when the task is you.
Mando looks up to find your eyes growing heavy, your body growing tired with exertion and going numb to the pain.
“Hey, hey, you’re okay.” Mando reassures, the hand which isn’t supporting your arm coming up to hold your jaw, hold your head up, thumb caressing your cheek. You smile groggily.
“Y-You’re… you’re fault.”
Yeah, he knows that. He could have looked where he was going and not have rammed you into the ground and this whole ordeal could have been avoided.
“I know. I… I’m sorry. We’re almost done.” You take it he doesn’t apologize often and you giggle dopily.
Your eyes droop and Mando gets nervous. He taps your cheek a few times, your skin hot to the touch and it worries him.
“Okay eyes on me, pretty girl.” You hum something content, trying to wiggle your body closer to his but he holds you tight, keeps you pinned against the tree. That’s hot.
“You called me- called me pretty.”
“Yeah, yeah I did, now keep looking at me, okay” Mando flushes underneath his helmet but he returns his attention to your supple arm, grabbing the fleshy area near your shoulder tight. His touch is so wicked, it burns. You hate it.
Mando grabs your shirt off of his shoulder and brings it to your mouth, ordering you to ‘bite’. He shoves it into your mouth, your saliva quickly soaking into the fabric and Mando has to look away from your pretty little mouth.
“It’s going to hurt.” He tells you and you grumble something back to him but it's muffled by the pretty fabric he tucked into your mouth.
Your eyes are nearly glazed over, shiny and heavy and he’s so fucked for thinking about how you’d look just like this if he fucked you until you were numb, rendered dumb and thoughtless at the end of his cock. All fucking shiny, wet and-
You scream as he whips your shoulder bone back into its socket.
Tears slip past your eyes and drool spills from between your lips and into your shirt. The skin of your arm is hot to the touch but it’s there, it's back in place. Mando did it.
He lets you cry, lets you fall forward into him and sob into his cowl. Mando holds you against him and gently rubs the muscle of your shoulder through your flesh, making sure everything is okay and in the right place. You twitch in his hold, trying to get away from his touch by retreating back further into him. It makes his cock twitch.
Mando shushes you, massaging up and down your arm as you shiver in his hold, overcome with adrenaline and exertion. You feel completely wiped out from the pain alone but your body jitters with energy.
“T-Thanks.” You tremble, voice exhausted but it seems like your senses are already coming back to you.
You pull away from Mando and take your shirt into your hands again, carefully shrugging it back on and ignoring the giant wet spot from your own spit. That was fucking humiliating.
Mando doesn’t respond, he just nods and watches as you cover yourself back up again. He already misses the fleshy warmth of your body against his hard and cold one.
You breathe a bit heavily, still winded from everything that’s just happened: your arm being snapped back into place, how close Mando was to you, how he touched you, manipulated your body so easily.
He called you pretty.
You mentally scoff at yourself, so fucking what?
You try not to care, you try to move on from that, but you tuck it away first; the way his voice sounded as he tried to soothe you, calm you down. You tuck that away for later, for when you’re alone again after all of this is over.
You grunt as you sling your rifle back over your shoulder, “Let’s keep moving.”
You reach the loading dock as the sun threatens to touch the horizon, the sky only starting to become a lighter shade of blue, signaling the early morning.
The perimeter is easy to breach, you get inside with few casualties. They only seem to have a few men patrolling this early in the morning - their weak spot, so it seems.
Mando willingly helps you and you’re grateful for the second pair of hands, you’re not used to having backup. You usually go in and come out alone. But you welcome this, he makes it too easy, it was already easy enough on your own, save for a few close calls over the years but he makes it easy.
With the two of you, you take them down and make good time of it too. You should be out of here, with the shipment of goods rerouted in under an hour.
And you do.
Everything works: you get the shipment out and you run out of the loading dock without much trouble, escaping blaster fire as you run back off into the desert, towards Mando’s ship.
He covers you, shields you with his armed body as you make a run for it, avoiding the open fire which has begun to rain down upon you. Someone must have sent a distress signal. It doesn’t matter though, the money is off to a deserving planet and you’ve got a Mandalorian shielding you with his own body. You did it.
You’re practically vibrating as you run up the open hull to the ship, losing the Imps and their men through the Badlands. You’re safe, you made it.
Mando closes the ramp before you’re even up all the way and you fall into him. He gives you no time to recover, hauling you further into the ship, dropping you in the copilot seat, setting coordinates to who knows where as the Razor Crest lifts into the air, beaming into hyperspace.
You’re panting, you’re both painting and breathing heavily. You barely notice that he’s up from his seat, crouching below you as he feels you over, squeezing your arms, like he’s trying to make sure you’re okay and you want to push him away for it, push him off of you but you can’t. You can’t.
That was so good. You did it.
“H-How’s your arm?” Mando asks, visor staring through your very being.
You nod your head affirmatively, unable to produce any words right now, staring down at his vacant visor without a thought in your mind except that you did it. You both did it.
Mando’s hand comes up to your face, holding your cheek and the back of your neck gently and it surprises you.
“Come on, words pretty girl. Need to know you’re okay.”
“I’m good, I’m good- promise.” You smile shakily, still reeling with adrenaline, your limbs still shaking.
You’re shocked at his insistence on calling you that. You don’t want to admit it but... you like it. Sort of.
You think Mando chuckles underneath his helmet, the vocoder distorts it but you hear the exhale of breath he lets out, the way his shoulders bounce lightly. He lets his hand trail down to your knee - subtle.
You feel giddy. We did it, you giggle to yourself, unable to contain the burst of energy pulsing through your body.
“You did it.” Mando adds and fuck - did you say that out loud?
“I- no. I mean, you were there, you helped-”
He stops you mid-sentence, voice low, hushed and squeezing your knee tight. “Don’t be so fucking modest.”
You feel hot suddenly. Not just your face, you feel hot all over, your whole body coursing with it - indignation.
Whatever, you scoff, rolling your eyes and shoving at his shoulders. “Shut up, Mando.”
He moves both of his hands, letting them come to grip both of your thighs now and you hate the way it makes your eyelids grow heavy, threatening to roll back into your head if he adds just a bit more pressure.
“You’re difficult, you know that?” He grits even though you know it's not frustration or annoyance coursing through his blood.
You try to move your legs, push him away from you but he’s got you in this vice grip, pawing at you through your clothes.
“Only when I want to be.” Mando chuckles again, he’s amused.
Fuck do his hands feel good, it’s been so long.
“I don’t believe that.” He purrs, voice low and bassey and it goes straight to your cunt, which he’s growing increasingly closer to.
“Y-You don’t know me.”
His hands trail up your thighs, feeling the warmth seep through your pants and through the worn leather of his gloves as he nears the zipper. The helmet tips upwards to meet your completely dazed stare.
Gone is your fierce and biting tongue. You’ve gone quiet, all because of him - this stranger, this Mandalorian, a bounty hunter who has your fucking fob.
“You’re right, I don’t. But I know you’re good.” Mando tells you, fingers dancing up to the seam of your pants. You just stare at him, eyes wide and shining bright with hyperspace in their reflection. Beautiful. “How are you so fucking good?”
You know he’s not really asking, you know it’s a rhetorical question but -
“I’m not good, M-Mando.” You quiver as he rips the zipper down.
You’ve stopped trying to push him away but you’re not encouraging him either, completely frozen in place by the intimidating black visor of his helmet, like some dark angel tempting you with death.
Rushed and hurried, Mando’s shucking down your pants and chucking them somewhere onto the floor of the cockpit. He bites the tips of his gloves, pulling them off and throwing them away just as carelessly.
Mando growls something fierce and terrifying, taking both of your knees in each hand and pulling you down the chair till your ass nearly hangs off the edge, spreading you so wide its fucking embarrasing.
“But you are.” He presses, so certain of this ‘fact’.
Then he’s spreading you again and it’s so lewd and wet. You can feel yourself dripping, making a mess all over yourself and you go hot, embarrassed as you try and look away from the black of his visor that’s intently trained on you and your soaked panties.
“Don’t you wanna prove to me how good you are?”
You can’t help the pathetic whimper that’s released from your throat as you nod your head too eagerly and without thought. He’s got you right in his line of fire, right where he wants you. It’s been too long since you’ve had someone take care of you.
You can’t bear to look at him as he hooks his fingers into the crotch of your panties, pulling them to the side to reveal your glossy cunt to him.
Mando can’t remember the last time he fingered someone’s cunt open to get them ready for him, all of him. He feels dizzy, sees literal star whizzing past him as he parts your lips, watches how your dark hole flutters and seeps for him, all dark and flushed and swollen for him, for his touch. You’re perfect.
Maker, does he want to taste you, to feel you cum on his tongue, on his face, feel how fucking hot you are on his lips but he can’t, he knows he can’t. So he’ll do what he can with his fingers, for now.
Slowly, he takes his index and sinks it into, your walls fluttering to let him in, suffocating the single digit already. Mando curses underneath his breath - you’re so fucking tightt, he can hardly believe it.
You cry out at the sensation, having had nothing but your own fingers for the past few months, one of his felt so much better, thicker and rougher. Tears are already welling in your eyes from the sweet relief.
Mando adds a second, not wanting to waste anymore time and starts scissoring you open for him, curling his fingers against the ridged wall and beckoning you towards him. Your back curls against the copilot seat, your hands flying upwards to grab the headrest of the seat, pressing your tits up and outwards underneath your thin shirt.
Even through your thin bra, Mando can tell your nipples are hard. He thinks about twisting them, biting them, licking at them, at you. Fuck, you’re so sexy.
“Dangerous girl,” Mando praises, growling and unrelenting in his thrusts, “how many men do you think you took out back there? Ten?”
You whine, eyes still squeezed shut, unable to take in the fucking Mandalorian between your legs, fingering your weeping cunt open.
“C-counted fifteen actually.”
Mando chuckles darkly, “Of course you did, show off.”
You laugh too but it’s cut off by a whine as he curls his fingers again, digging them into you and you see stars everywhere.
“Don’t have to- to show off when you're good.” You smirk, trying to give him your best shit-eat grin, finally opening your eyes and looking down at him beneath you like this.
He glows with the light of hyperspace, all the beaming stars reflecting off of his helmet, it nearly takes your breath away. His fingers are shiny with your slick as he drags them in and out of you, you can hear the way you pussy squelches for him, begging for more while you wither wordlessly for him.
“Hmmmm that’s right you - you good fucking girl, you’re such a good girl.”
There’s nothing you could have possibly done to contain the absolute wanton moan that leaves your chest at his sickening praise.
You never did any of this for attention, for praise, to make you feel better about yourself. You just felt it was your duty, to fix inequalities where you see them like those stupid senators claim they do but don’t. You never did it to be congratulated, to be thanked.
But when Mando praises you like this, calls you a good girl - fuck does that feel good.
He picks up the pace, his fingers fucking you open and you could cum just like this if he doesn’t stop soon. He feels it, feels you squeezing his fingers tighter than anything he’s ever felt before and he momentarily worries that he won’t fit, that he won’t be able to ram his cock deep into you but he knows you can take it, knows you’ll suck him in all desperate and wet for it.
Mando wrenches his fingers from you and you nearly scream at him for the sudden emptiness, your body convulsing and panting against the chair. He hasn’t even fucked you yet and you’re already completely debauched. Eyes glassy and skin glistening, you’re beautiful.
He stands to his full height, towering over you and casting you in his shadow. You look up at him through your lashes, chest heaving and legs spread wide, your core wet, shiny and flushed dark with arousal. You’re eye level now with his more than prominent bulge, cock straining against his pants and your mouth drools for it.
“Up, turn around.” He orders deep and low through his vocoder and you can’t scramble fast enough. Mando would chuckle at your desperation, degrade you and slap you around if he wasn’t so fucking desperate for it himself.
You do as he says, facing the other way and clutching the headrest of the set again as you look over your shoulder at him, watching, drooling as he pulls his flushed and heavy cock from his pants. You nearly choke on your breath - he’s huge, red and angry and you’re worried it’ll shred you from the inside out, but you want it - you want it rough, mean, fucking primal and gross. You want him to ruin you a little bit.
You watch him as he knocks your knees further apart on the seat of the chair, opening you up for him. You stick your ass out, wiggling it at him in a desperate presentation and he grumbles something before he’s grabbing handfuls of your flesh into his hands, grabbing you hard and tight and it pinches - you wail something high pitched and pathetic, whining like a bitch for him.
Mando hooks your soaked underwear high on your hips, watching the fabric pull tight against your own skin. He plays with the band, making sure it’s still sufficiently pulled to the side, to let his cock just glide right into you.
Resting your chin on your shoulder, you look back at him from under your lashes as he lines himself up, notching the spongy head of his cock at your entrance and you could cry, you could actually fucking cry you want it so bad. But your tongue isn’t as easily tamed as your body.
“You ever- ever fuck a bounty before, Mando?”
He growls mean and gritty before he’s grabbing you by the hips and sheathing himself all the way to the hilt in your tight cunt, a moan is punched out of you from deep within. He reaches the end of you almost effortlessly - literally pushing the boundaries of your body. You feel him in your stomach, you feel him making room for himself.
“Maybe.” He grunts, blushing furiously underneath his helmet all the while thinking “no”. He’s never done this before. And it shows in how he nearly forgot that you were - still are - his bounty.
He forgets that he tracked you down, hunted you, dislocated your fucking shoulder while chasing you down on a gritty planet. Your pussy made him forget all of that and he’s embarrassed by it. Maker, you could kill him right now if you wanted to and there’s nothing he could do to stop it. He thinks he’d let you.
So he fucks you harder for it, pulls back out until just the tip of him is at your entrance before he’s spearing you in half, breaking you open on his thick cock and fucking you mean, like he’s angry with you.
You try and scoff at his feigned smugness but it comes out as a broken moan, your knuckles going white from how hard you're gripping the headrest trying to gain some stability from his punishing thrusts, the way he pulls you back onto his cock over and over again. “D-Doubt it.”
Mando’s vocoder distorts his voice, or maybe it really has dropped that low but he’s grumbling something animalistic and fucking feral, wrapping his forearm around your shoulders and hauling you back into him - until your back is flush with his rough and cold breastplate.
He holds you tight against him, hips snapping against your ass as you bounce in his hold, the velocity of his thrusts sending you reeling. You feel lost, thrown out into space without a lifeline - all you can do is hold onto his forearm for some semblance of stability as Mando fucks you into oblivion.
The cool metal of his helmet kisses your cheek and you hiss but let him press it against you anyways. You can feel his eyes on you from behind the visor, you know he’s watching every expression, hearing every pathetic little noise he’s pulling from you - a front row seat to your destruction.
“Why are you so- worried about it? Hmm?” He coddles, as if he were talking to a child. It’s condescending and you’re so fucked out of your mind already that you can’t even respond, can’t even bite back at him.
You’ve never been fucked like this before, never had someone reach so deep, spread you so wide, fuck you hard and open like a decimated fruit. It’s perfect - fuck, it’s so good.
“Am I not - shit - am I not fucking you hard enough, pretty girl?”
Mando’s hips grind up into you, shredding your insides and you cry; you feel legitimate tears spring from your eyes as you bend to his will, bend as he molds you to his cock. You let him.
Mando scoffs, or chuckles - you can’t tell. He leans in even closer, you swear you could feel his breath against your face if it weren’t for his stupid helmet digging into the side of your face.
“I know you like it when I call you that, g-get so fucking tight.”
You nod your head fervently, unable to produce any words as your pussy and stomach clench around him, that familiar fire burning so rampantly you feel like you could cum with one more word out of his mouth.
“I- I like it.” You barely manage to get out, voice gone and the wind fucked out of you. You have no energy or willpower to be able to speak properly - you’re on the edge of a mind-shattering orgasm.
Mando’s forearm flexes against where he holds your shoulders against his chest, his tanned hand moving to come and wrap around your throat, squeezing tight and angling your back like you would a bow. He fucks you deeper and harder and ruthless at this new angle, like a dagger to your insides - a warning.
“I-I like it when you - fuck! - when you call me p-pretty girl.” You wail, pussy squelching around his length embarrassingly loud as proof of your words, of his power against you. He hums, satisfied.
“Yeah? Yeah, you want it h-harder, pretty girl?” He asks and it's mean. It’s evil this time when he asks you, like he’s making fun of you as you tremble at the end of his cock, tired and wet and fucked out of your mind.
You nod your head pathetically, not caring anymore how desperate you are to cum, you just need him. You need Mando to keep fucking you.
“Yes! Yes, please just- just keep fucking me. D-Do whatever you want.”
Mando’s heart and cock flare at your words, igniting something deep inside him and he’s hauling you around, pulling his sopping cock from your cunt with a disgusting wet pop, your juices leaking all over him, the chair, the durasteel floor.
If he were being any meaner, if you were anyone else, he would have you lick it up, lick yoursef off the fucking floor but - Maker, he can’t think like that right now, he’ll get too light headed and pass out before he’s had a chance to cum.
He picks you up and lifts you onto the ground, laying you on your back less than gracefully before he’s shucking your top off of you along with your bra, leaving you in nothing but your soaked and drenched panties which still sit pulled to the side of your abused pussy.
Fucking look at you, eyes bleary and wet, fucked out of your mind like the rest of you. All shiny and wet with him, and your tits. You’re so pretty, naked on the floor of his ship like this.
Mando takes your nipples into both his hands and twists, pulling and groping at you like a brute and all you can do is arch your back, pressing yourself further into his touch like a mindless whore.
He lines himself up again, leveraging himself on your breasts and splitting you open again with too much ease this time, you’re so wet and dark and flushed like a pulverized fruit.
“P-Perfect pussy, you’re so fucking good.” He moans, sounding delirious.
His body is hard against your fleshy one, he revels in the way his armour makes you bounce and jiggle, how you take him so fucking well on the fucking floor. Shit, he won’t last long like this - you’re too good, you’re too good for him.
Mando paws at your tits, pulls at the flesh and gets lost in how soft and squishy they are as he pummels your poor pussy, squelching and spilling all over the both of you.
He swears he can smell you, even from underneath the helmet he swears he gets a whiff of your cunt, of your sweat, your skin. He wants to taste you so bad, lick every inch of you until there’s nothing left. Mando wants to devour you, he wants to keep you here, just for him to use like this. You’re too good, you’re too good at taking him, he can hardly believe it.
“Need you to cum.”
You nod your head, tears spilling into your hairline and Mando leans over you, gripping both your hands into his and holding them above your head, your legs wrapping high up around his waist.
Looking down, you watch him spear you over and over again without relent. Your world spins, it's thrown off kilter by the strength of his cock and you marvel at yourself for taking something that big inside of you. Mando’s thrusts are strong, deep and punishing, they’re fucking aggrezzive and you feel yourself tightening up at the mere sight of him - he’s huge, in every sense of the word.
It’s too much, he’s so much and your senses light up like a control board with nothing but him - nothing but Mando and before you know you’re crying out his name into the dead silence of hyperspace.
You pulse around him, suffocating his cock tighter than he thought possible and Mando’s head pounds in his helmet. He watches as you wither underneath him, fucking yourself on his cock as you work through your orgasm, moaning his name like it’ll bring you salvation - Mando, Mando, Mando, Mando.
For a split second he finds himself wishing it was his name, his real name that you were moaning, crying out like you’re wounded and you need him.
He imagines the way it would tumble off your lips, curl around your tongue and how it would taste to drink it from your mouth - Din, Din, Din.
Fuck - he’s cumming.
Mando doesn’t know why that did it for him, but he’s cumming. Feels his balls pull up tight and his cock twitches and pulses painfully hard and he’s drawing out of you and painting your tummy white with his seed.
You gasp when you feel his hot spend land on your heated skin, your eyes fly open and you lift your head to watch him jerk himself onto you.
He looks like a vision, a fucking pillar of silver, a monolith, towering over you. Except you’ve brought him to his knees, this fierce warrior, trembling as he finishes himself off, emptying himself onto your flesh instead of deep inside you. You can’t help but smile at him, drunk off of his cock as you watch him cum all over you.
“I have the implant.” You smirk, sitting up on your elbows now to admire his work.
“H-Huh?” He pants, chest heaving and cock still twitching. Fuck, he’s gorgeous.
“Could’ve cum inside me, Mando.” You tell him like you’re disappointed. You are.
Mando growls, lunging for you and groping your belly, smearing his seed into your flesh, painting you where he missed - your chest, breasts, collarbones, he rubs it as far as it’ll go.
He’ll offer you a shower once you’re both up, he tries not to think about what it would’ve felt like to cum deep inside your tight little pussy, how it would have seeped out around him, spilling out the sides and onto the floor along with the rest of your mess.
He would’ve fucked it deep, deep inside of you and watch you take it like the good girl you are.
Next time, he thinks.
“Shut up.” He tells you.
Mando didn’t land in Nevarro like you thought he would.
Instead, you’re on another isolated, a far off one like you usually stick to - Kal’Shebbol.
You’re both quiet as you exit the Razor Crest, letting the noise of the planet fill in through your ears and Mando’s helmet as you walk towards the city.
The planet is nice enough, nicer than you’re used to actually. Tall and far off rolling hills and mountains which surround a modest city. It seems pretty modern from what you can tell as you approach it. Shining lights, even in the daytime, neon signs and loud bustle.
There’s crime here, you can tell, you can practically fucking smell it, you’ve become so familiar with its tang - you’ll do good here, that is… depending on what Mando’s got planned for you.
He doesn’t have you in cuffs, he’s not escorting you, you’re just simply… walking next to him and it’s confusing. You take a side glance at him and he just walks forward with a too-confident stride, seemingly not even worried about you.
So you let him walk with you, closer and closer to the border of the city before he slows down, ultimately coming to a halt. You keep walking however, testing him, wondering who will make the first move.
You make it about ten feet from him before he’s calling after you, your name never sounding so sweet. Stupid, you sound like a lovesick little girl. But you can’t help but smirk as you turn around to face him.
“I have to bring you in.” He calls out, yet there's no malice in his voice, no threat.
You smile at him, it feels genuine, you fucking devil. “Not if you can’t find me.”
Mando approaches you again with that saunter of his, like a true bounty hunter, a true threat. Fuck, why did he have to be so sexy?
Only you know that you had brought this Mandalorian down to his knees. You try to block the image of him on top of you, fucking you out of your mind only hours ago, making you cum harder than you ever had, painting you in his own spend.
Your soaked underwear sits wet and cold against your aching pussy, a painful and uncomfortable reminder of the mess you both made of each other.
When he’s gotten close enough to you, Mando tilts his helmet teasingly.
“You can’t outrun me, remember?” You know he’s smiling all smug underneath that helmet, you can hear it in his voice. It’s chilling and you shiver at the edge, the deep grit of his voice while your shoulder throbs at the memory.
“Well then I better get a head start.” You smile back, feeling hot underneath his gaze.
Grabbing his gloved hand into yours, you squeeze it tight, unable to say goodbye to him for some weird reason. You really don’t know him at all, you’ve only been with him for a day but you think you’ll miss his stoic quietness. Either way, you feel like this doesn’t merit a goodbye - he still has your puck.
Mando stares in disbelief at your gesture, burning hotter and more embarrassed than ever, even though he was buried deep in your cunt only hours ago. He looks at your hand, engulfed in his and Maker, he doesn’t want to let go.
But he watches you drop his hand and walk away from him, lost to the crowd within seconds.
When he’s sure he can’t see you anymore, only then does Mando turn on his heel, heading back to his ship and back to Nevarro.
He tells Karga he had no luck finding you and manages to get another puck from him without much hassle. The new tracking fob takes him all the way out to Maldo Kreis to find some blue guy - as far away from you as possible.
Mando will take the long way getting back to you, hoping you stay out of trouble: from the Imps and the bounty hunters like him.
Your puck burns hot in his holster. It’s where he keeps you close, always on him until he tracks you down and finds you again.
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7 with Din and Zeb’s
7) who steals the duvet in their sleep?
I’m assuming you mean Zena. ☺️
It would be a rare moment for Zena and Din to share a duvet. Most of the time, they’re in their own beds, divided by a curtain.
But, if they do have to share a bed, (which I love), Zena is stealing that blanket.
She gets cold easily and has a tendency to cocoon herself when she sleeps. Luckily, Din doesn’t mind so much and just wraps his arm around her, blanket burrito and all.
Send Me an OC OTP + Number
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Tattoo My Heart
Sneak Peak for the Final Part
Coming Tomorrow 5/15
Part 4 : Share
Din watches you look around. “Is this room...my room, ok for you? I mean, you can have your own, if that’s what you prefer. We don’t have to share if you don’t want to. There’s, uh, plenty of space. Lots of rooms. Well, it is a palace and all. I would, uh, rather share with you here, but I don’t want to assume, so you know…”
You smile and wrap your arms around him. “Don’t be an idiot, Din. Of course I want to stay in here with you.”
“Thank the Maker, for a second I was worried I’d have to go sneaking down the hall every night like a teenager after curfew.” He kisses you deeply and pulls you close. His hands slide over you, gentle at first but then quickly becoming more and more insistent.
Calm before the storm
Chapter 12 of No time to die
A/N- y’all tell me if you want more of this series okay? ;)
Warning- Fluff, angst
Pairing- Din Djarin x reader
(Let me know if you want to be tagged)
“I’ll be taking her from here. Thank you for freeing her from Moff Gideon’s grip.”
Bo-Katan's words had cleanly cut through Din’s entire being. He now remembered the truth between her and you after a moment of bliss with you and he knew that there was going to be a choice you were going to make. One he knew you wouldn’t even think twice about.
“She’s not just some kid you can boss around,” Din remarked, causing Bo-Katan’s look to turn cold and dangerous.
“I knew that, but if you don’t remember my daughter had her mind messed with. She hardly remembers her own name. I’m helping her.” She sneered in an icy tone that she knew how to disguise well. “Until she can remember, her side is with me, with her people.”
A scowl grew under Dins helmet as Bo-Katan's words sounded dangerously familiar. Yet he had no chance to remark about it since you walked in.
“What’s going on?” You curiously ask as you instantly feel the thick tension between the pair. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s your mother,” The Mandalorian doesn’t hesitate to tell you as he moves back and sits back in his seat. “She doesn’t seem to remember that you’re an adult who can make your own choices.”
You look between the pair who were now facing away from each other, both obviously fuming. Both confusing you as your question wasn’t really answered. “What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t want you to come home.” Bo-Katan remarks. “After being apart for so long, it’s the least he could let you do. He’s acting like something he’s not.”
“Oh,” you mouth, your eyes bouncing from the both of them before you sat across from the both of them. “Well, I already actually have a plan for that.” You scratch the back of your head and hesitate a bit to reveal your plan. “I’m going with Mando first. After that I can go with you...Bo-Katan.”
The Mandalorians head slowly turns to face you, but he stays quiet after your revelation. Unlike her. “Fine, but since neither of you have a ship, we can give you a lift to wherever it is you’re going.”
“Fine,” the Mandalorian grumbles as he stands up, intending to exit the cockpit, but stopping under the doorway. “We’re going to Aquaria.” With nothing else to add he storms out of the room, only sparing a glance your way before he disappears from your view.
You have the instinct to follow him, but you’re stopped as the woman Koska Reeves begins to talk to you. Not leaving you a single chance to even get a word with him before you arrived at your destination a couple hours later. As if that was her actual intention.
“I’m going to go tell Mando we're here.” You say as you stand from your seat, glancing at the pair one last time before you left the cockpit and entered the haul where you saw him sitting down quietly. “We’re here.”
His head lifted and turned so his visor reflected your figure by the door way. “I figured.”
You lean by the doorway and peek over your shoulder to make sure the girls weren’t behind you. “Where’s your contact?”
The Mandalorian stood up and walked to you, stopping at your side and placing a hand on your shoulder to then lean in and whisper. “There’s no contact.” He walks past you to head to the cockpit, leaving you stunned and frozen to your spot. Feeling realization slap you in the face, and the want to follow him. But before you could, he came back and headed to the ramp, shooting a comment at you over his shoulder. “Let’s go. They’re staying on the ship.”
“Right,” you mumble before you push yourself from the doorway and do a little jog to catch up to him and wait for the ramp to slowly come to an open, welcoming in the bright sun rays that blinded your eye and caused you to raise your hand to block the light.
As the ramp dropped to the floor, that's when the salty breeze that washed in the ship invaded your nose, and the sound of crashing ocean waves in the distance sounded in your ears. Din began to walk out and let you follow after him. Which you did and could finally drop your hand as your feet touched the ground and the sun didn’t hit your face or blind your vision, where you could see the blue sky mixing with a yellow and orange soft hue as the sun was beginning to set. Where you could see the tall golden grass being blown to the side as the breeze washed over the land. The ocean water was heard but you couldn’t yet see what your heart yearned to see.
“Come on, I need to head to town for a minute.” Din shared over his shoulder, slowing his pace so you’d fall by side, where he guided you uphill to where slowly a town was coming to view and finally the ocean was seen, capturing your attention immediately and causing you to run to the edge of the hill where you could fully see the water. Noticing that the water was as blue as the sky above, that it was so clear that it reflected the colors of the sky.
The water seemed to sparkle like shiny blue crystals, and the water crashed softly to the land you were on. You could feel your eyes widen with complete awe as you admired the scenery that you hadn’t seen before, that were only part of dreams before.
A smile broke onto your features and a memory crashed within your mind, reminding you of the ocean planet you were on with Mando and the child. The one where you met Bo-Katan and her other two people. It was hazy, slowly clearing like the water below but now you had recollection of what you were missing before—it caused you to shoot Din a witty remark. “Now this is an ocean planet.”
“Wait until night time rolls around.”
You step away from the edge and swiftly turn to once again head your way to town, unable to keep your eyes away from the scenery you were walking by until you entered the small buzzing town by the ocean.
“What if we stayed here?” You break the silence, from the corner of your eyes watching as giggling kids ran past Din and you. “Went off the raider and just lived here,” you continued as you stretched your arms upwards and looked at the stands you passed by.
“Wouldn't be a bad idea,” Din surprisingly replied, making your heart begin to beat faster. But soon shooting it point blank. “But we need money to make a living. You don’t remember, so let me remind you that we don’t have that. Just like we don’t have a ship.”
You let out an annoyed groan and cross your arms over your chest. “Thanks for killing my dream.”
“Just keeping it realistic.” He snips.
“Whatever,” you scoff with your eyebrows furrowing.
Din looked at you over his shoulder and chuckled at the way your face was twisted.
Nonetheless he finally came to a stop in a small shop, entering it and coming out a few minutes later. “Let’s go back down.”
“What?” You squeaked. “Back down?”
“There's a boat by the shore that the owner is letting us borrow.” He added in a lighthearted tone. “Unless you don’t want to that is?”
“I do,” you sigh, “I do.”
He snickers and once again you head back down, enjoying the peacefulness that this planet provided, the calm moment that was well needed after what you experienced.
When you finally got down to shore that feeling heightened and blissfulness filled the air. Yet none of it felt real. You looked down at the waves washing in and stepped back as they began to come too close. It wasn’t until you crouched down and let the cold water brush the tip of your fingers that you knew that this was truly real.
“Y/N,” Din called out to you from a boat he had untied while you admired the sand below your feet, and felt the water running past your fingers. “Come on.”
Carefully you stood back up and ran towards him, taking his hand as he helped you onto the boat that he pushed further into the water before he hopped on himself.
Whereas he took you both further from shore and night completely took over, showing off white stars littered in the dark sky, and the white moons that invaded the sky, brightening the planet in their beautiful white hue and reflecting as the stars did, on the ocean water.
The sight of the stars and moons reflected on the salty ocean water, looked almost as if they were painted on, they looked like something out of a dream, or a book. It was all so surreal and fascinating. It was a scene and experience like no other.
“Wow,” you gasp softly as you go to the edge of the boat and lean down to brush your fingers in the cold water. “It’s so beautiful at night,” you smile softly, feeling your cheeks begin to grow warm as you couldn’t keep your eyes away from the beautiful water. Going unaware of Dins lingering gaze on you as you admired the beautiful painted scenery. Feeling thankful for his helmet the moment you found yourself tearing your eyes from the water to look at him with your eyes reflecting the white hues of the stars.
“I really didn’t think you’d like it.” Din says sarcastically.
You scoff and slowly grin as under the natural white lights, his armor was indistinguishable and glowing. “Are you kidding? I love it. It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah,” he agrees in a quiet mumble, “It is.”
Your memories may have been hazy, some lost for the moment, but one thing that you couldn’t help but remember was the feeling you had when you were with him. That was quick to recover, the realization of your feelings sparked like a light, it gave color to the grey and white that you had viewed life like after you discovered that they took your memories. With him you felt comfortable and safe, like nothing else mattered but him. You could feel your heart flutter when you saw him—with his helmet on or without it. You knew that you wanted to be with him wherever he went. No matter who Bo-Katan was to you. You just wanted to be with him.
That….was a new realization.
“Din,” you part your lips, turning to sit back across from him, but cutting yourself off as you caught a blue glow inside the water. Slowly turning from one to hundreds upon hundreds. Igniting the ocean water in a blue bright glow that caught your immediate attention and made you turn back to look at the water, leaning closer to its surface and watching as the blue glow began to surface, revealing a small creature that had translucent tentacles running down its circular body. “Wow...amazing.”
The glowing blue creatures began to float out of the water, every single one of them slowly floating a couple feet up into the sky before they began to float away in slow fluid movements. Their light taking over the glow the stars and moons provided and completely basking the water's surface in its blue light. All of it completely leaving you in awe, leaving your jaw agape as you looked up and with your eyes followed their slow movements past you.
There was a moment where you had the temptation to reach for one, but as you lifted your hand, Din was quick to wrap his gloved hand around your wrist to stop you. “I wouldn’t. They’re beautiful to look at, but their sting is brutal.”
You pull your hand down and turn your head away from the floating creatures that slowly began to once again darken the night, and let the stars and moons show off their glow. Your eyes landed on Dins visor and your smile widened whilst you sat down and felt his hand pull away from your wrist. This time seeing he was the one who looked away to comment on what you had witnessed. “At night the creatures float out of the water and go to land where they wait until the crack of dawn to head back to the water.” His visor again meets your gaze and he slightly shifts where he sits. “They do that every day.”
Slowly your lips pull into a grin and you move to sit closer in front of him, tilting your head to the side to tease him. “How long have you been hiding this from me, Din?”
“I haven’t. You’ve just never asked.”
You giggle and feel your stomach knot tightly together, and your heart begin to pound in your chest. The scent of the salt from the water appeared to be stronger in your nose now that you were building up the courage to share your thoughts. “Din, I wanted to say that I,” you swallow thickly and clench your fist, feeling your cheeks burn. “I don’t want to go with Bo-Katan—My mother, I want to...go with you.”
Din stiffened in his spot and kept his visor intently on you. Letting you continue before he could say something.
“There isn’t much I remember right now, but I’m slowly recovering my memories, my feelings towards you. And one thing I know for sure is that I want to be where you are, after so many years of searching for something I lost, I know now that it’s you who I’ve been searching for.” you laugh nervously and shrug. “I know that it sounds uh, cheesy. But it’s true. I’m free with you. You don’t use me for my powers and you’ve shown me that you care like no one has before. I…” you smile sweetly and lean in closer. “I want to be with you.”
Din stays silent for a brief moment and his hand falls on top of yours, slowly sliding it up your arm until his hand is on your cheek. You couldn’t see what face he made under the helmet, but by the way his voice came out, he sounded concerned and unsure. “You’ve been looking for your family for a long time, are you sure you want to let them go?”
You lean into his touch and grasp his hand. “I know they exist now. I can see her whenever I can. I’m sure I want to be by your side wherever you might go.”
“And I want you to be with me.” He shares quietly, pulling his hand from under yours and slowly lifting them to the bottom of his helmet to pull it off his head and show the soft look that he hid. His lips tugged slightly and once again he cupped your cheeks, this time using both hands to pull you towards him, stopping as his lips were inches away from yours, as the feeling of his breath unfurled on the tip of your nose. His dark eyes glanced at your lips before he met your gaze one last time, not hesitating to drop his eyes to your lips seconds later before he closed them as he closed the gap and shared a slow and passionate kiss with you.
The smile you carried on your lips spread wider, and you copied his actions by cupping both of his cheeks to pull him in and deepen the kiss. Taking note of how soft his lips were as he had them on yours, how much of a gentle kisser he was, how he didn’t seem to want either of you to pull away. But you did as a familiar feeling sparked within you, the same one you felt when that Jedi flew to the ship. Not only that but you also caught the sound of engines roaring in the sky. Interrupting the peaceful silence and your moment.
When you fully pulled away to look at the sky, you caught sight of multiple ships reflected by the moon's glow flying down to where your ship was. Your eyebrows furrowed and you were quick to comment on the sight. “What the hell?”
“We should head back,” Din comments beside you whilst he pulls his helmet back on and regardlessly begins to row the boat back to shore. Not taking long to do so and jump off the boat to help you off and guide you back to where you had left behind Bo-Katan and Koska.
Once you were close, just a feet away, you noticed through the tall grass blades the same ships parked by yours. You had the instinct to check what was going on out of fear something bad was going to happen, but as you took a step forward, Din stopped you as he saw a ramp open from the ship in the far right corner—“wait,” he whispered, “look first,” he pointed to the open ramp.
You don’t question him and stay hidden within the tall grass, looking at the ship with the open ramp and feeling your eyes widen as you saw a tall Mandalorian in red and black armor walk out of the ship, followed by five other Mandalorians with the same color scheme on their armor. However before you could comment on the fact, more Mandalorian came out of the other ships. This time these Mandalorian had similar armor to Bo-Katan and Koska.
“Mandalorian,” you muse as you narrow your gaze on Bo-Katan walking out of her ramp. Noticing that she and the tall Mandalorian with the red and black armor met in the middle, both wrapping their hands around their wrist for a hand shake before they pulled away and she pulled her helmet off her head. Making the other Mandalorian across from her do the same; revealing a young dark haired man, whose neatly combed back hair went down to his shoulder, whose side profile looked perfectly carved, whose black cloak that flapped behind him went with his intimidating demeanor—“who’s that?”
“I don’t know,” Din shrugged.
The other Mandalorian began greeting each other, all seeming to be glad to be seeing one another, creating a big commotion that let you think this was some kind of weird happy reunion. That made you want to go back where you had come from, but the comment from the tall Mandalorian beside Bo-Katan made you stay in place. “Is she here?”
“Yes she is. Koska bring y/n here.”
You blink and freeze in place, hearing Din add a witty comment as his visor turned to look at your lost expression. “They’re looking for you”
“I caught that,” you hiss, wanting to snap back but stopping as Koska was quick to run into Din and you.
“Good, I didn’t need to go all the way down there,” Koska said before she pointed her head to the crowd. “Y/N, you’re needed.”
As she began leading the way, you didn’t fret to follow and ask what began to pester your mind as you heard Din follow close behind you. “Who’s the man with my mother?”
Koska looked at you over her shoulder and smirked. “Be patient. You’ll see.”
Tagged- @lifeisapitch15 , @carrietrekkie , @littlegardenflower , @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked , @djardjardinks, @angelcvsmic , @seninjakitey , @imabeautifulbutterfly , @persie33 @svnth-cense
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First impression - you're a great writer and I enjoy your Maul thirst. You also seem very book smart. 😊😊
REBLOG IF YOU WANT YOUR FOLLOWERS TO GIVE YOU THEIR FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF YOU VIA AN ASK.
I’m !!! This made me so happy, and I’m honestly flattered!
I just hope I’m able to deliver on what the first impression promised jkaghfsghfj
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Hola, bubi! I got two separate requests: "I'm waiting" from the smutty prompts, and "I don't know who you are anymore" from the angsty prompts. Both with 80s Din, por favor. - @walt-breslin
A/N: I hope you like it darling! I went wayyyy overboard but it’s fine. As always this is after the Black Velvet series.
Prompt List Two: 20. “I’m waiting.”
Prompt List Three: “I don’t know who you are anymore.”
Summary: It wasn’t meant to go this way...and yet it did.
Word Count: 3.8k
Pairing: 1980s!Din Djarin x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Explicit so ADIOS MINORS, cussing the usual, ANGST literally so much angst that y’all won’t like me for it, a singular slap, din being both a dick and an idiot, p in v sex, fingering, a teeny tiny smidge of dirty talk, FEELINGS, some plot thrown in there for dramatic effect, and mentions of exhibitionism (yes again). let me know if i missed anything!
His head turned to the side, the echo of your hand slapping against his cheek the only sound in the empty bar. You expected him to face you again, to turn back to you and apologize for the words that left his mouth, but nothing came out. It didn’t help that he was fucking trashed. The smell of whiskey and who knows what else coming off his breath in waves that it made you cringe back.
“You don’t get to say that me Djarin,” you seethed out, knowing that getting upset with a drunk man who wouldn’t even remember this conversation in the morning was stupid.
Except you couldn’t get the echo of his words out of your mind. You’re just pissed I left you here like your ex would. The sound of them leaving his mouth so unlike the Din you knew that it left you with a sting in your chest. As if he had decided now would be a good time to cut out your heart.
“I’m going upstairs,” he said calmly, the drunk look in his eyes having cleared up so quickly it startled you.
What if he did mean it?
You don’t think you would be able to handle it if he did.
The door shut behind him following the sound of him walking around upstairs and yet you still remained there, waiting for some sort of an apology. Anything that would show you that the Romeo you knew, the one you cared for was still beneath the surface. This had to be the alcohol talking. That was it. The only thing that spurred this from happening, except you weren’t sure at this point.
So, you didn’t bother with confronting him. Didn’t see it was worth your time to beg for an apology. Not when he was the one who had dared to utter those words in the first place. Like your ex. You wanted to throttle that man, preferably with a towel from the very bar he owned. Rather than sticking around and waiting for him to realize how much of an asshole he was being, you grabbed a napkin and a pen, jotting down one line.
I don’t know who you are anymore.
You hesitated on grabbing your jacket, knowing that if you took it he’d know you still wanted to be with him. And you did. You really did. But not tonight. So, it remained there on the stool beside the note as you grabbed your purse and left the bar, trying to ignore the sharp twist in your heart.
The sound of constant knocking had shook you from your sleep, leaving you groggy and disoriented. Who the fuck was at your front door at this hour? You got ready to get up and answer it, but then Liv’s voice hit your ears. She must have come home while you were asleep. Except you weren’t sure how long you had slept for.
“Just let me see her. Please.” His voice followed causing your chest to tighten until you felt like you couldn’t breathe.
“No.” The door shut just as you stepped out into the living room, wearing his shirt and a pair of sweatpants.
The knocking started again, this time lighter, almost as if he was trying to be polite. And as much as you hated it, you smiled at the antics of a man who was used to scaring people. Except this time it was Liv who had scared him, because he wouldn’t be knocking so lightly if she didn’t. You had to hand it to her. She knew how to bring powerful men to their knees.
“Are you okay?” she asked, seeming to know the situation.
You nodded, pouring a glass of water for yourself, choosing to stay silent on the matter rather than give her the details of how Din practically tore out your heart. She let you. Doing nothing but grabbing another glass to pour herself water. All the while the knocking continued, happening in random little spurts. Minutes of silence to where you thought he left, where he gave up, and then it would start again.
“How long has he been doing that?” you asked, staring at the door and feeling your heart call to him. Feel the urge to open the door and face him come over you.
You turned back to her wide eyed. “Four hours?”
She nodded. “He showed up fifteen minutes after you came home. I don’t know how you didn’t hear him.”
Which means he had gone after you the second he heard you leave his bar. He’d been here for four hours. You still couldn’t understand how he lasted that long without breaking down the door already. Except then you remembered who this man was. Someone who knew when to back down when a fight became his fault, but still continuing to fight. Just not in his way.
He was fighting your way, because he knew he was wrong. Knew he fucked up in the biggest way possible.
“Do you want me to let you handle this?” she asked.
Could you handle this?
You knew that he had a power over you, but this was different. This was him knowing he had to apologize until he knew for sure you wouldn’t leave. So you nodded, watching as she moved to grab her jacket and open the front door. You watched him scramble to his feet from where he’d been sitting against the wall opposite the door, his eyes meeting yours almost instantly.
“Listen to me,” Liv said, dragging his attention to her. “Fuck up again and I’ll kill you. Slowly.”
He nodded profusely, agreeing so quickly that it made you snort into your glass of water. The sound had him turning back to you, the glimmer of hope in his eyes so prominent it almost had your heart breaking. If he thought he could simply come here and apologize and everything would be okay, then he was sorely mistaken. He doesn’t get to use your ex against you like that. Not when he knew the full story of what happened.
“Have a good day at work,” you said to Liv, blatantly ignoring the puppy dog eyes Din was trying to pull on you.
“Have a good day with this charmer.”
You smiled, watching as she stepped away, leaving just you and him. Setting the glass down you faced him, seeing that he was still standing outside of the apartment, holding the door open with one hand, your jacket in his other hand. So you had scared him with that. You did it once before and remembered how that went.
“Come in,” you said, psyching yourself up to deal with this.
He stepped into the apartment almost as if there was an explosive waiting to go off. You had to hand it to him. He knew when to pick his battles and when to be hesitant about diving in right away. Yet the look in his eyes, though pleading, told you that he wasn’t about to give up on you, not after everything you’d been through.
“Sweetheart,” he began, freezing at the look you gave him.
“That’s not how this is going to go.” You refilled the glass of water. “You sit and listen. I talk.”
He nodded, sitting at the kitchen table, jacket strewn across his lap, still being clutched in his hand. You gave him points for that. He wasn’t about to fight you on this, because he knew that he was in the wrong. Knew that he had swam out too far and had to wade his way back to shore before he drowned.
“I don’t know what the fuck happened to you last night, because the Din that came back wasn’t the Din that left.” You sat across from him, watching his eyes fall to the table. “If you were upset then that’s understandable. But what’s not is throwing my ex back in my face because I was worried about you.”
He stayed silent, and you allowed him to sit there, processing what you said before you continued. “I just want to know why.”
“What?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
“Why did you say it?”
You wanted to scream, but knew that would get you nowhere, knew it would only hurt the both of you more. Except you knew that this, whatever it was, did not get to be destroyed this quickly. That something must have affected him horribly, because the Din you knew wouldn’t have tried to hurt you. He wouldn’t have looked you in the eyes and said this.
But he had done it before…
You shuddered at the reminder of that night, choosing instead to look at everything that happened after. Everything that happened before.
“He was there. At the bar.”
The breath left your lungs. “What?”
“Poe and Paz had to practically restrain me so I didn’t kill him.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes and somehow that hurt more than what he was about to tell you, because he was in pain. And you didn’t like that. “The fucker...stopped me on the way out. He told me that I was no better than him. That my record…” his hands clenched into fists. “What I did before I met you sweetheart; that I was going to hurt you one way or another. That I was worse than him, because I actually had blood on my hands.”
Murder didn’t seem like the right thing to do to your ex.
Torture was a better option. Maybe you could get Liv to help you out. After all she did marry a cop. Wasn’t that some kind of cover? Shaking yourself out of those thoughts you watched as the man who held your heart, held everything about you in his hands, wiped at his eyes. He stepped towards you, setting the jacket down in front of you and cupping your cheek.
“It belongs to you,” he whispered. “Not me.”
Somehow you knew he meant something other than the jacket. Knew that he was talking about his heart. Your eyes shut when he kissed your forehead, the warmth of his touch something you needed that it pained you. That it hurt to feel him pull away, whispering I’m sorry before walking out the door.
He’d fought for you, and knew that the battle was far from over, but also knew that you needed time. Which is why you let him go. You let him walk out, go back to the bar, all the while you still sat at the table, staring at the jacket that had brought you to him, and him to you. More times than you could count.
Two Weeks Later
The building hadn’t changed.
Well no actually it looked quite different but you commended that to the changes that were done after what happened. Music spilled out of the open door, a song you recognized as the same one that hilariously played the first time you were here. And just like before, you walked through the doors. Smelled the familiar cigarette smoke mixed with whiskey and knew that you were home.
“Y/N!” Paz’s voice echoed from the entrance, a girl you’d seen before hanging off his arm. “Thank fuck you’re back. He’s a wreck.”
He looked like a deer caught in headlights. “Djarin. I had to drag his ass out of bed this morning. Literally. I think I might have twisted his ankle from grabbing it.”
You didn’t even bother to stop the surprised laugh, the image of Din being dragged out of his bed something you’d have to remind him of. “Where is he?”
“Bar. Although I don’t know if he’s working. Poe’s been running the place for the past two weeks.”
He wasn’t kidding. Din choosing to let Poe run his bar was a sign that he was indeed...a wreck. You thanked Paz for the information, greeted his girl as she complimented your little black dress and moved on. Trying to reach the man who had occupied your mind for weeks. The sight was a familiarity that you had missed, the sounds, smells, all of it had become so ingrained in your life you finally felt like you could breathe by coming back to it.
And then he was there.
Wearing the same Henley as the night you met, a towel in his hand as he wiped down an empty glass. You weren’t sure you could move, but you had to. Had to return home completely, and so you straightened your back, walking as carefully as you could in the heels Liv had lent you. Well more like bought you. The whole outfit was her idea.
Wear this and you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, were her exact words.
You took the empty stool, placed your small purse on the bar, and waited until he turned. All the while you watched him. Admired the sight of him, and realized how much you fucking missed him.
“What can I get you?” he asked, turning and freezing at the sight of you.
You caught the way his eyes glanced down at the jacket you wore, his lips curling up before falling once he realized what you were wearing underneath. Oh you were definitely not walking tomorrow.
“I’ll take a whiskey. Best you got.”
He nodded, turning faster than you’ve ever seen him turn to get a drink. While you waited you took notice of how the dark the lines under his eyes were. Had he been sleeping at all? You wouldn’t blame him if he wasn’t. You weren’t doing so well in that area either; tossing and turning all night to try and appease the emptiness of your bed.
The glass of your favorite whiskey was set in front of you within a minute tops and you raised an eyebrow at him, the smirk you wore on your lips hopefully enough to tempt him. Who were you kidding. You could do nothing but look at him and he was ready to do whatever.
But tonight you wanted to make him work for it, because while you had forgiven him, you wanted to have the fun game back. The one that had driven both you and him insane enough to practically fuck in front of people that one night. Downing the shot, you set it on the bar, licking the remaining liquid off your lips, before meeting his eyes.
You could see the look in his eyes. The way his hands were balled up into fists as he leaned against the bar. Almost as if he was trying to stop himself from leaping over it and taking you while you sat on the stool. But then he muttered something that you heard.
“Romeo?” you asked, already feeling breathless. He hadn’t even fucking touched you yet and you were panting like he’d just had you all night long.
“Upstairs,” he said, eyes darkening even more if that was possible.
See now normally you’d go ahead and run up the stairs to get to his bed. But tonight you wanted to push his buttons. This was you choosing not to play fair.
“I think I’ll have another drink.” You pushed the glass across the bar, leaning forward until he could see the way the dress had pushed up your chest.
A dangerous game.
You knew that the minute he flashed you a wolfish smile, his hand wrapping around your wrist to tug you closer. “I have no problem with fucking you right here.”
“You seem to think that I have a problem with it,” you whispered, smiling at the sound that tore from his throat. “I’m waiting.”
He let go of your wrist, tossing the towel down and walking around the bar. The look in his eyes, enough to have you clenching around nothing. Poe’s eyes met yours from the other side of the bar where he was serving his friends and you waved. Calling out a hello, before Din’s hand was yanking you to your feet. You were in trouble. Although could you really call it trouble when you both wanted this?
“Hang on Romeo I can’t run in these heels.” Shit. The stairs. You got ready to trip and fall, but he surprised you. Dragging you to the storage room instead and slamming the door shut with you against it.
“Two weeks,” he muttered, hands grabbing for the jacket while you tore at his shirt. “I thought you weren’t coming home.”
You were home. He was your home.
Gripping his hair you dragged his mouth to yours, nearly collapsing at the feeling of his kiss. Fuck you missed him. You missed this. The hot caress of his tongue against yours; the way his hands dug at any part of you he could get to; the sounds he made as you tugged sharply on his brown locks. Moaning as he sucked your lip into his mouth, teeth digging against the skin and letting it go.
“I need you inside me,” you gasped out, practically cheering when you got his shirt off.
You didn’t need to be told twice, turning and placing your palms against the door as he tugged up your dress. The groan that echoed around the room had you smiling. You guessed Liv was right. Apparently he missed you just as much as you missed him. Beautiful, he whispered, hands molding to your hips as he grinded into you. And you felt it. Felt more beautiful than you had in the past two weeks, because when he looked at you...he looked like he was seeing a goddess.
“Din.” The whine came out unexpectedly, but you couldn’t help it. Not when he was taking his sweet time. The sound of his belt unbuckling and zipper undoing was enough to have you grinding back against him.
“You have no idea how much I fucking missed you.” His fingers met your clit and you sagged against the door, your palm slapping against the wood. “I used to sit at the bar every night waiting for you to walk through the doors.”
Two fingers buried inside you to his knuckle causing you to cry out from the sheer bliss at being stretched by him again. “Used to stay awake at night. I can’t sleep without you there sweetheart,” he whispered into your ear. “I need you.”
“Oh fuck-” Your orgasm took you by surprise. Overwhelming you until you could do nothing but shudder through it, your mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back. He hadn’t even fucked you yet and you were cumming just under three minutes.
“You needed me too didn’t you?” There was something in his voice that had you clenching tighter around his fingers, your walls fluttering as he pulled them out. Only to lick them clean himself.
Maybe you nodded. Or said yes. At this point you couldn’t tell, because he was turning you around and hitching your leg around his waist. You were already drunk on him and all he had done was make you cum once. Except it was done so fast that it had left your head spinning. He knew exactly what to do in order to have you crying out his name.
“You’re home right?” he asked, the question much more than just that. This was him asking if you were staying. If what you were about to do was okay. If you forgave him.
He kissed you, and this wasn’t fueled by passion alone. This was him relieved; kissing you to reassure himself that you were in fact back. That he wouldn’t have to spend another night alone in his cold bed. You dug your hands into his hair, keeping his lips against yours as he pushed into you, the stretch of him familiar.
“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled against your lips, as you gasped through him pushing into you until his hips settled against yours. “I was a fucking idiot. An asshole for hurting you like that.”
“I forgive you.” It came out as a moan when he pulled out, sliding back into you just as quickly in a hurried thrust. Almost like he refused to leave you completely.
You were already building quickly to your next release, feeling the high start to crest and you could tell he was close too. The weeks away from each other turned to desperation. You met his thrusts the best you could as he grunted out things that had you sighing out his name against the skin of his neck.
“I need you sweetheart. I always need you.” His thrusts were becoming sloppy, but you didn’t care. Not when he was brushing against your g-spot each time; your toes curling in the heels you wore. “I can’t live without you. I love you.”
“Oh shit-fuck Din!” Your back arched, head almost slamming against the door if it weren’t for him reaching up and cupping the back of it.
He growled out a word you didn’t hear, because the roar of pleasure in your ears was too much. You panted out his name, trying to grasp onto reality, but each thrust set you higher until you were crying out again and bearing down on him to a point that his hips stuttered. Your name falling from his lips as he fucked you through both of your orgasms.
“I love you,” you sighed out. Two weeks. You were almost mad at yourself for making both of you wait this long, but knew that the weeks away were good for you and him.
You also knew that was complete and utter bullshit that you told yourself to get through it. The truth was, you had wanted to go after him the second he told you what happened. After he told you that your dick of an ex had gotten to him, and made him believe that he wasn’t good enough. If there’s one thing you knew for certain.
Din Djarin was more than you could have ever asked for out of life. He came into your world, turned it around, and stayed put because you needed each other. Needed one another more than you needed to breathe on some days. And maybe it was overwhelming. Maybe you wanted to kiss him as if you couldn’t do it again on certain days and strangle him on others.
But that was the point.
You fit together like two missing puzzle pieces, and sure there were ups and downs. Sure sometimes there were moments in your life where you both made mistakes. But at the end of it all. You’d find one another again, because it had been written in the fucking stars from the very beginning.
Din Djarin was your final chapter.
He was your ending and your beginning.
Just as you were his.
Black Velvet Tags:
@keeper0fthestars @remmyswritings @weirdowithnobeardo @captain-jebi @diogodxlot @mando-amando @fan-of-encouragement
Din Djarin Tags:
@queenbbarnes @mrsparknuts @jenrebloggingfics @gracie7209 @princess76179 @tiffanyblew @northernpunk @thisshipwillsail316 @archaeoheart @jaime1110 @voteforpedro09 @Ladymarinenc @ezrasarm @walt-breslin
@pamguini @blondekel77 @the-purity-pen @princess-and-pedro @phoenixhalliwell @mxsamwilson @justanotherblonde23 @autumnleaves1991-blog @greeneyedblondie44 @amelia-song-pond @ladylothlorien
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If you're waiting for part 2 of Happiness Was Having You Here With Me I've gotta apologize because school has been kicking my ass and I haven't had a whole lot of time or energy to seriously work on anything for long periods of time 😭
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Can I get uhhhh hc prompts w Matt w hands and Mandy with memory?
Headcanon prompt list found here!
15 - “Hands” with Matt Murdock
Hands are one of Matt’s major ways of connecting with the world, and touch is incredibly important. As such, he takes great care of his hands, sometimes more than any other part of his body. He has a special salve he rubs in every night along his fingertips, to help keep them supple and sensitive, in comparison to his battered, scarred knuckles. As a result, while certain sections of his hands can take a major beating, his fingertips can feel everything—something he secretly takes great delight in, covertly seeking out the feel of anything soft like flower petals or soft skin or silk. His fingertips thus exist as a quiet indulgence, recklessly hidden there just a hairs-breadth away from the violence of his closed fists.
41 - “Memory” with Mando
Were you to ask Din if any of his past bothered him, he would say no — if he were to say anything at all, and not just ignore your question. For the most part, he has a near-ruthless focus on the current moment and whatever task that needs doing, be it a hunt or finding the kid a toy or even slowing his breathing so he can dip down into sleep. He doesn’t allow himself to think too hard, too long about the past.
Maybe because he knows that, if he did, the memories would come more often.
He can feel them sometimes, snapping and clawing away, flickers and flashes behind his closed eyelids like the bright, feverish burst of blaster fire. For a time it was worse when he first picked up the kid, memories of his own time as a foundling dredged up from the darkened waters of his subconscious, ripples spilling over into daylight hours when before they’d only come when he found brief moments of sleep. He thought he’d buried them down deep enough, but apparently not.
And yet he would allow every memory he has, every remembrance of pain and fear, to play on endless loop, if it means one more day with his son. And as those memories are slowly overlayed by newer ones, by better ones, he finds himself thinking that maybe... some memories are worth keeping close.
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More Than You Ever Were : Din Djarin x Reader
Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader
Summary: “He sees something set deep in your eyes as you force him to look at you, something determined. He feels his pulse picking up, unsettled, anticipative, at the the intensity of your gaze.”
“‘The moment you broke your creed, love…,’ you murmur, ‘you became more than you ever were.’”
Din finds comfort and safety in you as he allows you to see his face for the first time and copes with the aftermath of his broken creed.
Warnings: Sexual references/implied smut
A/N: Set post-Mandalorian S2
You always call past nine.
It’s a summoning so sweet to Din’s ears
The action sends the ring of his holo echoing around the walls of the Razor Crest, sound waves bouncing all around. It permeates the floor, the ceiling, his own nerves.
Your words wrap around his senses when he answers, make him relax in an atmosphere where it is so hard to do so.
Sometimes you have a sorrow in your voice that softens him to the core.
Sometimes you speak sultry words that make him ache with want.
Sometimes you say barely anything at all, just five words—‘I want to see you.’
But no matter what, it is always the same.
He flies to whatever nearby planet you’re on, travels to whatever address you give him. He knocks three times, and more often than not, you plunge the place into darkness, yank off his helmet, press a kiss to his lips, and drag him to the bedroom.
He listens to your little moans and gasps, the sound of his name from your lips, sweet on his ears. He’s talkative in the aftermath, admittedly the only time he is in such a state.
There are no stakes attached to you, no danger, no connection besides pure companionship.
It’s simple, it’s consistent, and it’s something Din has craved his entire life—yet he knows one thing more concretely than anything else.
He knows that anything going well is forever destined to fall prey to his lifestyle. Just as everything has.
The kid is gone. He’s broken his creed. And you haven’t called in over a month.
He meanders around the galaxy, taking bounties when he feels like it. Each time he’s in public, his hands wander near the latch of his helmet, telling himself that it doesn’t matter anymore. But he can’t do it.
He can’t further violate the creed he’s devoted his life to.
He can’t change the identity he’s held for so many years.
He can’t do the thing that would be the final admittance of his life of detachment and loneliness all being for nothing.
And in his denial, he keeps rattling around his ship, keeps traveling aimlessly.
He wants to see you. That’s one of the few thoughts that has established permanent residence in his mind.
He wants to feel your touch, feel you around him, maybe—just maybe—see you for once without the barrier of his helmet…
It’s a thought he quickly refuses to entertain.
His desire to see you—in some ways, he doesn’t know what to do about it. He can contact you; he knows how, but he’s never the one to call you. He’s never the one to beckon you to his side, into his arms.
Part of him wonders if you’d even want to. He wonders how many different people you fill your lonely nights with. If you fully exercise your unveiled face and life in a way he simply cannot.
And on late nights, he wonders why he even cares, for years ago, when he’d sworn his creed, he had already forever destined himself to a life of solitude.
..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..
“Can I see you?” A pause. His hands are shaking, fully concealed in his empty ship. “I want to see you.”
..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..
It feels as if you know everything about Din.
You know of his mother and father. You know of his childhood. You know of his endless adventures around the galaxy.
His voice is an ingrained memory, a sound of comfort, and his touch is an eternal feeling, inherently familiar.
Even regarding the concealment of his face, there’s something more to be said.
You know he has a mustache. You know his nose bridge is quite pronounced. You know his hair and eyes are brown, even if that’s knowledge you’d obtained solely through words.
But a description is not a picture. A detailed, meticulous touch is not an image.
And as someone who’s lived out their whole life with sight, it’s a peculiar feeling to care for him in sound and feel, but not vision. To know him through the pads of your fingers and the auricles of your ears, not the complex workings of your eyes.
That’s also why you find it odd that the moment you receive his call—“I want to see you”—you’re rushing out the door.
..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..
You know something’s wrong the moment you see him.
His steps are heavier than usual, as if something is weighing him down. His movements are tired. The beskar that usually adorns his body is gone in the privacy of the room.
There’s a soft greeting exchanged like usual as you enter, taking off your coat.
“Where’s the kid?” you casually ask. You’d seen the child a handful of times.
When Din doesn’t respond, you turn to look at him, the opaque black visor of his helmet staring back at you.
Your eyes widen momentarily, but every aspect of his body language tells you that he doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to answer any questions.
He’s shifting in place, as if he wants to tell you something. You stare at him expectantly, feeling the air of hesitance surrounding the two of you.
And almost in hyper detail, you watch his fingers twitch, his arms lift. They follow a predictable path, from his sides, to his neck, to his head.
You simply stare. No words leave your lips.
He’s not blind, and he’s not intoxicated, so you don’t question it.
Yet at the core of your frozen state, there’s pure anticipation, perhaps apprehension. The hiss of the latch releasing sounds. It’s a sound you’d heard many times, usually triggered of your own accord.
Your fingers dig into the couch where you’d sat down. It all feels wrong. So horribly, horribly wrong. Yet you remain frozen.
His neck shows. His skin is light, which you know. You’d seen his hands a few times.
And when the helmet is fully off, you both simply stare at each other. The emotion you feel is not what you expect. It’s nothing particularly profound. It simmers pleasantly, calmly.
His lips are slightly parted, his hands curled into loose fists. He looks lost, so extremely uncomfortable beneath your gaze, your silence. He doesn’t know what to do.
It’s an ironic thought to you—that this Mandalorian, who’d killed beings with his bare hands, is terrified at an act as simple as this.
And in truth, it breaks your heart. There’s a pain in his eyes, the kind that’s raw and tender and newly inflicted. You’ve never seen him like this, never felt so much distress from him.
You stand up slowly, standing in front of him, head tilted up. His hands tentatively come up to rest on your waist, a movement he’d done so many times before, albeit with more assurance.
A draft blows through the room, sending a slight shiver through your body.
Your own hands sink into his hair. Another familiar sensation, yet so new at the same time. And finally, you press your lips to his, soft and gentle, feeling him pull you against him, his body warm with the lack of beskar.
He’s shaking, just barely trembling, and it’s as if you want to hold him till every muscle of his relaxes, till a small sigh leaves him.
He needs stability now. He doesn’t need to be reminded of everything that’s changed, everything he’s lost.
You grasp his hand, leading him to what you assume is the bedroom. A small, perhaps nearly dying, lamp is on, dimly illuminating the separate room.
You go to turn it off, yet he stops you, and you blink once, turning to glance at him.
“You can leave it on,” he says quietly. “If…if you want….”
Your lips curl into a small smile, and you nod.
His hands are quivering as he awkwardly stands in place, unsure of what to do. It’s a stark contrast from his usual demeanor, one in which his confidence shows in every firm, usually pleasurable, movement he subjects you to.
“Din…,” you whisper, patiently waiting for his hesitant gaze to reach yours. You gently grab his trembling hands, steadying them before pulling away.
Sitting on the bed, your fingers grasp the hem of your shirt.
..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..
His head rests on your shoulder in the aftermath. It’s unusual, for generally you’re the one resting on him. Perhaps it’s fitting, for there is nothing usual about the events of tonight.
It’s also strangely silent.
You find your fingers running over his face, along his eyelids and nose and lips. He lets you. He doesn’t mind.
You’d felt all of it already, yet it’s as if everything has gained a new feel in your newfound visual knowledge.
The feeling when he’d first pulled his helmet off had been surreal. You hadn’t know what to feel. He’d simply been a face to a name—and a voice, and a touch, and a feeling so close to pure adoration.
But as you lie there, it hits you that you can truly see him. See the way his eyes flutter tiredly to match his exhausted form. See the way his features relax along with his body as you lightly rake your fingertips down his sides. See the way he looks at you.
Whenever you’d thought of seeing his face, a part of you had been scared that he’d be like a stranger again. But that wasn’t true. It was miles from true. The person you’re lying against feels more like Din than he ever has.
You shift beneath him, gently letting his head fall to the bed. The sheets are soft as you fully nestle beneath them, lying on your side to face him, to see him more clearly.
Your gaze runs along his features, memorizing them, recording the images. He smiles, and you make note of that, adding it to your newly started and growing bank of memories—memories of his face, the expressions you’ve seen.
An expression of pure loss and hesitation. One of distress. One of his lips parted in a moan. One of trust. One of a haze of pleasurable exhaustion.
And now, a smile.
“You’re freaking me out, mesh’la,” he says quietly, his voice raspy.
You blink, unsure of how long you’d been staring at him.
He laughs quietly, brushing some hair from your face. A new addition to your memories. The kind of smile accompanied by a laugh.
“Sorry,” you mumble, sinking your hand into his own hair.
You can see the true color now. It’s a deep brown, practically black if it had been a few shades darker. His curls are a perfect match to his eyes.
“Handsome,” you simply remark. There’s no point dodging the outright admittance. For what feels like forever, you could never truthfully respond whenever he called you beautiful. Now you can.
He raises an eyebrow. Another expression to commit to memory. “Yeah?”
You sigh, nestling into his side, where he readily welcomes you. “Of course you don’t even know….”
“How would I?”
You merely huff, burying your face in his chest, yawning quietly. His hands run down your sides, and through your closed eyelids, the light goes out.
“Nuhoy, cyar’ika,” he says softly.
..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..
Din finds that it’s easy to believe he’s done the right thing in breaking his creed when he’s in your presence.
It’s easy when your lips are pressed to his. When you’re spread out beneath him, moaning and gasping at his touch. When you’re tenderly stroking the side of his face, telling him how handsome he is.
But now, it’s not so easy. Not even when you’re still seconds away from him. Not even when he can crawl back under the covers with you where you still sleep.
His eyelids flutter as he stands by the window, looking out into the dark streets. His helmet sits on the table, gleaming in the moonlight. It stares at him with an impenetrable steel gaze.
Ever attuned to his surroundings, the sound of you shifting on the mattress in the other room permeates the thin walls. He huffs quietly, unsure of what he’d even been thinking the night before. What did he expect? To show his face and take himself one step closer to fulfilling his fantasy of living out the rest of his days with you?
That’s a fantasy that can never be. It doesn’t feel allowed, doesn’t feel as if it has the potential to be anything more than a fantasy.
But one simple question haunts his mind.
“Din.” A quiet voice sounds, raspy with drowsiness. He turns, almost instinctively lunging for his helmet in order to conceal his face. You stand in the doorway of the bedroom, underwear and undershirt back on, a small frown on your tired features.
He sighs, turning away, casting his gaze back to the street. “Do you think I did the right thing?”
He can almost feel your confusion flowing over him. Your light footsteps make soft tapping noises, and he doesn’t budge as he feels your smaller hands on his waist.
“The creed is all I am,” he says quietly. He freezes, eyes shutting in near agony. “…or all I was…”
The guilt and anguish floods through him. The anger, the confusion, the blatant hatred. For thirty years, he had followed The Way. Three hundred and sixty months. Ten thousand nine hundred and fifty days. All to be destroyed in seconds.
He’s shaken as you firmly grasp his chin, borderline rough. Much harder than he would ever expect from you.
He follows your touch, allows you to tilt his head down, forcing him to look at you. There’s something set deep in your eyes, something determined. He feels his pulse picking up, unsettled, yet anticipative at the intensity of your gaze.
“Din….” Your eyes flick to where his helmet sits before you’re pulling him close, nestling your head in the crook of his neck. He trembles slightly beneath your grasp, melting into you. “The moment you broke your creed, love…,” you murmur, “…you became more than you ever were.”
..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..
A/N: I’m convinced there are literally 19471984758^9848292994 fics of Din taking his helmet off for the first time and I am proudly adding to those.
Also, I had this scheduled for when it came out, but apparently there was some glitch or mistake on my part because it was posted accidentally for half an hour-ish yesterday at 4. So if anyone feels like they’ve seen this before, that’s probably why lol
Taglist (for everything): @dark-academics-and-florals @theultimateslashgirl @princessxkenobi @djjarins
Taglist (for Din): anyone wanna be on this bc theres literally no one on it right now
If you’d like to be tagged on any of my future works, just let me know in a reply/comment or do the form on my masterlist if that’s easier.
Nuhoy = sleep
And pretty sure we all know these, but:
Mesh’la = beautiful
Cyar’ika = sweetheart
Thanks for reading!
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Are we still doing Cowboy Friday? Are we still doing Din is Haunted?
Anyway, here’s “The Ghost Town of Mandalore.”
Out west, on a mesa that sits in the elbow of a river, lies a town called Mandalore. The people there are strong and honest-dealing, many of them having become soldiers of fortune after the land couldn’t quite be farmed into submission. If you’ve lived your life peaceably enough that no one has a reason to put a price on your head, Mandalore will present as hardscrabble but friendly. Even so, shadows lurk between the homes and stables that don’t present themselves to outsiders without careful attention. The one you’re most likely to meet is the sheriff.
He’s a fearless but soft-spoken man, with a scarf wrapped high and his hat tipped low. You’ll meet no one who can describe his face. He has a revolver on his hip and a knife in his boot, but they’re outshined by the sword with the black blade on the sheriff’s back. The sword is a relic, like an old war saber, but it’s not out of use. The metal of the blade has never been named, but it has a strange glow to it. Rather, it has the opposite of a glow; it seems to pull in light from the world around it.
Now, there’s a certain kind of person who will see a hardened man with a badge and automatically try to press their luck against him. The sheriff hasn’t lost a duel yet, and none of the other parties have ever walked away. The sheriff will take that sword off his back so fast that the motion can’t be seen, and before his opponent has time to pull the trigger or strike with their own knife, that opponent will be struck down with what seems to be darkness itself. The sheriff will then walk away as if nothing has happened, while the sword hums and pulses in his hand. He has been sheriff of Mandalore for quite some time.
There are whispers that the sheriff is no man, if he ever was. That he is, could be, a husk of someone who once existed. Most likely, he’s the shape of a person meant as bait, the way a fishing lure is not the worm or insect it pretends to be. But he guards Mandalore without prejudice, and has never killed anyone who didn’t declare their intention to kill him first. There’s no real reason to want him to gone, besides the uncanny aura of it all.
The one thing that’s clear enough to all is that the sword may be on the sheriff’s back, but the sword is wearing the sheriff.
Mandalore has a peculiar superstition about mirrors, which is you shouldn’t look into them in the dark. This leads to many mirrors being covered at night, or kept away from rooms without windows. Many townsfolk have a practiced aversion to gazing into any reflective surface, no matter how bright the sun, lamps, or candles burn.
An adventurous or foolish person might peer through the shadows to look at themselves in a mirror. According to most versions of the story, outsiders rarely see anything but their own faces. Stare long enough and hard enough, though, and a crowd will form behind you. No, it will form behind your reflection. Look over your shoulder, and you’ll see you’re alone as you ever were.
The people joining you in the mirror won’t look quite natural. When they’re still, they’re still, but when they move, every jerk of the limb is short and purposeful. Slowly, they’ll move toward you. If you’ve a sharp enough eye, you might make out the wounds that killed them.
You must not let them touch you.
That might be a legend, but this is true: Mandalore has no graveyard.
On some clear nights, when they’re resting too easily in their beds, the citizens of Mandalore say the air fills with screams. The sound won’t last long, and is always over by dawn, but it’s impossible to sleep through. A lightning storm of awful sound. Walk the border of Mandalore if you want, peer over the edge of the mesa, take the steep road down to the bank of the river, the screams won’t get any louder or quieter, and you’ll never find their source. The people of Mandalore have stopped trying. Most stay in their beds as if they’re still asleep. Their eyes stay open. They feel whatever their consciences make them feel at the sound of voices crying in the night, be it guilt or pity or perhaps cold familiarity.
The phenomenon has generally been written off by experts as the howling of coyotes, echoed and distorted by the uneven terrain. Though most coyotes don’t scream “Mama, help me!”
For all the tall tales, Mandalore is a place you could pass through and find perfectly regular. Sit in the saloon and hear songs about wars gone by. Talk to town elders and learn of the animals and people who once lived in the territory, but who have passed into nothingness for reasons no one will say directly. Find a place with a good view to watch the sun set and the stars rise. If you stay long enough, you’ll learn whether the stories are true. A town’s ghosts won’t reveal themselves to a stranger.
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Summary: Din is always in charge. What happens when he wants to switch it up?
Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
Warnings: fem!reader, p0rn with very little plot✨, sub!din 😈 with dom!reader, established dom/sub relationship, unprotected piv sex, masturbation, use of good boy, mild humiliation 💕
AN: For all those who are switches at heart. Lord forgive me for writing this. The shame is gone when the horny is on 🤧
Din brought up the idea on his way out the door. “I kinda want to see you be in control.”
It took you a minute to realize what he meant. You rushed after him. You had to run ahead of him so you could stop him with both your hands on his chest plate.
“What was that?” You asked incredulously.
“Don’t you ever get tired of me always being in control?” He tilted his head.
“No.” You answered immediately. “Did I make you feel otherwise? Am I not-not pleasing you?”
“No. Nothing like that, ad'ika.” Din cupped your face softly. “I just want to see you try.” The humor in his voice made you scrunch your face up.
“You don’t think I can do it?” You crossed your arms, taking a step back from him.
He chuckled. “I don’t know. Can you?”
You rolled your eyes before saying, “I just like what we have right now.”
Din felt his heart soften at your admission. “I love what we have, too. I love taking care of you. That’s what is natural for me and what is natural for you.” He pulled you into him by your waist. You keep your arms crossed like a petulant child but you felt your fight fading. “If you don’t want to just tell me. It’s okay.”
“I don’t even know how-Like how could I…“ you pouted in frustration. Your sexual relationship with Din was enhanced by the fact he was so much larger and stronger than you. You loved it. You loved being manhandled and taken however Din saw fit. How could you dominate a man twice your size?
“Just think about it, ad’ika.” He cooed brushing your cheek with his thumb. “I think you'd be great.”
“Okay… I’ll think about it.” You agreed not wanting to keep him from his job any longer. You hugged him tightly, wrapping your small arms around his middle. “Be safe, okay?”
“I will.” He squeezed you tightly to his chest, squishing your cheek against his beskar. You giggled when you pull away and notice a spot had formed on the shiny surface from your skin. You wanted to do this for him. You just needed to think of how.
Din returned later that evening having tracked down the bounty with ease. The bounty was wanted for gambling away money that wasn’t his. He didn’t put up much of a fight. Din was surprised you weren’t waiting for him by the hatch door like you always did. He froze the bounty in carbonite and headed off to find you.
“Ad’ika?” He called. No answer. You must be in the cockpit. It was the only place he hadn’t checked. The door opened with a whoosh and there you were standing with a blaster pointed at his chest.
“Hello Mando.” You said silkily. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back.”
“Ad’ika...” Din put his hands on his hips “What are you doing? I told you not to touch my weapons.”
You lifted the gun higher from his chest to his face. “Take a seat, Mando. Why don’t you and I have a talk?”
Din put his hands up in surrender feeling his heart race with excitement. Are we doing this? He wondered. He kept his eyes on you as he sat down in the passenger seat. You placed the blaster closer to his head while your other hand pushed his sternum back hard so he was resting fully against the seat. This way, though you were shorter than him, you could lean over him and further intimidate him. He could have resisted but he was too curious to stop you now. Maker, when did you learn how to use a blaster? You pulled Mando's blaster from its holster and tossed it on the dash far out of reach.
“You’re a very difficult man to find.” You continued in character. “My boss wants you dead. Sent me to hunt you down. I may be open to negotiation but only if you’re a good boy.”
Din gulped. As soon as those two words left your mouth he felt all his blood rush to his dick. He always had a sneaking suspicion that he may like to be dominated but those two words all but confirmed it. His ears were straining to hear what you would say next.
“Are you a good boy, Mando?”
It was a good thing you couldn’t see him behind the helmet with his mouth hanging open. The mouth on you!
“I didn’t know Mandalorians were born without tongues!” You fisted his cowl harshly and tugged him up towards you making Din gasp. You glared into the visor knowing exactly where his eyes rested behind the tinted glass. You could hear his breathing pick up. “I asked, are you a good boy?"
"Yes." Din whimpered his eyes widening.
"Are you ready to negotiate?”
“Good boy.” You purred, letting go of him and shoving him back against the chair. You were loving the low groan the pet name drew from Din. The power was quickly going to your head and also to your pussy as you stood above him. The blaster was dead, no charge left, but it still made you feel completely in control. You could do anything in this moment. You had his complete undivided attention. “Before we begin, what’s the safe word?”
“Sandstorm.” Din answered.
“Good boy.” Your lips curled into a smile as you noted his bulge through the dark fabric of his pants. Fuck he was already hard and you hadn't touched him yet. You watched Din continue to squirm in his seat under your hard gaze. You’d have to do something about that. “Stop wiggling.” To your amazement Din obeyed you. You feel your pussy start to get wet as you thought of what you wanted to do next. “Now… tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”
“I- I can help you. I can be use-useful.” Din replied, his heart racing. His dick aching in his pants. It muddled his thinking, his reasoning. In the back of his mind he was so proud of you for doing this for him. Your devotion to him was almost as hot as that mean look in your eyes right now.
“Useful?” You mocked him. “I doubt you could even make me cum.”
“I can!” Din answered quickly leaning forward in the seat. The action caused you to raise your eyebrow. Din realized his mistake and leaned back into the seat. Then in a smaller voice he added, “Please.”
“Since you’re so desperate.” You lowered your gun and pointed it to the open space on the floor. “Lie down.”
Din quickly sprung out of his chair and laid down on his back, hands resting at his side. You planned on dragging the negotiation out longer but you were too needy. You were tired of playing with your food. You wanted to eat. His eagerness to please you made your heart clench out of affection and lust. He tilted his head up at you hoping you would praise him for following directions.
“Good boy.” You moved down and straddled his thighs. You dragged the tip of the blaster down his chest, letting it scrape against the reflective beskar. “Now you don’t touch unless I tell you, Mando, or we'll have to start this whole thing all over again.” Din nodded enthusiastically, signaling his understanding.
“Show me your hands.” You ordered. Din obeyed immediately holding them up to you palms up. You set the blaster down behind you and pretended to inspect Din's raised hands, pulling the gloves off slowly. You traced the planes of his palms lightly. “Hmm I don’t think these hands could make me cum at all.”
Din made a sound of protest but you gripped his wrists hard, quieting him instantly. You pushed his hands back to the ground, pretending to be unimpressed. Then, you zeroed in on his noticeable bulge. You grabbed it roughly but not hard enough to hurt. You smirked when he cried out.
“I don’t think this cock could make me cum either.”
“Please-“ Din whimpered clenching his hands into fists at his side. You were so much meaner than he thought you would be.
“Shush.” You remove your hand much to Din’s dismay. You spent a moment wondering what you would do next. All you wanted was to fuck him but you know that’s what he wanted too. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction just yet. When Din was in charge he never gave you what you wanted right away. “You’ll just have to watch and then maybe you can show me what you learned. Only if you don’t cum.”
You slide out of your tunic and pants making sure Din did not move his hands. His thighs flexed beneath you trying to still his hips. He was being such a good boy...
“Do you like what you see, Mando?” You ask once you are completely nude.
“Yes.” Din croaked.
“Of course you do, needy boy.” You smirked. You immediately started rubbing your wet pussy, smearing your wetness over your clit. Din whined, a low broken sound, below you but you don’t respond. You were much closer than you thought. You put one finger inside yourself rocking your hips against it. You tried to contain your moans not wanting him to have those yet.
Din gritted his teeth. This was the worst torture imaginable. Watching you pleasure yourself when he was right here. He could easily flip you over, pin you by your neck and just tear into you. But he had to be good. He wanted to give you this. He wanted you to know you held this power over him. You always did. His cock was leaking so much precum he could feel the wetness meet the cool air through his thin pants. He unconsciously rocked his hips up looking for some attention but was met with your glare.
“Ad’ika.” Din tries to get your attention and convey how much he needed you but you just glare at him.
“Stop distracting me, Mando. You’re not going to touch me at all if you keep interrupting me.” When he relaxed you carry on touching yourself.
You were so close. You knew Din could pick up on this by how your breath was caught in your throat. When it hit you you bit your lip not letting Din hear any of your usual sounds. It killed him. It killed him to see you lick your own cum off your fingers when he should be the one to do that. He banged his head against the floor out of frustration. The sound brought you back to reality.
“Mando.” You called to him softly, watching him tilt his chin to look at you. “You were very very good.” You could feel your facade fading as you still buzzed from your last orgasm. You loved him so much. “You get a reward now.” You moved up closer to his hips, took his hands, and place them on your thighs. They immediately tightened around you. “What do you want?”
Din was so delirious so he had trouble deciding. He wanted everything. He wanted to taste you. He wanted to fuck up into you. He wanted mouth on him.
Din’s dick made the decision for him thrusting up into the air. "Please!"
“You want my hands?” You cupped him gently over his pants.
“No- no-I want-“ He grabbed you by the hips and tries to pull you onto him. You resisted at first making him whine in frustration.
"You have to use your words." You chided him. He tries again, pulling you forward.
“You want my pussy?”
“Yes!” Din begged. “Please please.”
“I need to hear you say it.” You tried to keep your calm but it was torture for you to torture him. “Come on, I know you can say it.”
“Please I want your pussy.” Mando rasped.
“Pull your cock out.” You ordered, removing his hands from you waist and moved off him. You could have done it yourself but you loved watching him obey you. He wriggled out of his pants as fast as he could, not caring how desperate it may look. His cock was hard and leaking and jumped up in spite of gravity. You longed to put it into your mouth but that wasn't what he asked for. “Hold it steady.” You command though you sounded just as needy as him now. Din held your hip in one hand and his cock in the other, lining it up with your dripping entrance. You slowly sank down on him, not withholding your moans now. He immediately grabbed ass, holding you against him. You let him fuck up into you controlling the pace. You should have stopped him but you just wanted to cum. You wanted to reward him.
“You’re doing so well, baby.” You moaned in encouragement. "I-I think I may have to keep you for myself. My boss doesn't need to know."
“I’m not- I’m not gonna last.” panted Din.
With your last drop of willpower you pulled yourself off of him. Din's cry was devastating. You slid back until you were out of reach of him.
"I didn't say you could cum."
"You're so mean!" Din sounded tortured. You hated doing this to him but you knew he had to be enjoying it or else he would have thrown you down and taken over.
"You think you deserve to cum then go on."
Din looked up at you incredulously. You made no move to put his cock back in your pussy or even touch him. He thrust his hips weakly but there was no friction at all. He whined your name.
You reached out and wrapped your hand around his dick but not moving the hand. "Go on." You encouraged him. "Get yourself close and then you'll get another reward."
He started lifting his hips, cock sliding through your hand. He was so close you knew but you kept his orgasm just out of reach by maintaining a lighter and lighter touch. It was so cruel. You knew you were reaching the end of Din's patience. Precum had soaked your hand.
“Good boy." You withdrew your hand. "You get a second reward now. Where do you want to cum?”
“Inside you please.” Din answered instantly.
“You think you deserve to come inside me?” You pretend to ponder this.
“I... please I’ve been good.” He said desperately his voice cracking over the voice coder. “I’ll do whatever you ask. Just... please... i need to cum inside your pussy. I wanna make you feel good.”
Satisfied you sunk down on his hard cock one last time. You started bouncing up and down hearing Din’s moans crescendo. He had his hands on your hips gripping the flesh hard in his desperation.
“It’s okay.” You leaned down and clutched his cowl in your fists for support. Pride was coursing through you. You reduced him to this. You feel his motions become sloppier.
“Wait-“ Din faltered “But I want you to cum too!”
You rock against him. It was hard to get the right stimulation from this position. You look down at him slipping out of your character entirely. He knew that look well. “Din… please!”
Din flipped you both over quickly barely giving you time to think because he was pounding into you hard, grinding into your clit the way you needed. You held onto his shoulders for dear life.
“I’m-“ You felt your breath seize up and your vision flashed white.
“Fuck- sweet girl. I fucking love you.” Din praised into your ear as he came as well.
When your vision returned you turned and wrapped your arms around Din who was flopped next to you. You nuzzled his neck through his cowl. “Did I do good?”
“It was awesome.” Din sat up pulling you with him. You cuddled into his lap, a sticky mess between you two. “But you were so mean, ad’ika.”
“You liked it.” You giggled.
“Yeah I did. Did you like it?” Din asked, pushing some hair from your face.
“Yeah.” You admit with an evil grin.
“Where did you learn to speak like that and hold a blaster and just- boss me around so well?”
“From you, of course.”
“Smart girl.” Din chuckled hugging you closer to him. “Thank you, ad’ika. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too, good boy.”
"Watch it." Din warned.
Taglist: Message to be tagged in Din specific fics or on all my stuff. ILY 🤟
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